#something with writing explaining not in to much detail what’s going on

[keferon]

My friend is urging me to resubmit this because they're sure it must have been askbox eaten, my deepest apologies if this is a repeat.

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Jazz breathed out. He’d been screened, and the chance of him collapsing into a complete, insane mess was very, very low. He kind of wished that they’d tell him exactly how low. That would be nice and reassuring, unless it wasn’t, at which point he would… go ahead with it anyway, because what else was there to do at this point?

One motion jacked in the last cable, and then there was… something. A sensation, like electricity and like opening. There was something outside of him, on the edge. The mech, probably. It wasn’t like there were testimonials about this. Yet. Maybe he should write one, when this was over, so that baby mech pilots would know what the hell to expect. So long as he was able to do that.

He was stalling.

Jazz breathed in, and pushed outwards.

Then began to run out of himself, spilling to fill the new space that he’d found. It was a strange sensation, like water and electricity flowing out of him. He blinked, and shook his head, filing the thought for a song or something. Always important to save lines when you thought of them.

Jazz blinked again. Oh. This wasn’t the inside of the cockpit. This was the inside of the hanger. That was… good. That was good. And now that he checked, he’d backed that line up to some kind of electronic memory. That was probably meant for recording encounters with the monsters, not for keeping up with the poetical ideas of the pilot. Ah well, his idle thoughts probably wouldn’t take up enough room for anyone to notice or care. He put a lock on it anyway. If they asked him to explain it, he’d just wink at them and say that they didn’t want to know everything that he thought.

Carefully, he flexed his hand. It was different, but not bad different. His connections and struts communicated feedback to him, telling him how much strain they could take, what materials they were made of, how far they could bend. It was kind of cool to have this level of detail about his body.

Checking the power levels, Jazz was made aware that his human body would shut down far before his mech one. There was enough auxiliary power in here for two weeks- oh, and there was a storage cache in here. What was that supposed to be for? It was airtight, he knew his own seals. Big enough for food, water, and medical supplies, as well as some mech repair tools and materials. Fuck whatever it was supposed to be for, it was gonna be his don’t die cabinet. Closet. Pantry. Whatever. Supply room. That was better. He added the new designation to his mental map. It slotted right in, nice.

There was actually a lot of empty space in here. He should get some tape and ties and bundle the cables in some of his limbs so that they didn’t rattle around and tangle. They could even get unplugged if they got tied up enough, which was a hazard. Who had built this thing? Having an actual person to make complaints to about how his body was built was going to be nice.

Wait.

Okay.

Jazz needed to get back to himself. This wasn’t his body. He had done the basic checks. He needed to unjack the cable and check that he was alright.

He reached up, and the mech hand moved.

Okay. Don’t panic. Panic is not useful. Panic is bad. He could feel his fans- the fans of the mech kicking up. It thought that he was in a fight, and was preparing. It wasn’t exactly helpful for what he was trying to do. It made him feel more present and alive in the body that wasn’t supposed to be his body.

Jazz offlined his optics that weren’t supposed to be his, and tried to retreat. Tucking himself back in, becoming small again. It hurt, and he cringed back outward. Why was he hurting himself? Because he needed to. He crunched down harder, forcing himself out of his own (NOT his own) systems. Pressing himself into that small organic core again.

Finally, he brought up a human arm and unplugged himself.

The face was damp. Why was it damp? His face was damp. He had been crying. Probably from pain.

Was being human supposed to hurt? Being a mech hadn’t hurt at all. Inhabiting. Using. Using a mech hadn’t hurt at all. Vocabulary. Word choice. Very important, he’s written enough songs to know that.

He’d thought of a good line during that, hadn’t he? But when he tried to access it- remember it- ah. It was in the mech. Which he wasn’t in right now. Well, he was in it, but he wasn’t it. Because he was a human and wasn’t a mech.

Jazz breathed in, staring at the cable in his hands. It would be so easy to plug it back in, just to get to the line.

It would hurt so much to be human again.

Jazz breathed out, put down the cable, and began the process of getting himself out of the mech.

OOHHHHHH WAIT I HAVENT SEEN THIS OH MY GOD OTROKRKGKEL

[revelboo]

Hello. Your stories are beautiful. Can I ask you write something with Optimus Prime IDW? Thank you very much in advance. ^^

Sure

Gravity Pt 7

IDW Optimus x Reader

• You’re dancing again and he watches from the corner of his optic as he works, one foot sliding sideways before you shift your weight and spin. Servos stilling on his keyboard, he rumbles softly. Likes to watch you move, the way you can twist and bend like you’re boneless. And you catch him watching, flashing your little teeth at him with a laugh. “When I was a kid, my mom was obsessed with living out her dumb ballerina dreams through me,” you say, arms above your head. “Bet she’s rolling in her grave that I ended up an exotic dancer.”

• “Exotic?” He asks and he’s so innocent, it’s sweet. Running through the moves helps you relax, gives your worry and tension an outlet. You wonder what the big guy would think of you if you actually explain it to him, your slide from rebellious teenager to desperate adult. Because working in that dump was only the latest in a string of bad decisions. Every attempt you make to claw your way out of the gutter only driving home that maybe that’s where you belong. You’d resigned yourself to it, gotten tougher and blunter out of necessity, but somehow you can’t make yourself tell him that. He’s just this pinnacle of good and right. And he might not touch you so kindly or at all if he knew how awful you really are. “You were alone?” He asks when you don’t respond. Worrying over you like he always does.

• Blowing out a breath, you rake your fingers through your hair to send it into disarray and stare up at him. Little teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you wave a hand at him. “Don’t worry about it, big guy,” you tell him, but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I can take care of myself.” You can, but still. You’re his to care for and protect, but he won’t pry or push. Hopes you’ll open up to him eventually. Entrust your burdens to him.

• Reaching out slowly as if giving you the option to avoid his touch, he hovers a servo just in front of you and you lean into it, wrapping your arms around that big digit. “I know you can, but I’ll still here if you need me,” he says and the that deep, rumbling voice rolls through you. Makes you realize that you’ve stopped plotting escape or even looking for an opportunity. That you don’t want to go back to your old life. There’s no one left to care for you or even notice that you’ve disappeared except your creditors anyway. Sure, Optimus is only invested in you to keep his own people safe and out of a weird sense of honor, but you want to pretend he really cares. That you belong here and that this time home won’t be ripped out of your fingers.

• “Sure,” you say, little arms hugging his servo and the feel of your heart beating against him. So small, but you try so hard to be independent. Not asking him for anything, even though he’d try to find you whatever you need to be happy. Smiling all the time like you are now, even though it’s brittle. Pretending nothing touches you, when he can tell it does. And all he can do is wait for you to trust him. To really talk to him, because until then he’ll hoard those details of your past that you accidentally let slip.

Previous

[whosthere54]

Ok ok ok Royal au Royal au ararararah

now to yap about my Royal au cause I’m normal. (Longer post- I just infodump about my AU basically-)

So what I have in drafts is all mainly brothers or prison duo centric, as if you know my fics I usually write from Icarus’s perspective on things. The main ships I would be focusing on are ghaae, nightingstar, Wolftross, and then prison duo- but I have cameos of all of the cannon ships of course. I’m gonna kind of just go through and explain roles of my main guys tho- so hope you like this as a sort of starting summary? I guess?

Icarus is the crown prince of the gilded kingdom. Basically the other full representative of the overworld who’s not Fable. Basically, they are heir to the throne, have to maintain a public image, help Fable out with royal duties and pretty much prepare to be the next monarch to ensure a smooth transition if “mortal king Fable” passes away. (He can’t die- I’ll get to that maybe- but yknow. God.)

I’ll talk about Isla and things later in this post, so I won’t mention it now- but yeah. Icarus is the only heir to the gilded kingdom.

Centross is Icarus’s bodyguard (yes I’m going down that road for the prison duo content. I’m so unpredictable /silly/sarc/lh) Royal guard? Close enough probably. Which- idk if I have to get into what he does. I think you can assume. Protection stuff. He was a former assassin, having used to work with Enderian. I’m doing a cliche maybe- but- yknow- he was sent to kill Icarus, ended up unable to do so… so now he’s a bodyguard for them instead of going back to Enderian. (There’s probably a promise of mutual protection somewhere- I’m sure Icarus would not have let Fable give them a bodyguard before then, and when he did they’d make it everyone’s problem- instead wanting to prove they could protect themself. There’s something there. Yeah.)

Wolftross is yes a thing, I think they were probably together for a while- maybe not long after he first became a royal guard. At Icarus’s request, he can visit Fenris whenever he wants probably. Easton replaces him when he’s gone (even after he became blind- at Icarus’s request he will continue that role. They trust him- and he’s capable.)

In the one thing I wrote, I gave him end features as well. I’m moreso debating on that- but I think it’d be a cool thing as a byproduct of being one of Enderian’s closest advisors and trusted assasin. Or- I give them to him later when he gets to be god. He gets them at some point- for me.

Rae is the crown prince of the end kingdom- full representative of the end that is not Enderian. I’d think she gives him more freedom than Icarus gets from fable, her being the end mother she is. She did have the same I guess cruel past that she does in cannon- I’m trying to figure out how I’m translating s1 into this AU still, and maybe you’ll get a oneshot of that eventually. Atleast the prison arc- of course. He left the gilded kingdom (either with Isla, or later on his own I have drafts for. But- probably with Isla) and lived with Isla for a bit- she runs for help from soul and things like in cannon and she helps hide them for a bit. Though- Isla ends up having Rae stay with Enderian. She probably stays as long as she can without compermising Rae’s safety, but maybe gets caught by Fable eventually.

Fenris is Rae’s bodyguard. He is a former general for the Nether’s army, just like in cannon. (I have to rewatch some of his lore before confidently talking about how he gets to become Rae’s bodyguard, so I’m sorry I won’t have too much info at the moment <3)

He becomes Rae’s bodyguard later- Enderian probably heard of his reputation as “the wolf” and hired him. (May try to include the wolf arc- but am again, trying to figure out how to integrate it.)

Now- basic plot summary? Something of the sort? Yeah. Some random details too cause I have no one train of thought ever and am just writing whatever I think of down. /lh

So for some backstory- Islas story is basically the same as in lore. But it changes for that bit after Rae was born just to adhere to the different circumstances Royal AU brings to the table. So, Rae grows a bit before Isla takes him and runs in this AU- he’s older, couldn’t tell you how old (age is a lie/silly/j) but just. A child. She notices how he’s being treated by Fable, takes him and leaves. She doesn’t take Icarus. There’s a lot of consideration for that fact- of course there is. Their her child. But- they’re not close, Fable makes sure of that. They spend most of their time with him, and their his heir after all. Their disappearance would be the worst to explain. So she doesn’t take them with her.

She takes Rae, and over the course of a few years- stays in a sort of safe house like in cannon, learns the things she does there, goes to soul for help, all that stuff. But she ends up taking Rae to Enderian, he becomes crown prince. She stays with them until it compromises Rae’s safety. Fable finds her, she doesn’t give away that she’d stayed with Enderian and that stays secret for a long time. Fable finds her, messes with her memories and things (he’s messed with Icarus’s too at this point- probably erasing Rae entirely) end she goes into a coma. He locks her away, Icarus doesn’t even know she’s here- and ends up having no memories of her anyways. Only fable knows where she’s locked away. Some tower in the castle sleeping beauty style probably.

Rae grows up in the end kingdom, Icarus grows up in the overworld.

Rae meets Caspian in the end prison- advocating for his freedom and things. He gets him a place in the end kingdom, and they get together at a peaceful festival in the overworld. That is an annual festival- Rae meets aax and takes her there too. He and Cas talk- and probably end up asking Aax out there too- making a whole day out of it probably. It’s a tradition for them, after all.

Aax lives with Cas, and Rae stays with them on weekends? Mayhaps? Something like that. He’s allowed to visit them whenever.

I like to think maybe Cas helps Athena and Bruin run the bakery on occasion. Bed and breakfast. Idk. Rae is definelty still the taste tester on Aax safe foods. And also a waiter on opening day for multiple reasons- one, it’s funny- two, yknow. Royal press. Media(?) purposes. Yknow what I mean hopefully.

Also- end kingdom I think had parts in the overworld and end? Like- overworld has the stronghold portal as the center and then made a kingdom around that, and then there’s an end part of the kingdom. This was probably a result of a peace treaty Isla had led years before between the realms after the war. Because badass mother deserves it. But to explain that- yeah. I think the Nether doesn’t- but has a trading hub spreading through portals and things. Yknow. Just not kingdom- I think the overworld is still more cold to people from the nether so. No kingdom. But portals can be made anywhere instead of having just one like the end, so that makes sense.

Gilded kingdom is just the biggest kingdom in the overworld areas we know- as Fable is the god of creation. I just have cool ideas for kingdom designs. May build them in Minecraft actually who knows- (if I do I will in fact post the pictures)

The Aether kingdom was a thing for souls and stuff as it was in cannon, but fell the same way. Alerion and Will live peacefully in one of the overworld kingdoms living normal lives away from everything, as they deserve.

A lot of the fable characters probably lives in the overworld, and just travel between realms.

Athena’s house probably has an area like his lab, where half is in the overworld and half is in the nether. If not, maybe their bed and breakfast- or atleast she has some nether bakery locations maybe with nether specific treats! Cause I think they deserve it and I just think it’d be cool.

Will has a cartographers shop in his village- like a cartographer villager type thing.

Rae has his archives he runs in his kingdom, there are two- one in the overworld part and one in the nether.

Starbarks definelty exists, does Fenris cannonly in this AU run all of the businesses he runs in actual cannon? Probably not. Do they exist? Probably.

Ven works as a close advisor for Fable, and Ari is hired as a knight or general of a sort for fable. Maybe more like a spy. Cat scratch records exist probably.

The world sisters do exist, most likely- (logistically if this was like a alternate “fable raises Icarus AU” they probably wouldn’t but I can do what I want and I say they’re here cause I love them- /silly)

Addie- Addie idk- maybe they work on like a night shift for the archives? Or like as an intern.

Ulysses- idk where to put Ulysses. Oh you silly fish man you. I will incorporate all the telchin stuff, definetly, I think just think of the cannon lore for that one.

Also- Quixis is there somewhere. Probably not in the same way for plot- but gotta include them in every au somehow /silly

Yeah. Royal AU. I’m eepy so I shut up- but hope you like my rambling ig idk-

I didn’t realize y’all enjoyed this au that much- I appreciate all the excitement about it /gen tehe <3

[lightlycareless]

I was thinking about your portrayal of Naoya and I was already thinking of a JJK actor au which led me to think of how actor Naoya upon hearing that Y/N was going to be in this new romance movie, I feel like he’d immediately use all his connections(Ofc he could audition but he needs to make this a sure thing plus he’s fs a Nepo Baby XD but at least he’s got the skills too) just so he can be in that movie with Y/N(Maybe the Male lead was gonna be Nanami too!). I bet they’d end up getting together by the end of filming Teehee. You don’t have to write anything if you don’t wanna but I thought you might think this au is fun too if only to just daydream about it :D

Heya anon!!

Thank you for your patience hehe. I have to say, AU’s where Y/N or Naoya are a celebrity is kind of like my guilty pleasure; I don’t really indulge much on it because I don’t have a plot line most of the time, but this was the perfect excuse to see what I can do with it :> I just hope you enjoy it!! Also, this is going to be a two-part oneshot so… yeah hehe.

Btw, thank you all for those who voted for fluff, but we know how this goes so I had to put a little bit of drama somewhere :) it’s Naoya we’re talking about.

Warnings: AU. Naoya and Y/N are actors; he’s an idiot, a nepobaby, womanizer, etc etc, but we already knew all that. What’s interesting is his so called redemption OOF.

Happy reading!

Established actor Naoya that’s quite popular amongst the audience even with the rumors of his difficult work ethic, less than desirable personality, and blatant nepotism, thanks to his good looks and deceiving charm.

Because of his status, whatever project he wants, he gets. Sure, there are some that still have the audacity to require an audition from him, but it’s just a formality that he dejectedly complies to—Naoya knows that even when doing a bad job, he’ll still get the part at the end of the day.

But that doesn’t mean Naoya goes for any kind of role; he’s quite specific about what he wants: a pretty co-star.

And the studios had a variety of reasons to allow such demands, starting from a financial benefit: with a handsome face like his to match with an equally attractive coworker, he’ll only sell-out all functions; and in turn, he’ll get his fair share of enjoyment with his fellow partner of the moment. The same ones he discards immediately after getting bored; careless if they unwittingly got feelings for him—but nonetheless a win-win situation all around.

Such a quick lifestyle has him already setting eyes on his next target, a relatively unknown rising star with a seemingly promising future whom he was immediately smitten by upon seeing her for the first time, just as the rest of the world was.

“Y/N L/N” Naoya would repeat, enjoying how the sound of your name rolled off his tongue—fitting for someone of your beauty: vibrant eyes, rosy cheeks, shiny hair… and to top it all off, a humble yet shy demeanor that just made his obsession for you grow tenfold.

Wouldn't be the first time he’s grown interested in up and coming actresses, because in Naoya’s perspective, they’re much easier to impress, far more gullible to manipulate how he wants…

But it would be the first time he’s ever been so desperately obsessed to be with, for soon after he saw you, you became all he thought about. Causing him issues with his current fling (it briefly grazed the headlines, his team quickly fixed that)and some commitments he almost fumbled, keyword: almost.

Naoya couldn’t explain it; there was just something about you that attracted him, almost like you were destined to be together.

He needed you—one way or the other—and he needed you now.

Per usual, he soon demanded his manager and assistants to get a detailed list of all your upcoming projects, to see which ones he could be part of, and if neither were to his advantage, make those opportunities. Naoya was not to let you go so easily.

”A movie adaptation for some romance series that’s been in the talks for a while now.” His manager highlighted. “It’s her biggest work yet as a protagonist—in fact, development just started because of her.”

”Romance?” Naoya breathed, excited at the implications. “Do they have the male lead yet? I don’t think I need to tell you what I want, do I?”

”Oh, uh, no—you don’t, but… about that—“

”What is it?” It was always frightening to see how easily his behavior oscillated when facing his disapproval, but once already here…

“What?! What do you mean the casting’s already done?! Why wasn't I made aware of this????”

Because as obvious as his womanizing ways were, it would be physically impossible to have him assist every single call in hopes he’d settle with someone attractive enough for his standards.

Besides, this project already had their co-stars in mind way before it was even announced, the studio was just waiting for the right female lead to come along: and when that proved to be you…

Nanami was quickly brought on board, perfect for the role in all ways that mattered: from physical similarities to his character which made the fandom very, very satisfied, to work ethic; his professionalism was always beyond everyone’s expectations, no one has ever complained about him.

Kento was, hands down, a dream to work with—and considering what all of this meant, it was safe to say that Naoya was not happy about it.

”Well, get them to change actors!” He quickly demanded. “Call them and let them know I want the part, should be easy enough considering my status, no?”

”Ah, I— I guess I could but I’ve heard other people tried before and failed… so I don’t want to waste your time if you’re going to face that same result…”

The way how other’s interest in the film is implied behind his words makes Naoya’s eyes widen. Because surely no one cares about participating in that irrelevant series he’s never heard of until now, if it didn’t mean getting to work with you, that is. Everyone’s favorite girl of the moment.

His girl.

Ever the competitive one, it doesn’t take him much longer after that to call who he had to call, bribe who he had to bribe to finally, after many insistences, sign the contract that effectively labels him as your co-star.

Careless if his decision would prove detrimental to the project in the long run, or if it would strain relations between him and Nanami. Naoya never really minded him, outside of being bundled together with some other actors the audience generally cataloged as the most handsome in the country—if this change meant they’d never get to work together, fine! He had obtained a much better reward in return anyways.

Naoya wasn’t to allow anyone to deprive him of what was rightfully his—even if he wasn’t aware of it beforehand—and thus, when the fateful day to start working alongside you finally came along, the moment he’d see you for the first time without the interference of a screen, or through a picture—

His breath ran short. Heart skipping a beat when his eyes fell on your figure: truly, the cameras did you no justice.

You were far more breathtakingly beautiful in person.

So much was his shock, that the smooth introduction he had planned for the moment was limited to a stuttering mess, a shame to someone as charismatic as him.

”You’re—you’re Zen’in—No, I mean, I’m—“ Naoya says, a stranger to the heat forming in his cheeks, inwardly demeaning the weak presentation he must’ve given you now.

But if he wasn't already fixated enough on you, the way you appeared to be indifferent to his nerves completely captivated him. A wide smile on your lips as you greeted him with that same enthusiasm that made the whole world fall to your feet.

”Nice to meet you, Naoya!” You chirp. “I can’t believe we’re working together��� I mean, so early in my career! Thank you so much for this opportunity, I promise I won’t disappoint!”

”The pleasure’s all mine.” And so is the curse you’ve seem to have unwittingly placed upon him after sweetly declaring you’d be under his care.

He’s made up his mind, Naoya will make you fall in love with him in less of what it takes to wrap up this movie. He’ll make you his, and will go to any length to ensure so.

Even if it meant ignoring your father’s (your manager, a veteran actor of days past) clear warnings.

”Don’t think I don’t know how your kind works.” Eiichi, your father, threatens Naoya during a short moment of privacy. “And I’m well aware of the rumors that surround you, even if you have your team quiet them. I should’ve known you were up to something the moment you insisted on Nanami’s removal—but I’ll let you know that whatever it is that you have in mind, I won’t allow it.”

”I assure you, Eiichi-san, I have no other intentions with your daughter outside of making our best efforts to have this picture timely done.” Naoya cynically responded, which just made your dad even angrier. Your co-star thinks your manager is an all bark, no bite type of dog. An old dog too, and treats him like such.

“Then surely asking you to act appropriately for once in your life isn’t too much to demand, is it?” He frowns. “Especially for someone who’s barely starting in the genre.”

”Wait—you mean to say—“

If this is your first romance movie, does that mean…

You haven’t done your first on-camera kiss?

Or perhaps even better—you haven’t kissed anyone at all?

Not quite, nor were you ever going to disclose personal matters that truly only belonged to you.

But if your father intended to protect you, he really, really shouldn’t have said that. Eiichi shouldn’t have gone ahead and essentially pushed you further into Naoya’s claws, his words being the last piece of motivation to become completely unhinged and make your time with him… tense, to say the least.

Oh, but how could he not? You were simply too adorable when trying to do your best to fulfill everyone’s expectations: barely putting up a fuss when Naoya got a bit too dramatic to what the script demanded, far more handsy, even when not recording: all for the sake of staying in character, he’d claim.

And when he dejectedly worked on those scenes where nothing of his interest was happening, you didn’t even complain. You kept quiet, submissive, taking the situation as best as you could and kept on working—because that’s what professional actresses do, isn’t it? And you’re nothing but the best.

But things didn’t really escalate until it was time to record that long-awaited kiss; what the script demanded to be the first kiss between their characters, in other words, something sweet, overall a touching scene.

However, Naoya naturally had to blur the line between his work and personal life—and instead of taking this moment as what it was, just two people trying to get the job done, he decided to… mark it as some declaration of feelings.

Confirmation that the time the two had spent together, a few weeks now, had actually amounted to something; aside from figuring out what your soft lips tasted like.

Because to Naoya, those interactions in between breaks, outside of the set, and even during filming, had been quite meaningful to him. To you too, he suspects.

Your shy nature just didn’t allow you to openly affirm it, a little push was all you needed to do so.

”Don’t be nervous, dumpling.” Is the nickname he’d given you upon seeing your excitement for last week's catering. You’ve politely told him it wasn’t necessary to call you that, but he insisted otherwise, calling it their very first inside joke. What everyone does to get along better. “Just follow my lead and I’ll worry about everything else, ok?”

Not exactly the reassuring words you were searching for, but for someone of Naoya’s expertise, alongside the physical hold he had over you at this point, hands over your arms, keeping you close to his chest… it’s not like you could demand otherwise.

And so, after everyone was in position, the director finally signals the scene to begin: Naoya delivers the script with an uncharacteristic perfection, outside of that slight rush behind his words, eager to get to that one particular moment, it’s obvious he’s been looking forward to recording this.

To kiss you, which he abruptly does by suddenly moving his face towards yours and then, captivating your lips onto his—giving more than his interpretation of the character’s desire: it was him wanting to take in your scent, warmth, touch, everything, and bask in it.

Claim it as his own, for those in the room, and the world in due time, to see.

One might’ve even assumed you were fine with his intentions too, given how you didn’t complain nor fight back against his desperate gesture, struggling to follow his lead in a way that appeared he was trying to eat you alive.

Which thankfully didn’t happen once the director cut the scene, and just before you ran out of breath.

”Naoya, while I appreciate the enthusiasm, that was—a bit too much.” The director said; if he was aware of your and Naoya’s fluster, he didn’t comment. “Let’s do it again, from the top.”

Normally, Naoya would’ve retorted at what he considered unnecessary reshooting, apparently his time was far more valuable than the rest even when he was being paid millions to be there… but this time around, he was nothing but obliging, in fact, Naoya even suggested that they’d go at it once more just to be sure they captured the right sentiment. Fulfill his desire.

With each time becoming more and more desperate than the other.

Naoya frequently claimed himself to be immune to any kind of addiction, thought of it as weak for the character, above such “petty” faults—But when it came to you… he just proved to be as human as the rest.

He physically needed to have all of you; they’d have to forcibly pry him away to stop—

Or for you to do so, swiftly placing your hands over his chest and pushing him away when it became too much, putting an end to the scene before the director could and subsequently raising many eyebrows around you.

”What’s wrong, Y/N?” The director asks upon seeing your distraught face—exhausted from the many reshoots, and of course, Naoya’s overbearing ways. “Is everything alright?”

”Ye-yeah, I just… I’m sorry, I think I need a break.” You silently plead, looking over to your manager who was more than ready to step in if your request was dismissed; which thankfully, wasn’t. The director sighing before turning around and stating:

”Alright everyone, take 5.”

The perfect opportunity for Naoya to follow through with his so-called affirmation of feelings, trailing behind you soon after.

“Hey, dumpling, wait up! There’s something I need to—“

”Not right now, Naoya.” You respond, your pace unwavering. You didn’t even turn to face him. “I have to—be alone for a moment.”

”Y/N—“

Your father and sister, manager and assistant respectively, close in on you and break eye contact between the two, allowing you retreat into what he assumed your dressing room—

And leaving him behind to deal with his anger, which he immediately takes out on the director, stomping his way to him and giving him a piece of his mind.

“So you’re just going to let her go?” Naoya hisses, the man, having worked with him on previous occasions, simply sighs.

”What do you want me to do, Naoya? You saw how she ran away.” He responds. “Besides, we’ve been at it all day, I’m tired too.”

”This is just going to ruin the pace of the film, you know that, right? You should, considering your… experience.”

”Look, Naoya— it’s quite obvious what you were trying to do back there, I’ve seen it before; but we’re not going to discuss that.” He adds. “The girl is new in the game, naive, and overprotected. Did you know that her management sent us a long list of requisites after the studio offered her a contract? If it weren’t for her family, she would’ve been immediately dismissed.”

”Requisites? What kind of requisites?”

“None that I can discuss with you, but I guess I could tell you the obvious: you were not part of them. There’s a reason why Nanami was firmly set for your role, but guess that doesn’t matter since you know your way around these things…”

”Is there something else you’re hiding from me? Why bring it up if you’re not going to tell me anyways!” Naoya growls. Why was Nanami brought up again, out of nowhere??

”Just take 5 minutes, Naoya. Clear up your head, we still have a long day ahead.” The director insists. “And if it’s worth anything, Y/N will be back, she’s very dedicated to her work, I’ll give her that. Even with your weird… plays, I’m sure.”

But that wasn’t enough to calm Naoya—not with the way you essentially fled from him.

Your behavior led a part of him to feel… inadequate. Underperforming—stupid.

Rejected.

And he’s never been rejected before.

A dangerous observation to make considering his easily ignited attitude.

The moment you were back, he’d demand an answer. Hear, directly from you, why you’d cruelly dismiss his advances when he had been nothing but nice to you.

… but that moment wouldn’t come today.

In fact, not even in the subsequent ones, for after everyone was abruptly requested to go home, the studio announced that filming would go on a brief hiatus to sort out some… unexpected issues—which Naoya immediately connected to you given your radio silence.

Forcing him to directly reach out to you… but you’d never answer. In fact, all of his attempts were swiftly ignored; your team didn’t even acknowledge them! As if dealing with junk mail.

Naoya’s desperation naturally spiked after that, frantically searching for an answer—

Which he’d get soon enough, but only through a tabloid which probably described the worst case scenario he could’ve imagined unfolding for this situation:

��Y/N to abandon latest project—close sources blame differences between protagonists.”

Naoya’s heart sinks.

Also, I wish to apologize if these little comma things “ appear weird? Like not the right ones at the beginning? I’m currently out of my home so all of my writing is being done through a tablet lol I’ll come back later to fix them :> I hope it didn’t ruin your reading experience :’v

And I might as well comment I didn’t feel like ending part one with just the headline, but at the same time the whole naoya’s heart skins doesn’t completely convince me…. But I don’t know, might be my impostor’s syndrome or something who knows!!!! All that I know is I have to make Naoya pathetic on the second part, so if anyone has any ideas of what you’d like to see send them in hehe I want to make him suffer :) or at least guilty, damn…

Anyways, I hope it was to your liking!! I shall proceed with the following part after I write down a little smut hehe. Thank you so much for sending in this ask, take care and hope to see you soon!!!

[caterpillarinacave]

You can't keep living this way you decide, not that it's a bad way to live of course, but the draw to understanding this mystery and the opportunity to go home is too strong to deny. Still, no need to rush foolishly. You plan out your next steps, keeping in mind the possibility of those who may come after you, you write down all you know as clearly as you can and copy the knowledge across three notebooks. One you plan to leave at the house of your friends, another you place in a waterproof container and plan to set around the door, the last you keep for yourself as a journal you want to keep along the way. As for your future, you know searching for any cults spells trouble so you dismiss the idea, and travelling away from the door further in to the world feels like a waste of energy. While you take the time to write out your notebooks you also work out some interesting questions:

1. The hairbrush from the store. You know from asking around that the hairbrush was found in the forest by someone who wasn't sure what it was and gave it to the shop who sold it to you. You think it's likely something that fell into this world from your world somehow, perhaps through the doorway? If the notebook you found from the previous traveller is to be believed then the brush has developed a magic around it which may explain why it changes your hair color when brushing. If there is any deeper reasoning you can't find it.

2. The walkie intrigues you, you keep it on and near you for now. Thankfully, like your phone, it seems to retain its charge. From this point forward you're sure you'll notice if it makes any noise.

3. The berries are interesting. They make you feel better when you eat them, like a health potion almost. Probably has something to do with it having passed through the door. You wonder if any berries around the door also may be affected as they must be descendents of berries that fell through over time.

4. You take out the other items you collected from the brambles and check them each in turn.

The spinning top is metal and smooth. It looks like a toy top, though well made. It offers no clues of an owner. You give it a spin as one does when presented a top and it spins very well, but you notice nothing else happening. In fact, the whole time it spins it seems as if everything except you has gone silent. Once it falls the world resumes.

The dog tag is old and worn, whatever name there may have been once is no longer legible. Studying it provides you no insight into it.

The funnel you found is metal and strange but offers no idea of who the owner may be. You mess with it a bit and find when you hold it to your ear you can hear things from very far away. You aren't sure the specifics of how far though.

The whistle you try blowing again and each time one of the riding creatures comes running up to the house. Not always the same one though and never both. You think the whistle might be calling whichever one is closest to you when you use it.

After a few days you're finished writing your notes and copies. You pack a day bag and head over to the door to inspect it and leave one of your notebooks. On the way you try out some of the berries further away from the door, they taste like berries, good but not like the ones you took through the door. The closer you get to the door the more you think they might be tasting like yours, but you you aren't sure if that's accurate or if your mind is making things up. Once you reach the door you find a secure place to put the waterproof box holding the notebook and look around. You don't find anything of interest so you turn to the door itself. It stands there, still and patient, almost as if it's waiting to see what you'll do. You take your key and open the white door, careful not to step through.

Through the door you see what you noticed before. It opens to an alleyway, a concrete road, a garbage can, a place you might run across in your world, though a look up you can see a bright yellow sky, so you know it isn't yours. You pull out your walkie and try it close to the door, you don't expect anything as usual of course, so imagine your surprise when on the other side you hear something garbled through the static. You can't understand what's being said, but you tell there is someone on the other end purposefully speaking.

You've now learned a little more about the things you hold, you've laid down a path for success for those who come after you, and you've discovered a little more about this mystery with the emergence of a voice on the other end of the walkie, though you can't hear it clearly. No matter how long you wait you don't think you'll be able to get a clearer signal with the walkie, the closer you get to the door the more sounds you hear though you still can't parse any of it out, and there's no saying if you pass through the door it will sound better. Do you walk through the door?

No

[kijosakka]

sitting here literally typing up diagrams for the dynamics in hadys and. realizing my grasp on the canon characters are too flimsy for the fic im trying to write. like im gna have to comb through three (3) whole seasons and pick them all apart properly to feel satisfied in my development with them

[passthroughtime]

my fucking god, rereading your own wips is such a chore. and no one ever warned me about that.

[renthony]

Your personal triggers and squicks do not get to determine what kind of art other people make.

People make shit. It's what we do. We make shit to explore, to inspire, to explain, to understand, but also to cope, to process, to educate, to warn, to go, "hey, wouldn't that be fucked up? Wild, right?"

Yes, sure, there are things that should be handled with care if they are used at all. But plenty more things are subjective. Some things are just not going to be to your tastes. So go find something that is to your tastes and stop worrying so much about what other people are doing and trying to dictate universal moral precepts about art based on your personal triggers and squicks.

I find possession stories super fucking triggering if I encounter them without warning, especially if they function as a sexual abuse metaphor. I'm not over here campaigning for every horror artist to stop writing possession stories because they make me feel shaky and dissociated. I just check Does The Dog Die before watching certain genres, and I have my husband or roommate preview anything I think might upset me so they can give me more detail. And if I genuinely don't think I can't handle it, I don't watch it. It's that simple.

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

“Show, Don’t Tell”…But This Time Someone Explains It

If you’ve ever been on the hunt for writing advice, you've definitely seen the phrase “Show, Don’t Tell.”

Writeblr coughs up these three words on the daily; it’s often considered the “Golden Rule” of writing. However, many posts don't provide an in-depth explanation about what this "Golden Rule" means (This is most likely to save time, and under the assumption that viewers are already informed).

More dangerously, some posts fail to explain that “Show, Don’t Tell” occasionally doesn’t apply in certain contexts, toeing a dangerous line by issuing a blanket statement to every writing situation. 

The thing to take away from this is: “Show, Don’t Tell” is an essential tool for more immersive writing, but don't feel like a bad writer if you can’t make it work in every scenario (or if you can’t get the hang of it!)

1. What Does "Show, Don't Tell" Even Mean?

“Show, Don’t Tell” is a writing technique in which the narrative or a character’s feelings are related through sensory details rather than exposition. Instead of telling the reader what is happening, the reader infers what is happening due to the clues they’ve been shown.

EXAMPLE 1:

Telling: The room was very cold. Showing: She shivered as she stepped into the room, her breath steaming in the air.

EXAMPLE 2:

Telling: He was furious. Showing: He grabbed the nearest book and hurled it against the wall, his teeth bared and his eyes blazing.

EXAMPLE 3 ("SHOW, DON'T TELL" DOESN'T HAVE TO MEAN "WRITE A LOT MORE")

Telling: The room hadn't been lived in for a very long time. Showing: She shoved the door open with a spray of dust.

Although the “showing” sentences don’t explicitly state how the characters felt, you as the reader use context clues to form an interpretation; it provides information in an indirect way, rather than a direct one.

Because of this, “Show, Don’t Tell” is an incredibly immersive way to write; readers formulate conclusions alongside the characters, as if they were experiencing the story for themselves instead of spectating. 

As you have probably guessed, “showing” can require a lot more words (as well as patience and effort). It’s a skill that has to be practiced and improved, so don’t feel discouraged if you have trouble getting it on the first try!

2. How Do I Use “Show, Don’t Tell” ?

There are no foolproof parameters about where you “show” and not “tell" or vice versa; it’s more of a writing habit that you develop rather than something that you selectively decide to employ.

In actuality, most stories are a blend of both showing and telling, and more experienced writers instinctively switch between one and another to cater to their narrative needs. You need to find a good balance of both in order to create a narrative that is both immersive and engaging.

i. Help When Your Writing Feels Bare-Bones/Soulless/Boring

Your writing is just not what you’ve pictured in your head, no matter how much you do it over. Conversations are stilted. The characters are flat. The sentences don’t flow as well as they do in the books you've read. What’s missing?

It’s possibly because you’ve been “telling” your audience everything and not “showing”! If a reader's mind is not exercised (i.e. they're being "spoon-fed" all of the details), your writing may feel boring or uninspired!

Instead of saying that a room was old and dingy, maybe describe the peeling wallpaper. The cobwebs in the corners. The smell of dust and old mothballs. Write down what you see in your mind's eye, and allow your audience to formulate their own interpretations from that. (Scroll for a more in-depth explanation on HOW to develop this skill!)

ii. Add More Depth and Emotion to Your Scenes

Because "Show, Don't Tell" is a more immersive way of writing, a reader is going to feel the narrative beats of your story a lot more deeply when this rule is utilized.

Describing how a character has fallen to their knees sobbing and tearing our their hair is going to strike a reader's heart more than saying: "They were devastated."

Describing blood trickling through a character's fingers and staining their clothes will seem more dire than saying: "They were gravely wounded."

iii. Understand that Sometimes Telling Can Fit Your Story Better

Telling can be a great way to show your characters' personalities, especially when it comes to first-person or narrator-driven stories. Below, I've listed a few examples; however, this list isn't exclusive or comprehensive!

Initial Impressions and Character Opinions

If a character describes someone's outfit as "gaudy" or a room as "absolutely disgusting," it can pack more of a punch about their initial impression, rather than describing the way that they react (and can save you some words!). In addition, it can provide some interesting juxtaposition (i.e. when a character describes a dog as "hideous" despite telling their friend it looks cute).

2. Tone and Reader Opinions

Piggybacking off of the first point, you can "tell, not show" when you want to be certain about how a reader is supposed to feel about something. "Showing" revolves around readers drawing their own conclusions, so if you want to make sure that every reader draws the same conclusion, "telling" can be more useful! For example, if you describe a character's outfit as being a turquoise jacket with zebra-patterned pants, some readers may be like "Ok yeah a 2010 Justice-core girlie is slaying!" But if you want the outfit to come across as badly arranged, using a "telling" word like "ridiculous" or "gaudy" can help set the stage.

3. Pacing

"Show, don't tell" can often take more words; after all, describing a character's reaction is more complicated than stating how they're feeling. If your story calls for readers to be focused more on the action than the details, such as a fight or chase scene, sometimes "telling" can serve you better than "showing." A lot of writers have dedicated themselves to the rule "tell action, show emotion," but don't feel like you have to restrict yourself to one or the other.

iv. ABOVE ALL ELSE: Getting Words on the Page is More Important!

If you’re stuck on a section of your story and just can’t find it in yourself to write poetic, flowing prose, getting words on the paper is more important than writing something that’s “good.” If you want to be able to come back and fix it later, put your writing in brackets that you can Ctrl + F later.

Keeping your momentum is the hardest part of writing. Don't sacrifice your inspiration in favor of following rules!

3. How Can I Get Better at “Show, Don’t Tell”?

i. Use the Five Senses, and Immerse Yourself!

Imagine you’re the protagonist, standing in the scene that you have just created. Think of the setting. What are things about the space that you’d notice, if you were the one in your character’s shoes?

Smell? Hear? See? Touch? Taste?

Sight and sound are the senses that writers most often use, but don’t discount the importance of smell and taste! Smell is the most evocative sense, triggering memories and emotions the moment someone walks into the room and has registered what is going on inside—don’t take it for granted. And even if your character isn’t eating, there are some things that can be “tasted” in the air.

EXAMPLE:

TELLING: She walked into the room and felt disgusted. It smelled, and it was dirty and slightly creepy. She wished she could leave. SHOWING: She shuffled into the room, wrinkling her nose as she stepped over a suspicious stain on the carpet. The blankets on the bed were moth-bitten and yellowed, and the flowery wallpaper had peeled in places to reveal a layer of blood-red paint beneath…like torn cuticles. The stench of cigarettes and mildew permeated the air. “How long are we staying here again?” she asked, flinching as the door squealed shut. 

The “showing” excerpt gives more of an idea about how the room looks, and how the protagonist perceives it. However, something briefer may be more suited for writers who are not looking to break the momentum in their story. (I.e. if the character was CHASED into this room and doesn’t have time to take in the details.)

ii. Study Movies and TV Shows: Think like a Storyteller, Not Just a Writer

Movies and TV shows quite literally HAVE TO "show, and not tell." This is because there is often no inner monologue or narrator telling the viewers what's happening. As a filmmaker, you need to use your limited time wisely, and make sure that the audience is engaged.

Think about how boring it would be if a movie consisted solely of a character monologuing about what they think and feel, rather than having the actor ACT what they feel.

(Tangent, but there’s also been controversy that this exposition/“telling” mindset in current screenwriting marks a downfall of media literacy. Examples include the new Percy Jackson and Avatar: The Last Airbender remakes that have been criticized for info-dumping dialogue instead of “showing.”)

If you find it easy to envision things in your head, imagine how your scene would look in a movie. What is the lighting like? What are the subtle expressions flitting across the actors' faces, letting you know just how they're feeling? Is there any droning background noise that sets the tone-- like traffic outside, rain, or an air conditioner?

How do the actors convey things that can't be experienced through a screen, like smell and taste?

Write exactly what you see in your mind's eye, instead of explaining it with a degree of separation to your readers.

iii. Listen to Music

I find that because music evokes emotion, it helps you write with more passion—feelings instead of facts! It’s also slightly distracting, so if you’re writing while caught up in the music, it might free you from the rigid boundaries you’ve put in place for yourself.

Here’s a link to my master list of instrumental writing playlists!

iv. Practice, Practice, Practice! And Take Inspiration from Others!

“Show Don’t Tell” is the core of an immersive scene, and requires tons of writing skills cultivated through repeated exposure. Like I said before, more experienced writers instinctively switch between showing and telling as they write— but it’s a muscle that needs to be constantly exercised!

If I haven’t written in a while and need to get back into the flow of things, I take a look at a writing prompt, and try cultivating a scene that is as immersive as possible! Working on your “Show, Don’t Tell” skills by practicing writing short, fun one-shots can be much less restrictive than a lengthier work.

In addition, get some inspiration and study from reading the works of others, whether it be a fanfiction or published novel!

If you need some extra help, feel free to check out my Master List of Writing Tips and Advice, which features links to all of my best posts, each of them categorized !

Hope this helped, and happy writing!

[prettieinpink]

PROCESSING YOUR EMOTIONS WITHOUT SUPPRESSING THEM - TECHNIQUES

this post is all about how to process emotions that we are uncomfortable with, safely and positively. Today, I’d like it if you’d try to implement at least one technique today!

REMINDERS

Remember that when you feel an emotion, it is your body communicating itself to you. Listen to your emotion, and understand.

All emotions are temporary, and will pass. But some can leave a more long term effect on us.

Having the skill of sitting through uncomfortable emotions calmly, and not let it impact our lives greatly will serve you well.

TECHNIQUES

STOP TECHNIQUE

S- Stop what you’re doing, pause all activities and shut off your brain.

T- Take a few deep breathes, continue until your focus is only on breathing deeply.

O- Observe your thoughts, your body language, any physical sensations and acknowledge them within you.

P- Proceed with any activity that may help you process this emotion. Meditation, journaling, stretching, talking to someone, etc.

ALL TECHNIQUE

A- Acknowledge, accept and alllow what you feel. Identify what emotion you feel, if you can’t, try to associate it with something. Sit in this feeling for awhile and truly accept it within you.

L- Link it to a circumstance or situation that may explain why you’re feeling this way. E.g ‘I feel so irritated lately, it may be because I’ve been eating sugary foods more’

L- Learn what this emotion may be telling you. There’s not much detail on this because only you know what your body needs/wants.

SELF EXPRESSION

Draw, write, compose music on what this feeling looks like, sounds like, maybe even their taste. This really helps go deep in your emotions, analyse it and then hopefully process it.

[nereidprinc3ss]

baby fever

in which reader and spencer discuss having a baby while at work

fluff warnings/tags: fem/AFAB!reader, bau!reader, BOYFRIEND!SPENCER or husband if u so desire, discussions of pregnancy/having a baby (obviously), reader wants a baby, so does spencer a/n: god i need him so badly. should i write follow up smut?? mwahaha evil emoji......

The coffee finished brewing minutes ago, but you’re still standing by the pot, watching Anderson’s daughter toddling around the bullpen on chubby legs. She’s not very adept at walking, but her spirit is indomitable—every time she tips a little too far forward, she catches herself and gets right back up. It’s not like she’s doing anything particularly impressive or even interesting, but you can’t take your eyes off her. Every movement makes your heart twinge, every giggle or curious quirk of her head is so adorable it physically hurts in your chest. 

From your peripheral vision you see Spencer approaching, bearing his own empty mug, but not even he can draw your attention away from the adorable little pixie and her tutu and her pigtails. 

“That is the cutest kid I have ever seen in my life,” you whisper to Spencer, hoping the quiet tone of your voice will help hide how much you feel like cooing and squealing. 

He smiles to himself as he pours his coffee. 

“That’s Rosie. Have you said hi yet?” 

“I’m afraid if I talk to her I’ll try to keep her.” 

“She is pretty adorable.” 

You turn to him as he leans next to you on the counter, sipping his coffee casually. 

“Adorable? Spencer. Puppies are adorable. You’re not understanding the magnitude of what I mean right now. I can’t explain to you how much adorable doesn’t cut it. I’m not kidding about the child abduction thing.” 

HIs eyes slide around the room as he chuckles into his mug. 

“Let’s maybe not joke about kidnapping a child in FBI headquarters.” 

“I’m not joking,” you hiss. “I feel like I’m going insane. I just—” 

At the last second you stop yourself, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“You just what?” Spencer asks, adjusting the hem of your shirt with his free hand. You glance down, watching the care he takes in the tiniest detail that you wouldn’t have given a second thought to. 

“Is something wrong with my shirt?” 

His eyes flick up to yours, hazel tinted with mild surprise. 

“No. It just was sliding up your waist a little bit.” As he says it, his knuckles brush the bare skin of your torso. You suppress a shiver, studying his profile once he pulls his hand away and goes for another sip. 

“Can we have one?” 

Your inopportune timing results in coffee dribbling down Spencer’s chin as he quickly attempts to wipe it away, wide eyes torn between you and trying to assess the mess he’s made. 

“You--you mean like a baby?” 

“Yeah, like a baby,” you say, grabbing his shoulders and squaring them to you before dabbing the coffee from his face and jacket. He watches on as you clean him up, completely still except for his wandering eyes. 

“I thought we were waiting on that.” 

“Waiting for what? A better time? There’s never going to be a good time with this job. And it’s not like we’d have to quit. Look at JJ. She has two and still does it.” 

“First of all,” Spencer begins, quickly recovering from your surprise proposition, “I don’t love the idea of either of us being in the field with you pregnant. And secondly, JJ also has Will and her mother to take care of the boys. We don’t have that. We’re both here all the time.” 

“I don’t care,” you groan, trashing the paper towels once you’ve done the best you can with his clothing. “We’d figure it out somehow!” 

“Mhm. It sounds like you’ve really devoted some careful consideration to this.” 

You drop your head to your shoulder, giving him your best puppy dog eyes and pulling lightly on his shirtsleeve. 

“Oh, come on. You haven’t thought about it at all? My perfect brain and your pretty face fusing to create a future Nobel-prize winner? Imagine how cute she would be, Spencer, we could put her hair in little braids and pigtails and we could dress her up and she could be in soccer and ballet and—” 

“She?” he smiles, studying your face intently. You roll your eyes. 

“Yes, she. Obviously we would have a girl. You—” 

The idea of Spencer as the father of your daughter hits you like a tidal wave, stopping you dead in your tracks. The images materialize in your mind’s eye so clearly, it’s like they’re already memories, so real and tangible you have no doubt it must come to fruition someday. But if before, your ranting was mostly a silly fantasy—now it’s become a bit more intense. 

He seems to sense your shift in mood. The big smile thaws slightly as he subtly grabs your hand on the counter. 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

There he goes again. Being kind. Being perfect. 

Tears sting your eyes, but you don’t let them fall.  

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I just... didn’t realize how badly I actually wanted that until I said it out loud.” 

The concern in his eyes softens to pure affection as he runs his thumb over the back of your hand. 

“I want it too. And whenever you decide you’re ready I’ll drop everything for you.” 

His words are like compounding pressure to the deep heat within you—forming something so solid and perfect you don’t have to wonder if it’s real. A ten on the Mohs scale, a concept that gets closer to actualizing by the minute.  

Your voice is quiet, revelatory as you admire the amber facets in his eyes. 

“You’re ready?”  

“I’ve been ready for quite some time,” he admits. And at once you feel the certainty of him paint your past and your future with one broad brushstroke. One day you will look back on your life and remember the time before Spencer, and that will be it. There is before Spencer, and with Spencer, but never an after Spencer. He wants to create something utterly permanent with you. “Come here.” 

He sets his mug down, carefully pulling you forward so you’re toe to toe with your back to the rest of the BAU; so that only he can see you. Despite how good the two of you are at avoiding PDA, occasionally an exception is made. He tenderly wipes away the few tears that have sprung from your waterline and accepts your arms around his waist, mirroring your embrace and completely enveloping you.  

“I love you,” he murmurs against the top of your hair, quiet enough that nobody in the office has a chance of hearing it. You sniffle. 

“I love you too. Also you smell really good.” 

He chuckles, hand roaming up and down your back for a moment. 

“And that is why we are holding off on this at least for a while.” 

“What do you mean?” you whisper indignantly as he gently peels you off him. His hands remain a steadying force on your waist as he smiles down at you beatifically. 

“I mean let’s give it two weeks and see if you still want a baby when you’re not ovulating.” 

[voidhope]

The Other Woman

—

Synopsis: Where Miguel leaves Y/N to go back to a different version of his old wife found in another universe.

Pair: Miguel O’Hara x Spider!Reader

Tags: ANGST!!, long term established relationship, heartbreak, marriage, cheating, mental health, cold/distant Miguel

—

A/N: Hi! I don’t really write at all!!

I have been a silent reader on tumblr for years but this idea has been playing in my mind so much I had the urge to write it. I have been down so bad for Miguel been on his tag like 24/7 indulging in all the content creators have been putting out. So I’m excited to join in giving content, however keep in mind I kinda suck! Apologies for any mistakes, anything confusing, or it not being well written enough. Honestly could have made this into multiple parts with better details but nah. Tried my best ^^ since it’s my first time, any feedback is greatly appreciated!

Honestly tbh we all don’t have a solid grasp how the whole canon thing and multi universe works yet so!! A lot of what is written is made up to suit my storyline so please don’t get mad about the inaccuracies.

I love a good angst and today’s story will be EXTRAAA angsty!!! As well kinda long!!

—————————————————

The moment that changed your life was while working on an experiment during your college finals. You were a proud and gifted physics major that was so passionate about discovering and exploring what the world didn’t know.

You had snuck into Alchemax late at night. You wanted to show your professors just how much you could do with the right tools. Next thing you know, playing with their machines, you had spawned a spider right in-front of you. The glowing vibrant red spider had sunk its jaw into your hand.

Your life did a complete turn and you spent the rest of that week freaking out while changes to your body were happening. Causing you to fail your semester after missing exams. Things felt like it could only get worse when a massive blue suited masked man showed up out of nowhere in your dorm interrogating you.

“Where’s the spider?” He had a strong grip on your shoulders. You couldn’t focus while trying to process why this man had what seemed like claws sticking out of the ends of his fingers.

“I don’t know, it like died after it bit me!” You exclaimed nervously at the freakishly strong man. Trying to reach for anything behind you to use as a defense weapon.

“Dios mío no me digas eso…” He groaned loudly letting you go. Having the opportunity to grab something, you threw a sanrio plushie at him. Only causing him to wave his arms in annoyance. “That spider is from my earth and somehow you brought it here. Now you’re a spider-man.”

And the rest is history…

—

You learned that the man was Miguel O’Hara and when he found you he was just starting his missions with the multiverse. You being the few of the firsts to join his team.

Your situation was quite bizarre and he called you an anomaly for a long time, spending hours studying you and also training you. You ended up being the one case that can’t be explained no matter how much effort was put into monitoring you.

Almost like it was meant to be. Your universe remained perfect with its current spider-man doing fine. No big collapse of a black hole or anything. When you got bit by a spider from Earth-928 your DNA merged with that universe making you fit in perfectly. You were one of the only spider-people with an uncertain timeline with new canons being created depending on what universe you were in.

What changed from you being just a piece of research for Miguel is when he then realized that maybe you were a gift from the multiverse. After all the grief and pain he’d went through the universe had given him this person that worked out perfectly no matter how hard he tried to push them away. You fell head over heels for him and vice versa, all while canon events were being created with both of you together.

You were there as his team grew, slowly turning into a family. Then both of you getting married finalizing that this was your home. Everything felt perfect. Although a relationship with Miguel could have its up and down days, nothing could ever tear you both apart. Or so you assumed.

—

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Miguel couldn’t look at you.

“When did this start? Please be honest with me. Did I do something wrong?” You begged at him. You knew he was acting off recently but never did you think it would result to this.

You watched as he exhaled deeply staring at the ground. You felt like you couldn’t breathe as you studied his face trying to grasp onto any emotion he was showing. The atmosphere in his office felt so cold. You so badly wanted to catch his gaze and find the warmth and love his red irises used to give you. He was doing everything to push you away. He was abandoning you.

“You did nothing wrong. I met her during a mission 4 months ago.” Was all he replied.

“Who is she?” Your heart kept breaking. His face hardening as the question slipped through your lips. You knew Miguel wouldn’t leave you for just anyone. Deep in your heart you knew what this was about. He never responded but he didn’t need to when you saw his eyes flicker over to his monitor screens. You followed his trace and saw the photo of Gabriella in the corner.

“Does she have another version of your daughter?” You tried again. This is what made him look directly at you. Miguel kept opening and closing his month unsure how to tell you the truth. You weren’t stupid and he knew that. After everything he couldn’t just walk out on you with a lie.

“No.” He paused thinking of how to finally share the truth without it ruining you. There was no way out of this. “She is a younger version of herself. There is no Miguel in her universe and she’s not important to the timeline. She lives a regular life. I-it’s a chance for me to start at the very beginning.”

You felt your heart being ripped out of your chest. You processed the words carefully. She doesn’t have a child yet… Not only was he leaving you for her but he was going to fall in love with her all over again and start a family with her. A family you wanted so badly to have with him.

“What about with what happened last time you tried to live a life in a different universe?” You didn’t understand how this was happening.

He was always so carful he would never do anything to cause that again. Everything you had witness Miguel work so hard for to keep safe for years. Sleepless nights, returning bruised and beaten, frustrations and constant stress. Was it all for nothing? Is he throwing all his work away?

“This is different.” He turned away from you. “I pushed myself then into an already established life. This time I am creating that life. After all the research we did on you…” He knew that this was going to tear you apart. “I learned that if done right I could have a child from two different universes that won’t disrupt anything.”

It clicked to you then that all the research he was doing on you lately was for this. The research he did on you that time was different, personal, intimate even. As he was testing your DNAs together and seeing the outcomes. He mentioned a child and you were foolish enough to assume he was doing research to see what it would be like if you both had one together. You were giddy even as you watched him work. You had both spoken about having a family together in the past but had been too busy with spider activities. You thought it was a sign of him getting more serious about it, knowing how badly he wanted one. You would have never thought he was doing it to see how he could get back his previous child. The one you could never give him.

You had truly believe that Miguel had recovered from his obsession that his grief gave him. He accidentally destroyed a whole universe needing that life back so badly. You had spent late nights watching him re-watch clips over and over of what he had lost. It slowly stopped once your relationship blossomed with him and you thought he was ready to move on and start new. Why would you have never thought that with such a perfect opportunity presented to him that he wouldn’t drop everything for it.

“I think it’s best that you leave.” He spoke with a soft tone. As if not looking at you any longer will make the problem go away. You couldn’t wrap your mind around how he was just throwing you away like this. As if he wasn’t making you dinner, giving soft kisses, whispering I-love-you’s not so long ago.

You felt too choked up to ask anymore questions. Your throat tight and painful as you held back tears from escaping in-front of Miguel. You just nodded and headed straight out the door not being able to handle another second in that room. Your knees and hands were shaky as you speed walked into the nearest bathroom and let it all out.

—

It didn’t take long for everyone else to know something had happened. Everyone had gotten used to seeing you and him sitting together at lunch. You would make him cute lunch boxes and everyone would gag a bit while watching the two of you smile together. Some cringing seeing their scary boss being so soft around you. It was a big surprise when Miguel started to eat alone with a bag of take out food and you no where to be seen.

His teams he sent out for missions were all confused when you weren’t assigned to anything. Knowing you were one of the best, one of them slipped out a “Call for Y/N!” In the middle of fighting an anomaly too strong for them. Miguel only looked away.

It wasn’t until a new woman showed up in Miguel’s office with a grip around his waist. That’s when the spider-community realized that this was way worse than they thought.

—

You on the other hand had spilled everything to Hobie when he caught you that day leaving the bathroom with puffy eyes. You had been staying with him in his universe until you could gather yourself together to return to HQ. You knew you were going to leave for good, but you needed to go back to retrieve all your things. You couldn’t stay with Hobie forever. Worse that you weren’t from there.

You still had some hope that Miguel would come looking for you and tell you that he was all wrong. However almost two months had passed and not a word from him… That’s when you knew it was time you should return to what you once knew.

Stepping into the portal Hobie followed close behind you. He told the few others who were once close to both you and Miguel that you would be visiting. Stepping through the portal you were immediately greeted by Jessica and Peter B Parker.

“Oh, Y/N.” Jess sighed your name sadly while pulling you into a hug. You felt like you wanted to cry all over again. Missing your friends so much. Peter B came behind giving you a hug on the side.

“He’s on a mission right now.” Peter spoke up. “It might be a long one too but don’t waste anytime just incase.”

You nodded pulling away from them. Looking up around the headquarters building faintly smiling at the past memories you had here. You started heading to different areas gathering all the little things you had left around. Hobie had stitched for you a cute backpack with different scraps of patterned clothes and covered in patches of punk band logos but made with hammer space technology. Making it fun for you to fill endless of your things in the bag.

The last stop was in Miguel’s office. Doubt started to fill your mind; maybe he already threw out all of your stuff. Why would he even keep it after all of this? What no one could warn you of was the other person sitting on his platform.

“Hello!” She chirped at you. It felt like the air in your lungs had just been punched out. You knew her too well. From all the photos and videos you had seen peaking over Miguel’s shoulder. However seeing her in person was something you had never expected. You knew it wasn’t the original her but it was a copy paste image for sure.

“Hi.” Was all you managed to choke out. She was beautiful, stunning. You could see clearly now the similar features she shared in another universe with her daughter. The parts that Miguel didn’t have. She kept smiling kindly at you, almost in a graceful way. You started to feel all your insecurities start eating you up from the inside. How could you have ever compared to her.

“What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” Getting off Miguel’s platform she walked closer to you. The room started to feel suffocating.

“Y/N.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you! It’s nice to meet other girls around here.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you realized she had no reaction to your name. So Miguel never told her about you… Or that the fact was he was still even legally married to you.

“My boyfriend isn’t here right now but, if you want, I can tell him you stopped by.” She continued as you stayed silent.

“Oh, no it’s okay. I just came in here to get some stuff.” You rushed as you really wanted nothing to do with Miguel at all. You almost worried that he might even get angry knowing you got to speak with her. If he already dislikes you this much you couldn’t even imagine how he would feel if you got in the way of this for him.

You started heading over to the familiar drawers around the room. Grabbing your old hoodies and shirts finding your most comfortable of things here. You treated this place as one of your safe spaces as you used to spend so much time here.

“Oh I didn’t know these were all yours! I was wondering why this was all around. When I came here I wanted to do some spring cleaning but Miguel wouldn’t let me touch anything.” She followed besides you. “It’s so mind blowing seeing all this technology. We don’t have any of this where I live-“ She continue rambling but you started to zone her out. You felt like you were about to have a panic attack any minute. There was one question that kept burning in your mind.

“Are you and Miguel already planning to have a child?” You blurted out. Your eyes widened a bit as you surprised yourself. She let out a loud laugh.

“Oh dear no! We have only been together about 6 months. You must be new around here so you must not know much about us.” She chuckled.

In some cruel way you were hoping she would have said yes. You had that twisted hope of maybe Miguel just keeping her to have a kid and ditching her after he gets Gabriella and run back to you. In reality he was playing the long game, he really meant it when we said he was starting over. “He’s never mentioned kids anyways. I’m not even sure if he’d like them or do well with them.”

With that statement she made you looked at her appalled. Anyone could see in Miguel how good of a father he could be. Just in the way he takes care of the society he built here. You started to realize that she really has been left in the dark. She doesn’t know anything. She probably doesn’t even know that she’s a replacement of another self. You wondered why Miguel was doing this. It felt like he didn’t just toy with you but with her as well. A man you came to love for how selfless he was, to realize now everything was for his own personal gain. Suddenly you started to feel bad for her. You couldn’t dislike her, she wasn’t doing anything wrong and she doesn’t even know.

“I got all my stuff. Nice to meet you.” Was all you could say as you zipped up your bag and turned straight around out of there. Not giving any glance back at her, you left to one of the empty training rooms to recollect your overwhelming thoughts. All of the self healing you tried the past month thrown in the garbage.

It wouldn’t be too soon that news of you going around the building was returned to Lyla. You had cut out all coms while you were gone so she immediately popped up on your watch when she found out.

“AH-“ You jumped as the tiny AI was suddenly in front of your face.

“It’s so wonderful to see you Y/N. Oh my god!”She started. Then she went on rambling about how she knew everything and had seen everything. How she didn’t agree with what was happening and was doing everything she could to convince you to stay. After 5 minutes of her rambling you stopped her to let your emotions out.

“Lyla, Lyla It’s okay. Just stop. It’s all complicated I know, but this didn’t work out. I wished Miguel just cheated on me like all the other fucked up normal men out there. That I walked in on him deep in another random girl. Though painful I could have tried fixing and fighting for us. But instead what I got was him emotionally cheating on me and chase after something he knows I can never give him.” You felt yourself choke up. “I can never ask him to give up what he longs and dreams for just for me to be happy. I lost this battle the moment he laid eyes on her.”

Finding comfort in the AI your husband made. You’ve created a bond with Lyla that Miguel found cute but you knew now this might be the last time you’ll be speaking with her.

“You can give him a family y/n… you guys have been married two years now. I know you’ve both set the thought aside until the multiverse issues are better but you can fight for him. You have to snap him out of his fantasy. He still thinks about you.”

“Lyla you know deep down truly he never just wanted a family. He wanted exactly what he had. What he lost. Which should be impossible but being by his side seeing how insane the multiverse is… Good for him for believing in something so hard he’s found himself even a third chance to do it.”

“I hate that you’re being too kind about this situation.” Lyla paced around you.

“I love him so deeply Lyla. You know that very well. It’s so hard to suddenly hate him. I am angry, but I’m also emotionally drained I can’t do this.” You let out a deep sigh. “I’ve watched him long for this family when we just met. For some stupid reason when things worked out for us I thought I would be enough… When we got engaged and he would spend some days at home with me not even coming to HQ. I thought he was finally moving on not just from his grief and past but from the weight of his work. I saw a bright future for us.”

“You can still have a bright future with him! You moving here gave him a new canon event, another chance at life in his timeline. Here in his own universe! He’s just too obsessed and he’s lost himself in that.” She exclaimed with her hands up.

“Our canon event was our wedding.” Your frowned deepened. “But the universe didn’t say anything else after. It doesn’t say our canon event means we are suppose to live happily together forever I guess.”

“I’m just trying my best to be optimistic. I rooted so hard for you and Miguel when you joined the team. I know you can remember the amount of times I would force you both in rooms.” Lyla recalled.

“And I’m grateful for it… Even if this didn’t work out. I was given precious memories, not just working with you and being on this team but falling in love with Miguel. I know I’m being all depressed and hopeless but I feel like even if I move on I’ll never be able to replace him and find a relationship like this again. However he threw me away so easily and maybe he never valued me as much as I did to him.” You felt your emotions bubble. “I became who I am here. I’m going to miss everyone so much.”

“You can still stay here and work with us.” She edged on.

“I can’t just sit around here begging at his feet to return to me or moping around doing missions while watching him with someone else. I want to hate him so badly. I know he’s your boss and you’re basically hardwired to do everything for him and you’re trying your hardest to fix what you think is his right path. But think of me a little more and how miserable it’ll be. I’m the only one hurting here.”

Lyla paused and stared at you with an almost glossy-eyed look. While she worked she could see the inner term-oil Miguel was hiding and the emptiness he was turning to since trying to start new in the other universe. It just wasn’t her place to hold this conversation and he was the one who needed to get a grip of himself and really think and talk with you. She can’t be the one trying to mend the pieces for both of you together. What Miguel did was so wrong. She knew you were right and she didn’t want to see any more damage be caused to you.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She looked up at you sincerely. “I hate this outcome for you. Not only are you loosing your husband but your home. When was the last time you’ve even been in your universe?”

“Like a year ago for a mission…”

“Exactly! Even if things are over with Miguel, you have all of us here! I wish you could stay. I understand you leaving, I really do. I know a lot of us will try visiting you but I’m tied to Miguel…” You started to see how it clicked for her too that it’s most likely you might not see each other for a long time. “Even if a spider-person is visiting you I can’t just show up on their watch… It’ll go back to him and I know you wouldn’t want that. I know I’m an AI and I can’t hold real emotions but I mean it when I say I’m going to miss you.”

Tears poured down your cheeks as her words hit you. Going back to your universe is going to be a struggle. You have nothing there now. However nothing can compare to the pain of the outcome you’ve had with Miguel, and you needed out of here ASAP. Your mental health getting worse the longer you stay. Even the other spiders you have come to love can’t bring that spark back right now. You needed genuine time for yourself, even if it’s self destructive, instead of putting on a fake smile everyday here.

“Bye, Lyla.” You whispered. She nodded and waved her hand goodbye at you before disappearing. You took your watch off your wrist placing it on a nearby desk. With it you pulled the divorce paperwork out of your pocket neatly sealed and already signed on your half. Opening a portal you took your last glances at the place you spent so many loving memories in.

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped through the portal. Once your legs landed on a rooftop of a building in your dimension, you racked out full sobs falling to your knees.

You were always just the other woman.

—————————————————

Thank you so much for reading!! I know it was a longer one ~

would anyone like a part 2? If so anyone want a angsty or happy ending? I think it’ll be more in Miguel’s perspective as well!

EDIT: You can now read PART 2 here

[elixirfromthestars]

A Night of Frights & Delights

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (College AU)

Summary: It’s Friday the 13th and the college kids in town decided to host a weekend camping trip on the outskirts of town. Your best friend convinced you to go much to your reluctance. What could go wrong when the one guy you can’t stand is also there?

Word Count: 7k

Warning(s): slight horror themes / suggestive tones + implications / mentions of a past murder (not in graphic detail just campfire storytelling) / slow burn / suspense + other elements of spookiness / touch starved elements / be prepared for lots of back and forth + tension

Prompt: Campsite + forced proximity + “ It’s not bad enough to have Friday the 13th, we’ve gotta have a full moon too?”

a/n: here’s my entry for @witchywithwhiskey ‘s summer slasher writing challenge. Any chance to celebrate summerween and I’m there 🤭✨ I got carried away with the spooky element of it and this ended up longer than expected. Thank you for reading! 🧡 Feedback is always appreciated!! 🎃🧡

a steamy part two ❤️‍🔥

“ It’s Friday the 13th! Gather ‘round, for some good ol’ scary campfire stories!” Sam Wilson called out to anyone who would listen. A task that wasn’t the easiest thing to ask for when all the college students in the area were trying to have their last bit of fun before fall semester started. Amongst the ones that weren’t already drunk or passed out, a few were trying to find the perfect opportunity to sneak away into the night.

You on the other hand sat near the bonfire, appreciating the warmth it provided on this chilly night. Your back was resting against a log. The scratchy surface grazes against your black sweater at the slightest movement. Camping wasn’t your ideal choice for a weekend getaway, but when your best friend Jane insisted on you coming along it was hard to say no. Especially, since you had already said no to multiple get-togethers throughout the summer. 

It’s not like you didn’t want to hang out with her. The issue was that wherever she was her boyfriend was—and wherever he was his friends were. And his friends included one smartass star pitcher for your university’s baseball team who made it his life’s mission to be a thorn in your side. 

Needless to say, you couldn’t stand the man.

“ It was actually 1982, not 1985,” Jane whispers her comment to you, nudging your arm lightly. You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at her, your clueless eyes meeting her amused ones. 

“ You’re not paying attention to Sam’s story, are you?” She quietly calls you out, leaning slightly closer. You shake your head sheepishly,“ No. Kind of got lost in thought,” you admit. Jane nods in acknowledgment,“ You’re not missing much. He’s just telling the story of the murders that happened here in ‘82,” she explains. You nod slowly, an eerie chill creeping up your spine. Everyone within fifty miles of the town knew of the horrific crime. It was the worst the town had ever seen. 

A group of teenagers had snuck off into the woods to party a week before their senior graduation. They brought their camping gear to spend the night under the full moon to celebrate the milestone. They had gone so deep into the woods no one heard their music blasting all night. 

No one heard their screams either as their life was taken from them. 

You took a shaky breath, your fingers tracing random patterns into the dirt beneath you. Even though you could recite this story from memory it was different hearing it told in gruesome detail. Something Sam was not shying away from doing. 

“ Don’t let Sam’s story get to you—here have a s’more,” Thor spoke up, handing you a small disposable plate with a freshly assembled s’more. His way of trying to comfort you. 

“ Thanks,” you shot Thor an appreciative smile, taking the sweet treat. Jane’s boyfriend had always been kind to you and you got along well. The mutual friendliness extended to all of his baseball friends.

Well, the friendliness extended to all his friends except for one.  

“ He’s telling it wrong anyway, so don’t pay it any mind,” Jane says causing you to let out a small laugh. Leave it to Jane to alleviate your nerves by just being herself. 

You try to drown out Sam’s true crime retelling and focus on the sugary gooeyness on your lap. Jane and Thor snuggle into each other beside you and a small smile appears on your face at the sight. You take a bite of the s’more, letting the flavors melt into your mouth. 

“ The next morning the cops led a search party into these very woods. Everyone searched day and night for three days straight. Scouting every inch, no stone unturned, to find them. And then one day, one member of the search party found something. That member being my Titi—so listen close,” Sam sets up the big reveal. 

“ Wanna know what they found?” A voice you know all too well whispers into your ear from behind. The hairs on the back of your neck stand as his breath fans your ear. 

“ I already know,” you grit out, turning your head to glare at him. Bucky can’t help the cocky grin that overcomes him when you look at him like that. He makes his way over the log and sits right next to you. You don’t hide the displeasure on your face. 

“ Couldn’t find anyone else to annoy, James?” 

 “ None worth my time, sweetheart—and it's Bucky.” 

You roll your eyes biting back a snarky comment. No matter the number of times he insists on you calling him by his nickname, you refuse to. Only his friends call him Bucky, and you're not friends—far from it. So to you, he’s James and nothing more. 

“ We’re not friends, James. Friends don’t make you miss your biology final,” you remind him bitterly. He looks at you with slight disbelief,“ You’re still stuck on that? How is it my fault the party went until four in the morning?” You bristle at his defensiveness. 

“ I don’t know. Maybe by not kicking everyone out of your apartment?” you retort, taking another bite of your s’more. Hoping to lose yourself in the sweetness of it before the distaste of his presence taints it. 

“ At least the professor let you make it up…” he mutters under his breath. 

“ That’s not the point,” you snip, unable to let him have the last word. You pretend to focus on Sam’s story, but really your attention is on the flames in front of you. The way they dance and crackle as if telling their own story alongside Sam’s. 

Bucky stares at you, his eyes scanning every detail of your face. His favorite pastime is finding all the ways to push your buttons. There’s something about your reactions that he can’t help but want to see more of. He openly enjoys being the only one who can elicit such responses from you. Hell, you could say he was proud of it. 

“ Stop it.” 

“ Stop what?” 

“ The staring.” 

“ Don't want to.” 

You turn to give him a piece of your mind but abruptly stop when you see the way he’s looking at you—or more so the way he’s examining your lips. His eyes reflecting more than just the golden flames in the bonfire. There was something deeper and not entirely unfamiliar. He had looked at you this way before, and yet it was still unrecognizable to you. An emotion you couldn’t pinpoint, but that was heartstopping nonetheless. 

His hand lifts to your face, his thumb brushing away at something on the corner of your mouth. Your tongue instinctively darts out to lick your lips and remove whatever remnants of the s’more are left. Something unreadable flashes in his eyes. You wonder what he must be seeing in yours when his eyes drift from your lips to your gaze. 

“ You had a little something there,” his voice has a deeper cadence to it, contrasting the cheeky grin plastered on his face. That damn grin. It’s all you need to snap out of whatever trance you were just in. 

“ You’re insufferable,” you hiss out, getting up from your spot on the ground and stepping away from the bonfire. You hate how he does this—how easily he’s able to mess with you. It’s like it's his second nature to know exactly how to get a reaction from you. Almost as if he knew you better than you knew yourself.

The vulnerability of it all is what ground your gears the most. Bucky was used to this. The flirting, the back and forth, the teasing, and having girls wrapped around his finger. The last time you were in a relationship was your freshman year of college—a few years ago. It had been too long of being touch-starved that the slightest of touches or gazes brought about a yearning deep within you. One that you swore Bucky could see right through and it made you detest the man more. 

You hated feeling like you were being toyed with. But above all, you hated how much you actually didn’t hate the attention he gave you. 

You make your way over to one of the many trashcans around the campsite and dump the last bits of your s’more in along with the disposable plate. Your appetite for the treat long gone after his little stunt. 

You use your phone as a flashlight as you walk over to where all the tents are stationed. It’s not too far from the bonfire, but far enough that the voices of everyone drown out into a low hum. A few people are already in the tents enjoying the night without the warmth of the fire. 

“ Y/n! Hold up!” Jane calls out to you from behind. You face her confused expression, “ Everything okay?” You nod, your hands hiding in the pockets of your grey sweatpants,“ Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna call it a night,” you say tiredly. You don’t want her to worry or keep her from enjoying her night. 

“ Okay…Are you sure? Because you seemed off after Bucky—” 

“ Please for the love of everything don’t mention him.”

Jane drops the subject entirely, “ Okay, okay. I won’t,” she assures you and pauses for a moment before she adds, “ By the way, I’ll be staying with Thor tonight, so you have our tent all to yourself.” 

“ Oh? Oh…behave yourself, Foster,” you warn her playfully. She rolls her eyes waving off your tease,“ No promises.” You laugh together—the exchange alleviating the heaviness in your shoulders.

After a light farewell, your best friend retreats to the bonfire. You find your eyes drifting from her figure to the back of Bucky’s head. He’s still sitting in the same spot, right next to where you had sat. He was drinking away at a beer as Sam continues his story. You look away, ignoring the way your heart feels a small pang as it wonders if it would have been so bad if you had stayed.

Only Bucky had this way of infuriating you, but enticing you at the same time. A magnetic push and pull that tugs at you whenever you’re near him. 

You crouch down and unzip your humble abode for the night. Gazing up at the sky before heading in. The moon is bright and full amongst the dark hazy clouds. 

“ It's not bad enough to have Friday the 13th, we've gotta have a full moon too?” you grumble before entering the tent. The knowledge of being in here alone all night sounds less appealing now. You wish Sam had told a different story to set the mood for tonight. 

For the next couple of hours, you lose yourself in your sketchbook. Every corner of the tent became your makeshift desk as the soft scratches of graphite filled the air. A small LED lantern casting just enough glow to guide your intricate curves and shadows across the paper. At first, you were sketching a flower you had seen earlier in the day along a trail. You don’t recognize the species, but the cluster of pretty violet petals vividly lived in your head and you wanted it forever memorialized in your sketchbook. 

At some point, however, the petals turn into doodles and then unrecognizable scribbles. The creative flow taking a life of its own. You soon find yourself drawing a pair of eyes on another page. Giving them a space of their own. These eyes you recognize deep down, but they still have the same unreadable expression from earlier. Almost as if you hoped to decipher it by putting it on paper. 

Maybe then it would be easier to look at them without being affected—without feeling that pull. 

There’s a loud thump that echoes close to your tent. You freeze at the sound. By this point, everyone had called it a night and retreated to their sleeping arrangements. It had been at least half an hour that you hadn’t heard a single sound except for the chirping of crickets amongst a chorus of other creepy crawlers. 

When no sound followed the thump you decided to ignore it—acting like you hadn’t heard a thing. And yet, your fingers swiftly moved to turn off the lantern and close your sketchbook, neatly tucking it beneath your pillow. 

Another noise rang out—the skidding of dirt. And this time it was closer to your tent. Not directly outside it, but almost. You don’t know why your heart dropped or why your fingertips went cold, but they did. You tell yourself it’s probably just someone going out to use the bathroom or some other related activity. 

Your body betrayed your mind as it started to feel enclosed in the tent. Like a prey caught in a trap. Hopelessly awaiting the moment the predator decided to take them out. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and with numb fingers, you grab your phone. The tent shrinking around you as your heart pounded in your chest. Going out to investigate the source of the noise wasn't the smartest idea. However, continuing to be a sitting duck in the tent was distressing you more—and that helpless feeling overpowered anything else. 

You slowly unzip the tent, trying to make as minimal noise as possible. You slip on your moccasins, putting one foot in front of the other as you step out into the night. Your surroundings are cast in shadows as the moon seems to be hiding behind a gloomy cluster of clouds. You look around and notice no one else is awake. Only dormant tents with sleeping residents inside accompany you in the night. 

You scan the area, training your ear to see if you can pick up any noise. 

That’s when you hear it—a rustling in the bushes. 

You peer into the woods, your eyes narrowing hoping to center on something, but you can’t see anything. There’s a slight fog that encases the lines of trees encircling the campsite obstructing your view. 

You take a few steps forward, hugging your sweater closer to your body. The outside air catches you off guard with its falling degrees. The shadows at every corner of the woods become creatures of the night if you stare at them for too long. 

Why were you doing this? Why had you decided this was a good idea? 

You questioned yourself. An unpleasant shiver goes up your spine at the thought of you walking straight into a creature’s claws. Your footing stumbled, and yet you found yourself walking further in the direction of the sound, the faint glow of your phone illuminating your path. You decided against using the actual flashlight on your phone as it could easily alert whatever was hiding in the foliage of the woods. 

You don’t go too far from the campsite. Your legs only take you a few feet away from the perimeter of it before tensing at the way the hoot of an owl cuts through the stillness of the night. Your breath caught in your throat, and you gripped your phone tighter. The edges of it digging into your skin. 

“ What are we looking for?” A voice too close for comfort whispers behind you and it causes you to shriek, your phone tumbling to the ground as you jump away from the source. Your eyes zero in on the culprit—your blood boiling when your gaze meets his ceruleans. 

James Buchanan fucking Barnes.

A deep chuckle erupts from Bucky at your reaction. Not only at the way you jumped, but also at the way you’re now seething. He stands there in a basic white tee and black joggers, his hair slightly unkempt from lying on it earlier in the night. 

“ What the hell is wrong with you?” You hiss, bending down to pick up your phone from the ground. The anxiety from before dissipating into irritation. 

“ Me? What’s up with you? Sneaking around in the woods at night. That’s kinda creepy, sweetheart,” he jabs with a smirk. You roll your eyes, exhaling to steady your breath,“ Stop calling me that. And I'm not sneaking around—I heard something.” 

“ And you came to check it out?” 

“ Yeah.”

“ You have no survival instincts, do you?”

“ And you do? You're out here too.”

Bucky crosses his arms, his eyes roaming over your figure. He’s thoroughly entertained by your attempt to catch whatever is out there in your cozy outfit. It’s not exactly monster-hunting material. 

“ I let my buddy have the tent for the night. He’s got a girl in there. Thought I'd sleep under the stars like nature intended,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. A wry smile appears on your face,“ Aren’t you a great friend,” you reply sarcastically. He’s about to give you a snippy retort when a branch breaks ahead of you, causing you both to snap your attention to it. 

You both go silent—wondering if you’ll hear anything more. Bucky takes a few steps forward to stand in front of you. Positioning himself between you and the unknown noise. 

“ Is that what you heard earlier?” He asks, his voice a hushed whisper. Your eyes drift up his form and the way his arm is slightly outstretched in your direction in a protective stance. He’s looking in the direction of where the sound came from, but then his head turns back to look at you. 

It takes you a second to gather your words,“ Sort of. At first there was like a loud thud by my tent and then some rustling—and now this,” you describe the unfolding events thus far.

He frowns,“ Is your tent the one by Wanda’s?”At his question you nod,“ Yeah…why?” He tilts his head slightly as he tries to recollect something. 

“ The two-person one with the purple edges?” 

“ Yeah…” 

His features soften, dawning on a sheepish expression. His protective stance faltering as he scratches the back of his neck,“ The noise was me then—sorry. I tripped over something while looking for a place to piss.” 

“ Oh…” Is all you manage to say. Feeling utterly foolish for getting so worked up over nothing. What you had thought was something going bump in the night ended up being Bucky stumbling to relieve himself. 

Another branch cracks in the murky fog. Reminding you that although the noises you heard outside your tent were explained, the ones here, not too far from you and Bucky—weren’t. 

“ I’m gonna go check it out,” he takes a step forward, but you stop him. Your hand shoots out to grip the hem of his shirt,“ Don’t! Are you crazy? You’re going to get yourself killed or something!”

His eyebrows raise, not expecting you to have that reaction.“ Are you worried about me, sweetheart?” A smirk spreads across his face, a twinkle in his eye.“ As if—screw you,” you deny harsher than you intended, removing your hold from his shirt. This only provokes him more, his smirk turning into a cheeky grin,“ You wanna?” 

“ You know what? I hope whatever is out there gets you.” 

“ Oh, you’d miss me if it did. But don’t worry—if it gets me, I’ll make sure to let it know you’re the one worth chasing." 

Bucky doesn’t give you a second to process what his words really mean. Instead, he takes out a small flashlight from the pocket of his joggers. He turns it on, shining the area ahead of him. A brazen expression is the last thing you see before he wanders into that direction of the woods as if there wasn’t potentially something dangerous up ahead. 

You wanted to protest, but you didn’t. Rather, you end up standing there amongst the wilderness, watching as his form gets smaller and smaller until it disappears into the haze of the fog. 

You feel uneasy as soon as you don’t see him. Your chest feels heavy with the unknown. You call out to him. Thinking maybe he’s doing this to prove something or to mess with you. When he doesn’t call back you find apprehension in the sinking pit of your stomach. 

Behind you, the campsite is still in sight. The smart thing to do would be to go wake someone up—like Thor—to go after Bucky. However, your feet work faster than your mind does, pushing you to follow after him. 

This time you use the flashlight on your phone to light your path. The luminescence cuts through the fog as you trudge through it. Leaves crunching beneath your feet, and hands outstretched lightly to use the passing trees as support to persist onward. 

You walk for a good few minutes before you finally spot him. He’s standing by a tall pine tree, his right hand tracing over something etched into the bark. 

“ James! Come back to the campsite!” You whisper yelled, approaching him. He hummed,“ So you are worried about me,” the smugness in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you. When he turns to face you his eyes tell you he was expecting you. Like he knew in the end your stubbornness and pride wouldn’t matter because you’d end up following after him after all.

You are worried about him. He needs no further proof than your actions. 

There was a prickling of annoyance building up in your system. More than anything, you wanted to get out of the woods as soon as possible. The campsite feels like a haven awaiting your return. 

“ Can you stop being so insufferably cocky for one second and just come back to the camp before I drag your ass back?” You say through gritted teeth. You wanted to have more bark to your bite, but the inkling dread of what could be out here stopped you from crossing that line. 

He stepped closer to you, the glow of his flashlight reflecting in his eyes in tiny glimmers,“ Why? I thought you didn't care if ‘whatever is out there’ got me.”

“ I don’t—but I’d hate to be an accomplice to that thing.” 

“ Admit it. You’re worried about me.”

By now Bucky was mere inches away from you. Having slowly sauntered right up to you. His eyes were daring you to speak the truth—his arrogant smile tempting you to do even more. 

“ I came to get you back, but if you’re determined to stay here then stay,” you huff, spinning on your heels to storm off. 

Bucky’s hand reaches out and encloses your wrist gently. Just enough to keep you from walking away. He sighs with defeated ire. 

“ Sweetheart, why won't you admit—” he’s cut off by the swift movement of something dashing past the both of you. He immediately pulls you in closer, his arms encasing you protectively—his body a shield. One arm is wrapped around your waist while the other holds your head. Your own body leans into his as if bracing for impact. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see the culprit of the racket. A deer dashing through the woods like it had somewhere to be. You held back a laugh at the revelation. 

This is what had you so worried this whole time? A deer? 

Even so, your heart races in your chest. And Bucky has you so tightly pressed into his that you can feel the way his own heart is thrumming rapidly. Both of your breaths work to steady from their instability as you realize there is nothing truly to be worried about. 

You stay like this for what seems like an eternity. Finding comfort in each other’s arms. The fog dances around your figures as if pushing you closer. The tips of your fingers tingle from where they’re pressed at his chest. 

When you finally register whose touch it is, you pull away. Bucky reluctantly lets you go. His arms awkwardly falling to his sides. You don’t know what to say. He doesn’t know where to start.

Why was his instinct to protect you? To keep you from harm’s way? 

And why had you felt the safest all night in his arms? 

You swallow the questions that desire to escape. There’s a part of you that feels like you should thank him, but then the other part feels stupid for wanting to do so. Knowing how much it would feed his ego to vindicate him as a hero. 

“ Guess it was just a deer, huh?” Bucky tries to cut through whatever tension is starting to build. 

“ Yeah…silly us…” you reply, half-heartedly. Your mind still reeling from his touch. 

You both go quiet again. The silence welcomes you where words fail to. 

Out of nowhere, you feel a tiny bead land on your head. Followed by one on your hand and then your cheek. It's beginning to drizzle. The rain cutting through the trees and promising to kiss every inch of your skin. 

“ We should get going,” Bucky says, his palm cupped to catch a few droplets. 

“ Yeah, that’s a good idea,” you agree, clearing your throat. In other circumstances, Bucky would rejoice and point out how, for once, you aren’t arguing with him. But not right now—not at this moment. Not when the memory of holding each other stirred something within you both. 

No, now instead you walk back to the campsite in silence. You’re a few steps ahead as Bucky decides to tow along at a slower pace. Seemingly lost in thought. 

When you’re back at the campsite your eyes dart to your tent. It’s within reach. A safety you can hideout in until the emotions Bucky arose in you fade away.  

“ Can I chill in your tent for a while? Just until the rain stops,” Bucky surprises you with his request. Until you remember he gave up his tent to his friend for the night. 

“ What? No,” your response is immediate. The thought of you and Bucky alone in your tent causes many scenarios to run through your head. You didn’t think you’d make it through the night with him in it. You were barely hanging on as it is. 

“ I just saved your life.” 

“ You did not.”

“ Did too.” 

“ James, you absolutely did not–” 

“ Please,” his soft plea tugs at the very part of you that wants to say yes. He’s not the kind of guy to beg, but he’ll do anything to not stand out in the cold rain. You being in an enclosed space with him was just a bonus. 

An extremely tantalizing bonus. 

“ Fine…but only until the rain stops,” you concede. You weren’t heartless enough to leave him out in the rain. 

You zip open the tent and climb inside. You remove your moccasins and leave them by the entrance. The inside is spacious enough for the two of you, but you still find yourself going into the furthest right corner of it. You sit crossed-legged as you turn on the small LED lantern to illuminate the tent with its muted glow. He makes his way inside, his hair glistening from the rain. He leaves his muddied slides by your moccasins. 

“ This tent is way nicer than the one Sam and I got,” he comments, running a hand through his hair to dispel the droplets. He’s trying to make light conversation, keeping his distance as he sits in the corner by the entrance diagonally from you. 

“ Jane’s family is really into camping so she had this one laying around…” you mention. The oddity of small talk between you fills the space with a foreign dynamic. The rain goes from a sprinkle to a pour. Hitting the top of the fabric cacoon in harsh strokes.  

He chooses to pivot the conversation.“ Do you have everything ready for fall semester?” He asks you, maneuvering to sit with his knees bent, his shirt hiking up the smallest bit to expose the skin at his hips. You avert your gaze when your heart does a little flip. 

“ Almost. I still have one or two textbooks to get,” you reply, playing with a few loose threads of the blanket beneath you. Anything to not have your eyes wander back to him. 

He scoffs lightly,“ You already got your textbooks? There’s no way. I always get ‘em after the first week.” Unlike you, he can’t seem to keep his pretty blues away from you. Your features heightened in the gentle sheen of the lantern. Intricate shadows scattered across your figure that made you look ethereal. The way his heart hammered in his chest romanticizing the sight of you.

“ That's because I’m responsible and you’re not.” 

“ I am responsible. As captain of the baseball team—”

“ Spare me the team leader speech, please,” you groan, stopping him from continuing. There’s only so much you can take for one night. And hearing Bucky light up as he talks about the one thing he’s passionate about—the one thing that humanizes him to you beyond his usual cheeky self. It would do more to you than just make your heart do a little flip.

You’d end up saying or doing something you wouldn’t be able to take back. 

“ Look, Y/n, I’m just trying to make conversation here. You don’t have to be so difficult all the time. Just talk to me,” Bucky brings you out of your thoughts not only by his exasperated tone, but by the way your name rolls off his tongue. He so rarely calls you by it. He’s called you sweetheart endlessly—and he’s even slipped a few sunshines in the mix—but your name was foreign to his vocabulary.  

 Bucky is usually good at dealing with your constant back and forth. Some days it's the only thing he looks forward to. However, right now it was irritating him how much you pushed back. He wanted you to give in. To what, he wasn’t sure. But he wondered what normalcy felt like with you—what just a damn friendly conversation felt like. 

You sigh, meeting his eyes.“ I don’t want to talk. Sorry, I think I’m just tired. Maybe we should go to bed,” you suggest, hoping that if he says yes you can sleep away the bubbling of emotions in your chest. 

You can see the way he contemplates something, biting the inside of his bottom lip. Now he’s the one holding back. A beat passes and you nervously wonder if he’ll turn down your suggestion. 

“ Fine—it's late anyway. But only if I get to sleep next to you. I promise I’ll keep my distance. It’s just there’s water leaking through the zipper at the entrance,” he mentions, his hand motioning to the entry. Your eyes dart to where he’s pointing and sure enough there’s a small puddle of water pooling by it. Not knowing how long the rain would continue, you knew you had to deal with the issue.

You grab Jane’s camping gear that holds numerous amount of supplies in all of its various pockets. She always came extra prepared no matter the occasion. You take out a washcloth, scooting over to the entrance to soak up the forming puddle. You decide to leave it there neatly tucked underneath where the water was finding its way in.

“ Alright, but if you snore I'm kicking you out,” you warn, but it’s more playful than serious. Something to lighten the mood before you go to bed. A way to dissipate whatever tension’s built up so you'd be able to fall asleep. 

It’s hard to cut through the tension and alleviate its symptoms when your shelter from the storm seems to shrink the more you chat with Bucky. And now sitting right next to him—shoulder to shoulder—it seems like a damn near impossible task. 

" I’ll take my chances. But just so you know, I don’t go down without a fight,” he winks at you, your shoulders brushing. Your heart rate picks up and it takes everything within you to stare into his eyes and not focus on the way that simple contact sent a shiver down your spine. 

His eyes drift to your lips causing your breath to hitch. The implications of where this could go are enough to pull you away from his spell. 

“ Goodnight,” you choke out. Subtly rushing over to your sleeping bag and settling into it. You don’t see when he shakes his head, but you do hear how he chuckles lowly. He mumbles something under his breath, but you can’t pick it up. 

He makes his way over to Jane’s sleeping bag, but lays on top of it instead of nestling into it. Choosing to cover himself only in the maroon fleece blanket that was draped over your body too. 

“ Goodnight,” he finally says, his body turning to face away from you. You respond by turning off the lantern. The space is now engulfed by darkness. Only the faintest of light shines in from the outside, letting your eyes trace the outlines of objects. 

 You turn to your side. Your back facing his. You take a deep breath, concentrating on the sound of the rain to hopefully lull you into a slumber. But the air felt too thick and your body was burning up from the heat radiating under the blanket. There was a good foot or so separating your body and Bucky’s. And yet, you could feel the heat radiating off of him as if he was pressed up right against you. 

It was too much. You swore you started sweating, so you shuffled under the covers and out of the sleeping bag. Every movement slow and deliberate as if to not snap the rope keeping the palpable tension in place. 

When only the plush fleece covered your body, the heat radiated less. But the fluttering of the blanket caused Bucky’s cologne to waft your way. A pleasant scent of musky woodiness with a hint of something that was entirely him. You gripped the cover tightly and counted to ten in your head. You were going mad. 

“ Would you stop hogging the blanket? ” Bucky muttered from beside you. There were a lot of things he wanted to tell you to stop doing. Because you and your constant fidgeting were driving him crazy. Every fiber of his being holding back from doing something to snap that rope. 

You didn’t realize you had been pulling it your way until he mentioned it. Your grip on it loosened,“ Sorry. I wasn’t hogging it though,” you argued for no reason other than to fill the silence. 

“ Yes, you were.” 

“ No, I wasn’t.” 

There was something about the proximity of your bodies that made the blanket seem smaller. Like there was no possible way it could equally cover both of your sleeping forms. Maybe this is what caused you to then tug at it, however, he holds it firmly to himself too.  

Persistently you pull at the blanket again. He pulls back—a tug of war ensues between you. You can hear him huff in the darkness, but you're not letting up. Bucky couldn't care less about the blanket. He only cared about not letting you get the upper hand. His competitive streak showing.  

While you solely really didn’t want to let him win. 

You wrap the end of the blanket around yourself—almost like a cacoon. The delicate fleece encases you. Leaving the bare minimum amount for Bucky to cover himself with. 

“ You have got to be one of the most stubborn people I have ever met in my goddamn life,” he practically growls as he yanks forcefully on the blanket. A tiny yelp escapes you as you get pulled along with it. 

You underestimated the strength of the star pitcher. 

You end up on top of him. The blanket now an extra cushy barrier between your bodies. In the dim light, your eyes lock, and you can faintly see the outline of a boyish grin on his face. You don’t move away. There’s like an invisible force that keeps you there. Your body pressed against his feeling his warmth tenfold. You can’t tell if either of you are breathing because all you're aware of now is how his heart beats in time with yours. 

“ You’re insufferable you know that?” you swallow hard, your voice lacking its usual bite.

“ You sure about that, sweetheart?” he challenges, his voice barely above a whisper. His lips brushing against yours with feather-light contact.

When had your lips gotten so close? 

You don’t know who leans in first. The one who finally breaks the standoff because your lips seem to meet at the same time. The kiss is sweet, but with a slight hesitance to it. As if neither of you are completely sure the other wants this. Or more like neither of you believes this is happening. However, when his hands grip the back of your thighs, sliding your legs from on top of him to his sides so you straddle him—you believe it. And when your hands find themselves threading in his hair—he believes it. 

One kiss that tests the waters turns into one that slowly sinks into the feeling. Until the two of you fully submerge into the depths of whatever has been simmering between you for what seems like too long. Delicate kisses that get more heated—more intense as your lips continue to meet. Bucky beams at the fact that you’re no longer pushing, but pulling into him. His craving for you only increasing now that he’s had a taste. 

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, slow and gentle. Asking for permission to deepen the kiss. Bucky Barnes isn’t the type to be slow and gentle—but when it comes to you he finds himself wanting to relish every second he gets. Not knowing when he’ll get another moment like this with you again. 

Your lips part enough for him to slip his tongue in to truly kiss you like he wanted to. As soon as you grant access he takes full opportunity to explore every corner of your mouth. His tongue molding with yours in fervor. Your fingers lightly tug at his hair while his hands roam your body memorizing every curve and dip. Wherever he gripped and caressed, his touch left heat in its wake. 

A heat you had to contain before it consumed you both. 

“ If you think you’re getting lucky tonight—think again. This is the most you’ll get,” You say breathlessly, pulling away to help your lungs remember what oxygen is. 

He groans, breath panting, the outline of his pout evident in the dim light,“ Don’t do this to me, sweetheart. Can’t leave me like this.” His voice a desperate whine that allured you to keep going. 

“ Too bad. You're dreaming if you think this is going any further.” 

“ God, you don’t wanna know what I've dreamed about.” 

“ Shut up,” you cut off his groan with another kiss. Fierce enough to silence him immediately. He hopes you shut him up like this more often. 

Your lips meet again in a hasty lock. No hesitation now as your tongues meet quicker. You seem to be obsessed with his hair as you run your fingers through it again. He shivers at the touch. His hands slide under your sweater to trail along your soft skin. Keeping his hands along your back and waist. Teetering around the boundary you drew, so he didn’t get carried away. But it was hard when kissing you felt as good as throwing the perfect game—maybe even better.

He realizes the emotions you bring out of him are worth a lifetime waiting for.

He pulls away this time to catch his breath, his hands sliding up your body to cup your face,“ I’m in no rush, sweetheart. I’ve got all the time in the world to take it all the way—make you fall for me.” 

You hum, leaning into his touch,“ You seem sure of yourself. ”

His voice is rough yet affectionate when he speaks,“ I’m sure of you, sweetheart. You’re worth every second, and I’m not stopping until you see it too.” 

He gives you one final tender kiss. One that's full of promise for the future. You weren’t sure if it was his words or the meaning in the kiss that stole your breath away. 

After a few seconds, you both pull away. Separating your bodies from each other to provide that much-needed space before lines were crossed.

“ Goodnight, Bucky,” you say, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how you would keep your hands and lips to yourself come tomorrow. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat when you called him by his nickname. Bringing a genuine smile to his face, loving the way it sounded coming from you. 

“ Goodnight, Y/n.”

Even after saying goodnight, the two of you can’t fall asleep immediately. You try to, but there are small moments in the night where you drift back to each other. Where in the darkness your lips meet again and again—satiating the tension in parts. Where your hands find themselves under the covers and layers of clothing. Flaming the fans of desire just enough so it doesn’t completely burn out, but smoldering to be reignited at any moment’s chance. 

You don’t realize when you fall asleep. Your eyelids growing heavy at some point tangled up in his body under the covers. Your face in the crook of his neck. His head resting on top of yours. Your bodies fit like puzzle pieces like they were meant to be connected in every way. 

It’s not until that morning when you wake up and find yourself in his arms, snuggled into his side, that the events of last night sink in. You pull away the tiniest bit. Merely enough to be able to get a look at him. The brown strands of his hair tousled and clinging to his forehead. The slope of his nose, his dark lashes fanned delicately against his skin, and the tiniest parting of his lips. He looks peaceful—almost angelic as he slumbers. 

You’re itching to sketch the image in front of you. 

You can’t stop yourself from reaching out to touch the strands at his forehead. It’s enough to have his eyes flutter open, their color brighter in the daylight. He gives you a lazy smile the instant he realizes last night wasn’t a dream and you really were here, nestled in his arms. 

No words were exchanged, but both of you were conscious of the line you had drawn last night. And yet, you both also knew that in time, that line would be crossed again and again. Until the line blurred into oblivion.

[maniculum]

Medieval Scorpions Effortpost

So yesterday I reblogged this post featuring an 11th-century depiction of the Apocalypse Locusts from Revelations, noting the following incongruity as another medieval scorpion issue:

The artist, as you can see, has interpreted "tails like scorpions" as meaning "glue cheerful-looking snakes to their butts".

Anyway, it occurred to me that the medieval scorpion thing might not be as widely known as I think it is, and that Tumblr would probably enjoy knowing about it if it isn't known already. So, finding myself unable to focus on the research I'm supposed to be doing, I decided to write about this instead. I'll just go ahead and put a cut here.

As we can see in the image above, at least one artist out there thought a "scorpion" was a type of snake. Which makes it difficult to draw "tails like scorpions", because a snake's tail is not that distinctive or menacing (maybe rattlesnakes, but they don't have those outside the Americas). So they interpreted "tails like scorpions" as "the tail looks like a whole snake complete with head".

Let me tell you. This is not a problem unique to this illustration.

See, people throughout medieval Europe were aware of scorpions. As just alluded to, they are mentioned in the Bible, and if the people producing manuscripts in medieval Europe knew one thing, it was Stuff In Bible. They're also in the Zodiac, which medieval Europe had inherited through classical sources. However, let's take a look at this map:

That's Wikipedia's map of the native range of the Scorpiones order, i.e., all scorpion species. You may notice something -- the range just stops at a certain northern latitude. Pretty much all of northern Europe is scorpion-free. If you lived in the north half of Europe, odds were good you had never seen a scorpion in your life. But if you were literate or educated at all, or you knew they were a thing, because you'd almost certainly run across them being mentioned in texts from farther south. And those texts wouldn't bother to explain what a scorpion was, of course -- everyone knows scorpions, right? When was the last time you stopped to explain What Is Spiders?

So medieval writers and artists in northern Europe were kind of stuck. There was all this scorpion imagery and metaphor in the texts they liked to work from, but they didn't really know what a scorpion was. Writers could kind of work around it (there's a lot of "oh, it's a venomous creature, moving on"), but sometimes they felt the need to break it down better. For this, of course, they'd have to refer to a bestiary -- but due to Bestiary Telephone and the persistent need of bestiary authors to turn animals into allegories, one of the only visual details you got on scorpions was that they... had a beautiful face, which they used to distract people in order to sting them.

And look. I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum, but I would say that a scorpion's face has significant aesthetic appeal only for a fairly small segment of the population. I'm sure you could get an entomologist to rhapsodize about it a bit, but your average person on the street will not be entranced by the face of a scorpion. So this did not help the medieval Europeans in figuring out how to depict scorpions. There was also some semantic confusion -- see, in some languages (such as Old and Middle English), "worm" could be a general term for very small animals of any kind. But it also could mean "serpent".* So there were some, like our artist at the top of the post, who were pretty sure a scorpion was a snake. This was probably helped along by the fact that "venomous" was one of the only things everyone knew about them, and hey, snakes are venomous. Also, Pliny the Elder had floated the idea that there were scorpions in Africa that could fly, and at least one author (13th-century monk Bartholomaeus Anglicus) therefore suggested that they had feathers. I don't see that last one coming up much, I just share it because it's funny to me.

*English eventually resolved this by borrowing the Latin vermin for very small animals, using the specialized spelling wyrm for big impressive mythical-type serpents, and sticking with the more specific snake for normal serpents.

Some authors, like the anonymous author of the Ancrene Wisse, therefore suggested that a scorpion was a snake with a woman's face and a stinging tail. (Everyone seemed to be on the same page with regards to the fact that the sting was in the tail, which is in fact probably the most recognizable aspect of scorpions, so good job there.) However, while authors could avoid this problem, visual artists could not. And if you were illustrating a bestiary or a calendar, including a scorpion was not optional. So they had to take a shot at what this thing looked like.

And so, after this way-too-long explanation, the thing you're probably here for: inaccurate medieval drawings of scorpions. (There are of course accurate medieval drawings of scorpions, from artists who lived in the southern part of Europe and/or visited places where scorpions lived; I'm just not showing you those.) And if you find yourself wondering, "how sure are you that that's meant to be a scorpion?" -- all of these are either from bestiaries or from calendars that include zodiac illustrations.

11th-century England, MS Arundel 60. (Be honest, without the rest of this post, if I had asked you to guess what animal this was supposed to be, would you have ever guessed “scorpion”?)

12th-century Germany, "Psalter of Henry the Lion". (Looks a bit undercooked. Kind of fetal.)

12th-century France, Peter Lombard's Sententiae. (Very colorful, itsy bitsy claws, what is happening with that tail?)

12th-century England, "The Shaftesbury Psalter". (So a scorpion is some sort of wyvern with a face like a duck, correct?)

13th-century France, Thomas de Cantimpré's Liber de natura rerum. (I’d give them credit for the silhouette not being that far off, but there’s a certain bestiary style where all the animals kind of look like that. Also note how few of these have claws.)

13th-century England, "The Bodley Bestiary". (Mischievous flying squirrel impales local man’s hand, local man fails to notice.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (A scorpion is definitely either a mouse or a fish. Either way it has six legs.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Wait, no, it’s a baby theropod, and it has two legs. (Yes, this is the same manuscript, that’s not an error, this artist did four scorpions and no two are the same.))

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Actually it’s a lizard with tiny ears and it has four legs.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Now that we’re at the big fancy illustration, I think I’ve got it — it’s like that last one, but two legs, longer ears, and a less goofy face. Also I’ve decided it’s not pink anymore, I think that was the main problem.)

13th-century England, MS Kk.4.25. (A scorpion is a flat crocodile with a bear’s head.)

13th-century England, "The Huth Psalter". (Wyvern but baby! Does not seem to be enjoying biting its own tail.)

13th-century England, MS Royal 1 D X. (This triangular-headed gentlecreature gets the award for “closest guess at correct limb configuration”. If two of those were claws, I might actually believe this artist had seen a scorpion before, or at least a picture of one.)

13th-century England, "The Westminster Psalter". (A scorpion is the offspring of a wyvern and a fawn.)

13th-century England, "The Rutland Psalter". (Too many legs! Pull back! Pull back!)

13th or 14th-century France, Bestiaire d'amour rimé. (This is very similar to the fawn-wyvern, but putting it in an actual Scene makes it even more obvious that you’re just guessing.)

14th-century Netherlands, Jacob van Maerlant's Der Naturen Bloeme. (More top-down six-legged guys that look too furry to be arthropods.)

14th-century Germany, MS Additional 22413. (That is clearly a turtle.)

14th-century France, Matfres Eymengau de Beziers's Breviari d'amor. (Who came up with that head shape and what was their deal?)

15th-century England, "Bestiary of Ann Walsh". (Screw it, a scorpion is a big lizard that glares at you for trying to make me draw things I don’t know about.)

I've spent way too much time on this now. End of post, thank you to anyone who got all the way down here.

[aperrywilliams]

Tin Wedding (Spencer Reid x ExWife!Reader)

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Author Masterlist | Event Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x ExWife!Reader.

Summary: You've become friends with Penelope Garcia over the past year, and after much insistence from her, you agreed to visit her at her office one day. What you didn't expect was to run into your ex-husband there. And surely you didn't expect that he - Spencer Reid - is Penelope's coworker.

Word Count: 7.2k (please, stop me!)

Warnings: Yes. I set this one as +16. Mention of Reader being drunk. Curses and some strong words. Mention of sex - oral (m&f). Nothing detailed. IDFK anything about the US marriage and divorce system.

A/N: 2nd Fic for the "We are not gonna make it" writing challenge I was hosting during October with my sis @babymetaldoll. I'm so sorry for the delay, but life has crushed me these past weeks.

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

The ding of the elevator signals you are already on the sixth floor. The doors open, and the first thing you see are people going and coming. It's the bustling of a lively office at noon. But this is not just any office; this is the FBI headquarters in Quantico. You never thought you would be in a place like this in your life, but here you are after your friend Penelope convinced you to visit her at work after insisting for weeks.

BAU - Behavioural Analysis Unit reads the glass doors in front of you. This is the place. Looking at the scattered desks on the open floor, you look for a clue that leads you to Penelope.

People walk past you without paying much attention. Maybe you should ask for help. But before you can decide to do so, a voice behind your back breaks you out of your thoughts.

"Can I help you?"

You know that voice. You're sure of that. But wait. It can't be—not after years of not hearing it.

You slowly turn around just to confirm that your suspicions are correct. Standing in front of you is a curious Spencer Reid, who pales when he sees your face. He remembers you, too.

"Oh God, Spencer?"

A stupid question with an obvious answer, but that doesn't take away the surprise of coming face to face with someone you never thought you'd see again in your life.

"(Y/N)? Wow..."

Time has passed, you tell yourself. Spencer looks more grown up. His hair is a little shorter, and he doesn't look so skinny anymore; it even seems there's some muscle under the white shirt he sports. Some stubble adorns his face, and dark circles can be seen under his eyes. But his beautiful eyes are the same as you remember them from when you first met in Pasadena.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, still shocked. Spencer's expression seems pretty much the same as yours.

"Uh. Well, I work here," he explains after clearing his throat.

A Caltech's genius working with the FBI? You wouldn't have expected it. But then again, you didn't expect to cross paths with him after all this time. "And what are you doing here?"

Good point. Why did you come? Oh, yes. Penelope Garcia.

"I'm here to see a friend," you mumble. Spencer's confused look changes to what? Disappointment? Of course, you're not there for him. It's stupid ever to think that, considering you haven't talked since the day you said goodbye and parted ways in that tiny apartment you shared in Pasadena.

And then an awkward silence. What are the chances that after so long, you were going to meet Spencer? And if you're wondering how long, we're talking about ten years when you were both pursuing your degrees at Caltech. In your case, it was the first one because Spencer was already in his third PhD when you met.

Before you can say something else, the one and only Penelope Garcia burst into the room, looking for you.

"There you are! Why didn't you call me when you got here?"

Totally unbeknown to the tense silence, she steps in front of you and hugs you. You can feel Spencer's confused look on you. "I'm glad you made it! We have so much to talk about."

"Garcia is your friend?" Spencer asks, gaze on you, and it's when you realize how weird the situation is. Penelope turns to him, an eyebrow furrowed.

"Of course, I'm her friend. And she came to see me," Garcia scoffs until she realizes something. "Wait a minute. For what reason would you ask that?"

Spencer clears his throat. He doesn't know what your opinion is about people knowing that fact.

"We know each other," you explain to her before asking. "How do you know Spencer?"

"No way! What a coincidence!" Garcia chirps. The exclamation raises the interest of the people entering the bullpen. Some of them approach to where you all are. "Reid? We work together!"

What were the chances of something like that happening to you, you wondered, as Spencer continued to stare at you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"What's happening here, baby girl?" A toned man asks Garcia, who can't contain her excitement.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe it," she announces as two women join the conversation.

Garcia briefly explains to the audience who you are and that she just found out that you both know Spencer, too. After the first impression, she proceeds to introduce you to those there: Derek, JJ, and Emily. From the corner of your eye, you can see Spencer downcasting his look at their curious glances at him.

"So you guys know each other?" JJ asks.

You both nod at the same time as Spencer mutters, "Caltech."

"Ah, fellow grads," JJ assumes. And in part, she is right. Indeed, you met while you were starting your master's degree and subsequent doctorate in the same area as Spencer.

"Kind of," you admit, seeing Spencer's cheeks flush and feeling yours burn too. The guy who was presented as Derek Morgan has a smirk plastered on his face.

"College sweethearts?" Morgan asks in a teasing tone. And he is kind of right, too. You lock eyes with Spencer, and you can't tell if he did or wants to say to his colleagues what you really were at that time. But before you both can even think of saying anything, Garcia's eyes widen in recognition.

"No! Wait a minute! Did you go to college together? You said the other day that you-" she starts connecting information, and you start to freak out internally. Before you can stop her, Garcia blurts. "Oh! Spencer is your ex-husband? You have to be kidding me!"

Shit. How did she figure it out so quickly? Sure, it might be your fault for sharing details about your college love life with her on a night filled with alcohol, but how could you have known she was already acquainted with him? You were careful not to mention any names or specifics, yet here you are.

"Wait, what?" Morgan's smirk turns to jaw slack in astonishment. There is no difference between JJ's and Emily's reactions. Spencer's face is flushed, and so is yours.

"Someone is going to say anything?" Emily asks, bouncing her eyes between you and Spencer.

"Uh, well—" you start, giving Spencer an apologetic look, who returns you an awkward tight-lip smile.

"Yeah. We were married," he confirms.

"When we were at college," you add.

You can feel the heaviness in the air and the mid-surprised, mid-incredulous looks from the people around you. Morgan is the first to break the silence.

"Damn it, pretty boy. What a story you had hidden from us," he says, patting Spencer's shoulder. JJ - the quietest one until now - senses how uncomfortable you and Spencer are with all the attention.

"Guys, why don't we give them a minute?"

After a moment of consideration, Emily seconds the motion. "Yeah, Morgan, would you help me with something?"

"Su- sure," Morgan agrees, still confused but following Emily nonetheless.

"But—" Penelope is still trying to understand the whole situation and has many questions she wants to ask.

"Come on, Garcia. I'm sure (Y/N) will find you when she is ready," JJ encourages, looking at you. That's when you get out of your daze and nod.

"Yes. Yeah. I'll text you, Penelope."

And just like that, the same way people surrounded you just seconds ago, now it's just you, Spencer, and an awkward silence.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you worked here. I didn't know you were Penelope's coworker, and—" you start to apologize.

"No. Don't. It's not your fault," Spencer rushes to speak.

"I shouldn't have told her about - about," you trail off.

"About you having an ex-husband?" Spencer supplies, and you shyly nod.

"Believe me, it's not a thing I tell everyone I meet, but Penelope, well, she-" you try to find the right words. Spencer nods in understanding.

"Yeah, she can be pretty convincing when she wants to know something."

Another halo of silence passes between you until it's Spencer who breaks it this time.

"So, how have you been? I mean, it's been a while." You nod, still uncomfortable with the situation but just as curious as you assume Spencer is.

"Yeah, it's been a while," you confirm. "Good, all good on my end. Working and living. What about you?"

"Me? Good. Working here at the BAU."

"Cool."

Cool? What does that mean?

A sharp 'Reid' is heard from behind you both, making you turn to the source. A well-dressed man with a serious gaze is looking at Spencer from an office threshold. "Can you come, please?" the man adds. Spencer nods quickly. "Sure. I'll be there in a second, Hotch." The answer seems to satisfy the man, so he nods and returns inside.

Spencer turns to you again. "Uh. I - uh-" he stutters, motioning where the man called Hotch was a second ago.

"Yeah. I have to go, too." You have to, actually, but you don't think you can face Penelope or anyone else right now, for that matter. "It was nice to see you." As you are about to run away subtly, Spencer calls your name. Stopping in your tracks, you turn, and your eyes make contact with his again.

"Would you - uh. Would you like to grab a coffee with me sometime?"

It catches you off guard, but you only assume he's being polite. You think you should return the gesture.

"Sure. Why not," you say, giving him a little smile. "Now I have to go. Bye, Spencer."

And with that, you resume your escape to the elevator.

----------

From the moment he saw you at the BAU, Spencer has never been the same. He never imagined he would see you again, especially under those circumstances. Spencer was so astonished he wasn't even able to start a decent conversation or even ask for your number after inviting you to a coffee.

Also distressed about the interrogation he knew his colleagues would subject to him, Spencer wanders through the BAU halls as if he were not in the present. And, in fact, he is not. After seeing you, he has only been able to think about you and the years you both spent in Pasadena.

A smile tugs the corners of his mouth every time one of those memories comes to him.

"Okay, pretty boy, spill," Derek prompts when he sees Spencer in the kitchen two days after your encounter.

"Uh? What are you talking about?" he turns, confused, to see Derek looking at him with a frown and arms over his chest.

"Come on! You know what I'm talking about. About the pretty lady, Garcia's friend, who happens to be your ex-wife?"

Spencer huffs through his nostrils.

"I already told you. We met in college, and we were together until we graduated," Spencer says nonchalantly as if it's normal. He tries, at least. Morgan scoffs at his attempt.

"Reid. You married her. You just can't tell me you 'were together' as you're talking about any other relationship. She was important; what happened?"

Morgan remembers well a few years ago when Spencer told him about a great love he had while at Caltech and how, from time to time, those memories would come to plague his head. It wasn't hard for Morgan to connect the dots and assume you were the person Spencer was referring to.

Spencer sighs thoughtfully. "We ended it by mutual agreement. We both knew our career paths were going to be incompatible, and we both had so many dreams to fulfill. Our greatest act of love was letting each other go. At least that's how I saw it for a long time."

"But you regretted it at some point," Morgan adds, and Spencer nods. "Why didn't you try to find her then?"

"I didn't want to be selfish. What if she already had her life going perfectly, and I was just going to show like a kicked puppy? It wasn't fair for her."

"Man, I get it, but what about now? You found each other again. Can it be a kind of sign or something." Spencer glances at Derek with an incredulous look.

"Are you listening to yourself? You sound like Garcia," Spencer grumbles, making Derek laugh.

"Yeah. Definitely, it's something my baby girl would say. But, truly speaking, Reid, why not take a chance?"

Spencer huffs in frustration. "I - I don't know anything about her in these years! I didn't even ask for her number that day. I was frozen on the spot!"

"And that will stop you?"

A satisfactory smirk appears on Derek's face when Spencer stays silent, contemplating his options.

---------

Not wanting to talk about the encounter with anyone, you write to Penelope, apologizing for having to leave suddenly that day. She responds everything is fine and doesn't even ask you why, to which you are tremendously grateful.

But as the days pass by, you know you have to talk to her at some point, so you invite her to come over one afternoon.

You have been thinking a lot and rationalizing everything that happened. Of course, there was always a possibility of crossing paths with Spencer someday, but turning it into reality is different. So you conclude all your nerves were out of the shock of something unprovable happening, not because seeing Spencer after ten years made you fall off your balance.

With that in mind, you were ready to talk to Penelope.

Once she gets to your apartment, you first apologize for leaving that day and explain how you got frozen after the unexpected encounter. Garcia tells you not to worry and even says she is sorry for telling everyone about her discovery without any filter.

"It's just- I was so impressed. I couldn't help it!" she explains, and you nod in understanding.

"It's okay. I guess no one expected something like that."

"Right? But I have to ask. How did Spencer Reid become your husband? I mean, you told me about your ex-husband and all, but I'm sorry, I can't picture Spencer even talking to a girl without stuttering, less asking for marriage, and then divorcing? It's beyond me."

It catches your attention how she talks about him. Although you met Spencer when you both were very young, knowing how shy he was, over time, you managed to beat his barrier and meet a wonderful man full of charisma and not so sheepish after all. Has he never shown that side to anyone else in all these years?

"Why so much interest in my marriage? It's been a decade," you ask Penelope, and her scoff sounds a mix of obvious and disbelief.

"Honey, it's unbelievable Doctor Loving Reid has kept THAT information to himself for so long. So now that it is out, it does pick my full interest. Spill. What happened?"

You shrug your shoulder. "It's like I said the first time I told you. We were young, a whole life ahead. Neither he nor I wanted to cut each other's wings."

"But you loved each other!" Penelope complains with an adorable pout. You have known this woman for what? Less than a year? And she seems brokenhearted about something that happened to you and Spencer ten years ago. She's right, though. You and Spencer were mad in love. Unlike what people have believed for years, your marriage was not a result of a wild night of alcohol and passion in Pasadena. You were both quite sober when you went to court that day. Both even had written down the vows you professed in front of the judge- yours on a piece of paper and Spencer in his brain, of course.

"If it's any consolation, the year we were married, we were very happy," you tell her, fondly remembering that time. Garcia rolls her eyes.

"Well, exactly that's what I mean, miss. If you were so happy, why end it like that?"

The only answer you can think of is 'it's complicated,' but that will surely increase her curiosity.

"We wanted the best for each other, even if it meant being apart. As good rational beings, we weighed our options, and the sensible thing to do was to end it."

Putting it in that way, Penelope can believe it. Having known Spencer for years, she knows for a fact his big brain is capable of analyzing every probability of every possible outcome. What seems incredible to her is how feelings - how love - can be rationalized like this.

A ding from your phone pauses your talk with Penelope. You glance at the device and see a text from an unknown caller.

'Hi. I'm Spencer. I stupidly didn't ask you for your number, so after cursing myself for the past few days, I had to find it out. Don't get mad, please. I would really like to grab a coffee with you if you are up to it. If you don't want to, I understand. And if you don't want me to contact you again, just say the words, and I'll stop. But I really hope you say yes. SR.'

Okay. This is unexpected. Indeed, you remember not having exchanged numbers with Spencer, and you didn't give it much thought either, assuming his invitation had been out of pure kindness. But here you are, reading the message and feeling an emotion you can't describe. Nostalgia, maybe?

You narrow your eyes to Garcia, who immediately suspects who sent you a text.

"Before you ask, I didn't give him your number!" she defends as you breathe a deep sigh.

"He's asking me out for coffee," you tell Garcia, and she can't help but squeal.

"Will you say yes?"

"I don't know. Is it a good idea to get back in touch after all these years?" you muse more for yourself than her.

"Honey, only you know what's best for you, but if you ask me, I remember you telling me after you both split up, you were left with a lot of 'what ifs' in your head, and some of them are still floating around. Maybe this could help clear them up once and for all."

Penelope has a point. But now, you have a dilemma in the form of a coffee invitation.

---------

It's just a coffee. Don't overthink it.

You have been telling yourself that for a while as you walk to the coffee shop where you agreed to meet Spencer today.

He is just being nice.

Sure, after ten years of no contact, this sudden encounter in the FBI - with all his colleagues there - maybe pressured him to invite you to grab a coffee.

Still lost in your thoughts, you don't realize you are already there. After taking a deep breath, you step inside and look around. You spot him in a booth in the corner, back to you. A smile tugs at your lips, remembering all the coffee dates you both had back then. It was your thing. Hours and hours talking about everything and anything until the owner asked you to leave because they needed to close.

"Hey," you greet, making Spencer look up to you.

"Hi," he returns, a smile plastered on his face. "Thanks for accepting my invitation," he gestures for you to sit.

"Sure. Why I wouldn't?" After taking off your coat, you sit in front of him in the booth.

"Yeah. I mean, we haven't talked in ten years. And then we see each other at my work, and- well, it's kind of weird, I guess?"

Weird is an understatement, you think.

"You are right. Kind of it is."

You notice there are two coffee cups on the table. Spencer follows your line of sight.

"Uh- I had ordered already," he points to the coffee in front of you. "I don't know if you have changed your order, though."

"Thanks," you mumble appreciatively. "I haven't changed it, actually."

"Great!"

You try to gauge his expression. Is he nervous? Anxious? Because you are.

"Spencer, if you are uncomfortable, we can just go home. There is no—" You can't finish the sentence before Spencer cuts you off.

"No. No, I'm not. Please, don't think that."

"Okay," you concede. "I won't. But you need to be honest with me, okay?"

"Of course," Spencer agrees.

"You felt obligated to invite me here after what happened?" You bluntly ask, and Spencer's eyes widen.

"What? No, of course not," Spencer immediately denies. "I really wanted to see you. It's just that-" he hesitates. You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue. "I just didn't know if it was right, you know? I mean, we never reach out, and then it happens. We never agreed-" he trails off. And you know exactly what he's talking about.

Back then, when you decided to go separate ways, Spencer asked you what would happen if you met again in the future, and you shook your head, saying it probably wouldn't happen. So yes, you never talked about the possibility, and Spencer understood he should never contact you, and so did you.

"I know. We didn't," you recognize, regret slipping in your voice. "I guess I didn't want to think about the possibility back then."

You two know there are things you left out and left unsaid the last night you were together in Pasadena, but you don't think it's a good idea to say them now—not when this is supposed to be a friendly reunion between exes.

"So, since when have you been working in DC?" Spencer asks after you tell him about your work career on the west side.

"Almost two years," you admit.

Two years living in the same city. Spencer wonders if Garcia hadn't met you, he would have ever seen you again.

Your professional career has certainly been prolific; Spencer can tell after the stories you have been recounting. Years of experience and important jobs, just as you had dreamed when you were in college. These are the same dreams you shared with Spencer during the nights of studying and those where there was everything else but studying.

"I thought you were going to pursue academics. When did the FBI happen?" you ask after saying it's enough of talking about yourself.

"I thought that too. And I did it for a while. Then I met Gideon. He - uh, he showed me what the BAU had been doing, and I knew it was my place to be."

Spencer fondly tells you about his early years working as a profiler and how much he has learned. It seems that, like you, he has found his professional calling.

Two hours and three coffees later, you are both laughing about the weird and funny things you have seen in the past years. It feels good, and much of the initial nervousness has dissipated. But there is one topic you both have actively avoided: romantic relationships.

You are curious about it, and Spencer is, too, but neither of you wants to be the one to mention it first. Spencer is who breaks first.

"Are we going to talk about - about that? I feel we have been dancing about the topic, but I don't know if you want to."

You can't help but snort out of being caught and for the subject itself. You are sure your almost nonexistent love life is enough to make anyone cry or laugh.

"I'm still that obvious?"

"You have your tells," Spencer shrugs. You raise an eyebrow.

"I have my tells? What about you, doctor? You have been bouncing your leg the same way you did the day you defended your engineering PhD dissertation."

Spencer's eyes widen. "You still remember that?"

The insinuation of you forgetting that day makes you scoff.

"Of course I do! I tried everything to try to calm your nerves. Do you remember what I did, and actually, it worked?" Spencer's cheeks redden because he remembers.

You won't tell the details, but you recall, as clear as the day, how you helped him to 'decompress.'

"Okay, okay. Guilty as charged."

"So, what do you want to know?" You ask, still not fully ready but resigned, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest.

"Are you with someone?" Spencer asks, and you gasp, feigning surprise.

"No beating around the bushes, uh?"

Spencer's cheeks flush, and he can't help it. "If it's out the line, you don't need to answer."

Seeing him flustered and biting his lower lip makes your heart do flip-flops. It's something you haven't felt in a long time—ten years, to be exact.

"If you had asked me a month ago, I should have said yes."

Indeed, you had a boyfriend until a month ago when his insistence on moving in with you was too much to handle, and his frustrated self decided to say a lot of awful things when you said no to him.

Some people would say you have commitment issues, and maybe you have. But in all honesty, until this day, there is no one you have felt secure enough to take that step.

It's ironic, considering you already have a marriage under your belt.

"I'm sorry," Spencer mumbles.

"No. Don't be. It wasn't meant to be."

'Like I used to think about us,' you want to add, but you refrain. Instead, you explain in not much detail every failed relationship you have had. Spencer listens intently, his heart aching to think of how a part of you might have been broken with each failed relationship. He hasn't done any better, though.

"And that's all. As you can see, there is nothing too exciting to remark," you chuckle to lighten the mood. "Tell me about you. There is a Mrs. Reid waiting at home?"

Spencer snorts, shaking his head. "No. There's no Mrs. Reid. The only one who has held the title has been you," he says with a look that makes your breath hitch in your throat. What is it? Longing?

"Wow. I feel honored," you tease, trying to hide the heat rising to your cheeks.

Spencer tells you about the few relationships he's had over the years. In his own opinion, none of them are very meaningful. When you ask him why, he doesn't hesitate to answer. "This job not only consumes my time, but also a lot of me as a person. Not everyone understands that."

He would like to say no one has ever been so important as to make him doubt continuing to work in what he does. The only person who ever made him doubt was you. But instead of saying it, he prefers to end with a "I guess that's why no one has stayed."

Listening to him talk is like listening to yourself, trying to minimize the fact that professional success is possibly one of the main reasons why other parts of your personal life have never flourished.

It was your choice. You both decided to make it that way. But sometimes you wonder if...

"Do you think we made a mistake?"

Spencer's question gets you out of your thoughts.

You look at him, baffled. "What?"

"Do you think we shouldn't have broken up? That I shouldn't have left?"

You pondered his question for a second. It has to do with how you felt at that time? Or does it have to do with how you felt after or even now?

"Honestly? I don't know, Spencer." A resigned sigh leaves your lips. "I always wanted to think it was the right thing to do."

"You never regretted it?" He asks you, and you shrug, not knowing much to say. Instead, you opt to ask him the question back.

"Did you?"

"Yeah. I did," he admits. "Sometimes I still do."

A heavy silence settles between you. The admission that you both had doubts about the drastic decision you made almost ten years ago is difficult to take. It unfurls a whole new set of questions whose answers you are not sure you are ready to hear or say. But it's only fair he knows your truth as you know his now.

"For what is worth, me too. I regret it. More often than I would like to admit."

Spencer's heart starts to beat faster; breath hitches in his throat for a second.

He tentatively reaches out to rest his hand on yours. You watch the action and think you know what it means. His eyes are hopeful. Something you'd like to mirror in your own, but the uncertainty is there, and you can't help it.

"Spencer, no. Please, don't." You try to articulate but not take your hand away from his. "I wish I could tell you I'm willing to try- to try to make up for lost time, but I can't. Even though it may not seem like it, we're strangers to each other, and I'm not in a place to even think about- you know."

Spencer gives a little squeeze to your hand, nodding.

"I know. And I'm not asking you for us to redo our story and start from where we ended. No. But I would love to get to know you again and be your friend."

"Friends?" You ask, brows furrowed. He smiles.

"Yeah. First and foremost, you were always my best friend. My person. Even if we never get back together as a couple, and we don't have to, I don't want to lose you again."

You take a moment to think about his words. What would be the harm? You're at a stage in your life where you don't want to live thinking about those things you wish you had done and didn't. The things you might have done differently. Why not put reason aside for a moment and just be?

You squeeze his hand back, a sign of yes; you're willing to get to know the Spencer in front of you.

---------

Three months have passed since your conversation with Spencer at the coffee shop. You both agreed to reconnect as friends, which has led to many coffee meetings, lunches, dinners, movie nights, and walks in the park. And to say your heart feels full and happy would be an understatement. You've realized how much of the Spencer you met in Pasadena still exists, and the connection that once brought you together has revitalized and is stronger than ever.

Neither of you has wanted to rush things, and so far, you're both happy to be able to spend time together.

Spencer has also opened the door for you to the BAU team, which has been his family for eight years now. In addition to the bond you already had with Penelope, you now regularly attend the girls' night she hosts with JJ and Emily. You've also gotten to know Derek and Hotch better and understand why Spencer considers them like his older brother and father figure, respectively. You've also become a favorite of David Rossi, who doesn't take no for an answer every time he invites you to one of his dinners.

Like tonight, where you find yourself vividly chatting with the girls in a corner of Rossi's backyard.

"No way I could have passed Dynamics and Mechanics without Spencer," you acknowledge when you're talking about the most challenging subjects you had in college.

"It seems a very interesting topic," Emily jokes, not knowing what the hell you were talking about.

You giggle at the memory, cheeks turning a shade of pink.

"I still remember those afternoons Spencer spent trying to help me memorize the Euler–Lagrange equations and the Hamilton's principle. He made it interesting, if you know what I mean," you wink at them.

"I don't think I want to know," JJ muses. Emily snorts at the suggestion.

"Oh, I definitely want to know what that means," Penelope pipes. You chuckle.

"One night, he made me recite the whole equations with his head buried between my thighs," you confess with a mischievous look.

"Oh my God!" Garcia's jaw goes slack, and Emily's eyes widen in disbelief.

"You fucking kidding me!"

"Definitely, I didn't want to know that," JJ shakes her head.

"Well, I helped him with Applied Computer Science. He had to produce a code to operate a string of relational databases while I was on my knees su-"

"Okay! I get it!" Garcia cuts you off, with her hands in the air, as Emily laughs and JJ groans.

"You asked," you shrug, a smirk on your lips.

"Okay, okay. But hear me out. Since we are talking about college time, and honestly speaking, we all have had someone in college, more or less important, with whom to study or do other things," Emily prefaces, making you giggle. "But from that, to marry, and one year later to divorce? How do you get over something so intense like that?"

You have questioned yourself the same for years.

Looking past JJ's shoulder, you see Spencer talking with Morgan, beer in hand, and you can't help but feel the smile creeping on your face when he looks back and winks at you.

If anything, the past months have made you realize what you had back then with him was unique. But what you're having now? It is as unique as before and better.

"I don't think you get over it. And it's okay; you learn to appreciate it and value the chances life gives you after."

The girls follow your line of sight and share a knowing look. When they see Spencer approaching the group, they collectively decide to go inside the house for a new drink.

"All yours," Garcia whispers to Spencer before going in a bee-line with Emily and JJ.

"What was that?" Spencer asks you with a quirked eyebrow when the girls are out of sight.

You look at him, pretending not to understand.

"I assume they wanted a refill," you say with a shrug. Spencer nods and smiles at you.

"And you don't? Do you want me to get you something?"

"No. I'm fine," you respond to his offer. "Besides, I think I've got my alcohol ration filled for the night."

"If you're done for the night, I can take you home if you want."

That's the Spencer you know, always concerned about your well-being and comfort. You shake your head.

"Not yet. Walk with me, though?" You ask, extending your hand for him to take. Without questioning reasons, Spencer nods and takes your hand. The two of you begin to walk towards the pool area, where the sound of the music coming from the house is less audible.

It's not unusual for you to hold hands now. You trust each other, and it's been an innocent way of showing affection. And while the tension of something more has been building, neither of you has wanted to take the next step yet.

When you stop in the pool deck, Spencer moves to stand in front of you, his free hand reaching to tilt your chin with his index so he can inspect your face for some kind of clue.

"Are you okay?"

You nod as your fingers, from your joined hands, absently play with his. A thorough smile tugs the corners of your mouth. Your eyes admiring Spencer's honey ones in the moonlight.

"More than okay," you admit. But Spencer knows there is more in your mind you're not saying.

"Yeah?"

"Yep." You're stretching this on purpose. A smirk plays on your face. Spencer knows what you are doing.

"Good." His voice is amused. This game was one you both used to play back then, testing each other's curiosity and seeing how long it took the other to demand an answer about what the other was thinking. Usually, you were the one who won since Spencer couldn't stand not knowing.

"Have you grown patient over the years, Dr. Reid?" You ask, entertained. Spencer's laughter fills you with a feeling you thought was dormant inside you, but he has managed to refloat.

Not wanting to prolong his torture, and because you don't have it in you to hold back any longer, you decide to speak.

"I know you remember, but can you tell me the first thing I said to you the day I met you?"

Spencer's eyes narrow in search of the moment you're referring to.

-

You were in the library, busily searching through the shelves for a book you couldn't find. Spencer could see the stress radiating off of you. After watching you for a few seconds, he decided to walk over to the shelf, and leaning down, he pulled a book from the top shelf before presenting it to you. "Maybe this is the one you're looking for?" And he was right. Your first thought was, 'How did I not see it before?' and then you realized the weirdest thing of all, 'how did he know which was the book you were looking for?' You didn't know the guy, and as far as you knew, he didn't know you either.

Seeing your confusion, he proceeded to explain. "It was an educated guess, seeing as you have Fuller's, Richmond's, and Helbert's there. I assumed you were in Thermodynamics 301 and didn't have Priest's."

-

Spencer laughs before trying to imitate your voice. "Can I buy you a coffee in appreciation and keep you in my purse for future reference?" You nod, smiling.

"Bold of me for asking that to a stranger, uh?"

"Bold of you for thinking I would ever refuse," Spencer says in a mocking tone to match your joke. You both share a fit of laughter. Once it subsides, your eyes fix on him.

"Bold of me to think I wouldn't fall in love with you after all these years." Your words hit Spencer, whose expression changes from light to serious in a second.

"What?"

"It's like they say. At some point, something has to give. And this is my moment." You pause before continuing. "I can't say I'm sure what's coming, because I'm not. I also don't know if what you've seen of me these past few months is worth enough for you to love me again. But there's one thing I do know. I love you. I loved you, I missed you, and now I've loved you again."

Spencer is speechless. His brain tries to piece together each word you say. You take both his hands in yours, and you can feel them tremble.

"If you'll have me, I want to be the one that stays," you add, hoping your words are good enough to convey your emotions.

You don't know when tears start running down your cheeks. It might be when you see Spencer's glassy eyes.

"I do love you. And I want you to be the one who stays," he rasps before releasing your hands to cup your cheeks with his own, leaning down to whisper, "Let me be the person you want to stay for."

"You already are," you whisper back before closing the distance between you, allowing your lips to meet in a tender, sweet kiss. A new promise and a new beginning for two souls that were meant to be. Thanks to fate, or maybe not. That doesn't matter anymore.

-

As you kiss, part, whisper sweet nothings to each other, and kiss again, not so far away, are two people watching the scene with satisfied looks on their faces.

"Do you see that, Hot Stuff?" Garcia asks Morgan. A smirk appears on his face.

"Yeah, mama. I see it, clear as the day."

"We did it!" Penelope cheers, whisper-yelling, making Morgan chuckle.

"I should never have doubted you, baby girl," the man says, kissing her cheek.

"Of course not. But I forgive you only because I'm so happy our plan worked wonderfully."

-----------

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

Penelope Garcia's curiosity always gets the best of her. She has gotten to know you better in the past months since the IA convention where you met. She sees you as a beautiful person and a good friend. So when you told her on a night full of alcohol about your ex-husband and how important your relationship was for you, Penelope couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to know more, so maybe she could do something to help. Do what? She didn't know, but maybe more information about it would give her an idea.

Quickly typing on her keyboard, she finds a Pasadena Marriage License with your name on it. Checking the date, Garcia notes you had married in the summer before your senior year. It was expected. You already told her that.

What was unexpected, though, was finding out who the person you had married was. Garcia had to read the name twice before realizing the huge discovery she had just made: Spencer Walter Reid.

'No way! It has to be a mistake,' she squealed, fast-reading the information on the papers. No, there wasn't any mistake. You married Spencer Reid almost ten years ago. The same Spencer Reid she has known for so long and works with her every day.

But wait. You had said, ex-husband. Where are the divorce papers?

Typing again, she finds a divorce request signed by you and Spencer a year after you married. So that is true, too.

Overwhelmed by everything she has just discovered, Garcia is about to close the web tabs with all this data when something pops up: it's a court resolution dated six months after the divorce request. The resolution reads that the request has been denied because one of the parts couldn't be notified for comparison to the Pasadena tribunal. Garcia narrows her eyes and types again, looking for an updated legal document granting the divorce request. She finds none.

'Double holy fucking shit! They are still married!'

Without knowing what to do with this new information, she starts pacing frantically in the office. Garcia knows that the information she found wasn't for her to know, but at the same time, how does it not you or Spencer know this? She can't tell you, but she should, or maybe not. Grabbing her phone, she dials the only person she knows will help her with the dilemma.

"Derek Morgan. I need your delicious ass in my office right now!"

And just like that, a plan emerged. A plan to give a little push to destiny. A little push to you and Spencer cross paths again. Maybe this time, for good.

-----------

"And when are you going to tell them about their failed divorce?" Morgan asks Garcia, who is still looking at the couple giggling and kissing.

"Oh, shush. Let them enjoy tonight. There will be time for that."

Derek Morgan shakes his head, laughing. "Okay. You're the boss, mama. You're the boss."

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

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

[muntitled]

Poor thing ♡

Jake Sim x Fem!Reader

Summary: sleepy gf ♡ horny bf

♡ Warnings: Language, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Smut +18 (Minors DNI) dumbification dollification, Slight ddlg, Brief Daddy Kink, Somnophilia, which means dub/con, Breeding Kink, Domestic Kink, Corruption Kink, Unedited, Mentions of Bondage

This might be tmi but I got turned on writing this and that's probably because I didn't realise how much I love this man. It's so bad girl, pray for me

You'd spoken about kink since the peroration of your relationship. It had been something you'd both decided was very important.

Although Jake admits he only thought kink was a few whips and rope, you assured him it was indeed a whole other world.

“What about somno?,” you'd asked him, while you both sat lazily on the comfort of your living room floor, soaking in the idle 808 beats of some Metro Boomin track while you both had a notebook out in front of you.

Although Jake craved for nothing more than to close the large distance between the two of you while you jotted down your sexual boundaries, even if it was just a hand placed on your thigh, he stopped himself.

He knew that distance was necessary when discussing sexual do’s and don'ts.

There couldn't be any sort of touching involved while you both fleshed out and divulged what would and would not be allowed within the sexual confines of your relationship.

All this talk about sex, however, had regressed his adult brain back into adolescence and he nursed an annoying boner the more you spoke.

“What's that?” He asked with his head tilted unconsciously. All you could do was chuckle softly as you eyed your boyfriend sitting on the floor adjacent to you. Your legs were splayed out and running parallel to his but still evaded the possibility of touch. You did not only find it adorable to witness just how much your boyfriend was trying to behave for you, you also found it so incredibly attractive.

“C'mon,” you had said as you shyly spun your finger on the rim of your glass containing a mild coke zero (no intoxication when discussing boundaries. Another infuriating rule, Jake found). “I do not have to explain to you what somno is,”

Jake only shrugged as he eyed you from across the small room. His back leaning against the couch was tense as he said, “afraid you do, babe,”

It was the way he was looking at you, with his eyes carelessly conveying just how turned on he'd managed to get during this short time of abstinence.

Your eyes never leave him when you talk. Hoping to convey your own need as you said “You can google it, Jake.”

“I can,” he nodded almost immediately, “Course I can, but I don't want to.”

What he didn't say is that he much rather preferred it when you used your words to divulge your knowledge on every filthy little detail about a particular kink. It turned him on to know what slept inside your mind and it made him uncharacteristically unhinged with lust when such dirty words left an unusually dignified mouth.

Corruption Kink. You had given him that diagnosis sometime throughout the evening.

“Jake,” you shake your head again, feeling the heat seep into the worn fabric of Jake's old Tupac shirt. It was probably unwise to be dressed in nothing but his oversized graphic tee and you're only made aware of this dire mistake right now. “You know.”

“No, actually, I don't.” He breaches the rules. Fuck the rules. And he lets his hand reach to tentatively rub at your cute little toe before returning his hand to his notebook.

“Tell me what somno is-”

“Sleep play.” You eventually shoved the words out of your mouth like unwanted visitors.

The second they registered in Jake's head he was sitting just a little straighter.

“Jesus…” Is all he said as he downed the rest of the 100% orange juice which he had really wished was 60% straight fucking vodka.

“Y-Yeah, but we don't really have to go into this one. I could just write it down in the ‘not interested’ list and we can just move on-” at the sight of you bending your head to furiously scribble inside the notebook containing the safety guidelines of your sex life, Jake reached out once again until his hand was perfectly encapsulating your entire foot.

“Nah, hold on.” He said, with a hint of a smile and nothing but sheer intrigue swimming in his eyes, “don't get rid of it yet.” He said. “Let's talk about it.” The devil shrugged. “Give it a fair chance.”

And although the evening had ended with Jake ravishing you on the living room floor -you were folded in half as he ate you out with the fervour of a starved man- Jake Sim did not incorporate any of the kink you two had just spoken about into the act.

In fact, all of your sexual escapades have been fairly vanilla with added hints of praise and degradation here and there before this very night.

Let it be clear that Jake Sim did not expect sex on this particular Thursday evening.

He had been having a particularly cursed day with nothing at all going right for him except the prospect of seeing you after dance practice. The possibility of you cradling him against the plushness of your breasts while you sang to him with your fingers running through his hair kept him afloat until he let himself into your apartment by the end of the day.

“Yo? ‘anyone home?”

Instead of finding you tapping away at your laptop or consuming a starkly provocative HBO original, Jake found you asleep, in your room. Fairy lights on while the sound of crashing waves bled through your phone speaker.

Before he got horny, let the record reflect that Jake was perfectly content with climbing into bed with you and dozing off himself. But he couldn't help how his body responded to the softness of your curves pressing into his side the moment he lowered himself onto your bed and into your warm pink quilts. He should be closing his eyes, dozing off alongside you but the longer he stares at the miniscule details of your face, the more his stomach tightens and warms.

Perhaps, venturing into more sinister territory, Jake's eyes skate down to your slightly open mouth and then- down to your frame nestled under his armpit, where you lay in a foetal position with your stuffed animal held in an almost primal grip.

It is then that the first beginning of guilt seeps into his lower stomach, feeling that he doesn't really wish to dissect, especially given your very persuasive reassurances that “kink should never feel icky if it's consensual.”

And you gave him your consent.

Jake still remembers your slightly laboured breathing when you admitted to being turned on by the idea of somnophilia.

The smile on Jake's face as he bends down to nestle his face in your headwrap is placid, like calm still waters on a Sunday afternoon. Doing a very good job at hiding the tempest within.

You stir in your sleep and Jake swallows thickly. With his lips still pressed against your head, he stares into space with a vague look of worry and discontent. He knows, logically, that he should not feel bad for what he's about to do. It was only human, after all, to feel sexual desire for your partner. What did not feel normal, however, is how he managed to grow impossibly hard in his sweatpants, and all you've done was sleep, you poor thing.

This time when you shift again, it's to hike your leg up further along his torso, and unbeknownst to you, a broken moan seeps out of Jake's mouth because your leg is now brushing right up against his tense and hardened cock. Jake attempts to regulate his breathing through his nose (in and out, in and out) but his brain loses sight of how unethical this all is under the realisation of just how warm you are underneath him. The arm he had wrapped around your frame flexes as he brings his hand up to the curve of your voluptuous hips. It's then when he thinks about them… you having his kids, and suddenly, he's manoeuvring you even closer into his arms.

“Jakey? Baby, you home?”

Home.

It felt so domestic and it didn't help the heat seeping out of Jake's tense body.

Your groans perpetuate through the confines of the bedroom. You're slowly waking from one of those ghastly kinds of naps. The kind of nap that existed outside space and time and everything else in the known universe. The kind of nap that had you groggily opening your eyes crowded with crust as you try to make sense of your surroundings.

His voice is raspy as he whispers back, “I’m home, Bunny,” Everything in the universe begins to right itself when Jake presses a warm, slightly sloppy kiss to the top of your head and you can feel yourself coming to grips with your surroundings. A warm sigh leaves your mouth and you melt into the sensuality of Jake's second kiss which he displays across the side of your face, moving lower and lower and hiking up your leg still splayed over his lap.

Jake's eyes are closed, brows furrowed and his kiss is lingering. His lips never stray from your skin and you can feel your limp, half asleep body being pressed in further against his warmth. You're suddenly becoming all too aware of your core pressed against Jake's hips at this angle; you and your boyfriend's limbs are practically intertwined.

His warmth is all encompassing.

“Ja-What…” a sleepy little yawn squeaks out of your throat and you unconsciously bring a limp hand up to wipe away all the sleep.

Jake watches you with grave, grave admiration. The kind of feeling that squeezes at his heart and, perhaps more shamefully, his cock. “What time is it?”

“Not important, Bunny,” he kisses you again. Heaven's he was brimming with kisses for you. They felt like a lullaby, coaxing you back to bed. “Just go back to bed,”

Those particular words have you blinking up at your boyfriend who begins to come into focus under the hazy orange glow of the fairy lights. Your body stretches ever so slightly as you crane your head up to meet his half lidded eyes.

“What time is it-” you begin to answer again, but Jake stops you once again.

“You don't need to worry your pretty brain about stuff like that,” he nudges his chin towards you as if beckoning to play along with this scene he's orchestrated for the two of you. Despite feeling your heart strings tugging at the idea of playing along, you're still very much plagued by rationality.

“Jake- Baby, you have practice tomorrow. I don't think you can sleep over-”

“But pretty girls don't think,” he nestles his head into the crook of your shoulders and he squeezes. Once again, begging you to play along, “You never have to think when you have me.”

You could feel the better part of you being dragged into the safe, plush wonderland of your subspace, just from his words alone. When Jake doesn't get a response he pulls back to make eye contact with you once more, Sickeningly satisfied to see the fog beginning to fill your pupils.

“But, Jakey-” he has you. He knows he has you.

“You still sound so sleepy, Baby,” he whispers, and you're quite shocked to find yourself being lifted off the bed, “You want Jakey to help take the sleepiness away, don't you?”

Another kink you two had discussed ad nauseum but had failed to ever orchestrate in real time. It happened flawlessly between you both. A torrid yet natural dance. Ddlg, you called it.

Jake is still lying supine on the bed as he manoeuvres you to straddle his legs. Your hands anchor yourself by the rough skin of his torso through his pitch black shirt while his hands find home on your thigh, “I need you to help me out and then you won't be sleepy anymore, yeah?” The smile he gives you is enough to get any person to bend to his every will and so you find yourself nodding dumbly, with your eyes still half lidded, and a part of your brain experiencing a sleeplike calmness. “Jakey needs you to be good for him, okay?” You swallow thickly and yelp when Jake lifts his hips, subsequently lifting you as if you weighed nothing at all. His eyes are pained when he uncovers his hard, leaking dick from his sweatpants. You're not sure if it's the sleepiness still raining heavily on you but you're suddenly plagued by the need to enclose his cock in your hand.

So that's what you do

With your limbs operating on autopilot, your hand falls lazily over his cock while you tiredly rub your left eye with your other hand.

“F-Fuck, Bunny- What're you doing?” Jake looks up at you with wild, pained eyes and you peer down at him with a tilted head. Ever so clueless. Ever so beautiful, “I wanna help,” You whisper and his cock immediately twitches in your hand, “I wanna help,” You mumble as you lower your front against his, nuzzling into his neck while you sleepily begin to pump his cock.

Your chin hangs over his shoulder as your eyes flutter shut, all the while, Jake bites his bottom lip until he's on the verge of breaking skin.

“You're trying to off me, you know that?” Jake whispers into your ear as the warmth of your palm struggles to keep him thinking rationally. Unable to stop himself from lifting his hips slightly to grind against your hand, Jake hopes for more friction, more fucking pressure, but it never comes. Not when you've basically passed out on top of him.

“F-Fuck me,” Jake whispers as he lift his hands to lightlyoaw at your hips. “You're making me fucking insane, you know that?” Jake's voice is coated with singsong need as he shuffles you lower on his torso until your hips meet his. “You said this is okay, didn't you baby?” The only answer he gets in return is a few lightly snores as he lifts you up, having you hover djrectly over his aching cock, twitching to be inside you.

For a while Jake is perfectly content with humping lazily against your pyjama pants as you shuffle intermittently.

His hands rub over your back, feeling your chest pressed against his before drifting his hand down to the curve of your ass and the thin pyjama shorts hugging your hips.

He immediately decides he can't do it.

“Daddy needs to be inside you, Bunny.” Your breasts push against him as he reaches down to swipe your pyjama pants and your oantjes to the side, “Your hands and mouth…They just won't do, baby. I need to fuck you, d'you understand?” he asks with so much concern and so much consideration it would have your heart clenching in its cage if you were conscious.

Jake's breath is caught in his throat as the head of his cock prods at your tight opening. As he tries to guide his cock in, you shift a little over him, causing him to pat lovingly at your back, coaxing you to sleep as he forced his cock into your cunt. Instead of swallowing him like you usually did, your cunt is vehemently trying to push out the intrusion, which only succeeds in turning him on more.

Jake buries his head into the crook of your neck, sniffing in your scent as he pushes himself in despite the tight fit.

“You're gonna make me cum so quick, Princess,” he whispers into your hair.

You barely made it 10 pumps before your shuffling above him with your cunt was split into two.

He wanted to use you, he needed to make you his dumb, unresponsive toy and Jake shivers as a bead of precum streams down the side of his cock.

“You're doing so good for me,” his hips lift as his hand on your ass presses down, forcing you to meet his steadily growing thrusts“You don't wanna disappoint me, do you?” he asks your cute, sleeping form. As if in response to his words, your body subconsciously reacts and your cunt tightens around his cock, immediately sending Jake into a bitter delirium.

Soon, his head is thrown back into the pillows and both his hands are firmly on your ass as he begins to fuck up into you with less care. “F-Fuck Princess, I think I could cum like this,”

You're shuffling again. Threatening to wake up. It only has Jake fucking you harder, bringing him closer to the edge.

“F-Fuck-this fucking pussy-” You were being split in two. You on top of him somehow felt like he was going deeper than how he usually went. “Oh God, you're so warm, Bunny,” He exclaims, looking up at the ceiling with his own pained expression, completely and utterly trapped in his dom space as he begins to move you up and down on his cock.

Your limp body followed, unable to conjure up the strength of your own movements. He had all the control over all your movements, kinda like-

“Y-You're my toy, aren't you, Bunny?” Jake is so completely fargone as he watches your ass bounce with each of his rabid thrusts, completely uncaring over whether you're awake or not. “Fuck, you’re my fucking toy,” Jake's a blubbering mess and it only makes you wetter as you slowly blink open your eyes, in the very middle of one of your most prized fantasy’s. Your cunt squeezes around his cock. Your heart hammering in your chest. Your orgasm crests along with his.

You had never thought you'd ever know what a sleepy orgasm would feel like but somehow you knew it would ram through you with way too much intensity.

“You like me deep inside, yeah? You like being split open while you sleep, Bunny? Hm? You're so fucking perfect you know that? So fucking pretty- J need you to have my babies, yeah?” The more he talks, the more it's difficult to pretend to stay asleep. A groggy and tired moan slips out of your mouth while your arousal slips out of your leaking cunt. “You'd like that, wouldn't you? Us having babies.”

Jake's hips stutter against yours. His jaw is locked tight as you clench around him, “F-Fuck you would like that-” It is then that you're starkly aware of the hidden narcissism that this kink bred. Here he was, using you to get off with only himself as the audience. Jake was guiding himself to orgasm with his own dirty words as if he were God and somehow that thought succeeds in bringing you to orgasm.

“Oh God, Jake-”

“You need me to get you pregnant, don't you?” Your head nods almost unconsciously, without the permission of your rational brain and Jake speeds up his fucking into you, as orchestrating a new form of movement. He was always leading you, even when it came to his pleasure.

“Just like that, Bunny,” he always praised you without a second thought…

Jake is working himself to orgasm with short, shallow breaths. His hips lift to thrust into your dripping cunt and in his mind he's about to come to the fact that you really are his toy.

“Fuck, you're gonna make me cum,” he whispers into the side of your head, “Your leaky fucking pussy's going to make me cum, Bunny-”

His orgasm triggers another one of your own and both your legs spasm, locking around him as Jake releases his cum deep inside you. His hand clenched down on your hips, forcing you to take in every single drop until it's forcing itself out of your dripping cunt, trailing down your thigh. After riding the high of his orgasm, Jake looks bright eyed again, like he's gotten rid of something very dark and very oppressive until the sunny Jake Sim was back.

“So good,” he smiles down at you, “You always do so well for me”