#that's just not me idk what to do about it!!

[buttercupshands]

never say never I guess

had a sudden "I want to draw them"

Lyrics from "The Last Goodbye" by Billy Boyd

also a warm up that led to this, wanted to try drawing them again and somehow got inspired a bit

[femmeroll]

are you guys sick of older!sevika yet or what…

sevika x fem reader

cw: age gap, modern setting, sfw & nsfw, idk this is just feeding my delusions

older!sevika will always give you a ride. in fact, the thought of you having to drive yourself anywhere makes her sad. you’re a princess who deserves to be chauffeured around!

she’ll pick you up in her truck from your college classes with your favorite drink from dunkin in the cupholder. she’ll wake up at seven in the morning just so she can drive you to your eight A.M class.

“babe, it’s your day off. you need to rest, i can drive myself!”

“is that some sort of joke? get in the truck.”

older!sevika is physically incapable of watching a movie with you without falling asleep. the second her ass hits the couch in your apartment, it’s like she swallowed ten melatonin gummies.

you guys are cuddling up under a blanket, peacefully enjoying some movie you found after scrolling through disney plus for ten minutes. around fifteen minutes into the movie, you turn to see her eyes closed, softly snoring against the pillow.

“sevi…c’mon, wake up. it’s been like…thirty seconds.”

she stirs awake with a groan. “i’m awake, i’m awake. i won’t pass out again, promise.”

she falls back asleep twenty minutes later.

older!sevika is, contrary to popular belief, a huge fan of romantic sex. she hates quickies, they just don’t satisfy her need to be intimate with you in every sense of the word.

she loves to take her sweet time with you. making out turns to gentle grinding on her lap, which then turns to neck bites and soft rubs on your hardened nipples. she won’t touch your cunt until she’s positive that you’re dripping with need. everything with sevika is an expression of her love. every deep thrust of her strap into your pussy is filled with sweetness and appreciation for you.

during aftercare, she’ll do whatever you ask. she’ll rub your back, get you water, feed you, clean you up in the bath. the whole time she’s mumbling praises in your ear about how much she loves you.

and on that note…

older!sevika gets turned on by the most random things. wearing her shirt? she’s ripping it off and getting on her knees for you. doing work with a concentrated look on your face? she’s blushing down to her neck. singing along to a song in the car? she’s pulling over and tonguing you down.

“babe…i’m studying for midterms. what are you kissing my neck for?”

“you’re so hot when you’re focused. i think it’s time for a break, baby girl.”

older!sevika starts facetiming you during her lunch at the office. she’ll listen to you talk about your classes or your outfit or the weather for the entire hour she has free. the whole reason she calls you every day is so she can hear your voice and look at your gorgeous face.

she’ll have her phone propped up against a stack of papers on her desk, staring at you through the screen with hearts in her eyes like a cartoon character. nodding mindlessly as whatever you need to rant about, completely at peace due to the sound of you.

older!sevika smokes a concerning amount of cigs, just like in the canon universe. between clients at work? she’s going out back to smoke. after sex? she’s smoking in bed. driving you somewhere? she’s smoking in the car with the window rolled down. she’s literally always coughing.

that being said, she thinks vaping is just ridiculous. she just thinks it’s lame. if you vape (like me), she’ll make the most dramatic, grossed out face the second you pull it out. it smells too sweet, and they’re like forty bucks a piece.

she will absolutely buy you a new one when she’s out getting herself cigarettes, though. she can’t say no to you ever.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

His

Summary: Javi can't get enough of you (aka idk how to summarize this other than it's pwp whoops)

Word Count: 1.8K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader

Warnings: ... again, this is straight up pwp, unprotected p in v sex, rough(er) sex, breeding kink (I'm sorry!! I'm sorry!! It's physically impossible to not!!), praise kink, big, nasty creampie, cum play, 1 use of daddy and papí (but like, that's the goal), an ass smack, prone bone and the one position from s2e3 of Narcos because I say so!!! also sweet, tooth rotting fluff because I don't know how to write any other way

A/N: She's nothing, if not consistent, your honor 🤠 You'll have to pry Javier Peña and his big, fat breeding kink out of my cold, dead hands before I stop writing about it!!!!!! Figured what better way to break a hiatus than letting the ovulation demons do the lords work for me to post some smut on tumblr dot com, hope y'all enjoy!!!

Never Too Late Masterlist

“Fuck, Javi!” 

The only thing that’s keeping you from waking up your neighbors with the volume of your moans is the way Javi has you pressed against the mattress, muffling the sound of you screaming his name as he pounds into you, over and over. 

You swear he could smell it on you from the second he walked through the door, how you had been craving him all day. Just the thought of him alone was enough to make you ache with unbearable need and want. From the moment he left for work this morning, you were counting down the hours until he got home so you could climb him like a goddamn tree. 

But then again, how can anyone blame you when he’s the one who instigated it in the first place? 

“I swear to god, when I get home, I’m not letting you out of the fucking bed tonight ‘till I knock you up.” 

“Is that a threat or a promise, Javi?” 

“Both.” 

Javi’s always been a man of his word, but with the way he’s fucking you right now, it makes you wonder if he’s ever planning on letting you out of the bed again. 

“That’s it baby girl, let me hear it.” 

You can feel the way the words rumble in his chest, pressed against your back as he fucks into you, deeper and harder with each thrust. The grip around your intertwined fingers tighten, practically melting you into the bed with the weight of his broad body is pinning you down, caging you beneath him. 

Heat is radiating off him, the tacky sheen of sweat pooling where your skin meets, Javi’s hips flushed against the meat of your ass. He’s already got you three orgasms deep, but there’s just something addictive about Javi that always has you begging for more, desperate to cum around his cock over and over again until you have nothing left to give. 

“Oh my god- fuck. Fuck, Javi, I want more baby, please. Fuck me harder- oh fuck-” 

You swear you can feel his smirk creeping into the corners of his cheeks as he kisses your shoulder, relishing in the mess he’s already made you, and yet, you still can’t seem to get enough of him. 

“You want more, hermosa? Let me hear you, baby.” Javi coos, purposely slowing his pace down just enough to make you whimper, quietly laughing to himself at the way he can feel you back your ass up against his hips, trying to keep yourself as full of him as you can. 

“I want it, I want more, baby, please.” You whine, craning your neck behind you just enough to see the devilish grin Javi has plastered across his face. 

“You gonna be a good girl and take everything I have to give you? Let me fill you up until it’s got no choice but to fuckin’ stick?” He groans, the thought of fucking himself so deep inside you that nine months from now, he’ll be the reason for your growing family, igniting something indescribably primal in him. 

“Yes! Yes, please, fuck- I’ll take all of it!” 

It’s borderline pathetic how many octaves your voice has climbed as you beg him for more, a pitch and volume so loud and high you nearly startle yourself with your response. You can hear Javi sigh and curse under his breath. You’re not sure if it’s because having you like this drives him crazy, or if having you like this drives him so crazy, he’s worried he’ll bust right then and there if he doesn’t control himself. 

Your response has him shifting behind you, sitting back on his knees and gripping his fingers into the meat of your sides to force your bottom half up, one hand letting go to smack your ass just hard enough for your breath to hitch in the back of your throat. 

You’re not sure how, but the new position has him feeling even fuller, stretching you out to the point of pleasure filled sobs as he starts to pound against your g-spot, each thrust rougher than the last. 

You’re so wet that the sound of him sliding in and out of your cunt is almost as loud as the noise of his skin slapping against yours. That, combined with the lewd panting and moaning heaving from each of your chests, has the room sounding like you could easily give any porno ever produced a run for its money. 

“Love this pussy so fucking much. Always so fucking wet and tight for me. Whose pussy is this, baby?” Javi asks, his once smug demeanor quickly dissipating as he chokes out his question through gritted teeth, so drunk on you he can barely think straight. 

“Yours! Fuck, fuck fuck- It’s yours, Javi.” You sob, fisting at your bedsheets so tightly, you’re convinced it won’t be long until your knuckles turn white. 

“Fucking right, it is. Fuck you so full of me that I knock you up, make sure- mierda- make sure everyone knows you’re all mine. That what you want, Mami?” 

“Yes, y-yes! Oh fuck- yes! ” 

Javi gets one more smack at your ass before he reaches around to scoop you up from your front, draping his arm across your chest to flush it with his back, never letting the pace of his hips falter. If he wasn’t holding you up, you’re positive you’d be limp, so all consumed by pleasure that it’s engulfed every inch of your body. to keep yourself upright. 

His free arm snakes around to find your clit, whimpering as the pads of his fingers rub tight circles around the bundle of nerves. The undeniable tingle at the base of your spine is beginning to build again, the all too familiar clamping of your cunt around Javi’s cock growing tighter by the second. 

You can all but feel him in your stomach, every inch of him sunk as deep as you can take him, backing your ass into him to counter every snap of his hips. You shoot your hand behind you, digging your nails into whatever part of his thigh you can find to brace yourself on as he fucks into relentlessly, only egged on by the fact he knows how close you are. 

“You got one more for me, baby?” Javi mewls, nipping at your neck while the hot words of his breath dance across your skin. “One more time before I cum so fucking deep inside you?” 

You’re not sure how you even have the capacity to form words, nodding your head in compliance as you try your best to string together something comprehensible as the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter. 

“Y-yes, oh fuck- want you to fill me up. Put a baby in me, please, papí.“ 

“Fuck me.” Javi huffs under his breath, furrowing his brow in an intense focus to keep from fulfilling your request preemptively. “Cum for me, Hermosa. Cum all over my cock, and I promise I will.” 

It only takes a few more frantic strokes before you’re collapsing around him, orgasm shooting through your body with such radiating pleasure, you’re not even sure you’re on this earth anymore. The way he’s pinning your nearly limp body to his, pounding into you relentlessly to chase his own high is almost too much, but you’ll take it. You’ll take everything he has to give because it means that you’re his. 

“That’s my girl.” Javi coos, sliding the hand that had been rubbing at your clit up your chest, stopping to wrap around your jaw, just firm enough to dip your head back to rest against his shoulder. “My good fucking girl.” 

His head is buried in the crook of your neck, pants and moans muffled against your skin, growing louder with each snap of his hips, each one more reckless and sloppy than the last. You can barely make out the words he’s mumbling into your ear, his brain just as jumbled as yours as he nears his finish line. 

“I have so much fucking cum for you. Gonna fuck it so deep in you, it’ll- oh fuck- it’ll fucking take. Fill up this pussy with every last- shit- every last fucking drop. Fuck!” 

It’s a low groan that rumbles in his chest first, followed by a strangled whimper that dies somewhere in the back of his throat as his hips stutter, hot ropes of his spend spilling inside of you while he cums. You know he doesn’t dare let a drop go to waste, that he’ll keep his cock stuffed inside your cunt until you’ve milked him of every ounce he has to give. 

And fuck, he wasn’t lying when he said plenty to give. 

You can’t even tell where your body ends and his begins, melded together as one, his length nestled so deep inside you, you can feel all of him pulsing while his seed overflows, leaking out pussy and dripping down your thighs. You know there’s nothing more Javi wants than to keep every last drop inside your cunt, but the best he can do with how much he has to give is to keep fucking it into you, forcing hips to thrust deeper in sync with the heavy heaves of his chest until you’re all but sobbing. 

“It’s- fuck- it’s so much, Javi, fuck-” You whimper, jaw slack at the slick, sticky mess pooling around the base of his cock. 

“Jesus, fuck- I know, baby. I know, but you’re taking me so fucking well.” He coos, softly kissing your neck and shoulder before shifting your body to lay you down, somehow remembering to grab a pillow from his side of the bed to prop under your hips before your back hits the mattress. 

You hiss at the loss of Javi inside you, the sharp breath quickly replaced by a gasp as you the next plop of cum dripping out of your hole caught by Javi’s fingers, sliding up your soaked folds to gently press back into your cunt. He uses the last bit of strength he has to part your legs just enough to make room for his head, leaning down just enough to pepper soft kisses to your clit, trailing up your stomach and chest until he collapses next to you. 

The both of you lay there for a moment in silence, nothing left to fill the room but the post-orgasmic haze you’ve left behind, catching your breath as you try to let your brain sync back up to your body. 

“Javi… Javi, holy fuck.” You huff, the corners of your cheeks turning upwards in a cheeky grin as you roll your head to face him, giggling at the wide eyed, fucked out expression his face still can’t seem to shake. 

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Javi sighs, shaking his head in disbelief before running his hand through the sweat-dampened curls of his hair, prying them from the damp mat they’ve made on his forehead.  

“You came so hard, Jav.” You softly giggle, scooting close enough to lay your cheek against his chest, smiling as he drapes his arm across your back to pull you in closer. 

“Yeah, I know. Fuck, I haven’t cum that hard in a long time.” Javi smirks, fingers drawing gentle patterns on the warm skin of your back. 

“Trying to knock me up really turns you on that much, huh?” You tease, the two of you laughing like you didn’t already know the answer, or that he couldn’t say the same for you. “It’s hot.” 

“Yeah?” Javi asks, biting down on the plush of his lower lip as he raises his eyebrows at you. 

“Mhmmm. You’re already about to be the hottest DILF known to man, makes it that much hotter how badly you want to be a daddy.” 

Even though Javi rolls his eyes at you, trying his best to hide the boyish grin stretched between his cheeks. You snicker at the pink flush of his face, leaning over to leave a lingering kiss on his lips, both your smiles meeting each other’s mouths. 

“Fuck me.” Javi sighs, quietly laughing to himself, carefully brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. 

“Again? Already? Hate to break it to ya, but I think it’s safe to say you’ve got nothing left in the tank there, Jav.” 

This eye roll makes him grin even harder, supring on your giggles with the ticklish kisses he pecks across your body as payback for your awful joke. 

“You’re such a fucking dork. God, I love you.” 

“Love you more, idiot.”

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[redwinelew]

j'adore | lewis hamilton

social media au. black + actress!reader

summary there has been a rumour going around that you and lewis are dating, and while that's true, you and him decided to take a different approach in order to confirm your relationship

face claim zendaya bcs everybody loves zendaya

song fashion by lady gaga

warnings inaccurate timeline probably idk, not proofread bcs i couldn't be bothered

author's note inspired by those pics this week 😋😋

english is not my first language. all pictures taken from instagram, pinterest and twitter. credit to owners.

masterlist | requests are CLOSED!

twitter

f1gossipofficial

liked by user, user and 12,637 others

f1gossipofficial Lewis Hamilton's newest rumoured wag, Y/N L/N in New York City today.

view all 689 comments

user excuse me that's a two times emmy winning actress y/n l/n to YOU

user she's so pretty

user never heard of her before

user user watch challengers!! she was so damn good in it

user user oh i didn't know she was an actress??

user user also a fashion icon 😋😋

user user a perfect girl for lewis then lol

user i refuse to believe that this was not a photoshoot

user user girlie really casually walks out of her house looking like this

user god really does have a favorite

user i wanna be her when i grow up

user idk if i wanna be her or lewis or both

user lewis has a great taste in women

ynln

liked by lewishamilton, gongyoo_official and 7,272,947 others

ynln thank you harpersbazaar 🩶🩶 never thought i'd look good in grey or a suit or both

view all 18,637 comments

user Y/N IN A SUIT OH MY GOD

user i'm so gay

user she can step on me and i will still worship the ground that she walks on

user *saoirse ronan meme* WOMEN—

user THE SUIT AND THE CURLS!!!!!!

user now that's a real it girl

user first black then grey.... guys hear me out ive connected it

user didn't michael b jordan already wore this same suit? 😭

user user and y/n wore it better!!

user lewis in the likes lol he aint slick

user user i dont think he was ever trying to be 😭😭

lancomeofficial

liked by oliviarodrigo, lewishamilton and 189,628 others

lancomeofficial Introducing ynln as our newest Lancôme ambassador 🤍

view all 3,737 comments

user *me hyperventilating* guys stay calm

user lewis in the likes again....

user user his ass is always liking posts about y/n 😭😭

user user couple goals honestly

user first black then grey then WHITE???? what is she trying to tell us 😭😭

user user this was just bunch of pictures for the lancome lol pls

user user do u know who her stylist is? LAW FREAKING ROACH. he's been styling her since the dawn of time. and y/n is too pr-trained for stuff like this to just be a coincidence. she's trying to tell us something.

user user and i thought taylor swift fans are the craziest ones 😭😭

user i love how these comments are about y/n and lewis 😭😭 nobody cares about the lancome thing

user if the white means that she's already married to lewis i will honestly end it all

ynln user that's too far fetched

user ynln THEN WHAT IS IT JUST TELL US PLS 😭😭😭😭😭😭

ynln user lol 😉😉

ynln

liked by imsebastianstan, georgerussell63 and 5,837,044 others

ynln sagawards 🌷🩷 thank u for having me as one of the presenters and congratulations to all of the winners

view all 13,627 comments

user WE'RE GOING WITH PINK NOW??????

user oh this dress EATS

user user nobody loves y/n l/n as much as law roach does

user y/n please my gf is on this app 😭🙏🏼

user guys i lied i haven't connected shit idk what she's teasing us with these colors

ynln user i'm disappointed but pls try again

user ynln OH KY GOD I LOVE U 😭😭😭😭😭😭

user george in the likes...... georgerussell63 tell us what you know NOW 🔪

georgerussell63 user I'm just a huge fan!

user georgerussell63 uh huh sure 🤨🤨 i'm watching u boy

twitter

ynln

liked by simoneashley, daisyedgarjones and 14,826,244 others

ynln wearing red for my ferrari man ❤️🥀 lewishamilton

tagged lewishamilton

view all 180,628 comments

user WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT

user ALL OF THOSE OUTFITS WERE LEADING UP TO RED BECAUSE HE'S WITH FERRARI THIS YEAR OHHHHHH

user user i have no words

user user this is so fucking genius

ynln user knew u could figure it out 😉😉

user LAW ROACH AND Y/N L/N YOU TWO HAVE DONE IT AGAIN!!!!

user user i bet lewis was in this too 😭😭

ynln user it was his idea. wore red in front of of him once and he was drooling

user ynln WJAHDJEKSHKS WHAT

lewishamilton ynln i was not

ynln lewishamilton really? what was last night then?

lewishamilton ynln do you want me to rip your clothes again?

ynln lewishamilton is that an offer?

user ynln AYO????

user i'm hyperventilating

user i expected no less from the met gala co-chairs

user this is so extra lmfao i love it 😭🙏🏼

user the ferrari and this relationship launches will go down in history. what a moment.

twitter

taglist @anamiad00msday @nothaqks @seonghwaexile @unknownmystery22 @becca-bec0a @nothing-just-an-inchident16 @glitteryturtledeer @greantii

[coastxlwaters]

1. Masm Eclipse by @moony-buckets

2. Chocolate

3. Xel, Xellia, Raisin, the sun

4. Little Dark Age by MGMT

5. Yes

6. Yes

7. Yes

8. Yes

9. Why they do what they do

10. Something that has shitty after taste idk man

11. B o t h, dont ask me to choose

12. Headphones

13. ’Love you’ to my brother

14. Idk

15. Night owl (unless school messes up sleep routine)

16. I dont like to nap

17. Yes

18. A fucking mess

19. Sweatpants

20. Ice vanilla latter with 6 pumps of sugar and vanilla cold foam

21. Pink

22. My crystal tree

23. Both

24. Direwolf

25. Idk

26. Water purifier

27. Nah

28. Mechanical Engineer

29. Unless u want QPR get out

30. Sun and moin hoodie with black sweatpants

31. Hanging Tree

32. Dark Brown

33. Not really

34. No

35. “You dont deserve to have everything about you personally attacked constantly like this“ - @eternal-soup

Look ik the last one is gonna piss some ppl off but it geniunely is stuck in my head and think about it every hour since yesterday.

36. All of my mutuals, im just tired rn to tga all of yall

~ 💖 ASK GAME 💖 ~

📷 What’s set as your phone’s lockscreen?

🍫 Cheese or chocolate?

✨ Do you have any nicknames?

🎵 Last song you listened to?

✏️ Have you ever written fanfiction?

😏 Are you on discord?

 💛 Do you have any piercings?

🐰 What do you think says the most about a person?

🍪 If you were a cookie, what kind would you be?

🐶 Are you more of a dog person or a cat person?

🎧 Headphones or earbuds?

🌼 What’s the last thing you said out loud?

🙃 What’s a weird fact that you know?

🦉 Are you a morning person or a night owl?

🧸 Favorite place to nap?

🏳️‍🌈 Are you a member of the LGBTQIA+ community?

🦋 Describe yourself in three words.

👖 Jeans or sweatpants?

🥤 What’s your go-to Starbucks order?

🧡 A color you can’t stand?

💎 What’s your most prized possession?

☕ Coffee or tea?

🦖 Favorite extinct animal?

🌙 How long have you been on tumblr?

🌴 Desert island item?

🐸 Describe your aesthetic.

🔮 What’s your dream job?

💙 Relationship status?

🌿 Describe your favorite outfit.

🎤 Is there a song you know all the lyrics to?

🤎 What color is your hair?

💌 Do you talk to yourself?

💄 Do you wear makeup?

🌸 Best compliment you ever received?

💞 @ your favorite blog.

Reblogs are appreciated!

[bitchthefuck1]

I actually really love that we see Helena's palpable hesitation about going back to the severed floor. We know that this has all been a publicity thing for her and it's about helping Lumon, so she's really invested in the outcome, but like. from her POV, she's literally letting someone who actively hates her and everything she stands for, and also has a proven willingness to hurt herself if it means hurting Helena, who now knows who she is and her significance to Lumon, pilot her body for 8 hours every day in an environment where they've repeatedly failed to control her. If I were her, I'd be genuinely surprised to wake up with my limbs intact.

You already questioned why on earth she'd come back after Helly's suicide attempt, and the identity reveal explains the reasoning, but on a human level that's still a wild thing to have to think about. This person (who is you but also isn't) almost succeeded in killing you, and like a week later you let them pilot your body again like nothing happened. How could you not be terrified?

[missarchive]

american jesus⁴ ☆

spencer reid

part one part two part three part four

summary; In the final chapter, the dynamic between Spencer and the reader has evolved into something quieter, less fraught with complications. There’s a sense of ease in their connection now, a comfort in simply being in each other’s presence. While the future remains uncertain, they both seem to find a certain peace in the current moment, no longer overanalysing what comes next. The chapter closes on an unspoken understanding, leaving the path forward open, undefined, but somehow, still shared.

cw; +18 minors dni, SMUTTTT, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, inexperienced reader, pleasure dom spencer, fingering, dirty talk, munch!spencer, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, reader calls spencer "sir", idk guys this one's super fucking filthy, spencer cums inside, angst, fluff, praise, cum eating/swapping, spencer grovels for forgiveness, slight love-bombing, spit swallowing, slight overstimulation, spencer's a total perv, lmk if i've missed anything <3

an; the final part!!! thank you for sticking with me through this, this is the longest fic i've written to date at about 12k! P.s. this is written with jesus reid in mind <3 xoxo

It’s been weeks since that argument, yet the memory of Spencer’s words still lingers like a wound you can’t help but poke. Immature. Reckless. You’ve played them over and over in your head, dissecting the way his voice cracked on the harsher syllables, the fear and frustration behind his outburst.

But none of that matters now. He made it clear where he stands…or doesn’t. And you’ve resolved to move on, even if it means pretending your chest doesn’t ache every time you see him.

He walks in, hair slightly disheveled, a stack of papers clutched to his chest. His fingers twitch against the edges, knuckles white. His eyes skim the room, carefully avoiding yours, but you still feel the weight of his presence. He’s ignoring you, and it shouldn’t sting as much as it does.

“As we discussed last time, the concept of memory consolidation…”

His voice, usually a source of comfort, now feels like a barrier. You watch him intently, your hand resting lightly on your notebook, waiting for the moment when you can contribute something meaningful to the discussion.

When the opportunity arises, you raise your hand, heart thudding in your chest. His eyes flicker in your direction for a split second before skimming past you. He calls on someone else.

You blink, lowering your hand slowly. A flush of embarrassment creeps up your neck, and you fight to keep your face neutral. Maybe he didn’t see you.

But Spencer did see you.

In fact, he saw you the moment you walked into the room, your head held high even though he knows—God, he knows how much he must’ve hurt you. Every second he spends pretending you don’t exist is another stab to his chest, another reminder of how he pushed you away with words too sharp to take back.

Spencer knows he should’ve handled things differently. He shouldn’t have yelled. He shouldn’t have called you immature, reckless, or whatever else his panicked mind had thrown out in an effort to create distance. But the fear—the crushing fear—of losing everything, of losing you, had twisted into something ugly and defensive.

Ignoring you feels like punishment, like standing in the wreckage of something he helped destroy. And yet, he convinces himself it’s the right thing to do. For his job. For your reputation. For the tiny shred of professionalism he has left.

He hears your voice rise again, another eager attempt to participate, and for a moment, his resolve cracks. His gaze lifts, just for a second, but he forces it back down, pretending to sift through his notes. He picks someone else, his voice coming out tighter than before. He can’t let himself soften. Not now.

By the end of the lecture, you feel like you’re being crushed under the weight of his indifference.

As the other students begin to pack up, you linger in your seat, pretending to adjust your notes. Spencer busies himself at the podium, organising his materials with too much precision. Every fiber of him wants to speak to you, to say something, but he remains silent.

When you finally leave, without so much as a glance in his direction, his shoulders sag. The door clicks shut behind you, and he exhales shakily, gripping the edge of the podium to steady himself.

He knows he messed up.

And he’s starting to realize that letting you go was the biggest mistake of all.

Spencer stares at the empty lecture hall long after you’ve left, his fingers absently tracing the worn edge of his notes. The silence around him is deafening, amplifying the thoughts that have been circling his mind since the moment he pushed you away.

He shouldn’t have said those things.

The memory of your expression—hurt, betrayed, yet still defiant plays on a loop in his head. He’s analyzed it a thousand times, picking apart the exact moment he saw the light in your eyes dim. It was right after he called you immature, right after his voice wavered with something dangerously close to regret, but he’d pressed on anyway, too caught up in his fear to stop himself.

He thought cutting you off would make things easier. That ignoring you would put some much-needed distance between you both. But every time he sees you in class, looking straight at him with that quiet determination, he feels like the world is shifting beneath his feet.

Tonight, he doesn’t go home right away. Instead, he finds himself at the local bookstore, pacing the aisles aimlessly, running his hands over book spines as if the answers might be hidden somewhere in their pages. His thoughts are a mess, apologies, regrets, the gnawing ache of missing you, all tangled together in a knot he doesn’t know how to undo.

Finally, after what feels like hours, he stops in front of a small display of classic literature. A collection of short stories catches his eye, your favorite author. He remembers how passionately you spoke about them, how you’d once challenged him to find deeper meaning in the prose when he’d claimed it was too sentimental.

Before he can second-guess himself, he buys the book.

The next morning, he’s in the lecture hall early, long before anyone else arrives. His hands tremble slightly as he pulls the book from his bag and places it carefully on your desk, tucking a small note inside the front cover:

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I miss talking to you.

He hesitates for a long moment, staring down at the message, before quickly retreating to his usual spot at the podium. His heart hammers in his chest as the first students trickle in, and when you finally walk through the door, he forces himself to look away.

You pause at your seat, your brow furrowing at the book resting neatly on your desk. Your fingers brush over the cover, and for a split second, Spencer allows himself to glance up, searching your face for any reaction. But you don’t look at him. Instead, you slide the book into your bag without a word and take your seat as if nothing happened.

Spencer swallows hard, disappointment settling in his chest. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

But he’s not giving up.

Not yet.

You haven’t acknowledged the gesture—not in class, not after, not in the fleeting moments when your eyes almost meet across the room. You carry the book with you now, tucked safely in your bag, but you haven’t said a word about it. Not even a glance in his direction.

And it’s driving him insane.

Spencer isn’t used to feeling this way, this gnawing guilt, this helplessness. He’s spent his life solving complex puzzles, breaking down human behavior into patterns and probabilities. But you? You’ve always been the one thing he couldn’t quite calculate.

So, he tries again.

The next morning, when you walk into class, there’s something small and unassuming on your desk, a cassette tape, carefully placed where only you would notice.

Your fingers hover over it for a moment before you pick it up, inspecting the label scrawled in Spencer’s familiar handwriting:

Songs that remind me of you.

You stare at it, expression unreadable. For a moment, Spencer wonders if you’ll just leave it there, push it aside like it means nothing. But then you slip it into your bag without a word, and his chest tightens with something halfway between relief and frustration.

Still, you don’t speak to him.

But that doesn’t stop him.

A few days later, there’s a cup of your favorite coffee sitting on your desk before you even arrive, the heat still lingering in the cup. The note attached is short, almost tentative:

Thought you might need this.

You hesitate again, fingers tracing the rim of the cup as you glance around the room, like you’re trying to catch him in the act. But Spencer is already at the podium, pretending to review his lecture notes, though his ears burn with anticipation.

You take a sip.

And though you don’t say anything, Spencer catches the tiniest flicker of something soft in your expression before you steel yourself again.

It’s not much. But it’s enough to make him keep trying.

The next week, small gifts keep appearing—your favorite pen when yours mysteriously runs out of ink, a folded paper crane sitting in the middle of your notebook, even a neatly written study guide with helpful annotations in the margins.

Each time, you pretend not to notice. Each time, Spencer wonders if you’ll ever forgive him.

He knows he messed up. He knows words alone won’t fix this. But he hopes, God, he hopes, that maybe persistence will.

At first, you think the book was a fluke.

Maybe he left it there by accident, a leftover impulse from the time when things between you were different—when he would listen to you ramble about your favorite stories and pretend not to be impressed by how much you cared.

But then the cassette tape appeared.

You remember sitting in class, holding it in your hands, staring at the neat, careful handwriting on the label: Songs that remind me of you. A lump had formed in your throat, and for a second, just a second, you thought about confronting him. Asking him what exactly he thought he was doing, why he felt the need to dangle these little reminders of what you used to be in front of you.

But you didn’t. Instead, you shoved the tape into your bag, ignoring the way your hands shook slightly.

Then came the coffee. The stupid cup of coffee sitting on your desk like it belonged there, warm and familiar and him. You almost didn’t drink it out of sheer stubbornness, but the note: Thought you might need this, sat there staring at you, and somehow, it felt worse to let it go to waste.

So you took a sip.

And the worst part? It tasted exactly the way you liked it. Because of course he remembered.

The next time it was your favorite pen, smooth and easy in your grip just like the one you always used—until yours ran out of ink at the worst possible moment. You’d stared at it for too long before finally picking it up and using it, your chest tight with something you couldn’t quite name.

And now, as you sit in class, your fingers trace over the paper crane he left on your desk this morning. It’s small and delicate, made with precision that you know took time, and something about that unsettles you more than you’d like to admit.

He’s trying.

And you hate that it’s working.

You keep telling yourself that you should stay mad. That you should hold onto the anger from that night—the words he flung at you like knives, the way he made you feel so small. You remind yourself of the humiliation, of the ache that settled deep in your chest when he turned away and left you standing there alone.

But still… he remembers. The coffee, the songs, the little things that no one else would ever notice. And that’s what makes it harder to push him away completely.

You glance toward the front of the room, where Spencer is hunched over his notes, pretending to be absorbed in them. But you know better. The tension in his shoulders, the way he hasn’t called on you in weeks, the flickers of his gaze when he thinks you’re not looking—it’s all there, plain as day.

He’s waiting.

And you hate that a tiny part of you is waiting, too.

The gifts keep coming.

At first, you think they’ll stop after a few days, that he’ll get tired of the silent treatment you’ve been giving him. But Spencer Reid is nothing if not persistent.

Today, it’s a folded piece of paper tucked inside your notebook, carefully slipped in sometime before you arrived. Your chest tightens the moment you see it, and despite your better judgment, you unfold it with a quiet curiosity.

It’s a handwritten list.

Books you might like.

Your eyes skim the titles, some you’ve mentioned in passing, others completely new but eerily fitting your taste. You swallow hard, your fingertips lingering over his handwriting, neat and deliberate, as if he put real thought into each selection. Because he did.

You hate how well he knows you.

Sliding the paper into your bag, you pretend not to notice the way Spencer's shoulders shift slightly at the podium, like he’s waiting for some sign that you’ve seen it. But you don’t give him the satisfaction. Not yet.

You should be angry. You are angry. But underneath it, something else festers—something warm and unsteady that you’re not ready to face.

The next morning, there’s something different waiting on your desk. A small, almost inconspicuous flower, nestled between the pages of your textbook. Pressed and delicate, like it’s been saved for a long time.

You pause, staring at it longer than you should, before carefully closing the book around it and moving on as if nothing happened. But your heart betrays you, thudding hard against your ribs as you struggle to keep your expression neutral.

Spencer, standing at the front of the room, doesn’t look at you once. But you can feel the weight of his presence like gravity pulling at you.

This silent game you’re playing, it’s exhausting.

He’s trying.

And it’s getting harder to ignore.

By the end of class, you find yourself lingering, watching him from the corner of your eye as he pretends to organise his papers. Your fingers brush the edge of the book in your bag, where the flower is safely tucked away, and for a brief moment, you consider saying something—anything.

But then you remember how easily he walked away last time.

So instead, you leave without a word, ignoring the way your heart feels just a little heavier with every step you take.

The gifts stop.

You don’t notice it right away. It’s only after a few days of arriving to an empty desk, no thoughtful notes, no carefully placed trinkets, that it finally sinks in. At first, you feel relieved. No more gentle reminders of what you lost. No more soft apologies tucked between pages and beneath coffee cups.

But then why does it feel so… disappointing?

You shake the thought away as you sit through another lecture, taking notes with the pen he gave you. The small reminders are still there, whether you like it or not.

And that’s when he changes his strategy.

“Y/N.”

His voice stops you cold, just as you’re packing up your things. It’s the first time he’s said your name in weeks, and it sounds almost foreign on his lips, careful and unsure.

You look up slowly, wary, your heart hammering in your chest. “Yes, Dr. Reid?”

His mouth presses into a thin line, and for a second, you swear he looks almost hurt. His fingers fidget with the strap of his bag, and there’s something in his eyes, something regretful, something desperate.

“I—” He hesitates, glancing around at the few lingering students still shuffling out of the room. “Can I talk to you?”

You stiffen, forcing yourself to stay neutral. “About?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, and you can practically feel the weight of all the unsaid things hanging between you. “About… the class,” he says finally, but the hesitation in his voice betrays him. “Your last paper. I had some thoughts.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. And for a moment, you almost believe him—almost fall back into that easy rhythm of long discussions and shared ideas. But you catch yourself, steeling your expression.

“I think I’m managing fine,” you say, slipping your bag onto your shoulder. “Thanks, though.”

You turn to leave, but he steps closer, too close, and you have to fight the urge to back away.

“Y/N, please.”

The crack in his voice is almost enough to make you stop. Almost.

But instead, you keep walking, ignoring the way his presence lingers behind you like a shadow.

The next lecture, it happens again.

And the one after that.

Every time, he waits. Every time, he calls your name, softer, more insistent. He tries to start conversations, little ones, harmless ones, asking about assignments, books, anything to get you to talk to him. And every time, you walk away, pretending you don’t notice the way his voice trembles just slightly when you turn your back on him.

But you notice.

It’s almost routine now.

Class ends, you gather your things, and before you can make it to the door, Spencer is there—waiting, watching, always just close enough that you can’t ignore him entirely.

“Y/N, wait—”

You don’t. You keep walking, pretending not to hear the quiet desperation in his voice. But he’s not deterred.

The next class, he tries again.

“I wanted to talk to you about—”

“I have to go.”

And again.

“I—uh, I found this article I thought you might find interesting—”

“I’m busy.”

Each time, his voice gets a little softer, his eyes a little more tired. But he doesn’t stop. If anything, he’s getting bolder.

One afternoon, you’re halfway out the door when he catches up to you, falling into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You know,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “there was this study done on avoidance behaviour. It found that people who actively avoid situations tend to experience heightened stress and—”

“Seriously, Spencer?” you snap, stopping in your tracks. You whip around to face him, and for a second, he looks almost startled to hear you say his name. His first name.

His mouth opens, then closes again, as if he doesn’t know what to do now that he has your attention. His fingers fidget nervously with the strap of his bag, and his eyes—those ridiculous, stupidly expressive eyes—are wide and earnest.

“I just…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. “I miss talking to you.”

You inhale sharply, that familiar ache creeping into your chest. “You don’t get to do this, Spencer.” Your voice is quieter now, but firm. “You don’t get to push me away and then decide you want me back when it’s convenient.”

His face falls, and for a moment, you almost regret saying it. But then he nods slowly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I just… I don’t know how to fix it.”

You hold his gaze for a beat too long before shaking your head and walking away.

But this time, it doesn’t feel like a victory.

You start seeing him everywhere.

At first, you think it’s just bad luck—running into him outside the library, at the campus coffee shop, even near the quiet corner of the park where you like to study. But after the third time in one week, it’s obvious that it’s not a coincidence.

He’s trying. Again.

You spot him before he sees you this time, sitting on a bench near your usual spot, a book in his hands but his gaze flickering up every few seconds, like he’s waiting, hoping you’ll notice him.

You consider turning around, walking the other way, but something inside you tightens at the thought. You’re tired of running. Tired of pretending his presence doesn’t affect you.

So, you sit. Not next to him, but close enough that he knows you’ve seen him. Close enough that you can feel the tension humming between you, thick and heavy.

A few minutes pass before he speaks. “I didn’t know you liked this place.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “I doubt that.”

His lips twitch, the ghost of a smile, but there’s something almost sad in it. “Okay,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I might have… remembered you mentioning it once.”

You exhale, shaking your head. “Spencer—”

“I know,” he interrupts, voice quiet but insistent. “I know I shouldn’t be here. I just—” He hesitates, fingers gripping the edges of his book like it’s the only thing grounding him. “I wanted to see you.”

There’s something in the way he says it that makes your heart stutter. Like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

You look down at your notebook, trying to ignore the warmth creeping into your chest. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” he says again, softer this time. “But I’m going to anyway.”

You don’t know whether to be annoyed or touched.

After a moment, you sigh, flipping open your notes and pointedly ignoring him. But you don’t get up to leave.

And Spencer, for once, seems content just sitting there. Close enough, but not too close.

The days that follow feel like a delicate balance, each encounter with Spencer nudging at the edges of your resolve. At first, you tell yourself it’s nothing, he’s persistent, sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s breaking through. You’re still in control. You remind yourself of all the reasons you keep him at arm’s length, the walls you’ve built around yourself, stronger than ever after everything.

But as the days stretch on, those walls start to feel more fragile.

You see him again, this time outside a classroom. He’s standing near the door, arms crossed, looking uncharacteristically uncertain as he scans the crowd for you. When his eyes find yours, it’s like he’s finally breathing. Like he’s been holding his breath this whole time.

“Hi,” he says, voice slightly hesitant, but his smile, that familiar, soft smile, makes your chest tighten. “I—uh—I’ve been meaning to ask, if you’re not too busy... Would you like to grab coffee after class?”

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes. He’s persistent, you can’t deny that. But there’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes you hesitate.

“I don’t know, Spencer,” you reply, voice a little firmer than you intend. “You don’t have to keep trying.”

His smile falters, but he doesn’t retreat. Instead, he steps forward, just a little, and you notice how his fingers flex against the strap of his bag, the quiet anxiety there. It makes your heart twist, but you push it away.

“I know. But I want to,” he says simply, with that same quiet intensity. “I miss talking to you. It doesn’t feel right not... having you around.”

Something in his words catches you off guard. You feel a flicker of something inside you—something you’ve been trying to ignore for too long. His presence has become like a ghost in the back of your mind, never quite leaving, always lurking. And for the first time in what feels like ages, you wonder if maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

You glance at him, letting your guard down just a little, before you let out a sigh.

“Alright,” you say, almost reluctantly, “But just coffee. No more… no more trying, okay?”

He looks at you like you’ve given him the world, and something inside you cracks just a little bit more. “Okay. Just coffee.”

It’s a small step. But it’s a step forward. And somehow, that feels like the beginning of something you’ve been trying so hard to avoid.

Spencer’s already sitting at a table in the corner, a book in front of him, but the second the door opens, his gaze snaps to you. He doesn’t even look surprised—just relieved.

“Hey,” he says, standing up quickly, his voice just shy of uncertain, but his smile genuine. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

You glance around, taking in the space, trying to ignore the way your heart starts to race just seeing him there. “This place is... different.”

Spencer gives a small shrug, eyes flicking to the side. “I thought it might be nicer—less busy. You know, somewhere we can actually talk without having to yell over the noise.”

You stare at him for a beat, almost surprised by how considerate he sounds. “I didn’t think you’d know the first thing about quiet spots.”

His lips curl into a sheepish grin. “I guess I’m full of surprises,” he says, his tone light but a bit uncertain.

You can’t help but chuckle, feeling the tension between you start to ease. “Okay, I’ll admit, it’s nice.”

Spencer looks relieved, but his gaze softens a little. “I’m glad you think so. I wanted this to be… better. For us.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. For a second, the air feels heavier. He’s not just here because he wants something from you. He’s here because he wants to be with you, in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to consider before.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he leans back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly on the table. “I know I’ve probably been too pushy lately. I get it. But I just… I miss you. And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just want to be here. If you’ll let me.”

You blink, caught off guard by the honesty in his words. You feel a twinge in your chest, something you haven’t let yourself feel in a long time. “Spencer…”

“I know,” he interrupts, voice softer now. “I know. I’ve been trying to figure it out, how to give you space. But I don’t want to let go either. I want to be around. Even if it’s just this—just coffee and talking. No more... no more rushing things.”

You take a breath, your gaze drifting to the table. His words are simple, but there’s something in them that makes it hard to push him away.

“I’m not saying I’m ready for everything to just… go back to normal,” you admit, your voice quieter. “But I don’t want to keep avoiding this, either.”

Spencer’s eyes brighten at that, and he leans forward just slightly, his gaze intense but warm. “No pressure. I’m not going anywhere.”

You can’t help but nod, the corners of your mouth turning up a little. “Okay. Just coffee, for now.”

His smile is soft and real, like it’s been a while since he’s had a reason to show it. And in that moment, you think maybe—just maybe—you’re beginning to let him in.

You tell yourself it’s still nothing. Just coffee. Just familiar habits that are hard to break. But when you find yourself walking into that same quiet café again—when your eyes immediately search for him—you know you’re lying.

Spencer’s already there, his usual spot by the window, fingers wrapped around a cup that’s probably gone cold by now. He’s staring out at the street, lost in thought, and for a brief moment, you consider walking past, pretending you didn’t see him. But then, as if sensing you, his head turns, and his eyes meet yours.

This time, there’s no nervous startle. Just a slow, tentative smile.

You sigh, stepping forward before you can talk yourself out of it. He stands when you reach the table—always the gentleman—and you wave a hand at him, rolling your eyes. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know,” he says easily, but the way his fingers twitch at his sides tells you he’s still figuring out how to act around you.

You sit, and before you can even glance at the menu, there’s already a cup in front of you. Your usual, just like last time. You arch an eyebrow at him, but he only shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Thought I’d save you the trouble.”

You could argue—tell him not to make assumptions—but the warmth of the cup in your hands feels... nice. Familiar. So instead, you take a sip and let the silence stretch between you.

Spencer fidgets with his sleeve, then glances up through his lashes. “How’s your week been?”

It’s such a simple question, but for some reason, it catches you off guard. You hesitate before answering, “Fine. Busy.”

He nods like he’s cataloging the information, filing it away for later. “I, um... I was reading something that reminded me of you.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a book, sliding it across the table. “I thought you might like it.”

You stare at the book, your fingers hovering over the worn cover. It’s thoughtful, maybe too thoughtful, and for a second, you feel the familiar urge to pull away, to remind him of the distance you put between you.

“Spencer...”

“I know,” he says quickly, leaning back. “No expectations. Just... I saw it and thought of you. That’s all.”

You hate how easily he reads you, how effortlessly he disarms the excuses you’ve been holding onto. With a quiet sigh, you pick up the book, flipping through the pages absentmindedly.

“Thanks,” you murmur, and when you glance up, his eyes are soft, hopeful but not pushing.

For the rest of the coffee, you let the conversation flow in slow, careful steps—nothing too personal, nothing too deep. But the walls you’ve built aren’t as solid as they used to be.

And when you leave, the book is still in your hands.

It starts creeping in when you least expect it.

Little things—quiet moments that used to be yours alone—are suddenly filled with the weight of his absence. The inside jokes that no one else would understand, the random facts he’d blurt out when he got nervous, the way he’d always—always—remember the smallest things about you.

You catch yourself thinking about him more than you’d like to admit. Wondering what book he’s reading now, if he’s still showing up at that café, if he’s sitting by the window hoping you’ll walk through the door again. And it’s infuriating—how much space he takes up in your head despite all your efforts to keep him out.

But it’s not just in your head anymore. It’s in your chest, a dull ache that lingers whenever you pass by the places you used to see him. And slowly, inevitably, your resolve starts to slip.

The first time you slip, it’s barely anything. Just a text.

Did you ever finish that book you were telling me about?

You stare at the message for longer than you should before hitting send. And when the reply comes almost instantly—Yeah. It made me think of you.—you realise just how much you’ve missed the way he always ties things back to you, like you’re still a constant in his world.

You tell yourself it’s harmless, just a conversation. But one text turns into another, and another, and soon enough, you’re back to talking late into the night, the glow of your phone illuminating your pillow as his words make you laugh—really laugh—for the first time in a while.

The second time you slip, it’s worse.

You go to the café, fully intending to sit alone, to prove to yourself that you don’t need him there. But the moment you step inside and see him, already sitting in the corner with a book he’s barely paying attention to, it’s like something inside you cracks.

His eyes widen when he notices you, surprised but hopeful. He doesn’t say anything right away, just watches as you walk over and slide into the seat across from him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t know what to say at first, but then Spencer offers you that small, tentative smile—the one that always used to break through your walls—and suddenly, you don’t feel like fighting it anymore.

"Hey," you say softly.

His eyes soften. "Hey."

And just like that, you're back in that quiet space between friendship and something more.

The third time you slip, it’s undeniable.

You find yourself reaching for him, metaphorically at first, sending texts when your day feels off, calling when you can’t sleep. But then it becomes literal. A touch here, a lingering glance there.

You miss him. More than you want to admit. And Spencer, being Spencer, doesn’t push. He just waits, patient and steady, like he’s always been.

And maybe... maybe you’re finally starting to realise that you don’t want him to wait anymore.

It’s late when you hear the knock at your door. Too late for anyone to be stopping by without a reason. You hesitate, staring at the door like it might answer for you, your heart already picking up speed in your chest.

A part of you already knows who it is before you even look through the peephole.

Spencer stands on the other side, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, his hair a little messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it too much. There’s something in his posture, an uncertainty, a restlessness, that makes your stomach twist.

You consider not answering. Pretending you’re not home. But deep down, you know it wouldn’t change anything. So, with a slow breath, you unlock the door and pull it open.

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The hallway is too quiet, the air between you thick with words left unsaid.

“I can’t stay away anymore.”

The words come out in a rush, his voice low but desperate, like he’s been holding them in for too long. His eyes search yours, pleading, hopeful. “I tried, I really did, but I—” He swallows hard, shifting on his feet. “We need to talk.”

You should say no. You should tell him it’s too late for this—too late for him to show up at your door like this, looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him together. But instead, you step aside, letting the door swing open a little wider.

Spencer hesitates, his breath hitching, before stepping inside. He stands awkwardly in your living room, looking around like he’s trying to remember how it felt to belong here.

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the door. “Spencer, what are you doing here?”

He lets out a heavy breath, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I just... I couldn’t do it anymore. Pretending like we’re okay with things being like this.”

Your throat tightens, and you hate how much his words affect you. “We were doing fine,” you say, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.

“No, we weren’t,” he counters, his voice soft but certain. “I miss you. And I know I messed things up before, but I—” He pauses, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t want to keep pretending like I don’t care. Like I don’t need you.”

You swallow, looking away. “Spencer... it’s complicated.”

“I know,” he says quickly, stepping closer. “But I don’t care how complicated it is. I don’t care if you need time, or space, or if you’re not ready to figure this out yet. I just—” He exhales sharply. “I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I never was.”

Your resolve, the one you’ve been holding onto so tightly, wavers under the weight of his words. The way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing that makes sense in his world, makes your chest ache.

After a long pause, you sigh, running a hand over your face. “Spencer... you’re impossible, you know that?”

He smiles—small, but real. “I’ve been told.”

You shake your head, but there’s no real fight left in you. “Fine. Talk.”

His shoulders relax, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, and as he sits down on your couch, you realise something terrifying.

You missed him too.

Maybe more than you were willing to admit.

Spencer sits on your couch, his fingers laced tightly together like he’s trying to keep himself from reaching out. His knee bounces slightly, nervous energy spilling out in little ways, but his eyes stay locked on yours, unwavering. Determined.

“I don’t care about my job,” he says, and it’s so sudden, so absolute, that it takes you a moment to process it.

You blink at him. “Spencer, what are you—”

“I don’t care,” he repeats, leaning forward, his voice low but insistent. “If it’s my job that’s keeping us apart, I’ll leave. I’ll get a position at a different school, another department—hell, I’ll move out of the city if that’s what it takes.” His words come in a rush, desperate and unfiltered, like he’s been holding them in for too long. “I just... I don’t want to lose you over this.”

Your chest tightens, a sharp ache settling deep inside you. “Spencer, you’ve worked so hard to get where you are. You love what you do.”

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “No. I love you.” His voice cracks, just slightly, but he presses on. “The job, the school... none of it matters if I don’t have you.”

You stare at him, words caught in your throat. This is Spencer—logical, pragmatic Spencer—offering to throw away everything he’s built because of you. Because he wants you back. And it’s terrifying.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” you murmur, shaking your head. “This... this isn’t something you can just throw away.”

“I have thought about it,” he insists, his eyes pleading with you to believe him. “I’ve thought about nothing but this. Every day. Every night.” He exhales, his hands gripping the fabric of his pants like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “I can’t keep pretending that work is enough to fill the space you left.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. The weight of what he’s saying, what he’s offering, hangs heavy in the air between you.

After a long pause, you shake your head again, weaker this time. “You don’t have to do that, Spencer.”

His eyes soften, and for the first time tonight, his voice is gentle. “But I want to. I want to do whatever it takes to fix this. To be with you.”

Your throat feels tight, emotions bubbling up to the surface faster than you can push them down. “Spencer...”

He leans forward just a little, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Just tell me what you want. If you tell me there’s still a chance, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

You feel your resolve crumbling, piece by piece, under the weight of his sincerity. The way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered—makes it so much harder to hold onto the walls you’ve built.

You take a shaky breath, searching his face for some kind of answer. And for the first time in a long time, you realise that maybe... maybe you don’t want to fight this anymore.

Your eyes search his, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The doubts, the fear, the stubborn voice in your head telling you to keep your distance. None of it matters.

Not when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.

You don’t think. You just move.

One second, you’re sitting there, caught in the gravity of him, and the next, your lips are on his, soft and searching, your hands curling into the front of his shirt like you’re afraid he might disappear if you let go.

Spencer freezes, just for a beat, and then he’s kissing you back, his hands hovering over your sides, hesitant—like he can’t quite believe this is real. But you feel it in the way he exhales against your mouth, in the way his fingers finally find their place on your waist, holding you like he’s afraid he might be dreaming.

It’s not slow, but it’s not desperate either. It’s something in between—familiar and new all at once, a collision of everything you’ve both been holding back for too long.

You pull back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. Your heart is pounding, and you can feel his racing just as fast beneath your hands.

“Tell me this isn’t a mistake,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.

You shake your head, eyes fluttering closed. “It’s not.”

His grip on you tightens, and the relief in his expression is enough to make your chest ache. “I don’t want to lose you again,” he murmurs, and there’s something so raw in the way he says it, like it’s the only thing that’s mattered all along.

You tilt his chin up gently, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Then don't.”

A low groan escapes Spencer’s chest, and in an instant, he’s pulling you into his arms with a desperation you didn’t know he had in him. His lips crash against yours, hot and urgent, as if he can’t get close enough. The kiss is deep, raw, and hungry—neither of you holding back any longer.

You lose track of who’s moving who, but suddenly you’re pressed against the wall, Spencer’s body firm against yours, his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer. His lips part yours as his tongue makes its way inside, a sigh slipping from your mouth at the intensity of the kiss. You tug at his hair, hard enough that he groans, but neither of you pulls away. Instead, he presses into you, every inch of him consumed with the desire he’s been hiding—just as much as you’ve been hiding yours.

His cock digs into your hip as you press yourself up against him, a flutter low in your belly. God, how you want him so badly. 

He tears his mouth away from yours, panting. “I’ve wanted this,” he mutters against your lips. “I’ve needed this for so fucking long, y/n.”

He nips at your chin, at your neck, anywhere he can, moving lower. Your head falls back against the wall as he trails open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone, his hands gripping your hips. You can feel the pressure building inside of you, a wild, uncontrollable fire.

“Spencer,” you gasp. “Please...”

His lips ghost over your clothed nipple, then his teeth are tugging on your bra, pulling the cup down. He licks over your skin, his breath hot against your flesh. Then he’s sucking you into his mouth, his tongue swirling over you, dark brown eyes gazing up at you. His hands grip your ass, kneading the flesh there as you squirm against him.

He moans, releasing your nipple with a soft pop. His fingers trail down your stomach, palms pushing your skirt up around your waist when you feel his fingers graze your underwear.

He slips his fingers beneath the fabric, his thumb slowly rubbing at your clit. A whimper tears its way out of your throat.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes, his teeth tugging at your nipple. “Gonna make you cum over n over. Gonna make you beg for it.”

You’re already there, but you don’t tell him that.

Instead, you push back against him as his fingers start to thrust inside of you. Your underwear is still in the way, but it doesn’t matter. 

“I want this,” you tell him. “I want everything you can give me.”

He makes a noise against your skin, and you know that he’s giving in. That he’s letting go of his fears of crossing the line, of being inappropriate with a student. Of the ethics, of the potential consequences.

As he keeps kissing your neck, his fingers slipping inside of you harder and faster, you realise that you want this for more than just the moment. You want to explore these feelings between the two of you, to see where they take you. If they can take you somewhere special.

He groans again, and you hear the unmistakable sound of his zipper. You feel him press against you, his cock hard and thick through his underwear. He’s still wearing his trousers, but his cock is free, rubbing up and down over your clit.

“Gonna cum, Spence,” you tell him, the words coming out of your mouth in a rush. Your legs are shaking, your knees weak. Your orgasm is building, breathing growing heavy, just threatening to spill over. “Fuck, please, I need to—”

He grunts, his hips moving faster, pressing you back harder against the wall. You can feel him, feel his cock throbbing and hot against your sensitive flesh..

“Look at me,” he orders, pulling away from you.

You force your eyes open, staring up at him as your orgasm rips through you. It’s blinding, overwhelming, making your vision blur. He leans forward and kisses you, swallowing your moan whole. The taste of his tongue in your mouth is dizzying.

Spencer breaks the kiss first, pulling his fingers out of you as your orgasm recedes. You blink up at him, dizzy, as he lifts the fingers to his lips and licks them clean.

“Taste,” he whispers, pretty eyes flitting to your lips as he brings his mouth back to yours. You can feel rough stubble rasping against your skin, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when you're finally getting what you want.

You press into the kiss hungrily, tasting yourself on his tongue, letting out a soft noise of need as his tongue explores your mouth.

He turns you around, his hand on your chest pushing you into the wall as he leans over you. His breath is hot against your neck, your shoulder. “Bend over for me,” he whispers, his voice deep and raspy. “I’m not going to fuck you just yet. First, you’re going to cum on my tongue.”

“Spencer,” you groan. He’s going to tease you, to torture you until you can’t think anymore.

You’re dripping with need, your pussy clenching as you feel him slide his fingers inside of you again. He works his way up your back, then down to the curve of your ass. He rubs a circle over the flesh there, teasing. You know what he’s doing.

His mouth is on you suddenly, and all you can do is gasp for air. His tongue is hot and slick against your clit. He presses inside, his lips and tongue rubbing over your sensitive flesh.

You groan, your hips twitching as he keeps licking into you, pleasure so strong that it’s almost painful. Your pussy aches, clenching with the need to be filled.

“Please,” you pant. “Fuck...”

Spencer makes a sound in the back of his throat, then his fingers are back, thrusting deep inside of you, rubbing over your g-spot with his fingertips.

“Fuck, angel… taste so good, always knew you would,” he grunts into your weeping cunt, voice muffled against your flesh.

You can barely breathe.

Spencer is relentless, using his tongue to make you feel things you never have before. He’s got your clit trapped between his teeth, his fingers curled inside of you.

The pressure building inside of you again, climbing higher and higher.

Your legs give out and you feel Spencer hold you up. Finally, he pulls away and you’re sagging back into his arms, breath coming in gasps and pants.

Spencer holds you upright as he drags your skirt back down over your hips. Then he’s turning you around, pulling you close as you tremble in his arms.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispers. “I can’t believe I waited this long to touch you.”

He kisses you again, the taste of your pussy still on his tongue. You moan against him, your head spinning.

“Please, don't make me wait,” you gasp, pushing back against him, feeling his cock throb in response.

“You want my cock, angel?” he rasps.

“Yes,” you pant. “Please, fuck me.”

And then he’s kissing you again, tongue parting your lips and slipping inside your mouth. You feel him walking you backwards, towards the couch in his living room. 

He sits on the couch and pulls you onto his lap, moving to straddle him as you kiss him, his cock throbbing against your inner thigh.

“Wanna sit on this cock, pretty girl?,” he growls, breaking the kiss. “Show me how much you need it?”

Your lips are swollen from his kisses, your skin hot all over. He helps you up as you move to straddle his cock, gripping your waist to keep you balanced as you sink down, feeling him nudge against your pussy before finally pushing inside.

Your head falls back as you cry out, feeling your pussy stretch around him. You’re so wet that it’s easy, but he’s still big, bigger than you’d ever taken.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “It feels...”

Spencer swallows hard as he stares up at you. “Yeah, angel?” he murmurs, his hands skating over your thighs to your hips. “Tell me how it feels.”

You start to move your hips, grinding yourself down onto him. It’s a slow, sweet torture. Every time you clench your pussy around him, his eyes flicker closed for a moment before he opens them again. His gaze is fixed on yours, dark with need.

“Spencer,” you moan, leaning forward to kiss him.

He groans into the kiss as you start to ride him, picking up the pace. Your hips roll against him over and over, making the couch creak and groan beneath you. “I said tell me how it feels.” 

“Fuck! Feels so so good, sir,” you babble as you break the kiss. You’re close again, cunt pulsing as you take him in his entirety. His hands knead at your ass, guiding you up and down.

“I’ve got you,” he pants, his lips moving over your neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He groans and then you feel him start to move beneath you. His hips thrusting up into you as you grind down, the sensation so overwhelming that it makes your vision blur.

Feeling your pussy clench around him again, you hear him make a noise in the back of his throat, then you’re cumming again, your body trembling above him as the pleasure spills over inside of you. Spencer holds you close, his arms wrapping around your back as his hips thrust up into you again.

“Spencer,” you cry, your head falling back. He’s still thrusting into you, still fucking you as he groans in pleasure.

He cock spilling inside of you, pulsing as he buries himself deep. His arms tighten around your back, holding you close to him. Your body shudders against his as he groans and pants, his breath hot against the bare skin of your neck. You feel his lips on your skin, soft and sweet.

You stay like that for a long moment, Spencer buried deep inside of you as you catch your breath. You blink down at him in surprise, feeling his cock fill you up again.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer’s eyes open, his pupils wide with need. He swallows. “Shh, angel. Just take it,” he tells you, his voice hoarse with need. “You're a good girl, aren't you? Gonna take what I give you?”

You feel him start to move again, his hips flexing up and down. You’re still sore from the last time, but the sensation of his cock rubbing against your sensitive walls makes your eyes flutter closed.

“Oh God,” you gasp. He’s picking up the pace now, fucking you with a hunger and desperation that makes your head spin. His cock somehow feels even bigger as he thrusts into you again and again, his hands holding onto your hips, keeping you in place. 

His lips are soft and gentle against your own, tongue moving into your mouth.

Crying out into the kiss, your orgasm comes fast, overwhelming you so quickly that you can’t even process it. You feel his thick cock pulse inside of you, the wet sound of him filling you up again making your head spin.

You’re both gasping for air as you come, your bodies trembling against each other.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you collapse on him or lean back. Instead, he keeps moving, his hips thrusting up and down in a rhythm that makes your head swirl.

“Spencer—”

“Not yet,” he gasps. His eyes are wild, his pupils so dark and wide that they make you feel dizzy. “Not yet, y/n.”

You can feel him filling you again, his cock rubbing over your sensitive walls. Your pussy clenches around him again, even though you’ve already cum. He groans, his voice so loud in your ears that it makes your body shudder.

“Sir- fuck… Spencer,” you whimper.

He presses his lips to your throat, licking at your skin. His hands are still holding onto you, keeping you upright even as your legs threaten to collapse beneath you. You feel like a puppet, your strings being manipulated by the movements of his cock.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp. Your vision is blurring now, breathing coming in short gasps. His cock is relentless as he thrusts in and out of you, making your cunt clench around him again.

Your orgasm tears through you, wild and uncontrollable, pussy milking his cock as he keeps pumping into you.

Spencer grunts as you cum, his breathing heavy as he buries himself inside of you. His cock pulses inside of you, hard and deep. 

You collapse into his arms, barely conscious.

He holds you there as his cock starts to soften, still buried deep inside of your throbbing pussy. Your limbs feel heavy, your head lolling against him as you struggle to catch your breath.

“Fuck,” he whispers in your ear.

Your pussy clenches again at his voice, his lips moving over your skin, kissing and licking you, murmuring words against your skin.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of you,” he whispers.

You let out a soft whimper of response, your body feeling overstimulated. Every movement of his mouth over your skin makes your pussy clench.

“Too much, Spencer, it’s too much.” You whisper, making no move to push him away.

He groans softly in response, his hand sliding between your legs and down to your pussy. You try to squirm away from the touch, but it’s no use. His finger is rubbing at your clit as his tongue moves inside your mouth, making your head spin.

“Spencer,” you gasp. “Fuck.”

He growls something deep in his throat, his finger moving faster. “You can do it, baby. You can give me another.” Your eyes are rolled back, your head pressed against the couch behind him.

You shatter apart in his arms, his mouth swallowing you whole. 

He holds you close for a long moment before he leans forward to kiss you softly. He murmurs words against your lips, words that are sweet and gentle and loving, then you feel him shift your body so that he can pull out of your pussy.

You make a soft whimpering sound as his cock slides out of you, feeling the cum drip down your thighs. He reaches between your legs to cup your pussy, feeling the wetness drip out of you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Look at that. So fucking full of my cum.”

He pulls his hand away and holds it out towards you. He looks up at you with dark eyes as he moves his fingers to your mouth. You watch as the cum drips off them and down your chin as you lean forward and lick them clean, swirling your tongue around his digits, collecting your mixed release.

Spencer groans, cock twitching against your thigh, still half-hard. He pulls his hand back, rubbing the cum over your pussy.

“Stay like that for me,” he rasps, his voice full of need. “So fuckin’ pretty, such a messy girl.”

“Anything, Spencer,” you whisper back.

You watch as he strokes himself again, groaning as his cock hardens again. You feel empty without him inside of you, like a part of you is missing.

It’s not long before you feel his lips on yours again, his tongue moving into your mouth.

“I have to taste you,” he growls against your lips. “I need to taste you, need to taste us.”

He breaks the kiss and presses your head to the side. You watch in a daze as he moves down your body, lifting your skirt up over your hips and leaning forward. His hands press your thighs apart as he stares at your cum-drenched pussy.

“I think you can cum again for me,” he murmurs.

You whimper in response.

Spencer presses his thumb to your clit. You cry out as he rubs at you, feeling your body tremble again. You’re barely able to hold yourself up at this point, your muscles so overstimulated that you’re trembling all over.

“Please—”

He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Please what, angel?”

You whine in response.

“Please what?” he growls again. “Ask me nicely.”

Your eyes flutter closed. You feel his thumb rub at your clit again, and your pussy clenches.

“Please,” you gasp. “Spencer. Please, just need you.”

He kisses your thigh again before moving up towards your mouth. Lips move against yours as you tremble against him, his kiss hungry and deep. You feel your head spin as you try to return it.

He breaks the kiss and looks up at you, his gaze hungry. “Open your mouth for me,” he growls.

You do as he asks, parting your lips as he moves towards your mouth, then he’s spitting inside of it, his saliva dripping down your chin.

He rubs his spit into your skin with his hand, leaving it there, watching it glisten over your lips and chin. His hand moves back to your pussy, rubbing his cum into you again. He keeps going until you’re dripping with it, until the cum is running down your inner thighs.

“Look at you,” he rasps, leaning forward to kiss your lips again. “Look at what you did.”

Then you feel him lean forward and lick up his cum, his tongue rubbing against your sensitive clit. You make a noise deep in your throat and try to arch into him, his hands holding you down.

“No,” he rasps. “Stay still.”

“But—”

He leans forward, licking at you again. You can’t take your eyes off the sight of his tongue moving over you, can’t help the way your body shudders in response.

Spencer looks up at you as he licks at you. His eyes are dark with hunger, his mouth dripping with his cum. “Stay just like that,” he growls. “Such a good girl, my pretty little angel.”

His tongue making you shudder as your orgasm builds again. He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking against him, your clit so sensitive that you’re almost sobbing, cunt clenching so hard that you feel like you might explode.

You cum hard against his mouth, his tongue licking at your release even as you clench around it. His tongue never stops, even as you whimper and thrash out against him. He holds you down and licks you until you’re a trembling, shuddering mess against him.

Then finally he pulls back, looking up at you with hungry eyes.

You look up at him dazedly, your body still quivering. Your legs are still draped over his shoulders, your pussy open to him. Cum is still dripping down your thighs.

Your eyes widen as you watch him stroke himself, his hand moving fast. His eyes are fixed on your pussy as his cock stiffens, as his breathing comes faster and faster.

Then he’s leaning down, kissing your pussy one last time.

You can’t help yourself from arching against him, even though he makes no move to touch your clit this time. Your body is too overstimulated, too sensitive to his touch. 

Spencer kisses over your pussy again and again, making you tremble as you feel his cock rub against your thigh. You hear him grunt as his cock pulses, feel his cum soak your pussy all over again. His mouth moves over you again and again as you tremble and whimper, his cum dripping over your swollen cunt.

Finally, he pulls back, finally allowing you to collapse onto the couch, barely able to keep your eyes open.

Spencer pulls you into his arms, holding you tight against him. You lean forward, burying your face in his chest as you try to catch your breath. You hear him whispering words in your ear, sweet and soft.

“Good girl, baby. Such a good girl for me,” you hear him murmur. “Did so well, made me so proud.”

Then his fingers are back between your legs, rubbing at you with gentle strokes. You hear his voice whispering words of praise, telling you what a good girl you were for him. Your pussy clenches against his fingers, and you make a small sound of pleasure. You feel boneless now, your body heavy and relaxed.

“I’ll take care of you,” you hear him whisper. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, baby.”

You lean forward against him and let yourself melt, his fingers rubbing at your oversensitive pussy as he murmurs praise in your ear. You close your eyes and let him take care of you, let him do whatever he wants to your body.

You know now that you’ll do anything for him.

You feel your pussy clench against his fingers one last time, and then you’re out, held in his arms as the cum runs down your thighs. You feel him whisper one last thing in your ear before you fall asleep. You can’t quite make it out, but you know it’s something good. Something sweet.

You sleep in his arms as he holds you tight, his fingers still buried in your cum-soaked pussy. 

Nestled against Spencer’s chest, the silence between you comforting yet heavy. There was an undeniable tension in the air, like you were both waiting for the other to say something. He eventually broke the silence, his voice hesitant but determined.

“I’ve been thinking... about us.” Spencer shifted slightly, his hand still resting on your back, his fingers tracing small patterns against your skin. “The money. Our arrangement... I don’t want to stop giving it to you.”

You tensed at the mention of it. You’d been trying to push that part of your relationship into the back of your mind, but hearing him bring it up again—especially now, when things felt so different—was jarring.

“I don’t need the money, Spencer,” you said quickly, pulling slightly away from him, your gaze searching his face. “I never needed it. Not from you.”

His brow furrowed, his hand gently grasping your wrist, his thumb brushing over your skin with a quiet insistence. “I want to give it to you,” he said softly, his tone a little more urgent now. “It’s not just about... the arrangement we had before. It’s about me taking care of you, providing for you, because I care about you.”

You shook your head, your chest tight. “I don’t want you to do that. I don’t want to feel like I owe you something. I just want you, Spencer. Not the money, not the... arrangement.”

He let out a long breath, clearly frustrated with the distance between what he wanted and what you were saying. “You don’t owe me anything. But this is how I show you that I care. You don’t get it. I don’t just want you physically, or emotionally. I want to take care of you. I want to make sure you have everything you need. If that means money, then that’s what I’ll do.”

His words were persistent, full of a quiet desperation that made your heart ache. “You’re not getting rid of me,” he continued, his gaze intense. “Not now. Not after everything.”

You felt the tension building inside you, a tug of war between pride and the vulnerability his words offered. He was right in one way—you didn’t want to feel like you were taking advantage of him. But another part of you knew he was genuine. He wasn’t just trying to control you, or manipulate you. This was him trying to protect you, in the only way he knew how.

“I... I don’t want to need it,” you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to need anyone like that.”

Spencer’s thumb ran across your cheek, his touch gentle but firm. “I understand. But you don’t have to need it. You don’t have to feel like you’re relying on me for everything. But let me do this for you, please. Let me take care of you in this way.”

There was a quiet, almost painful silence as you thought over his words. You felt the battle between your independence and his need to provide waging inside you. He was so certain, so unwavering in his desire to take care of you. And you knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just about the money. It was about him wanting to feel like he was enough for you—like he could give you something, be something more than just a professor or a lover.

With a soft sigh, you finally relented, your eyes meeting his. “Okay,” you said quietly, your voice tinged with hesitation. 

His expression softened immediately, a mixture of relief and something else you couldn’t quite name. “Thank you,” he said, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender. “I just- I want to take care of you… in every way possible. I need to do that.”

You nodded, your heart still pounding in your chest, but now it felt a little easier to breathe. You were navigating this relationship together—despite the secrecy, despite the complications. And now, despite the money, too.

The morning light crept through the blinds, painting the room with soft hues of gold. Spencer sat at the kitchen table, his book in front of him, but his attention was somewhere else. His glasses were perched low on his nose, and his hair was slightly messy from sleep.

You leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching him, feeling a small, contented smile tug at the corner of your mouth. “Early start today?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep.

He glanced up at you, his smile gentle and easy. “Couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts.”

You moved to the table and sat across from him, the space between you feeling familiar now. It wasn’t filled with tension or expectations—just quiet comfort.

After a moment, you spoke again, this time quieter, more thoughtful. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How easy it feels now.”

He set his coffee down, his fingers lingering on the cup. “Strange how?”

“Like we don’t have to overthink everything.” You shrugged, leaning back slightly in your chair. “Like we can just... exist here, like this. Without any of the complications.”

He watched you for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know what you mean. It feels... easier than I thought it would.”

You couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something in his expression, in the way his eyes softened when they met yours, that made everything feel a little clearer.

“Is this what you want?” you asked, the question feeling lighter than it had before.

Spencer took a moment, running his hand through his hair before answering, his voice steady. “I think this is what I’ve been wanting all along.”

You sat with that for a moment, letting it settle between you, and somehow, in that quiet space, it made more sense than it had in the past. There didn’t need to be grand gestures or sweeping promises. Just a simple understanding, and that felt enough.

The rest of the world could wait. You didn’t need to rush toward anything else.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

taglist: @ivet4 @lunarmoonbeam1

[sticks-stones-sonic-insanity]

Ok. Sonic 4. Metal Sonic and Amy. Sonic CD. Time Stones. Good and Bad futures. Time manipulation. All of that stuff. An idea, a concept if u will...

Agent Stone becomes the main antagonist of Sonic Movie 4 not out of a desire to take over the world, but in an attempt to use the Time Stones to save Robotnik from the explosion of the Ark.

"I already lost you once! I-! ...I can't lose you again." Half of that dialogue was the last words Stone got to speak to Robotnik.

If he knew there was a way how, he would make sure they never had to be.

[semi-personal]

When I first joined i had an old account that my mom was pissed off about so I deleted it, (after hiding it for a long while) then when i got older and had life hit me a bit more I was aloud to do more and I got a new one.

IF you look back, this blog was supposed to be a much more personal blog, and for the stuff I do, i think it still is to a point. But it was going to be a space I used to talk about my life and what I do and to try and spread my wings so that way I could kind of lean into the online space a bit more. Because I still really wanted to do content creation when I made it, wall I still do. I have started to crave a personal life more, so the place has changed a good bit, and I say a lot less and reblogg stupid shit more.

So when I talked to my granma and mom about what to call it, they heard my reasons for it (I don't remember them well but along the lines of some religious things I will leave out for the sake of others) and they thought on it and said to just trust God/your gut. I did and that how I got here.

Thought "im wanting to be personal, but not to personal because the big youtube people still have live behind a screen so not to personal... semi means small right.?? Idk fuck it.. if not some what personal then at best someone will think im a semi truck"

@gildedphoenix @your-royal-reblogger @azlinne @help-me-or-kelp-me

Tag game🎉

Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!

For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)

They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.

That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.

Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well

[n0vazsq]

Sweetest Pie | LN4 x Reader

pairing . . . lando norris x singer!reader

summary . . . Mclaren invites you to come watch the Miami Grand Prix with them after the release of your song. However, some fans notice you being there is more than just a guest appearance

request . . . no!!

word count . . . N/A

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . dua lipa my beloved

alexavia yaps . . . on the smau grind gng woohoo!! did you spot the refrences i made?? i love love love love dua so ofc i had to do a smau with her!!! its kinda shitty and rushed but i wont be uploading ANYTHING until wed so thats why i kinda rushed it

yourusername

liked by theestallion, madisonbeer, lando and 3.6M others

yourusername i'll drive and you just lay back - sweetest pie out in all music streaming apps right now! Tagged: theestallion

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username1 IM SO HYPEDDDDDDDDD

username2 i just know this is going to HIT

username3 from the teaser it sounds good

username4 IM SO GLAD I GOT THE DELUXE VER

username5 gorgeous

username6 mothered so hard a f1 driver appeared in her likes

username7 my GOD shes stunning

username8 LANDO???

username9 i cant wait to listen to this 24/7 holy shit

theestallion loved working with you so much!

yourusername thank you!! i loved working with you too!

username10 how does it feel to be a goddess y/n

username11 the music video.

username12 had me on my KNEES

username13 screaming crying throwing up

username14 im giggling at the lyrics

username15 i need more ASAP

username16 this song live will hit so hard

username17 I KNOWWWWW

username18 man im itching to get this on

username19 im never shutting about this for like another 6 weeks

username20 watch her disappear for like 2 more years just to drop another banger

username21 stop why is lando in the likes

username22 he has a crushhhh

username23 MEOW

username24 y/n im single btw hmu

username25 as if

username26 she doesnt interact with us commoners

username27 i need to know who shes singing about

username28 oh to be in a relationship with her

madisonbeer already have this playing on repeat

yourusername i love you

madisonbeer love you more

username29 WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF

username30 DIED. DECEASED. GONE. ROTTING.

mclaren

liked by yourusername, lando, oscar_piastri and 6.8M others

mclaren surprise guest for the miami gp! welcome the famous singer y/n! Tagged: yourusername

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yourusername would've loved to be in orange but it isn't my colour </3

lando don't worry you look beautiful in everything

This reply has been deleted

mclaren don't worry y/n! you still looked beautiful!

username31 LANDO!?!??!?!

username32 SIR.

username33 okay so im not schizo and lando did comment hitting on y/n

username34 living the dream

username35 they better blast her song or im suing

username36 sigh i wish i was her

username37 another celebrity who doesn't know anything about f1

username38 they should just give these tickets to people who actually want them

username39 wasnt y/n a f1 fan since she was a kid???

username40 she was idk what these idiots are yapping about

username41 MOTHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

username42 woah

username43 can she like marry me idk

username44 can't wait for the race tomorrow ahhhhhhhh

username45 imagine if lando wins

username46 she's his good luck charm then

username47 sigh i want to be as pretty as her

username48 STUNNING.

username49 ate up everyone frrrr

username50 LANDO BAG HER UPPPP

username51 he better before we do

username52 frr omg

username53 the next it wag

username54 when i sleep i see her in my dreams

username55 y/n has 4 albums and 4 singles, lando's number is 4. hes winning the miami gp

username56 y/n dont forget us when you become the no.1 artist

username57 shes my kind of woman

username58 id let her hit me with lando's car

username59 i'd let lando hit me with y/n's car

username60 queen

(click on pics to view the full tweet !)

lando

liked by oscar_piastri, yourusername, mclaren and 8.2M others

lando my good luck charm

comments on this post have been closed

yourusername has posted two stories !

caption 1: HE DID IT!!!!! // caption 2: celebrating the golden boy

yourusername

liked by lando, oscar_piastri, lilyzneimer and 5.4M others

yourusername he called me his good luck charm and i wrote a song about him Tagged: lando

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username71 WHAT?!?!??!?!?!

username72 IT COUPLE

username73 ew

username74 like why him???

username75 ATEEEEE

username76 WTF IM IN LOVEEEE

username77 PARACOSICL REKARIJSHP

username78 MOMMY AND DADDY

username79 wtf

username80 i-

username81 MY SHAYLA

username82 my jaw dropped to the floor

username83 the twitter detectives KNEW

username84 frrrrrr

username85 if they ever decide to buy a pet im like right here

madisonbeer congrats to you two!

yourusername thank you!!

username86 who tf is this i came from landos insta

username87 idk but shes ugly

username88 i dont like her

username89 i dont know if i want y/n or lando to be with me

username90 screaming crying throwing up

username91 giggling blushing and kicking my feet

username92 i need a fanfic on this ASAP

username93 sTOP THEYRE SO CUTEEe

username94 y/n holding his trophy im on the FLOOR

username95 my parents

username96 no bc i feel like im intruding

username97 SHES GORGEOUS

username98 shes everything and hes just ken

username99 this fits PERFECTLY bc she acted in the barbie movie

username100 lando could do so much better ew

username101 my QUEEN

username102 ok so like when is the wedding

username103 i just know that carlos is squealing and giggling bc hes y/ns biggest fan fr

username104 madre e padre

username105 PRETTYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

username106 so like wheres lando's comment???

username107 hes saving a finale grand stopping act

username108 ROMEO AND JULIET

username109 i would be sobbing in TEARS if i heard y/n's voice in the radio

username110 NOW I NEED THAT TO HAPPEN STFU

lando i love you so much my beautiful girl

yourusername i love you more my stunning boy

lando thats impossible because i love you more than life

carlossainz55 he nearly cried when he saw you enter the mclaren hospitality

lando SHUT UP YOU MUPPET

yourusername you did??

lando you looked so gorgeous i couldn't help it

lando fuck you carlos

yourusername LANDO STOP ILYSMMM

lando I LOVE YOU MORE MY BELOVED GORGEOUS QUEEN

rebeccad_ why cant carlos be like this?

carlossainz55 ??

yourusername dont worry rebecca, ill save you

rebeccad_ my princess in shining armour

lando shes MY princess

yourusername love you lan

lando love you more

username111 straight out of a fucking romance novel

username112 if my bf isnt like him i do NOT want his ass

username113 if i was y/n you'd need an army to get me off lando

username114 if i was lando you'd need an army to get me off Y/N

username115 legit the most gorgeous couple

username116 BEST WAGGGGG

username117 oh i am itching for y/n grand prix apperances

username118 im calling it everytime she attens lando wins

username119 LANDO ONEWIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

username120 the queen and her knight

lando

liked by oscar_piastri, yourusername, mclaren and 9M others

lando i might take you home with this, i might give you all of it, come get your dose of the sweetest pie. oh, this the ride of your life, hold on 'cause, baby, i might, i might just give you a bite of the sweetest pie Tagged: yourusername

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username130 sTOP

username131 im deceased

username132 HE USED HER LYRICS ABOUT HIM TO TALK ABoUT heR oH LANDO NORRIS THE MAN YOU ARE!??!??!?!!?

username133 how did he bag her wtf

username134 Y/N MY QUEEN

username135 the most gorgeous gyal

username136 if i was lando id die idk how id handle being blinded by her beauty everyday

username137 PLSSSS he really said 'fuck you' to the haters and posted them making out

username138 like did i get a subscription or....?

username139 ICONIC.

username140 its been 7 weeks & 3 days since i manifested them getting together

username141 if they break up i dont believe in love

username142 FACE CARD IS LETHAL

username143 ik their kids' genetics will be INSANE

username144 SOBBING i love them sm

username145 if glazing them every single second was a crime id be 89 feet under

username146 GOD HAS FAVOURITES !!!

username147 if she doesnt make a grand prix apperance im throwing hands

username148 counting down the days tilll we get them together in the paddock

username149 MY PRINCESS

username150 if i had to be an f1 driver to get with y/n i would started karting when i was 2

username151 the aura from them is insane

username152 welcome to my world

username153 get you a man who deletes hate comments for you

username154 where can i buy a lando

username155 or a y/n

username156 MODERN. DAY. ROMEO. AND. JULIET.

username157 they need to get married ASAP

yourusername i love you so so so so much

lando forever and always

yourusername until the end

lando my favourite singer

yourusername my favourite driver

lando who wrote my favourite ever song

yourusername who won my favourite ever race

lando who wrote it for me

yourusername who dedicated it to me

lando i love you more than anything in this entire universe my princess

yourusername i love you more than you'd ever know, pretty boy

lando forever

yourusername and always

username158 FUCKING FUCK OFF

username159 ok thats it im jumpiing off a cliff

username160 ive never seen something more romantic and its in a fucking instagram comment section

username161 im actually crying

username162 i love them so much i hope nothing ever happens to them

username163 my heart is paining i cant take this anymore

username164 you know the love is real when you dedicate your biggest achievements to each other

yourusername do you love sweetest pie?

lando i think i love it more than my win

yourusername maybe thats a bit excessive?

lando nothing is ever excessive with you

yourusername i love you

lando i love you too

username165 no i refuse bye i cant

username166 HES A SIMP BUT I FUCKING LOVE IT

username167 the a in lando starts for a lovesick fool for y/n

username168 THE WAY HE STARES AT HER>>>>>

username169 get you a man like lando

username170 hes setting the bar so high its on another altitude

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree ,, @freyathehuntress ,, @chilling-seavey (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[esote-rika]

lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Waldorf!Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK  ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well. 

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since. 

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything. 

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals. 

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing. 

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic. 

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together. 

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.” 

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions,  you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak. 

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him. 

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost. 

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him. 

That’s inaccurate. 

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification. 

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body. 

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat. 

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices. 

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body. 

Soft. So damn soft. 

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps. 

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat. 

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks. 

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience. 

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh. 

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock. 

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.   

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his. 

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength. 

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face. 

There’s nowhere else he would rather be. 

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

 “Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed. 

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock. 

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs. 

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust. 

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him. 

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!” 

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.” 

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

[salemlunaa]

WHY YOU CANT MANIFEST THE STATE OF PURE CONSCIOUSNESS FOR OTHERS

it looks like some people have rocks for brains

@empyrealoasis also has a lovely read on this explaining perfectly: right here, so check that out!!

you ask me why the void pact doesn’t work again, i made an analogy using canvases: “let’s say you’re painting in class with your friend, and you all have big canvases to paint many little pictures. Your paintbrush only works on your canvas, it’s not possible for you to paint on your friend’s canvas or anyone else. You can create a small drawing on your canvas depicting your friend eating an apple, but it’s not on their canvas. You can’t paint that picture on their canvas, And it’s not a reflection of their own experiences or preferences. They have to do it themselves or their canvas will NEVER contain a picture of them eating an apple, the version of your friend that is on your canvas is eating an apple but the version of your friend on their own canvas isn’t. The outcome of your friend having a picture of them eating an apple on their canvas is 0, unless they paint it themselves. It’s not a limiting belief because you can paint ANYTHING you want on YOUR canvas, it just won’t show up on theirs.”

and i will keep on posting this analogy until you get it through your heads

this person has used people manifesting healing for their family as an argument or someone manifesting a little girl to be found after she was deemed missing. What is so hard to understand:

Manifesting healing for a family member or finding a missing person is done through the manifester's own intention and focus. It's about shifting their reality to align with a desired outcome, not about 'entering the void' on someone else's behalf. The outcome influences their perception of reality, but it doesn't involve physically transporting others to or from the void.

Manifestation works within the framework of your own reality. While your manifestations can influence events involving others, they don't 'override' others' free will or autonomy. The void is a personal experience-you can only use it to manifest changes within your perception of reality, not to directly act on someone else's behalf.

These examples are about manifestation, not proof of someone going to the void for someone else. Healing and synchronicities can happen through energy alignment or intention, without requiring someone to physically access the void on behalf of another person.

If it's possible to go to the void for others, why isn't it being used to instantly end all suffering in the world? Doesn't that suggest the void is personal and limited to individual intent?

If you can manifest the void for someone, you can also manifest death for someone right,so won’t you drop dead randomly because someone decided to induce for that? why haven’t any of you reached the void state yet? if someone scripts a war in their desired reality (for…idk angst or something) then why aren’t we in a tragic world war right now? If someone scripts that in their desired reality religion won’t exist, does the religion you practice just cease to exist when they induce? If someone scripts that your country doesn’t exist, do you guys just randomly vanish into thin air? These are the questions they never wanna answer? since we can do anything right?Since what i’m saying is apparently a “limiting belief” Since you can apparently alter someone’s life with the void to the point where they induce, why can’t all this other stuff happen, but we’re the ones cherrypicking…? okay….

And no, we’re not cherrypicking Neville’s teachings; we’re interpreting them with clarity and context. Neville emphasized the power of imagination and individual consciousness in shaping reality. While he taught that we can manifest outcomes that involve others, he never suggested we could directly control or override someone else’s consciousness by ‘entering the void’ for them. The void state is a deeply personal experience, and using Neville’s work to justify claims that contradict the foundational principles of manifestation—such as personal autonomy and responsibility—is a misinterpretation, not selective understanding.

And the big question everyone wants to know, where are these success stories, and i’m not talking about someone manifesting a relationship for their bestie or someone manifesting money for their father, i mean void state success stories. Since the void is as easy as breathing, where is the evidence that the 100+ of you in this pact have induced pure consciousness? we’re all waiting for the influx of successes

With this deranged ideology and the way you’ve been speaking to people in dms, i’m starting to come to the belief that you don’t even believe in this “pact” yourself, you’re preying on people who are desperate and you’re using them to bring drama into the community. If you actually believed this you would use this energy to supposedly reach the void state for all your little friends, i mean since you’re the main preacher?

No one is trying to be mean when we say that if you believe that SOMEONE ELSE is going to do this for you, you don’t understand the state of pure consciousness and how easy it actually is, if you believe that someone people are more capable than others (which you are affirming btw) you don’t understand what this actually is, and without understanding nothing can be done.

And from now my account will ONLY be for people who are willing to do anything it takes to get their dream lives this year. The only possible way to do this is by yourself and i’m ready to interact with my people who believe and are ready to do what it takes. Call me mean, i. don’t. care. i’m trying to help you and stop you from wasting your time.

Keep your cult away from people who actually want something out of this year

These people will still be here asking and bullying people into believing, don’t make yourself one of them.

i’m going to take my own advice and focus on people who deserve it. it’s 2025 enough of this drama farming

𓇼 ˚∘ therefore we can’t alter ANOTHER persons life due to our own “I AM” intentions, and we never will

@void1finder here’s your answer, again, weirdo

[ritualcaster]

I know we're at totally different spots still but i read the article and it i think i've generally figured out what about me pissed you off so much.

Tone policing is a subsection of ad hominem. I'd like you too reread your posts to see if ur making that mistake too.

And yeah i mean it makes sense for the most part I was aligning with the "usually used by" section especially with how i was talking, and for the record i dont usually talk like that that, i just try to punctuate n stuff when it feels important to me i guess.

Im not trying to dismiss anything at all, I'm trying to help somewhere i felt like i could help. And idk why we aren't clicking rn but just read that sentence like 15 times.

Continuing

Yeah i said the equivalency was wrong right in those parantheses right there, yk what just stop looking at the red text in that image just pretend there is NO text there. I was using sex because i felt like you would get what i meant better, but it seems like it just sparked misunderstanding.

Continuing

Sorry for rexplaining all the stuff you already knew i just thought that that was what you were talking about me not getting. Like i just wanted to say it out loud so that its on record that i know too? Like that's something we are agreed upon.

Continuing

I'm not mad that you can't "transition into intersex" and honestly I highly regret using sex as an example like. At all. You guys are crazy. Sorry.

Honestly I have a pretty lax stance right now on people who would "want to be intersex" (so i can change it if need be) because even after research i just don't really have experience. As an intersex a mean. Like there are a seriously high amount of medical complications, theres all the oppression, all the forced "surgeries" that are an insult to surgery as a concept, nearly complete infertility, and plenty of general pain an unpleasent sensation. so this time I'm asking you a more personal question.

Do you feel like there is anything about being intersex that would make it prefferable to being perisex.

Any positives at all worth metioning? Or would it be better to have the term as something like being disabled. Do you feel like it's just something from birth that just inherrently sucks?

Continuing

I mean this so sincerely i'm honestly just not even sure how to word it, do you just want me to stop? Like replying? I can delete everything right now, or do you think I better serve as an example? If my stances seem to shift or contradict ir just completely change as we keep going back and forth, its because they are, and you changed them. I'm actually trying my damndest to listen and fix my shit man.

I thought you were here because you wanted to change my beliefs, but if you're just here out of anger i'd feel pretty bad.

on this subject, youre the one who knows everything. If youre here to tell me, ill listen, and if you aren't, then? Im not sure why youre still talking to me at all, and id like to hear about that too

I know that i shouldn't correct even tone on subject im unqualified for

I know that being intersex isn't something to be sought after, even for those who are non-bianary

I know that i am a hateful tar pit whos going to hell

And man thats just all the shit i learned in this convo alone so id say im learning plenty already

In case anyone needs a reminder…

Being transgender does not make you intersex.

Going through HRT does not make you intersex. Surgery cannot make you intersex.

Intersex people are born with atypical variations of physical, biological sex characteristics. That is what makes someone intersex.

Perisex trans people (especially on Reddit) have been recently insisting that just being transgender makes you intersex, and therefore able to speak over intersex people on issues that specifically affect us, especially when it comes to dangerous and offensive terminology. This is not true.

Also the idea that you can somehow “make yourself intersex” is untrue. You can make your body more androgynous through things like hormone treatment and surgery, but that does not make you intersex.

Falsely claiming intersex identity based on these things isn’t *always* malicious (though it is often done to speak over us) but it is always harmful.

[the-meme-monarch]

i do kinda have a little head canon for shrimpo in your verse

that I think shrimpo thinks everyone just hates him and maybe at garden view he tries to act nice to the kids but the kids don’t wanna talk or be near him because of how the show petrayed him and so becomes lonely he hates the other toons because they don’t get hated like he did or be ignored like him he also might not like deliliah because after watching her interaction with other toons he feels like she is just happy with them then with him

looking back this is not what you were saying i don’t think. but this was the idea this gave me NDJSJJD

but like yeah i kinda do think shrimpo has like. self image issues. ans legitimately has difficulty expressing anything other than his brand of anger. he can’t really help but act the way he does and he doesn’t really Like that he’s like that. like the character posters around his room COULD just be to cover holes in his walls or bc he’s full of himself but idk. why put up the same poster over and over with words implying nobody likes him. i think he’s got hardcore “why was i made like this” type feelings. iirc qwelver said he likes One Thing and like. if it were himself i think it would’ve just been said so bc that just feels like such an easy answer? (my idea for the one thing he likes is it’s something he can be bribed with. and that’s why in-game he’d be going on these runs at all. bc otherwise I don’t know why he’d participate HDHDJRJDJ)

so uh. maybe this is the eventual aftermath of my ‘shrimpo punching delilah in the face Immediately after being brought to life bc she scared him’ comic. shrimpo feels legitimately guilty about it bc He Didn’t Actually Mean To and thinks delilah really truly hates him over it. arthur Pried this information from him. and is trying to get delilah to reassure him. i think delilah doesn’t have much capacity for emotions Period so she got over getting punched to begin with pretty quickly. or she doesn’t even remember at this point bc of my ‘toon creation wears down your soul’ headcanon idk

last line is a reference to this post

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 this is awkward..

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, you were fed up with James, deciding to put aside your pettiness you drag him away from the gryffindor party to talk to him.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever), r and james speaking is 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓵𝔂 inspired by gilbert confessing that he wants anne so effing bad bc he 𝓯𝔀 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝔂, lowkey dont hate me for making the “dreams” u want so like…. I just didn't know what to do bc like idk smh i set back women 50 years by that

a/n: tysm for all the love on this series!! y’all are NOT ready for the next chapter, writing it rn and 😭🙏 BUTTT tysm for 300🫶🫶 also I finished the last chapter... do y'all want me to post it today or edge y'all and post it tomorrow

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

It was now nearing the end of the school year—even if there was still a month to go. James could now be in the same room as you without glaring daggers at whoever you were talking to. Though he told himself he was over you, he knew deep down that the feelings never faded.

He told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself he was fine. And yet, every time he caught sight of you, every time your laughter reached his ears from across the room, it was as if someone had set fire to his resolve.

He wanted to talk to you so badly it was almost pathetic. But it was like the universe itself was conspiring against him—or, more specifically, like Finn Laurier had developed some sort of sixth sense for James’s intentions.

Because every single time James gathered enough courage, every time he braced himself to walk over to you, Finn would appear out of nowhere. Whether it was in the Great Hall, the library, or even during Quidditch practice, Finn always seemed to materialize by your side at precisely the wrong moment, stealing away your attention and leaving James feeling like the outsider in his own story.

It was infuriating.

“Mate, you’re grinding your teeth,” Sirius remarked casually one afternoon as they sat under the beech tree by the lake.

James startled, realizing with some embarrassment that Sirius was right. He quickly unclenched his jaw and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Sorry,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m just…”

“Just what?” Sirius prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” James lied, though his voice betrayed him.

Sirius gave him a knowing look. “If this is about her again, just—”

“It’s not about her,” James interrupted quickly, though he winced as the words left his mouth. He knew Sirius wouldn’t believe him, and he wasn’t sure he even believed himself anymore.

Sirius sighed, shaking his head. “Prongs, you’re going to drive yourself mad if you keep this up. Just talk to her already.”

“I’ve tried!” James snapped, louder than he intended. He lowered his voice and added, “I’ve tried, but every bloody time, Finn shows up. It’s like he’s got a bloody tracker on her or something.”

Remus, who had been quietly reading nearby, finally chimed in. “You know, maybe you’re overthinking this,” he said, not looking up from his book.

“How could I possibly be overthinking this?” James demanded, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Maybe Finn’s not doing it on purpose,” Remus suggested calmly. “Maybe it’s just bad timing.”

“Bad timing?” James repeated incredulously. “Bad timing doesn’t happen this often, Moony. This is a pattern.”

Remus gave him a skeptical look but didn’t argue further.

James leaned back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath. He hated how much this was bothering him. He hated how much control this entire situation had over him.

But most of all, he hated the thought that you might actually be happy with Finn.

It wasn’t that he thought Finn was a bad guy—quite the opposite, really. Finn was charming, talented, and annoyingly good at everything he did. He was the kind of guy parents adored, the kind of guy professors went out of their way to praise. And worst of all, he was the kind of guy who could make you smile in a way James had only dreamed of.

James opened his eyes, staring up at the branches overhead. “Maybe I should just give up,” he muttered.

Sirius snorted. “Yeah, right. That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve said all day.”

“I’m serious,” James insisted.

“No, I’m Sirius,” Sirius quipped, smirking.

James groaned, throwing a small pebble in his direction. “Not the time for jokes.”

“Fine, fine,” Sirius said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But seriously, you’re not giving up. You’re James Potter, remember? Stubborn, arrogant, never-takes-no-for-an-answer James Potter. You don’t give up on things you care about.”

James hesitated, staring at the rippling water of the Black Lake. He wanted to believe Sirius. He wanted to believe that there was still a chance, that you weren’t as far out of reach as you seemed.

But as he watched you across the courtyard later that day, standing beside Finn and laughing at something he said, James couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, it was too late.

But his doubt soon melted into something far more unsettling when he noticed your gaze shift. For the first time in what felt like forever, your attention wasn’t on Finn Laurier—it was on him.

James felt like he might throw up.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his hands fidgeted with the hem of his robes as he quickly looked away. In fact, he didn’t just look away; he turned his entire body in the opposite direction, hoping to mask the flush rising to his cheeks.

“C’mon, James, you’ve got a Quidditch game to win today! Channel all that anger you’ve got towards Laurier into winning us the Cup!” Sirius said, clapping a hand on James’s shoulder with his trademark grin.

James gave a faint nod, trying to let Sirius’s words sink in. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but he had to admit—focusing on Quidditch might be better than brooding.

As the match began, Sirius’s advice started to help. Flying through the air, the roar of the crowd, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins almost made him forget the mess he was tangled in. Quidditch always had a way of making the weight on his shoulders feel lighter.

Almost.

At first, he wasn’t paying much attention to the game. His mind wandered back to you, back to everything that had gone wrong. He thought about what he would say, how he could even begin to fix things. And, like always, he couldn’t resist scanning the crowd for you.

Even in the middle of a fight, even when he swore to himself that he was done, James always looked for you in the stands.

And he found you—right where he didn’t want to.

You were sitting with Finn Laurier, your hand clasped in his. James’s stomach twisted painfully at the sight, and he forced himself to look away, though the image burned into his mind.

Of course. Finn fucking Laurier.

He sighed, his grip tightening on his broomstick. There was no point in hoping anymore. Whatever chance he’d had—if he’d ever had one—was gone now. Maybe he’d already been downgraded in your life: a friend at best, a stranger at worst. The thought stung, and James shoved it down, refusing to dwell on it any longer.

And then, something golden caught the corner of his eye.

The Snitch.

For the first time all game, James’s focus snapped into place. He leaned forward on his broom, his heart pounding—not from heartbreak this time, but from the sheer rush of competition. If nothing else, he could still win this. He could still bring home the Cup.

James shot after the Snitch with everything he had, the rush of wind against his face only fueling his determination. The crowd roared, but their voices blurred into the background. His world narrowed to one thing: the golden glimmer darting just ahead.

The Hufflepuff Seeker was hot on his trail, but James barely registered them. This was his moment. The Snitch veered sharply to the right, and James followed, his reflexes razor-sharp. He could feel the weight of his emotions—anger, heartbreak, frustration—all pouring into this chase.

The Snitch dipped low, skimming just above the grass, and James dove after it, his fingers outstretched. The Hufflepuff Seeker was closing in fast, but James didn’t care. He pushed his broom harder, faster, his body leaning forward so much it felt like he might fall off.

And then, his fingers closed around the Snitch.

The Gryffindor stands erupted into cheers, deafening and jubilant. The sound echoed across the pitch as James pulled up, the Snitch held high in triumph. For the first time all week, a genuine smile broke across his face.

He’d done it.

Back on the ground, his teammates swarmed him, yelling and celebrating as they lifted him off the ground in a flurry of hugs and pats on the back. Sirius was the loudest, of course, laughing as he shouted, “That’s my best mate! Did you see that dive? Bloody brilliant!”

James grinned, allowing himself to soak in the moment. But as the initial adrenaline rush faded, his thoughts drifted back to you.

Through the crowd, he spotted you walking toward the castle with Laurier. You looked happy—laughing at something Finn said, your hand still in his.

James’s chest tightened, the pain creeping back in.

Sirius slung an arm around his shoulders. “Oi, don’t let that git ruin your moment. You just won us the Cup, Prongs. Focus on that, yeah?”

James forced a nod, plastering a smile on his face. “Yeah. You’re right.”

But deep down, as the team carried him back to the common room, the ache lingered. Winning the match had been a distraction, but it wasn’t enough to erase what he felt for you—or the sting of seeing you with someone else.

Still, James promised himself one thing: he’d get through this. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. And who knew? Maybe, someday, you’d see him the way he saw you.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

The Gryffindor common room was a chaotic blur of red and gold, filled with triumphant cheers and laughter. The moment the team returned from the pitch, the party was already in full swing. Someone had charmed a banner to flash "Gryffindor Wins the Cup!" in shimmering letters, and butterbeer bottles floated around the room, courtesy of a cheeky charm from Sirius.

James stood in the center of it all, grinning as his teammates and housemates patted him on the back and congratulated him. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to bask in the glory of the victory, letting it drown out the knot in his chest. He’d won the game, and Gryffindor had the Cup—he deserved to enjoy it.

“Prongs!” Sirius yelled over the noise, shoving a butterbeer into his hand. “You’re the man of the hour! You better milk this for all it’s worth, because Merlin knows you deserve it.”

James laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t let me hear you say that too often, Padfoot. I might start believing it.”

Sirius gave him a devilish grin. “Oh, you will. Now, c’mon, let’s make some noise!” He climbed onto a table, raising his bottle high. “To Prongs, our Quidditch hero!”

The room erupted in cheers, and James couldn’t help but laugh, taking a sip of his butterbeer as the noise washed over him. For the first time all day, he felt lighter.

As the party went on, James moved through the crowd, chatting and laughing with his housemates. But no matter how loud the celebration got, his eyes kept drifting to the door, half-hoping, half-dreading to see you walk in.

And then, you did.

James froze mid-conversation, his heart doing that familiar stutter-step it always did when he saw you. You looked radiant, wrapped in Gryffindor colors, your cheeks flushed from the cold. But his chest tightened when he noticed Laurier trailing behind you, his hand resting casually on the small of your back.

James quickly turned back to his conversation, forcing a smile and pretending not to notice. He wasn’t going to let Finn Laurier—or his own stupid feelings—ruin the night.

“Oi, Prongs,” Sirius said, appearing at his side again. “Stop moping and do something fun. We just won the bloody Cup, mate! At least pretend you’re having the time of your life.”

James forced another grin. “I am having fun, Padfoot. Loads of fun.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “You’re staring at her again, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” James lied, taking a long sip of butterbeer.

Sirius groaned, grabbing James by the shoulders. “Look, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to stop torturing yourself, and you’re going to have a bloody fantastic time tonight. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll prank Laurier so hard he won’t know which way is up. Deal?”

James couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head. “Alright, deal.”

Hours later, the party was still going strong. Someone had turned the music up, and the common room had transformed into a dance floor. James found himself dragged into the middle of it by Lily Evans, who gave him a pointed look.

“Stop sulking, Potter,” she said, smirking. “You just won the Cup. Act like it.”

“I’m not sulking,” James said, though his half-hearted smile gave him away.

Lily raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, she tugged him into the rhythm of the music, and for a while, James let himself get lost in the moment.

It wasn’t until he caught sight of you again, laughing at something Laurier said, that the knot in his chest returned. He took a deep breath, plastered on another smile, and decided that, for tonight, he’d keep pretending.

He watched you from across the room as you and Laurier continued talking, laughter bubbling between you two. He could see the way you looked at him now—so different from the way you looked at him before. It was like there was a barrier, a wall that hadn’t been there when he first met you.

“Prongs,” Sirius appeared at his side again, his voice low and concerned. “Look, I know you’ve been through a lot, but this is ridiculous. You’re letting Laurier ruin your night—and you just won us the Cup, for Merlin’s sake. You’re allowed to be happy tonight. So go talk to her. If you don’t, I swear I’ll do it for you.”

James frowned at him, irritated. “I’m not talking to her, Pads. Not now.”

“Then at least get out of here and enjoy yourself,” Sirius pressed. “We’re celebrating, mate. You’ve earned it.”

James looked over at you one more time, and for a second, he almost gave in. But the knot in his chest was still there, tightly wound, and it made everything feel so much harder than it should’ve been.

But maybe... maybe he could find a way to feel better. Maybe he could lose himself in the celebration.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally muttered, glancing at his friends.

Sirius didn’t seem convinced but let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, but I’m not letting you go off and brood in some corner. The whole bloody school’s celebrating with you tonight.”

James smirked faintly, feeling a little lighter. Maybe he could pretend to be okay, at least for tonight. He could let the victory, the laughter, and his friends drown out the ache for just a little while longer.

But as the night continued, and as the music played on, James found himself once again looking toward the doorway, hoping—just hoping—that you’d look his way.

For the first time in forever, the world was finally on his side as he saw you quickly leaving Finn and walking straight to him.

“May I speak to you, please?” James nodded, Dumbfounded. 

You quickly grabbed his hand and went outside the common room and into the corridors. 

You took a deep breath, your fingers twisting nervously. “James… I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now.”

James’s throat went dry, his pulse quickening as he struggled to find his voice. “Yeah?”

You nodded, glancing down at your hands before meeting his gaze. “I—I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t what he had expected. Of all the scenarios he’d played out in his head, an apology hadn’t been one of them.

“For what?” he asked, genuine confusion coloring his voice.

“For everything,” you said in a rush, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. “For avoiding you. I was confused—about what I did that made you ignore me. And I guess I wanted to get back at you for ignoring me, so I decided to do the same to you. And… I’m sorry for whatever happened between us that made things so weird.”

James stared at you, your vulnerability hitting him like a Bludger to the chest. His heart ached at the uncertainty in your voice.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said quickly, shaking his head.

“Yes, I do,” you insisted, your voice firm despite the tears welling in your eyes.

“No, you don’t,” James countered, his tone soft yet resolute. “It’s not fair to put all of this on yourself. You’ve always been there for me, and I—well, I’ve been a terrible friend lately. I was practically acting like you didn’t exist.”

James faltered when he saw the blank expression on your face. Panic flickered in his chest—had he said too much?

But before he could say anything more, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

“Oh, James,” you murmured into his shoulder. “It’s okay. I—I was acting like you didn’t exist too, but only because you were doing it to me.”

He blinked, caught off guard, before slowly relaxing into the hug. He looked down at you, his hand instinctively reaching up to brush away a stray tear trailing down your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You shook your head, a small, watery smile breaking through. “We’re both sorry. Let’s just… not do this anymore, okay?”

James nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Deal.”

“It feels so much better having my best friend around again.” James’ smile faltered again, he never liked the word “best friend” when it came to you, he always wanted more.

“Definitely”

You two let each other talk for what felt like hours even though it was barely fifteen minutes. He enjoyed every second though, until you brought up Finn and future plans they may include him. He couldn't believe it, when had your parents met his? He remembers your dad telling him how much he was rooting you and him to be together, now he's okay with you dating some other dude? And worst of all, your father was okay with that same dude wanting to marry his daughter? James felt like throwing up.

“Then he said that my father laid it out on a silver platter.”

“Laid... what out on a platter?”

“My future! Gave him the blessing to...to propose. I don't know what to do.”

“You told me you don’t mind being married straight after Hogwarts if you truly loved the man. That being a wife and mother... is your dream. Finn is.. nice, and both of your guys’ parents are supportive. I don't understand. What's holding you back?”

“Just… one thing.”

“What am I supposed to do? Everyone else is just... moving on, and now you’re... and I’m still... We never even... And he’s there, and you’re—Merlin, you’re never going to find someone who—” James stopped, his voice cracking. “I know that much, so how... how am I supposed to... I can’t... I— We...”

Before you could speak–a drunk Sirius somehow found you two. “Woah James you're really speaking to her? Atta boy, now, let's get back to the party, cmon, we are going to do something cool, have you heard of ....” Sirius rambled on, tugging on James’ arm to drag him back to the party.

“I’ll be off, then.” You said, voice quivering as if hesitant to leave.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

All James could think about was the previous night—the talk you two had shared. Your words, your voice, the hesitation in your eyes—it all replayed in his mind like a haunting melody. What would’ve happened if Sirius hadn’t barged in, if James had told him to leave, if he’d been brave enough to stay in that moment with you?

“I think…” James began, his voice breaking as he paced the Gryffindor dormitory, “I think she might’ve been asking if I love her. And—and I think I told her to marry someone else.”

Sirius, slouched in the chair by the window, looked stricken. “Mate…” he started, his tone heavy with guilt. “If I’d known—if I knew what was happening—I wouldn’t have gone looking for you. I—I practically ruined your chances. Merlin, I’m so, so sorry.”

James stopped pacing, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t even know if she meant it. She said so much without really saying anything, and now I don’t know if I imagined it all.”

“‘Sure, take option two,’ when option one is all she wants for her future?” James muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

“What is option one?” Peter asked, his curiosity breaking the tension.

James scoffed, bitterness creeping into his tone. “It’s Finn, obviously.” He paused, his anger flaring. “But both their parents support it, and she told me that! Before she spilled all of that on me, we were talking and laughing like nothing was wrong. But now…” He exhaled sharply, his voice softening as he sat down on the edge of his bed. “Now it feels like I’m being asked to explain the rest of my life on a bloody ticking clock. And if I make the wrong decision, I’ve either ruined my life—or hers.”

The room fell silent. Sirius and Peter exchanged uneasy glances, while Remus seemed lost in thought, unsure of how to respond.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Meanwhile, you had confided in your mother about your plans the night before: to finally tell the man you truly loved how you felt. You hadn’t wanted to bring it up while you and James were laughing and enjoying each other’s company, but you knew if you didn’t seize the moment, you’d never say it at all.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to turn you down. To tell you—calmly, almost dismissively—that you should marry Finn.

Your mother was waiting for your response. You knew she expected good news, a letter confirming that you and James were finally together. Instead, you sat at your desk, penning words that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Dear Mother,

I did what you told me to do, but I fear I shouldn’t have. We were talking just fine, and then I told him everything. I told him how I felt. And he told me to marry Finn.

Finn is lovely, yes—but he’s not James. I asked James if there was any chance for us, and he said no. At least now I have clarity on where I stand with him. And I know it sounds awful to compare Finn to James, but... maybe knowing what I know now, I can learn to be happy with Finn. Father and Finn’s family are all thrilled, after all. I don’t even want to think about what I would’ve done if James had said he felt the same.

You sighed, folding the parchment carefully and sealing it in an envelope. The weight of your words sat heavily on your chest, but you couldn’t dwell on them any longer. You needed to send this letter immediately.

Pulling on your cloak, you found yourself heading for one of the secret passages to Hogsmeade—the ones you and James had used so often. The memories stung, but you pushed them aside. This time, you’d be using the passage alone.

The quickest way to deliver your letter was through the owlery. You knew exactly which owl was the fastest.

As you walked, you let your mind wander to James one last time, allowing yourself the quiet ache of what could’ve been. You would never speak to him again, not like before. That part of your life was over.

Finn was your future now. And while it hurt to admit, deep down, you knew it was for the best.

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[lostinlovingrevery]

Logan and his... "Quirks"

Everyone is a lil weird. Logan is no exception

Some nsfw headcanons below the cut, it gets weird yall. some are tame. the rest are questionable. You're gonna ask me why i was thinking about it. you don't want to know

he CANNOT sit farthest away from the door. he has to be between the door and you. yknow in case of threats

feel like he would hate microwaves. idk why, i think he would extremely distrust the idea of food being heat up by radiation (Even if it wouldn't affect him?). he cooks everything by hand.

Don't let him catch you heating your food by microwave. He'll get pissy. then he'll make your food by scratch

uses phrases that were popular like 100+ years ago that no one knows. you've had to google some of them to figure out what the hell he was talking about

he taps his fingers alot. against a table, his leg, on you. it's an anxious thing

he doesn't laugh much but when he does it's loud, hes the epitomy of the word "guffaws" bc he's so loud. most of the time when you hear him "laugh" its a quiet chuckle. it's quite joyous to hear Logan across the mansion laughing

logan, as much as he acts like a wild man, is fairly neat. like, weirdly neat about his stuff. well- stuff he cares about. his jacket, his cigars, beer, maybe a few things you gave him. he doesn't need much.

this one isn't so weird, more cute- but he loves when you pet his head. only when it's just you two though

his nails grow faster than an avg person. He constantly has to clip them. BUT he does at least make sure to clean them up

i should add that logans is obv known for calling everyone bub, and gives nicknames to everyone

(he'll call you every petname in the book)

has to have his bed made in the mornings. he gets weirdly cranky if he or you don't make the bed and it's messy when going to bed that night (the man leaves his dirty laundry all over the room but doesn't like his bed not being made???)(nesting...)

hates the smell of incense (too strong) but he doesn't mind a few of the vanilla smelling candles. or the outdoorsy type ones

def will pick up new hobbies at random and then drop them (ahem i do that to)

doesn't finish his beer. he'll have a little left and go open a new one anyway

he acts like he's so gruff but he's actually like so polite about things when in someones house/the mansion. it takes you aback how nice he'll be. (x2 logan was just a bit stress don't worry about him raiding bobbys parents fridge)

ill add his fear of flying in here too

honestly he probably just doesn't like heights in general. he'll do it, go in tall buildings, planes, all of that (as well as we all seen) but don't catch him sightseeing out of the 70th floor of the skyscraper yall are in

he probably likes to wear all those layers because he doesnt let his hair grow out like he could. have you seen how much hair he can get? he keeps himself trimmed for you (if you want to call it that). the layers protects from the cold he gets from not being a hairy beast (let him be hairy)

oral fixation... i'll put this in nsfw

this isn't really weird...but he's able to sit in silence for a long time. just watching the view (you)

hes not an early bird. he'll get pissy if you are, because he wants you in bed with him. (people gotta work logan...)

leaves a clean plate of food. he doesnt like waste.

likes to grab you. hes gotta be holding onto you. even if he's single he's gotta be doing something (smoking, tapping his foot, leaning on someone), when he's with you though, you're his grounding.

NSFW

will drool during sex. he tries to control it. sometimes you feel too good though-

gets incredibly horny after missions. good luck.

also when after he goes into a burst of rage. good luck with that too

honestly he just has a high sex drive. he's a bit of a freak. it's not every time but rarely does he not get hard around you- at the scent of you

The moment you wake up in the morning, logan tells you "your period started" before you even have a chance to even fully wake up, only to realize that indeed you did start your period

he could smell it

dude is really intense about smelling

when it comes to you though he's REALLY intense about it. you know how dogs are when they smell you after you come home. logan is no different

can and WILL smell your armpits and feet if he gets the chance. it may gross you out but shits heavenly to him because thats where you smell the strongest. if you don't let him smell you he'll go for the laundry

your neck too

the man leaks so much pre-cum just at the thought of you. you'd think he came right there in his pants

does not care about you walking into him in the bathroom. he has no shame

honestly id think he'd like footjobs. not because he's got a feet thing- but like feet is where your strongest smells come from and if you...do that. his thang will smell like you

will eat you out and do you on your period btw. no shame

i don't think logan will say no to much in bed, except for the really disgusting ones, or the ones inviting other people in. he's not going to share you, or himself.

definitely has a thing about mounting you. he doesn't do it all the time but sometimes he'll lose himself and next thing you know is biting your neck and thrusting you doggy style, grunting and whining, and he won't stop till he's satisfied. the others have expressed worry over the deep teeth marks in your neck (Is he trying to maul you? - Scott)

doesn't like washing the bed sheets after you two do your thing. will complain but you have to bc you both are fairly active together in that department and you do not need your bedsheets become solid like rock. he just likes the scent :(

loves it when you lick his hands/knuckles

i think we all agree, the claws COME OUT when he cums. hes extremely careful about his hand placement bc of this.

back to oral fixation. if he doesn't have a cigar, toothpick, gum, his next best thing is you.

will SUCK on your skin. hard.

This is all i got for now, some probably really aren't a quirk but my brain was just typing what I could think of...might make more. Feel free to reblog and add your own!!

pain kink. a bad one. we all agreed on this i believe.

You know how animals have displays to attract mates? Logan is no different. When hes in the mood, hell puff himself out to you, do things he thinks youll like. I mean, i suppose avg males do this too but logan gets repetitive over it until you notice.