#there are probably more mistakes than text

[americas-ass-writing]

Bouquet

Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: Steve unveils a bouquet of secrets.

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: mentions of injuries, mentions of a hospital/ medbay, being soaked, I'm probably switching between tenses, probably more mistakes

A/M: this is a little birthday gift for the lovely @anika-ann 🩷 idk if you remember but we did have a little conversation about Steve using flower codes like this 🥰 I hope you enjoy!

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Dating Steve Rogers had it's perks. Like falling asleep in a warm embrace, endless treats because he felt like it, fresh flowers every Monday, surprise visits for lunch, the list goes on. But it certainly also had it's downsides. Waking up to an empty bed because he went on his morning run, waking up at 3am to an emergency callout, being alone and worrying while he's on a mission. Overall it was great though. You've never felt as loved before.

With Steve came his little disfunctionsl family that never failed to show up for you when Steve was out of town. May it be Tony bringing you a treat or Natasha inviting you for movie night or just going on a walk with Clint and Lucky. It was like you were part of their family and you're pretty sure you are.

The day started off like any other when Steve was out on a mission. You woke up to an empty bed, missing the heat Steve usually brought along throughout the night. By the time you finally convinced yourself to get up and ready for the day you usually already have a morning text from him. Every single one no matter how small or articulate brought a smile to your face. It meant he was safe and that was the most important thing. It also made you miss him more and often led to worry that it might have been the last morning text you'd ever receive from him.

Deciding you need to get ready to head to work you made your way to the bathroom and from there your day just turns south. The toothpaste you could swear was full last night was suddenly empty, the new fancy hair tool blowed out a fuse and your makeup just doesn't wanted to turn out the way you need it to. Cutting your losses you grabbed your lunch, shoved it in your work bag and headed out.

The way to work was not better. It was raining cats and dogs and on top of that storming so bad your umbrella didn't held a chance. You arrived at the office wet, cold and with a deep regret of not listening to Steve who told you to keep a change of clothes at work. Settled in at your desk you just had to vent about the morning you had. Steve always encouraged you to text him about everything, even if he couldn't answer right away. So you did just that before starting up your computer and trying to find the best position to stay out of the ac blasting air your way. You managed to get some tasks done despite your manager scrambling all the plans once again and soon found yourself taking out your lunch. The red container lid made you stop. Red was pre cut onions and garlic... Purple was your lunch. Your shoulders sacked as you opened the container and did indeed find onions and garlic chopped into cubes. Well this wouldn't suffice as lunch and it was still storming outside. What were you supposed to do? Maybe the break room had some leftovers you could grab if no one claimed them before you. Just as you were about to head there you spotted a familiar brunette at the reception. Her green eyes met yours as the receptionist points your way and her face lit up with a smile. Oh you were never happier to see Wanda strolling in for a lunch date than today!

The bag from your favourite sandwich place made your mouth water as you meet her halfway only to usher her back to your cubicle.

"You're wet!" Her concern made you remember that you where still in your now only a bit dryer clothes from this morning. As you explain the situation to her she frowns. "Well I've been shopping before this. You can change into the clothes I got so you won't get sick." Wanda's eyes are full of concern as she pulls some pieces out of a brown paper back. A pair of dark blue jeans, white sneakers and a nice blue sweater land in your hands before she ushers you off to the bathroom to change. You're so glad you share the same shoe size, the wet shoes bothered you the most. As you return she already has the sandwich, a softdrink and your favourite side set out for you, alongside her sandwich and a soup. The soup is quickly shared between you and your break is filled with laughter, reassurance that Steve will return in one piece and a warm hug goodbye. Wanda takes along your wet clothes, promising to dry them and leaves you with a new rain jacket she bought today because she thought it was pretty. As you go back to work, refueled and with your mind refreshed you never even think about the fact that you and Wanda don't share the same size.

During the second half of your shift you get a text informing you that the sent out team, alongside your beloved captain, is on their way back but that Steve is injured and probably needs surgery. They asked you to come in after you're done for the day so you're there when he wakes up. You spent the time left from your shift worrying about him and as soon as the clock strikes 4pm you're on your way out.

The rainjacket Wanda suplied you with comes in handy with the awful weather. Luckily you make it to the subway before the 5pm rush and board the line that stops closest to the tower. It takes you half an hour till you finally step into the lobby of the tower and rush to the elevator where your second favourite blonde is already waiting for you. Clint gives you a wave and an encouraging smile before he ushers you into the elevator. "He's fine. Already awake from surgery but still a bit loopy from whatever they pumped into him to make him sleep. Loverboy got shot when he went back in for hostages, you know how he is." Clint explains and hands you the cup he was holding. You know it's your favourite tea without even trying and thank you with a small smile. "He's stupid sometimes..." You attempt to joke and Clint gives you a smile and a nod.

"That he is. But he'll be fine. So throw those worries out and please enjoy him drugged up on anesthetic while it lasts. It's a rare opportunity." That is true. Normally his system burns through anything in minutes if not even seconds. The medbay team had been struggling for years till they finally figured something out that worked. And even that didn't stay long in Steve's body. You follow Clint to the room that your boyfriend is in and already hear the laughter of his best friends. Clint throws you an I-told-you-so smile before he leads you inside. Your eyes immediately fall on your boyfriend, bandaged up, with his hips awkwardly lifted as Bucky seemingly helps him get his underwear on, with the blanket hiding his modesty. Both Sam and Bucky are laughing but stop as soon as they see you. Bucky finishes what he's been doing and keeps his hand on Steve's chest to keep him from sitting up.

Your boyfriend immediately perks up when he sees you. "Sweetheart!" His goofy smile immediately falls into a deep frown when he takes you in. You step closer and cup his face softly. "Hey..." You say quietly but his frown is still in place. "You're sad..." He says it with such disappointment that you almost think he's gonna fight the entire world for you. "A bit yeah... I'm worried." You say and try to smooth out the frown on his forehead. He throws the arm that's not in a sling out to Bucky. "Buck! Give me my phone!" The order is barked a bit too loud. Everyone is confused for a moment. At the silence and lack of phone his eyes snap to Bucky with a venom you have never seen on your boyfriends face before. "Phone. Now." He barks so serious you almost ask yourself if the anesthetic already wore off. "Why?" Bucky asks, the confusion still on his face.

"She's sad! I need to send a code to Clint so he asks her to join him on a walk with Lucky!" He explains as if it's super obvious. You're confused... a code? To Clint? Your eyes wander from Steve, to Bucky over Sam and then to Clint. Bucky looks like he's mentally facepalming himself, Sam stands there as if his mother caught him doing something that's definitely forbidden and Clint hides his amusement behind his cup of coffee. "Steve. Clint is in the room with us." Bucky deadpans and Steve looks to Clint. He lights up a bit. "Oh good! Clint! Code hyacint!"

Clint chuckles and shakes his head, looking at you. He's enjoying the free show way too much after an exhausting mission. Steve's face grows angry but before he can snap at Clint you pull his attention to you. "Code hyacint? Steve what's that supposed to mean?" You ask and he just blinks at you.

"It means... That... I text that to Clint when you're sad. You like dogs and nature so I ask him to take you for a walk with Lucky." Your confusion melts away to adoration. That's so cute and considerate. You smile at him and press a kiss to his forehead.

"That's very kind of you Stevie. But I'd rather stay here and be with you at the moment. Is that okay?" You asks sweetly and he beams at you. "Yes! Do you need anything? I can text a code to someone else!" He offers with childlike excitement.

"There's... more than one?" You ask, your unsure gaze snaps at Bucky's stifled chuckle. "There's an entire bouquet." Sam grins, seemingly more comfortable with the situation now. You're confused once again. An entire bouquet? How many exactly where there?

"Don't be mad. I just don't want to lose you." Steve pouts at you. "Lose me? Steve that's insane you wouldn't lose me..." You're interrupted by a sob from your boyfriend.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me! You're my one shot at love! I'm sorry for going behind your back but when I'm not home I need all the help I can get!" Tears stream down his face as he grabs your hand a bit tighter as if you'd run away if he didn't.

"S...so I asked them to help me! I thought of scenarios and what could help you. And then I made up a flower code for it. Like when you told me about your morning and how your clothes were wet I texted Wanda code rain lily so she would bring you new clothes. Or last week when you were sad about that friend canceling your dinner I sent Nat code sunflower for a movie night and Tony code dandelion so he'd bring your favourite snacks." You try to wipe away the tears streaming down his face. "I'm so sorry! Will you forgive me?" His sobs break your heart.

"Stevie... There's nothing to forgive... Am I a bit disappointed your friends played along without telling me? Yeah. But you just did it out of the goodness of your heart." You coo and his tears slowly stop.

"We were forced!" Sam exclaims while Bucky chuckles. You look at them with an eyebrow raised before Clint gets your attention with his confession that he just did it so he could spend more time with you. Your heart melts a little at that.

After explaining everything a bit more, Sam and Bucky being banned from the room by Clint and Steve falling asleep again you sit nest to his bed and hold his hand. Clint sits on the opposite side of the bed and reads a report on his phone while sipping coffee. Steve's act of love and service still tumbles around your mind and you can't hold yourself back any longer.

"How many codes are there?" You ask. Clint looks over his phone to you. He seems to think if he should reveal even more about their system. "Several." He answers and lowers the phone. "It started with a few but as your relationship grew so did the codes. Some were brought up by Steve and others... we're brought up by us." You lift your eyebrows in surprise at that. You don't even need to ask before Clint continues. "Yes by us. We all really like you and when he's home Steve really hogs all of your time. So it became a little competition who would get to spend time with you when he wasn't around. Wanda started it. She came up with the code to bring you new clothes... Which she did today. Tony quickly caught on what she was doing and showed Steve ten more scenarios that could happen." You chuckle at that.

"How did you keep up with all that? A list?" Your eyes wander to Steve's sleeping form. He truly is the perfect partner. How could anyone be as considerate as him? Get all his friends to go along with it so he wouldn't lose you? He would never have even without them. And his friends loving you so much they'd want to spend time with you? Your heart fills with warmth and happiness at the thought alone. And to think you'd been nervous that they wouldn't like you.

"Yeah. We have a list and we had a whole briefing." You laugh at that and Clint smiles. "He was all captain mode. He's very serious about you... Even our reassurance that you wouldn't leave him didn't calm him down." You softly start to brush your thumb over the back of Steve's hand that you're holding. "Well don't tell him or anyone else that you were right... I would never leave him. Especially not when he has such a big heart." Clint laughs and shakes his head. He pulls out his phone again and smirks at you. You know there's no promise that he'll keep that a secret but at least he won't tease Steve with it.

[milkbobatyun]

do you tell the moon about me?

pairing: dan heng x reader

genre: slight fluff, pining

summary: the world is rose gold with the promise of love, but do i dare break this fragile balance?

word count: 584

a/n: fun fact, this actually happened in text convo w my crush, except they were literally like uhhh which [their name] are you talking abt ? (they thought i knew multiple people w the same name) it was so awkwardly funny LMAO (for context they're INTP if that explains anything)

the soft pastel interior of march 7th’s room was tinted with a rosy dream-like haze. 

playing truth or dare with alcohol on valentine’s day was probably the bold choice of march 7th, or the collaborative and chaotic idea of her and the trailblazer. your cheeks were warm, with blush or the fact that you were seated almost knee to knee with your clueless crush, you’ll never know.

you listened to every word that fell out of dan heng’s mouth, every truthful word and cheeky dare with rapt attention. without even trying, he commanded your attention, your thoughts dying before they leave your mouth whenever you feel his eyes on you.

the room fades away every time you hear his voice address you. it’s as though a spotlight is trained on dan heng’s figure. your eyes are drawn to him like magnets, eyes shining brighter than the galaxy that silently regards your quiet party from march 7th’s window.

your fingertips dance nervously on your knees, just close enough to feel dan heng’s assuring warmth. every accidental touch sends sparks flying up your arms, straight to your heart.

tongue stumbling over your words, your heart is a fragile sparrow, soaring in the winds of hope, riding the current of unspoken confessions, buried deep in the organ nestled behind your ribs. it hides secrets you’d keep locked away till the day you die.

after many failed and forfeited challenges, everyone was a different progress of tipsy. for you, the edges of the room blur. everything’s a little brighter, slightly more hopeful. drunken confidence courses through your veins like golden, fizzing hope.

“so,” march 7th’s mouth is twisted into a cheshire’s sly grin, eyes narrowed in amusement as she watches the way your eyes memorise dan heng’s every move, tracing his smile with your gaze. the sparkle of hope and something deeper, glistening in your eyes. “dearest [name], truth or dare?” “truth.” the words are out of your mouth before you know it. curse your quick mouth.

“describe dan heng in two words.” march 7th presses on. the trailblazer watches with the word “✨drama ✨” dancing with glee on their face. “pretty. breath-taking.” the words have stumbled their way out of your mouth before your brain can hold them back.

thankfully, your brain managed to catch up to your mistake, the quiet confession dancing at the edge of your mouth bitten back, along with your tongue.

it was small, a careless slip, but something shifted in dan heng’s features.

disbelief, surprise and…hope.

“me?” his voice is soft, barely above a whisper, as though he can’t believe his ears.

your laughter is nervous, hanging in the air for a fraction too long. 

“of course, how many other dan hengs do i know?” you jest, face on fire with the realisation of the implications of your drunken words. your brain is desperate to do damage control, to rewind the past few mortifying moments, to snatch those words back. but what has been said and done cannot be revoked.

you desperately bite down on the words threatening to spill from your tongue. dan heng needs not know how you secretly make wishes to the night sky, how every falling comet bears the secret hope that you could be his.

he lost the small window of opportunity, to tell you how he has late night conversations with the celestial bodies, crowding outside the archive windows, how the stars whisper secrets in his ear and how he tells them about you in exchange.

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki, @your-sleeparalysisdem0n

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2025 / づ ♡

[emeraldlusts]

Backless dress - A Kylian Mbappé oneshot

Warning : smut, minors DNI, 18+ only Note : may contain spelling and translating mistakes

Please tell me I'll be able to take that dress off you later on tonight

Your breath hitched as you discreetly read the text you had just received. You sighed and it took everything in you not to search for your boyfriend's eyes in the crowded place.

Kylian and you had been dating for a little over nine months, and it was the first time you found yourselves in the same room at a public event. You had somewhat managed to keep your relationship a secret and you very much wanted to keep it that way. Tonight was risqué. And exhilarating.

Being a young actress still, you were just starting to get used to those award shows. Tonight was the most important one of your career so far as the film you played a supporting role in was nominated for best motion picture. Not only did you know just how hard everyone had worked on this film and hoped it would be rewarded ; but this could also change the entire course of your career, and your life.

Kylian had made it very clear the second he learned about that nomination that he would find a way to be there. He knew you wanted to keep the relationship private, you had been very adamant about that, and he respected that. But being there to support you tonight, even if only from afar, was something that couldn't be negotiated with. And being who he was, it probably just took a 20 seconds phone call to get an invitation.

And so there you were, your skin tingling from feeling his eyes on you as you sat next to your fellow actors, actresses and technicians. You had paid special attention to your outfit, working with the designer in charge of the whole team to find exactly the one outfit that you knew would make it hard for Kylian to keep his distance all night. And it seemed to be working.

Unfortunately not, I have to give it back the second the ceremony ends, it costs a fortune.

You pressed ‘send’ and couldn't resist throwing him what you hoped to be a discreet glance to see his reaction. His brows furrowed slightly but he didn't look up and instead quickly typed his response.

I'll write them a check.

You let out a little laugh at his reply, that was so typical Kylian. Money was obviously not an issue for him and when it came to you, he seemed to be willing to be spending it left, right and centre. It had been a cause for a few of your arguments.

No, you won't. I think you'll like my after-party dress even more anyways, and that one I bought. Just for you.

And you're not ready for what I'll be wearing under either.

Kylian's head shot up as he read your text, and for a second, your eyes met. His were a bit wider than usual and the intensity of his gaze had a blush creeping up your chest and into your cheeks in an instant. That single glance felt like it somewhat sealed a promise for the night to come.

The ceremony started and the room was filled with laughters and applause each time a prize was announced. You chatted away with your costars, catching up with them as you hadn't seen each other in weeks.

The evening went smoothly and way too quickly and before you knew it, it was time for the last award, the best motion picture. Your mouth went dry and you felt your palms getting a little sweaty as the presenter started his speech, naming every nominee before opening up the envelope.

The room erupted in cheers as your mind went blank. You had won ; the movie had won. The whole crew got up and started hugging each other as you stood there, doing the same, trying to register what was happening. You felt tears pool up at your lash line but tried to compose yourself as everyone started walking up to the stage to accept the award. You suddenly realised that you had to walk past Kylian to get there and decided to walk down that side of the aisle, hoping to maybe just be able to subtly brush your hand against his, and have him ground you in the moment, the way he always did.

You quickly looked up to see him standing and clapping, the proudest of smiles on his face and that sight made your heart swell in your chest. You were now fast approaching him and in a bold move that he knew would probably get him into trouble with you later, he lowered his hands to his side, and softly grabbed yours as you walked by, squeezing it two times before letting go.

That gesture went completely unnoticed by everyone else around you but it made your heart beat so fast and so hard you were sure it was going to jump out of your chest.

You stood smiling at the back of the stage as the director and main actors delivered their acceptance speeches, emotion evident in their tone as they thanked the whole team.

The rest of the evening felt like a whirlwind : a few very quick interviews here and there and before you knew it, you were pulled back by your agent to the suite where you were supposed to get out of your ceremonie dress, hand it back over, and then change into your after party outfit.

During the second of privacy you had in that room, right as you were about to slip into your second dress of the night, you decided to snap a shot of your reflection in the mirror, in your lingerie and heels, makeup and hair still done.

Just a sneak peek xx

Kylian felt like he was about to explode. Everything about this night felt so frustrating to him. First of all, seeing you looking so sinfully good for a whole three hours, without being allowed to touch you, kiss you, or even hold your hand felt like torture.

Then seeing you win and walk up that stage took that to a whole new level. He wanted to scream out how proud of you he was, wanted the whole world to know about it, to know you were his. But there again, he could not.

And now you were teasing him with a picture of you, standing in a set of lingerie, pretty sure he'd never seen you in anything that sexy before. To think he'd have to endure yet another hour or so of admiring you from afar, knowing full well what you were wearing under your dress as you'd socialize with complete strangers... He was pretty sure he didn't have the strength for that ; and quite frankly, he was also starting to lose willpower.

Fuck, baby...

We're only staying 30 minutes, not one minute longer.

He took a sip of water and a deep breath before walking into that after party. People immediately came from right and left to shake his hand, say hello, have a chat. It was pretty nice and he usually enjoyed those moments, but tonight, there was only one thing he could focus on, only one thing he wanted.

It felt to him as if the energy of the room shifted the second you walked in, catching his eyes for a brief moment before turning your head to the side and saying hello to someone he didn't know. You were right, he thought, that dress was even better than the first one, it looked flowy but hugged your body perfectly at the same time, the material seemed to hang only by two very thin straps on each of your shoulders. His mouth went dry. 

But then you turned around and all the air left his body with one swift swoop of your hair to the side. It was a backless dress. The two straps went all the way down to just above your ass where the same flowy material covered you while highlighting the perfect curve. He could see the dimples just above it from where he stood ; the ones he loved so much ; the ones he so often traced with his tongue during intimate moments.

He felt the blood rush from his face straight to his groin, and he had half a mind to come up to you, suddenly not caring so much whether you had forbidden it or not. You were clearly on a mission to tease him ; and teased he was. You knew you were playing a dangerous game but he was certain you didn't know just how dangerous.

He took his phone out of his pocket as he started plotting his revenge, all the things he'd do to you in just a minute.

I will ruin you, you have no idea what you've just done xx

You didn't have the time to respond before he sent the second text.

It's 20 minutes now, not 30 anymore. Not up for debate.

And you knew just then that you had him exactly where you wanted him. Dominant, in control, and unstoppable.

Ok, but we can't leave together though

You'll leave first and go straight up to your room, I'll be up a minute after. Don't take anything off, not your shoes, not your earrings, nothing. I'll take care of that. You just wait for me, patiently.

You could feel the thrill of the situation coursing through your veins as you read his texts. He was clearly gone and you knew you were in for a memorable night. Not that there was ever a dull one with Kylian.

Your pulse started to quicken with each passing minute and before you knew it, you found yourself trying to breathe calmly in the elevator as it made its way up toward the suite that was yours for the night. You unlocked the door and then closed it behind you, walking to the corner of the room to light up a small lamp, to make the atmosphere a little bit more intimate.

You didn't have the time to do anything else before you heard a small knock at the door. You went to open it, bracing yourself for what was to come. In an instant, Kylian was in the room, immediately closing the door behind him before placing both hands on your hips and pushing you against the door.

"Godamnit, Y/N," he growled before crashing his lips onto yours.

His whole body was flushed against yours and you could feel all of him. His hard chest against your own, pressing against your breasts ; his knees subtly pushing against the inside of your thighs, somehow forcing your legs a little more apart ; and his bulge, pressing into your hips, almost painfully so.

"You're in so much trouble, baby," he informed you, his teeth closing in on your bottom lip and tugging slightly.

"Why, what have I done ?" you managed to breathe out ; "aren't you proud of me tonight ?" you innocently added.

He turned you around in one swift movement, pushing your front to the door and slapping your ass once before putting his lips at your ear.

"Oh don't give me that, you know exactly what you've done and I'll make you apologize for it."

He detached himself from you and with one finger and a featherlight touch, he traced down from the base of your neck down your spine and stopped when he reached the fabric of the dress, making you shiver.

"I'm super proud of you, and I'll tell you all about it once I'm done with you. Count a few hours, angel,"

You moaned at his words, his tone a little lower than usual, his voice thick with desire.

"In the meantime, you're going to be a very good girl for me, yes ? Do as you're told ?"

"Yes," you answered without even thinking. You were craving this at least as much as he was. You wanted that : him to take complete control, to let out his frustration on you, however he wished to.

"Good," he turned you back around and kissed you once more, whispering a single "I love you," before getting back into character and breaking away from you completely.

That was his thing : no matter how intense it would sometimes get in the bedroom, he always had to remind you every now and again that it all was just pure love for you. And each time, that single sentence had you moaning into him, making you even more willing to give him everything he wanted.

He left you there, breathlessly leaning against the door as he slowly made his way into the room, undoing his tie and grabbing an armchair from a corner. He placed it in the middle of the room, and sat down before looking back up at you.

"Come here," he instructed as he leaned back, legs apart.

He had opened the first few buttons of his shirt and he had never looked so good to you. You tried to maintain your composure as you slowly made your way over to him in your heels. You stood in between his legs, waiting for his next move, your lips parted in anticipation. 

His hands came to rest on the back of your knees, his touch light as he tantalizingly started trailing them up your legs, reaching under your dress and then grabbing both your asscheeks and giving them a firm squeeze. 

Your chest was heaving up and down as you felt your skin burning in the wake of his touch. You could tell now he was going to take his sweet time with you and you didn’t know if you could handle it after all. 

“Please,” the single plea left your lips and a small smile appeared at the corner of his lips.

He trailed his fingers up your waist, his eyes locked on your as he found the small zipper of your dress on your left hip. He slowly slid it down and his eyes turned a shade darker as the material pooled at your feet, leaving you in the lingerie you had carefully chosen for the occasion.

It was a black bodysuit, backless, as you wanted it to be invisible under your dress. The front part was rigid and pushed your chest up, making them look as full as they could be. Kylian felt his mouth water at the sight in front of him. His mind was racing fast as he thought about his next move, wanting to savor you in this for as long as he could, he leaned back once more, admiring you for a second.

“Come on, baby, straddle me,” he told you, bringing his own legs together to make it easier for you. The chair was large enough to fit both of you and you took the hand he offered to place one knee on each side of his thighs. You could now feel the heat of his body under yours and smell the remaining of his cologne on his shirt. You wanted nothing more than to run your tongue over the little part of his chest he had exposed. Before you could do anything of that sort though, he fisted one of his hands into your hair and crashed his lips onto yours. His tongue almost immediately entered your mouth and he claimed you completely with just one kiss. 

Pushing your body into his, you tried to reciprocate as best as you could, but he was clearly in charge of the kiss and all you could really do was let him subdue you like that.

The heat was becoming nearly unbearable and your panties were pretty much completely soaked by then. You tried to lower yourself down on him, to try and find a contact, initiate a friction that would relieve you a little, but he kept you still by your hair, not letting any control slip away.

You were completely out of breath and insanely horny when he finally pulled away. You were trying to compose yourself a little when you saw the most devilish smile light up his face, making you part your lips instantly. 

“Arms behind your back, angel,” he demanded, relishing in the way your eyes shot open just a little bit wider as your legs clenched around his own. “I’m going to drive you crazy, and with what I have in mind, I don’t think you’ll be able to behave yourself, so I’m not taking any risk,” he explained, a fire dancing in his pupils. 

You obeyed, your eyes following his every move as he slid his tie behind your back. But instead of tying both your wrists at the small of your back, he slid the tie a little higher up and fastened it just above your elbows. It forced you to arch your back and push your breasts in his face, and it was just uncomfortable enough to make you even hornier, if that was possible.

He then proceeded to slowly push his legs open again, forcing yours to follow on each side of his. With your arms bound behind your back like that, and your legs spread open as far as they could go, you were completely helpless and unable to move, forced to rely fully on him.

“Are you wet already, baby ?” he asked you as he reached his hand in between your legs and started unbuttoning your body. You instinctively pushed your pelvis against his hand, craving his touch there more than anything. 

“You already know the answer to that,” you bravely replied and his fingers froze there for a second.

“I do, but I want you to tell me.” His voice was low and commanding, reminding you once more that he was in charge, and that when he asked a question, he wanted an answer. 

“I’m so wet, Kylian, please, I need you,” you let out shakily as he uncovered your sex, the warm air of the room doing nothing to soothe your arousal.

You started moaning instantly as he trailed a single digit up and down your folds, collecting some of your arousal on the tip of his index before bringing it up to your lips for you to suck.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said, his gaze locked on your face as you sucked on his finger, “I’m going to tease and bring you to the edge over and over again, until you’re dripping down on me. I want to see a stain on my pants.”

You parted your lips in disbelief and his finger slipped out. The look in his eyes was enough to answer your unspoken question. He was serious. And there was nothing you could do about it, not when he had you tied up and unable to move like that. The erection that was so clearly pushing against the zipper of his pants was completely out of reach, meaning you couldn’t even try to persuade him not make this torture last as long he intended to.

“No, please, baby,” you started pleading as his hand found your aching core once more. 

And so it started, his skilled fingers working at your pussy with a clear goal in mind. He knew you better than you probably even knew yourself ; he knew when to rub, circle or just brush your clit to make you moan and writhe under his touch. Then when he judged that your tiny bundle of nerves was getting a little too sensitive, he moved his fingers to your entrance, and circled it once or twice before plunging two fingers in, curling them just right, making you chant his name. 

You knew you were in deep trouble when he came back to your clit once more. Your skin was on fire and your orgasm was fast approaching ; you were pretty sure even a featherlight touch would push you over the edge at this point. He pushed his thumb against it this time and you gasped, your head falling back. He was observing you closely, he knew your body by heart and he knew you were dangerously close to cuming ; but he didn’t want you to just yet. He wanted to see you break and surrender to him ; handing over your pleasure to his will. He had noticed your arousal starting to drip down the inside of your thighs and there was no way he wasn’t going through with his initial idea.

“You’re almost there baby,” he murmured, encouraging ; “I need you to hold it in for me.”

You whined and felt your body start to fight against your restraints, trying to free yourself so that you could just take matters into your own hands and give yourself what you so desperately needed. You felt Kylians free hand grab your hair at the back of your head and force it back up. 

“Look at me, baby,” he instructed ; “I know you can hold it, you’ve done it before,” he reminded you. 

He was referring to another wild night during which he had made it his mission to teach you to try and control your own orgasms. He had claimed it was because he wanted to go at it all night long and didn’t want you to get too overstimulated ; but you were pretty sure he just wanted to see you fight against your own pleasure, just because he had asked you to.

The memory of that delicious night did nothing to calm you down as Kylian started moving his thumb in tight, small circles over your clit again. 

“N-no, I can’t, Kylian, I’m gonn-”

“Come on, focus for me please, you’re almost there. I swear in a second you’ll be dripping down onto my pants and I’ll give you what you need and more. Just hold it a little longer for me, please.”

And you couldn’t say no to this man, not when he was looking at you like that, his chocolate eyes burning into yours with an intensity that took your breath away. So you tried, tried to focus on his gaze instead of his finger, tried to contract your lower stomach to gain a semblance of control over your own body. It was torture, every muscle in your body was contracted in an attempt to undo everything he was doing with his fingers flicking your clit. 

A small smile appeared on his face as he observed you closely. You were being so good for him, doing exactly as you were told even though it was the exact opposite of what you wanted. He was so hard inside his own pants he was sure he was eventually going to rip through the material. 

Then he looked down to where your body hovered over his thighs and he saw it, the little string of arousal that had finally reached him. He had kept his promise and now he would have the absolute pleasure of ripping the most intense orgasm out of you.

He brought both his hands to your face and pulled you in for a messy kiss, his teeth closing onto your lips and pulling a few times before pulling away. He trailed his hand slowly down your body, making sure you were following his move before caressing your pussy once more, and then collecting the glistening drop of your juice on his pants.

You gasped and he smirked up at you ; you knew what it meant and you almost came on the spot. 

“Are you ready ?”, he cockily asked. 

He didn’t give you an opportunity to reply before plunging two fingers past your folds, curling them right up, brushing against the very spot he knew had you seeing stars. The fingers of his other hand found your clit at the same time and started toying with it messily, making it impossible for you to anticipate his next move. 

You arched you back and let out a loud whine, taken over by the sensations but unable to focus on any of them specifically. You wanted to grind against his hand but your thighs were kept too far apart to allow that. 

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned out.

“That’s it, love, you’ve been so good for me. Let go now,” he encouraged, his movements getting faster.

“I c-can’t, I, too much,” you mumbled incoherently as the knot in the pit of your stomach tightened dangerously.

“Now,” he softly ordered, letting you know just like that that he was  still very much in control of your pleasure. 

Your orgasm hit you like a tsunami wave. Your abused pussy started clenching around his fingers and he didn’t let up for one second, determined to drag it out as long as he could. 

You were seeing stars, your head fell back and your back arched as you lost complete control of it all. The waves of pure pleasure kept coming in and you were a slave to them, unable and unwilling to stop them. They shattered you and took everything you had left after what felt like hours of unrelenting teasing from your boyfriend.

Kylian didn’t let up, once again knowing your body well enough to know you weren’t quite done yet. He started thrusting his fingers in and out, your arousal now dripping down his fingers and into his palm. He lessened the pressure of his thumb against your clit, knowing you were soon going to become too sensitive for that part. Your body spasmed at the same rhythm your walls pulsed around his fingers. His own desire was starting to get to his head and he even considered for a minute freeing his erection and pushing right into you to feel you squeeze him like that.

“Oh my god,” you finally let out in a breath, your eyes still tightly shut. 

Kylian finally pulled his fingers out and it probably took you a whole minute to regain your ability to do anything. He put his arms around you and quickly undid the tie that was holding your arms together, before pulling your body into him. 

“You okay?” he murmured against your ear, his hand brushing up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you down. 

“Gosh, yes,” you replied, your face in the crook of his neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever had an orgasm that intense before,” you confessed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

He smiled against your skin. There was nothing he loved more than pleasuring you, pushing your limits only to show you just how much more he could give you afterwards. 

“That was intense,” he confirmed as his hands dropped to your ass to give it a little squeeze. 

It suddenly occurred to you that he was still fully closed and you pulled away from his chest for a second to look at the bulge in his pants. You cocked an eyebrow at him before bringing your fingers to the zipper, a lazy smile pulling at your lips.

He gasped as you freed him and gently wrapped one hand around his rock hard cock. “I need you so bad,” he breathed out before lifting you up into his arms and walking you to the bed, confirming what you already knew : sleep was not on the agenda for that night.

[moominmanoneandonly]

So basically I'm working on gladiator megasound AU and wanted to explain some lore becouse it's 2 am and i can.

WARNING: suggestive topics: mention of prostitution, slavery, objectificatio, terrible spelling

So there wxists a separate cast "carriers" whoch is prettt much fancier version of a plaesurebot. Having a sparkling born naturally is looked down upon since it's mainly used by miners units for free labour. Having a high cast birth a baby is like crazy scandalous. That's why there are carriers. They designed in a way they can modify the protoform to sire deisires and are also skilled in raising sparklings since sires rarely do that. Other than that they're not much diffrent from a normal pleasurebot. They attractive, capable and easily modifiable. They no more diffrent than a slave just prettier and slightly more educated.

Of course Soundwave was one of those, he tried to do the best he can always doing the best he could but when his owner actually tried to make sparkling they turned out wrong. They were to small and did not look like what the sire wanted. He tried to fix it but none of them came out "right" as his master said. There's no use for a broken toy so he and his failures ended up on the street. Which is another thing Carriers are unable to fight. They designed to survive only in the high cast enviroment. No weapons, no fighting knowladge, no nothing. He was basically send to die.

Soundwave of course survived, the pure power of will and few stolen weapon upgrades was able to keep his family feed. He voluntered to the Pits becouse the small rooms they offered for winners were the safest place he could offer for his sparkling, he keep them hidden otherwise. Becouse of what he was no one took him seriously but since the arena trived on "sponsors" having a pretty bot like that was always a good think. He used that to his advantage and learn how to fight mid duels. His plan was to keep sparklings safe and stay away from anyone alse.

Then he meet Megatron.

Megatronus was in awe, he spend his entire life wanting to prove that the mechs can do so much more than what they created for just to see a literall pruf of his theory alive and well. Soundwave did't trust him both becouse of his paranoia but also couse he was fed a lot of anti-miners propaganda and did not belive that Megatron knows what he is talking about. Then they fought their first match, Soundwave was for the first time outsmarted and could not keep up with the other bot (mostly becouse of his prejudice, thinking miners are too stupid to make proper strategies). He expected Megatron to either kill him or claim him as a possesion but instead gladiator made on of his spechees about how amazing opponent Soundwave is and how he was harder to fight than many bots born gladiators.

It took Soundwave some time to understand, he was never allowed to learn politics or philosophy so he did not understand much at first but he did start to trust Megatron more and even let him meet cassetes aftee like 20 years. It was a smart choice becouse togetherthey were able fo find an abandoned room under the arena where cassetes would be safe and they could protect them 24/7.

After that is just the romance stuff (also the prostitution but like it's for a whole another post). There so much cultural diffrence and misunderstanding over traditions. Basically Soundwave just really wanting to get laid to pruff his usefulness while Megatron tries to fihure out if servos holding would be to much of objectification to someone of such background.

[sheepalmighty]

Here are the tricky dialogue comic bits for my Chai-tentatively-joins-Vandelay AU -- there are so many speech bubbles in these images. The rest under the read more is focussed on filling in a few of the gaps I haven't covered yet, solely Chai and Kale stuff.

To preface, I apologise for the absolutely stupid and cliche pages - that are supposed to be pivotal for these two - I decided to draw lower down this post. It would not leave my mind and so I had to manifest it.

While this has some linearity between pages I did leave a couple gaps because I didn't want to iron out the dialogue or events (I've been thinking about this almost exclusively for a year but I'm still not sure what to go with) and I've already drawn these two too many times during this drawn-out, self-inflicted, errr, thing. Still shaky on drawing stuff from the game events proper, doesn't sit right with me but nothing really changes (not sure really) because of the motivations of the main characters.

Something that partly influenced this batch was this one yt comment that said that In A Blink's lyrics / vampire theming weren't supposed to be homoerotic and were just about capitalism, and I thought "why not both?". Anyway, thanks for reading.

[They then argue about who likes who for a bit]

A few small things after the above below:

[kaisollisto]

“Are you here?" Ava barely breathes it, there's a tension in the air that she can't recognize, an energy that squashes her. Her throat feels scratchy and she can feel the Halo slotted between her shoulders. Ava's flat on her back head turned to look over at Beatrice. She feels wimpy like a stomped flower, her left arm dangles dangerously close to Beatrice-territory. She wants to reach out, to touch Beatrice to confirm that she's here but something stops her. She feels so silly, she could easily shift over to touch Beatrice, shake her gently and - 

Beatrice slides over, a firm sleepy sister warrior knife wielding badass with frumpy hair poofing from what remains of her low bun. She moves towards Ava, inches away from her but moves to answer her. It’s rare for Ava to see her like this. Beatrice is clearly fighting sleep, rubbing her eyes and doing her best to move in hopes that it’ll shake the sleepy spell. 

She’s dressed in one of Ava’s ugly loose white shirts, a huge bass clashing with faded big blocky lettering that just reads “FISH”. Beatrice had looked at her weirdly when Ava had dug it out of the bins at a thrift store disheveled and ecstatic. 

Ava had spent hours coaxing her into it doing her damn best to hide Beatrice’s laundry when she wasn’t looking. It fills a warm feeling in her chest and Ava wants to burrow further into it. It was a fool proof plan. 

Ava found her shortness made it exhausting to reach up towards the Beatrice-level-cabinets. The halo pulls at her pinching and knotting up the muscles in her back after a long day of training. She feels it alive within her, an uncomfortable reminder sealed inside her back. 

At the end of the day Ava settled on hinging at the waist. She had slowly started integrating Beatrice’s sleep shirts in cabinets that Beatrice had to bend down to reach. Ava always tried to situate herself at the scene of the crime doing her best to seem inconspicuous while she leaned over hungry for Beatrice’s reaction. Ava thumbed her findings down in the recess of her mind, her finger tracing over it in a hurried desperation. The time would pass and she did not want to forget. 

(It helped, the imagery of Bea’s furrow when she would find her sleepwear underneath the sink when Ava would have to tuck her spine into the halo as she placed the shirt somewhere clean.) 

Thanks to her genius planning Beatrice had finally caved and worn Ava’s huge “FISH” t-shirt after weeks of her persistence. She looked adorable, she was drowning in it and constantly tugging at it. She had found Beatrice loved to tuck it into the band of her sleep shorts creating puffy funny creases distorting the text even further to say “FSH”. It looked so ugly and old and endearing. 

She looked out of her depth and it made Ava’s heart thump funny. Beatrice with her weird posh mannerisms combined with the peaceful unguarded look when she slumbered made her feel hot all over. 

It was the prospect of the future, a glimpse into her life with Beatrice, of when they would grow old together. It shakes her, the idea that Beatrice will get wrinkles with her. She takes it seriously, a study that she isn’t well versed in but preparing for. It is a long hard internal debate flipping between what wrinkles will show first. Ava selfishly hopes it’s smile lines, that Beatrice will smile at her as much as she does in secret. She’s happy to be wrong, Beatrice’s forehead crinkles have always been cute. She hopes that Beatrice never stops looking at her, thinking of her. She wants to spend a long time being the source of her wrinkles. And just for right now she can handle the role of being just her friend. 

Beatrice blinks one eye open, the other pressed against the pillow as she stifles a yawn. Her hand blocks her mouth in a delicate way and Ava can see her nails are short and uneven in places. Ava wishes she could touch them, study them in a way no one has done before. She wants to press against Beatrice hard enough to watch her skin fold around hers. Some sort of truth that she was here, that she is here. 

Beatrice scoots over slowly, her elbow tucked under the pillow. She stops inches away from Ava, a frown set in her jaw. Ava mirrors her position albeit more awkwardly and more wiggling than Beatrice’s but she finds a place where the Halo won’t bite her back. 

“I’m here,” Beatrice murmurs it, a quiet thing between them. 

Ava closes her eyes hoping Beatrice won’t notice her shakiness. She blinks a few times before she presses closer, the arm she’s laying on moving to support her head underneath the pillow. 

There’s so much to tell her, anything and nothing at all and Ava doesn’t know where to start. It constricts her throat, the constant stream of consciousness from inside of her heart. It’s horrible and she can’t stop it as the feeling balloons inside of her lungs. Ava wants help, she so desperately wants to feel okay again, to feel anything other than the stupid fucking halo. It grates on her nerves and muscles, a burning hot metal ring poking and prodding at the entirety of her upper torso. It leaves her reeling, a sort of anger that beckons for her to hurt (hurt something, hurt someone, hurt), disregarding the aftermath of tears and shame. 

Ava is sure she’s shaking, a layer of sweat gathers between the space of her shoulder blades as the Halo lights up with her inner turmoil. It’s a faint pitiful thing that Ava would be ashamed of if not for the bone aching tiredness. 

She wants to say she’s sorry the words clawing their way up her throat and it feels wrong to feel anything but that. There’s a sort of unspoken shame that haunts her with the Halo. It’s a thing she’s known long before any of this. 

Beatrice drags her out of her turmoil with her hand hovering near Ava’s pinky. She has a gracefulness to it, like she has practiced it a hundred times over. It’s weird, to be in a bed, a soft and lumpy bed looking at Beatrice. Beatrice with such plain features and subtle cheekbones that Ava can’t stop looking. It pays off, watching Beatrice, Ava knows it when Bea smiles a grin too wide for polite acknowledgement and Ava can see her dimples pronounced. 

“Can I?” Beatrice’s finger lingers near her hand, a hovering itch that Ava needs scratched. It’s so wholeheartedly Beatrice that Ava can do nothing but nod. Something inside of Ava aches harder than the rest of the organs inside of her. It’s the unwavering crushing thumping feeling that squeezes around her heart. The sincerity of Beatrice. 

She places her hand over Ava’s and squeezes her gently. Beatrice’s hands are firm and soft. She can feel the callouses on her palms prodding at the back of her hand and wonders if Beatrice has ever had them fade away. If she’s had the pleasure of unscathed palms. Her hands are warm but not sweaty, not like Ava’s.

Ava can’t feel Beatrice’s pulse but she tries her best to match it. She imagines it would be a slow melody playing a duet with a classical track. Some sort of tune that spurs comfort or a feeling of nostalgia. She briefly wonders if Beatrice listens to music, if she seeks out music that has spoken to her. If there was a song that shook her to her core so deeply she had to sit down and digest it. There’s so much she still needs to know and so little time. 

“I admit I’m not sure what you need from me.” Beatrice whispers it quietly, she’s hunched awkwardly, hovering close in Ava’s space but too far away for her own comfort. 

Ava clamps her mouth shut, sure that “come closer” will betray her. That she will reach too far into Beatrice and take far too much. 

Beatrice pays no mind to Ava’s silence and slowly caresses her hand, it’s a small little gesture that seems to have no set course. Ava briefly wonders if it’s the start of a massage or if Beatrice is looking for her joints underneath her skin and touching her tendons in apology. 

It should be awkward, Beatrice and Ava orbiting each other in a lopsided manner. A rotational tilt that is unfamiliar to both of them and yet feels intimate. An unknown dance with their eyes closed and their breaths mingling. (It’s easy to follow Beatrice’s lead, Ava knows love.) 

There’s nothing Ava can say to her, she chokes up at the prospect and they both blink at each other. She’s not sure what she needs, only that it’s nice having someone here. 

Beatrice drowsily blinks rapidly and slowly at the same time as Ava watches swallowing the bits of her smile. Her hand has slowed its pathing, opting to curl on the inside of Ava’s fingers. It’s endearing watching one of her favorite bad ass sister warriors lose against sleep. It softens the edges of Beatrice who is always carrying some unseen obligation. (Here it is only the two of them free of their past and future burdens, just two girls sprawled thinly on hopes and dreams). 

She can feel Beatrice’s grip loosen, she’s going to fall back asleep any minute now but Ava doesn’t have the heart to keep her up. Beatrice is no doubt tired, powered by her own sleeping and eating habits unlike Ava who has the artifact to juice her up. 

She isn’t quite unwound but she feels manageable now. It’s weird to be within reach of Beatrice, someone who cares about her. To be in proximity of someone who will look for her, be in step with her, maybe it’s duty but Ava holds it close to her heart regardless. (It’s all the same to her, devotion, loyalty, love). 

She clings to Beatrice afraid to let the moment go, she had called and someone had answered, Bea had answered. Ava can feel her eyes watering, it almost feels like a distant dream. She tucks her chin closer to chest and thinks, how awful to be loved. 

She can feel her throat closing up and she squeezes Bea’s hand just a tiny bit harder. (She answers in the twitch of her hand, clearly on the cusp of sleep). The Halo still thunders in her back throbbing some fatal fate but here in the hush of night grounded by the touch of Beatrice she has some reprieve.  (Part 1)

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[temperedknight]

Vent post

The ability of some people to lambast everyone around them for every tiny mistake, never offering a shred of grace, to then turn around and refuse to admit any small fault when they make mistakes in turn and demand absolute exoneration from having to examine themselves...

[cryptlocke]

I reread Demon Slayer so now it’s everyone’s problem.

Uuu

So

If you never finished the manga I guess there will be spoilers? So uh

Yeah

If you read past this and find spoilers don’t get mad at me??

Also I’m very bad at explaining things so if my thoughts don’t make sense uuu

Too bad??

So like

Yknow how the crows were live tweeting as people died? Yeah I was thinking about that and of course my mind went to GenZen as always.

So yes this is a GenZen post

This post is worded as if they were already close

Because I love GenZen

Imagine being Zenitsu. Like

Okay so, his grandfather killed himself because Kaigaku, who Zenitsu seems to have looked up to at one point, became a demon (frankly I would too if I ran into Upper rank 1 and becoming a demon was my free ticket to not fucking die but this isn’t about him).

He kills Kaigaku and in what to him felt like mere minutes he hears the news that Genya is dead.

He hardly had any time to process what he’s already lost, only to hear that he lost the love of his life as well.

On top of that he gets no closure. There is no body to bury. Even if Genya got a grave, Zenitsu can’t feel close to her when he goes there because there was no body to bury. She is just gone.

He has to live knowing that the girl he was going to marry one day never made it out that castle.

[adlibitur]

being told "you cant confuse ibs and anaphylaxis" isnt medical advice its actually common sense

[adore-gregor]

:)

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[foxy-eva]

Send Nudes

Summary: Chaos ensues after you accidentally send Spencer a nude pic

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) dub-con (Spencer receives an unsolicited nude pic), embarrassment, awkwardness, tension, heavy kissing, male masturbation, oral (fem receiving), handjob, protected penetrative sex

Author's Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient Challenge!

Word count: 3.2k

Masterlist

Panic. Embarrassment. Shame. 

It was hard to describe what you felt when you stared at your phone, realizing that you had just sent Spencer Reid a nude picture of yourself. 

It was a mistake, of course – right when you wanted to send him a screenshot of an article, you stumbled over the mess in your apartment and selected the wrong picture. Frozen in place, you watched in horror as the read receipt showed up instantly. 

Spencer had just seen your naked body light up on the screen of his phone. 

A picture he never asked for and probably didn't want to see. It wasn’t a bad photo, some might even call it aesthetically pleasing. But you had never intended for anyone else to see it. It was just a way for you to make yourself feel good about your body. 

You contemplated your options. Burning your phone, moving across the country and changing your identity sounded intriguing but difficult to arrange. Instead you decided to text Spencer, hoping that soon you’d both be able to laugh about the embarrassing thing you just did. 

“I am so sorry about that. I really didn't mean to send that! Can you please delete the pic and forget about it?” 

You didn't get a response. Spencer was never great at texting but you had really hoped to hear back from him. It was hard to tell if he felt just as embarrassed or maybe even offended – you certainly wouldn't want to receive unsolicited nude pics either. 

You had barely gotten any sleep when you walked into work the next morning. Worst case scenarios had plagued your mind all night – from another painful workplace sexual harassment seminar to maybe even losing your job over your mishap – you had no idea what would expect you today. 

Everything seemed normal when you got to your desk, except for the fact that your favorite coworker didn't even look at you when you walked by him. Spencer usually liked sitting beside you in the conference room and also on the jet, but he did neither of those things that day. 

“Wow you really must have pissed Reid off, huh?” Luke whispered when he sat down beside you on the plane. 

“Did he say anything to you?” you wanted to know. 

“No, he didn't. What did you do? Spill coffee over his favorite chess board?” he teased. 

“Oh it’s so much worse than that,” you whined while heat rushed to your face. 

Emily decided to discuss the case before Luke could ask more questions. Spencer avoided you for the next couple of hours until you decided you both had suffered enough. 

A quiet moment in the coffee kitchen of the police precinct seemed good enough to approach him.

“Hey Spencer,” you said and noticed how he almost jumped at the sound of your voice. 

“H…hi,” he mumbled, his eyes fixated on the floor.

Stepping closer, he finally looked at you for the first time that day. The rosy shade spreading over his cheeks was impossible to ignore. 

“I’m very sorry about the… you know. I didn't mean to send it but I understand if you feel offended by it,” you sincerely told him. 

“I’m not… offended.”

You took a deep breath before you continued talking, “All I want to say is… if you want to discuss this incident with Emily or even HR, I would understand. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable in any way.” 

“No, it’s okay, really,” he lied. “We can just forget about it.” 

Spencer Reid was good at many things. Lying, however, definitely wasn’t his strong suit. You decided to drop the subject for now, aware that talking more about it would probably not make him less uncomfortable. 

The tension between you two was palpable for the rest of the workday. When you stepped into your hotel room that night, you were relieved to finally have a couple of walls between the two of you. 

If this thing didn't resolve soon, you’d have to talk to Emily about it eventually. But there was still hope that it wouldn't come to that. The embarrassment about your mishap was already bad enough as is.

The three knocks on your hotel door startled you. With your heart beating uncomfortably fast, you walked over to the door to find Spencer on the other side. 

He walked into your room without saying a word. Then he began slowly pacing up and down your room, still silent. He looked at you for a second but his sight fell to the floor immediately after that. 

“I uh…” he began before taking a deep breath. “I lied to you earlier.”

“About what?” you wanted to clarify. “Wanting to go to HR?” 

He shook his head. “I said that we can just forget about it but I don’t think I can do that.” 

Your heart felt heavy at his words. His discomfort pained you and you wished nothing more than to be able to take it back. “I’m so sorry Spencer.”

“I deleted the image off my phone but…” he paused to finally look at you. The expression written over his face was hard to read. What you didn't find was the discomfort you expected. Instead he looked… cocky?

He continued, “...it seems like it’s burned into my brain. And I can’t help but wonder, was it really an accident?”

“What?! Of course!” you squeaked. “Believe me, I would never want to send you a picture like that unprompted.”

That was when you saw a subtle smirk on his face. “Interesting choice of words.” 

You thought about it for a moment. Had you really just implied that you would want to send him nudes if he’d ask you to? 

“That's not what I meant,” you tried to brush it off. “And please don’t give me a lecture about Freudian slips.”

His presence filled the room and you felt like you couldn't take deep enough breaths to satiate your need for oxygen. His demeanor was so different from what you were used to and you had trouble wrapping your head around it.

His next question was even more surprising. “Who did you take this picture for?” 

The undertone in his voice was unsettling and you started feeling defensive. “I don’t see how that's any of your business but just for the record, I took it for myself. I do that occasionally to make myself feel good about my body.” 

It seemed as if he was content, almost relieved with your answer. You scanned his body language again and replayed his words in your head. Then it hit you all at once. Spencer was not here to scold you for what you did. 

He was jealous. And he wanted to make sure no one else got to see your picture. 

A grin formed on your face as you realized that you could play this game too.

Your tone was laced with a certain playfulness when you asked, “What did you do after you saw the picture?”

The change of your demeanor seemed to take Spencer by surprise. “I just told you, I deleted it.” 

“I don't think that's all you did.” He audibly gulped and you noticed his cheeks taking on a reddish color. Stepping closer to him, you whispered, “Did you touch yourself, Spencer?”

A shaky breath left his mouth before he confessed, “Yes.”

“Naughty boy,” You teased him. “You really liked that image, hm?” 

Nodding, he took a step forward until there was barely any space between the two of you. “I can't stop thinking about you.”

His words boosted your confidence. “I know I look great in that pic. But I think I would look even better in this lighting right here, don’t you think?” 

Before you could bring to action what you had insinuated, you felt Spencer's hands cupping your face to pull you into a kiss. The surprised gasp escaping your throat was muffled by his lips against yours. 

He kissed you with a fervor that knocked the air out of your lungs. Weakness rushed to your knees and you had to hold onto him to not tumble back. One hand pawed at his shirt while the other one held onto his shoulder. His lips felt soft yet firm against yours. 

When his tongue begged for entrance, you let it. As he deepened the kiss, you could feel heat rushing through body. A few moments ago you really thought you’d have the upper hand in this game you were playing but now realized you were just as pathetic as he was. 

Maybe sending him that image was a Freudian slip of some kind. Or maybe it was just some odd plan the universe had to bring you together. Either way, you were grateful for how things turned out. 

Your hands became curious as they wandered over Spencer’s body. The tingling in your fingertips could only be soothed by feeling his skin underneath them, so they quickly began unbuttoning his shirt. Spencer showed a similar interest in feeling more of you by the way his fingers dropped down to the hem of your shirt. 

Piece after piece both of your clothes fell to the floor, only ever breaking the kiss for as long as necessary. When you stood completely bare in front of one another, you dared to press your body against his to feel him. 

It was impossible to tell who moaned first when his length pressed against your stomach. With a firm grip on his shoulders, you moved him back until his legs made contact with the edge of the bed. You pushed down until he sat on the mattress, staring up at you with a curiosity in his eyes that made your heart jump. 

As you stepped back, his tongue darted out of his mouth to lick over his lips and you wondered if he thought about tasting you. To your surprise, he managed to not break eye contact until you challenged him, “Go on, take a look.”

His sight scanned your body, lingering on your breasts for a second before moving further down, taking everything in. You couldn’t hold back from looking at him, too. A rosy color had spread all over his cheeks and chest and when you dared to drop your eyes to his cock, you noticed how it twitched slightly against his thigh. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he cooed when your eyes met again. 

“Better than the image?” you teased, smirking at him. 

He only nodded before looking at your body again. It was like he was mesmerized, as if a miracle had just unfolded right before him. It became obvious that he was ready to worship you if you’d let him. But first, you had something else in your mind. 

“Show me exactly what you did when you saw my picture,” you told him. 

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Wh… what?” 

“Don’t be shy now,” you snickered. “Come on, I wanna see how pretty you think I am.” 

The sweet smile on your face seemed to encourage him enough to let his right hand move towards his hardness. It was as if he needed reassurance when he found your eyes and you nodded.

He wrapped his fingers around his cock, giving himself a squeeze and you watched as precum spilled over the tip. Slowly, he began moving his fist up and down his length, swiping his thumb over the head each time he got to the top. The groan that slipped from his lips could only be described as absolutely sinful. 

You couldn’t deny how much the sight in front of you turned you on. Spencer was so incredibly beautiful and the thought that your body had the ability to make him feral like that drove you insane. 

Arousal gathered at your entrance the longer you watched him. This show was no longer enough for you, you needed more. Your hands found the curve of your chest, gently kneading them before your fingers began toying with your hardened peaks. Spencer’s eyes were fixated on your hands, his mouth hanging wide open and unabashedly moaning at the sight while accelerating the pace of his hand. 

Then suddenly, he stopped and got up from bed. Desperation was written all over his face when he looked at you. 

“Please,” he begged as he stepped closer. “I need to touch you.” 

It was everything you wanted right then, too. 

“I’m all yours, Spencer.” 

His mouth was on yours in an instant and he didn’t waste any time to move you over to the bed to push you onto the mattress. He followed quickly, towering over you as he kissed down your neck, making you moan in anticipation of what would follow. 

He moved further down your body, kissing and nipping on the tender flesh of your breasts before focusing his attention on your nipples. The sensation was almost unbearable and you could feel how your arousal began coating the insides of your thighs. 

Spencer smiled against your skin when he noticed you rocking your hips against his leg every so slightly. His confidence grew as he realized that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. 

“Needy,” he chuckled as he kissed down your stomach. “That’s cute.” 

Right then you couldn’t care less about being in charge, you just wanted to be taken care of. When his lips brushed over your inner thigh, you opened your legs further to give him better access. He lay down between your legs and didn’t waste any time before he began leaving feather light kisses against your folds. 

You watched as he licked his own lips, tasting your essence on them before he found your eyes. 

“You’re so wet,” he teased and let a finger move along your slit. “Is that all for me?” 

He expected a witty response, like you telling him to bring his mouth to good use for once. So it took him by surprise when you simply sighed, “Yes.” 

There was no more game to play. No more back and forth of who was in charge. It was just the two of you, equally as desperate to finally do what you both had been dreaming of for weeks.

“Good,” Spencer whispered, his hot breath tickling your core, before he finally granted you some relief. 

His tongue moved through your folds, collecting your taste before he focussed on your most sensitive spot. He experimented with different motions for a few moments, paying attention to your reactions until he found what you enjoyed the most. Your hand flew to his hair, your fingers intertwining with his curls to hinder him from moving away – even though he had no intention to do so, anyway. 

With one arm wrapped around your thigh he hindered you from bucking uncontrollably against his face while his other hand found your entrance, letting two fingers slip into you with ease. He moved with great precision, adjusting the angle and the pace according to your reactions, bringing you closer to your breaking point with every second passing. 

The sounds of your pleasure filled the room as you began dancing along the brink of euphoria. With just a few more skillful motions, he pushed you over it. Your walls pulsed around his fingers while your entire body shook. He worked you through your orgasm before he lay back down beside you, placing a gentle kiss against your lips. 

You were still panting when you found his eyes. The warm amber of his irises was almost completely swallowed by his pupils, the lust visible in his eyes contradicting the saccharine smile he showed you. 

“You okay?” he breathed as he wrapped one arm around your waist. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed while one of your hands moved down his body. 

Tentatively, you let your fingertips brush along his length, feeling his velvety skin under your touch. “Now what are we gonna do with you?” you purred as you wrapped your fingers tightly around him, making him gasp. 

With a torturously slow pace, you moved along his cock. “Tell me, Spencer. What do you want?” 

“I uhm…,” he audibly swallowed. “I have a condom in my pocket.” 

The fact that he brought a condom to your hotel room when he came over early amused you. He never had any intention of just talking to you. 

“So, you want to fuck me?” 

“Yes,” he admitted unabashedly. “If you want that, too, of course.”

With a nod you confirmed that that was exactly what you wanted as well. Right after you let go of him, he grabbed his pants from the floor to take out the foil wrapper. You watched as he ripped it open and carefully rolled down the condom. 

Then, he kneeled down between your legs, taking a moment to admire the beauty of the woman in front of him. 

“Come here,” you cooed and he leaned over you without hesitation. 

Reaching between your bodies, you guided him to your entrance. He closed his eyes when he slowly entered you, relishing the sensation of stretching you open inch by inch. When he was fully inside you, he kissed you before he began moving with slow thrusts.

Wrapping your legs around his hips, you brought him even closer. When he was sure that you could take it, he accelerated his pace, fucking you against the mattress until you were sure you would lose your mind. 

Spencer’s body began trembling and he suddenly stopped moving. 

“Sorry, I’m really close,” he whined and tried to pull out slightly. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded as you kept him in place with your legs around him. “Please, I need it.”

One of your hands moved down to where your bodies were joined to desperately draw circles around your little nub, making you clench hard around his hardness. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered as he began moving again. “I can’t, ah–” 

With just a few more deep thrusts Spencer came, his cock twitching inside you as his whole body shook. It was enough to throw you over edge too, entering a state of pure bliss together with him. After you had both come down from your high, you welcomed him inside your embrace, your fingertips gently dancing over his back as he caught his breath. 

For the sake of getting cleaned up you separated for a few moments, only to lay back down together soon after. A shaky breath fell from Spencer’s lips and caught your attention. 

“So…,” he began talking but didn’t continue. 

You propped yourself up on one elbow to find his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask if maybe–” 

“You want me to send you that pic again?” you interrupted him with a grin on your face. 

“No,” he laughed. “I mean… that’s not what I wanted to say.”

Still in a teasing mood, you snickered, “But you would like to see that pic again?”

“You know what,” he chuckled as he lifted the blanket to get a peek at your naked body. “I think I actually prefer this.”

“Good,” you chirped. “If you want to see more of me you’ll have to take me on a date though.”

Placing a soft kiss on your lips, he whispered, “Deal.”

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings

[esote-rika]

Red is Your Color | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader

Category: smut 18+ MDNI

Summary: You just committed perhaps the most atrocious wrongly sent message ever. By some trick of nature, your coworker is more than willing to play along. (This is from @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient prompt list. Character receives scandalous selfies from a coworker; check out her prompts, they're really fun!)

Content: softdom!spencer, fingering, multiple orgasms (female receiving), p in v, creampie, reader is on the pill, Spencer calls reader a naughty girl and pretty girl, tenderness and lots of checking in, vaguely Christmas themed. 

Word count:  3.1k

A/N: I read something really poetic and profound yesterday and it inspired me to write, but my mind was in the gutter, so this happened. lmfao happy holidays. UNEDITED, I wrote this at 2 in the morning T.T

Do you think Santa would bend me over and punish me?

Spencer Reid was almost too scared to even open the following messages—he’d already made the mistake of opening this one. And there was a barrage of them, sent a few minutes after the very first one, in quick succession, one right after the other. His phone buzzed and buzzed, matching the distracting hum in his brain at the moment. He should probably read the next messages, because surely, surely those contain the explanation to this one.

Unfortunately, his eyes were glued on this first one—it seemed like it was the only one that contained a picture, after all, and what was that they said about a picture saying a thousand words?

What could it mean then, this picture his coworker had sent to him? What did it mean that he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it? (What did it imply if he didn’t want to? That he liked the picture? That it made his pants uncomfortably tighter?)

He stared at the picture, his eyes greedily taking every inch of smooth skin exposed by the short, strapless sexy Santa dress his coworker was wearing. It wasn’t explicit—she was fully dressed, after all, but the caption, paired with the way she had been posed… Sitting on what he presumed was her bathroom counter, her legs artfully crossed, the fabric of the dress hiked up to reveal long, luscious thighs. With her pursed lips painted crimson, it was obvious what the message was meant to imply and Spencer felt his mouth grow dry. He shifted on his seat, both hands gripping his phone because he didn’t trust them not to wander down, to give himself relief.

No, he should not be jerking off to his coworker. He shouldn’t even be fucking looking at this photo. He should delete it, call Penelope and ask her to rewire his cloud or memory or data or whatever it was called. Just to get rid of it from his phone. That would be the decent thing to do, and Spencer had always prided himself on being a gentleman. 

He knew that would be futile; knew his mind would be treacherous and have the image of her with those supple thighs, and red mouth in his dreams, his nightmares, in every fantasy—

His phone was ringing.

He stared at it, wondering how she was sending so many messages so quickly, before he realized that she wasn’t texting anymore.

She was calling.

His thumb found the answer button without his consent. The next thing he knew, her voice was pouring from his phone’s speaker. Soft. Contrite. Embarrassed. He frowned. What on earth was she embarrassed about, he wondered. She, who looked stunning, who looked good enough to be worshipped—

“—Please say something, Spence.” she was saying, pleading, and something in his gut clenched. That nickname, coming from her lips. That nickname, coming from her lips, while she was wearing that dress.

“Spence—”

“It’s all right,” his voice was strangled. He cleared his throat, “It’s all right. I’ve deleted it.” Lie, what a liar, she deserved better than hastily told lies.

“Okay,” she sighed, relief palpable even without seeing her face to face, “I just didn’t want to get in trouble with HR, on top of everything.”

HR. He almost laughed. They wouldn’t care (unless someone blabbed, like what happened with Derek and Penelope, but he would never do that to her, not in a million years.)

“You wouldn’t, I promise… it wasn’t even that explicit, if I’m being honest.” he heard himself say. He rubbed his eyes in frustration—why did he have to add that?

Her laughter floats from the phone, nervous and low. “I guess not. I wasn’t about to send a complete nude to my friends.”

He straightened up, confused. “Your friends?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice still wavering nervously, “Like I said in my texts, it was wrongly sent to you, I was talking to my friends.”

In other words, it wasn’t for him. He would have known that, had he opened her texts, had he not been too busy ogling the picture she had mistakenly sent, the picture that wasn’t even for him. Something unpleasant burned in his chest, but he ignored it in favor of the curiosity that lingered.

“You send explicit pictures to your friends?”

“I thought you said it wasn’t that explicit,” she chuckled, “But, uh, yeah I do… I dunno, maybe that’s weird, but we were joking around.”

That was something new he learned today. That friends could casually send sexually charged photos to each other. The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. “So you don’t actually want to be bent over and punished?”

Dear heavens, sometimes he understood why his teammates gave him weird looks. If he had a mirror, he would give himself a weird look. Still, he held his breath for her answer, surprised by the wave of disappointment at the thought of her saying no, it was just a silly text.

The pause grew between them, and Spencer was almost about to apologize, when she spoke again.

“I mean, if someone were willing to do it…”

He swallowed. His pants felt tight once again, and he had to force himself to take deep breaths. This was not an invitation, he thought, she had not asked him, she was not saying if you wanted to do it (which, he does, desperately so.)

“Right.” he managed to croak. Another pause, as if she was contemplating. 

“Spencer,” she was whispering now, “Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“How fast can you get here?”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

You’re not sure what possessed you into inviting your coworker over, but you did. And now, you’re sitting in your living room, in that blasted sexy Santa dress, panic texting your friends about it. He had said fifteen minutes. Eight minutes had gone by, and you knew he would fulfill his promise. He would be here in seven minutes.

Perhaps you weren’t expecting him to agree. Your perception of Spencer Reid has always been of a sweet genius, wholly brilliant and too preoccupied with academics to even give a second thought to sex and romance. He was a germaphobe, for crying out loud, you had thought it would make him have some sort of aversion to the inevitable sticky, sweaty mess of two bodies coming together. 

But you’d heard it in his voice. Strained, low, and riddled with desire. 

So you had mustered enough courage to ask. And now—

Your doorbell cut through your thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you shoved your phone into a drawer, not wanting to see the offensive piece of technology for the rest of the night. You looked out through the peephole, and there he was, still in his office clothes. Tall, and slender, and dishevelled and yours for the night.

You pulled the door open, ignoring the heavy thump in your chest. 

He smiled. “Hi.”

“You’re early.” You teased, standing aside to let him in. His eyes were glued to you, pupils dilating as he took you in.

“You’re still wearing the dress.”

Right. Once you had realized you sent the text to Spencer instead of your friends, you had spent the next several minutes in agonizing anxiety, sending text after text to Spencer in an effort to explain. In your utter mortification, you had forgotten to change out of it.

He seemed to like that. It gave you enough confidence to surge forward, blindly, recklessly.

“I am.” You said, red lips tugging into a smile you reserved for handsome strangers at a bar. You lowered your voice, just enough for the next words to come out breathless, “Honestly, it’s a little itchy.” 

“Is it?” He stepped forward, crowding you into the door. It creaks as it moves with your weight, the knob clicking in place. He reached forward, and you held your breath, anticipating his hands on you, gently running over your skin, but instead they closed over the doorknob, locking it. He didn’t miss your reaction, though, his eyes a glittering night sky of sweet, utter want. “Maybe I can help you with it.”

You nodded, mouth parted in silence, whatever words you wanted to say have died in your throat.

He brought his hand up, caressing your jaw, and you marvelled at how large his hands are, long fingers reaching the nape of your neck. “Red is your color.” he murmured, before leaning in to capture your lips.

His lips were cold and chapped, and you returned his kiss eagerly in an attempt to warm them. Your mouth opens at one swipe of his tongue, moaning as he leans his whole body into you, pushing you harder against the door. Tonight, you learned that Spencer Reid, the sweet, unassuming genius, kisses like he wants to crawl into you. It’s a sloppy mess of tongue and teeth, and a whimper escaped your mouth as he bit your lower lip.

“Too much?” he asked, pulling away for a moment. 

As an answer, you wrapped your hands around his neck, and returned the fervor of his kisses. You heard him chuckle, felt it on your own tongue as it happened and it made your knees buckle from sheer want. 

His arms wrapped around your waist, hoisting you up into his embrace. You felt him move, stumbling across your apartment before setting you down again. The blunt edge of a drawer hit your lower back, just as he pulled away. 

A whine left your lips. You didn’t know if it was from the pain, or the loss of his kiss.

“Turn around, darling.” he murmured, but your brain was so damn distracted you just stared at him blankly. He grinned, hands at your hips gently maneuvering you to face away from him. “You said you wanted to be bent over.” 

Chills went down your spine as he pushed you forward, elbows landing on the smooth, wooden desk. 

“Y-yeah, I did say that.” you managed to reply. This time, the breathless quality in your voice was not an affectation. You felt his nose on your neck, pushing away the stray locks of hair, before his mouth landed over the skin, open and wet, traversing the expanse of your flesh with reckless ardor. You moaned, craning your head back in a wordless plea for more.

You felt teeth, the sting of it clamping over your flesh. You didn’t even realize you’d yelped until he stopped.

“Sorry,” he whispered, soothing the bite with his kisses.

“It’s okay,” You replied, one hand reaching up, running through his hair. “Do it again.”

The rumble of his laughter made your stomach warm. He sunk his teeth into your neck again, sucked at the spot he bit, and you would have face planted into the desk had it not been for his hands holding you up. 

“You’re a naughty girl,” he purred against your skin, “Aren’t you? Sending that picture to me, I bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

“It was,” you protested, but then he grinds his crotch into your ass and any indignation was stifled by the feeling of how damn hard he was. “It was - I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to make me this hard?” he asked, rolling his hips against you, “I think you knew exactly what you were doing, naughty girl.” Before you could answer, you felt something digging into your ass. He was tugging at your panties. To the side, as if he couldn’t even be bothered to strip it off of you. 

It was hot as all hell.

“My god, you’re absolutely soaked for me.” he groaned into your ear, and you gasped as the rough pads of his fingers ran through your cunt. Somehow, his fingers have remained cold, and the sensation sent a shudder down your spine.

“S-Spencer,” you whined, knuckles finding leverage at the edge of the desk you’ve been sprawled over.

“Mhm? What is it, darling?”

“M-more.”

His laughter filled the room once again, “And I thought I was being needy.” he said, but he obliged your request easily, slipping two fingers into your pussy. His breath fanned over the overheated skin of your neck as he buried his face against your shoulder, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you moved your hips against his hand, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. You’d never enjoyed this by yourself; your own fingers were thin, too short to cause any sort of pleasure when you touched yourself. But Spencer’s hands were large, his fingers long and elegant and perfect. They curled inside you, hitting a spot you’ve never been able to with your own hands, and you cried “Oh, fuck yes!”

It was everything. Quite literally. His arm was holding you against him, his body a solid, lean mass behind you, pressing into the slopes of your own, digging in wherever your softness yields to his hard angles. You moaned and moaned again, as his fingers quickened, as his thumb found your clit and rubbed fast circles until your arms gave out and your entire upper half was splayed on the desk. 

He didn’t stop, cooing soft words into your ear, his tongue and lips and teeth a whole other dangerous territory of its own. You knew you would have hickeys tomorrow. You knew the team would ask questions. You didn’t particularly care.

“Can you take more?” he asked, and you nodded, eager to take whatever he was going to give. A third finger slid into your dripping cunt, stretching you in ways you haven’t felt in a long time and you groaned, head buried in your arms. He paused, his other hand rubbing circles on your hip, “Are you all right, darling?”

“Yes.” you sobbed, and you knew he wouldn’t believe you because you sounded sad, and everything that Spencer has done up until this point proved that, despite it all, he cared. 

“You can tell me if it’s too much, you know.” he murmured. His lips laved featherlight kisses along your shoulder.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, bucking your hips. The idea of being slightly incoherent from the pleasure he’s been giving you was a little too enticing, and you were in no mood to stop, “Please.”

“Okay,” he resumed his ministrations, slower this time, dragging his fingers in and out of you with a precise rhythm, now that he’s figured out your weak spots. “You are so pretty like this, darling. Dress hiked up, your lipstick smudged.”

A mewl came out of your throat, and you would have been embarrassed if you still had the presence of mind to feel an ounce of shame. He coaxed a second orgasm from you, and you marveled at the fact that he could elicit responses like these with just his fingers. It seemed unfair, but a large part of you reveled in it.

“That’s it,” he whispered, slowly pulling his fingers out, “That’s my pretty girl.”

You lifted your head from your arms. The sight that welcomes you is a blurry one, impeded by the clumpy eyelashes and messy tears that had gathered in your eyes. You knew you looked a mess, far from the pretty girl he kept repeating, but you ate up the praise all the same.

As if by their own accord, your hips move back, grinding into his erection. You wanted more. You wanted him to be in the same daze you were in right now, wanted to be one. “Spencer,” you whined, and he laughed, and you wondered if it was possible to get drunk off of a sound.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” he replied, playfully chastising, but the sound of his belt buckle reached your ears and you grinned.

“Just wanna make sure you get something too.” you mumbled.

“Is this a bad time to tell you that I had forgotten a condom?”

Now it was your turn to laugh, bracing yourself on your elbows again, and looking over his shoulder.

“Wow, isn’t your whole thing the complete opposite of forgetting?”

“I was a little distracted.” he said, his smile sheepish.

“I don’t mind,” you replied, “I’m on the pill.” 

“You’re sure?”

“Mhm-hmm.” You nodded, one arm moving and blindly grasping for the zipper of your Santa dress. His hand gently encircled your wrist, placing it back on the desk.

“It stays on,” he said, as the blunt tip of his cock pushed past your pussy, “I told you, red is your color.”

Your mouth dropped open as he sheathed himself inside you in one thrust, and wordless expression of pleasure. He had spent a large chunk of time fucking you with his fingers, and the necessity of it dawned upon you now.

He was big.

The stretch made you groan, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy fluttered around him. He pressed his body over yours, pushing you into the desk as he began to rock, in and out of you. Involuntarily, you clenched around him, earning a sharp hiss.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, holding you tightly around the waist with one arm. The other went to the desk, steadying himself as he found a rhythm that made you writhe beneath him, “Oh god, yes.”

You couldn’t even respond, your body moving on autopilot, meeting his every thrust with your hips. The sounds your bodies made were obscene, wet, sloppy noises of flesh meeting flesh. It filled your head, made you dizzy with pleasure. 

“Spencer,” at this point, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve repeated his name. The world has anchored all meaning to that one sound, and you said it, over and over again, “Spencer.”

“Mhm,” he responded by snapping his hips, pushing his cock so deep into your toes curl, “That’s it, darling, say my name.”

“Spencer,” you said in your broken voice, every repetition turning higher and higher in pitch, and it seemed like the higher your voice went, the harder he fucked you. Your desk banged against the wall from his rough thrusts, joining the cacophony of sounds from your coupling. 

His pace grew rougher, faster, his grip on you reaching the point of painful and bruising, but it made your head spin in the most delicious way possible. You clenched around him, squeezing his cock in an attempt to find your peak, and instead initiating his.

“Fuck—” he groaned, as his load exploded inside you, somehow filling you even more, and you dropped your head to the desk again as your own body shuddered with release. 

Panting, and exhausted, you both stayed there, bent over the desk half upright, like a tower about to topple. He kissed the back of your neck as you fought to catch your breath. Looking over your shoulder, the sight of him fills your vision, hair tousled and sticking to his forehead, his lips smudged with your lipstick, and you couldn’t help but think that red is his color too.

[angabby-zzz]

Daphne is the person danny would be like “thank god i finally found a normal person in this group (or town)” about only to find out shes just as if not more into the weirdness of the place as everyone else is

[halfmoonaria]

unanswered II

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: tara finally comes to her senses.

word count: 6k

author’s note: sorry for the wait guys! might be forgiven tho since i claimed this was 4k words but it ended up with 6k.

i tried to include all your suggestions so i hope you like it

Tara had been blocked.

You had blocked her.

Though, it didn't hit her all at once. The first few minutes, she thought you were just asleep, it had been late when she had texted you after all.

Maybe you needed space after what Tara had said a few nights before, and she couldn't blame you for that.

Yet she still tried texting you, each one more desperate than the last. They were all small messages, apologies wrapped in awkward words that probably didn't mean much for anyone but her.

At first, Tara chalked it up to bad timing, bad service, something.

You had to see her messages eventually, right? So she kept sending them. But there was still no reply. Then, the doubt crept in.

Maybe you were ignoring her.

That thought weighed heavily on her, but she didn't stop.

She was still convinced there had to be an explanation. You always stayed. Even when things were at their worst, when she screwed up time and time again, you stayed.

But something was different this time. She felt it.

Then she noticed the green bubbles. The messages weren't delivering.

Her stomach had dropped. It wasn't bad service. It wasn't bad timing. You had cut her off completely.

Her thumb hovered over your contact, thinking about calling, but she stopped. What was the point? You wouldn't answer.

You were done with her.

She stared at her phone for longer than she should have, as if willing it to change.

But it didn't.

The reality sank in, slow and suffocating. You were gone.

For the first time, she wasn't the one walking away, and the absence of you—your presence, your texts, your warmth—was a hole Tara hadn't even realized she relied on.

It wasn't like she hadn't expected it after everything that had happened.

You always had a way of catching her when she messed up, but things seemed to smooth over eventually.

She never really had to confront her mistakes because you stayed, no matter how many times she got it wrong. Now, though, there was nothing.

Tara wasn't used to this. Sure, she knew she had done something wrong—pushing you away, keeping you in this weird limbo while she figured herself out—but she hadn't thought it would lead to you cutting her off.

Blocking her, even.

That had never happened before. No matter how many times she messed up, you had always been there, willing to pick up the pieces, and things just... worked.

She hadn't even realized how much she relied on your presence until it was gone.

For the first time, she was completely alone. No Amber, no you. Just silence.

———

Tara woke up the next morning with a strange sense of hope. She half expected to see the messages had been delivered, that maybe you'd unblocked her while she was asleep. Maybe it was all just a mistake. You wouldn't really cut her off, not after everything, right?

She grabbed her phone, swiping to the messages she'd sent.

Still green.

Her heart sank, the pit in her stomach deepening as she realized nothing had changed. You were serious. You weren't coming back.

When she got to school, a part of her still thought maybe you'd be there, waiting to talk like you always did, or at least watching from afar. She found herself glancing at the spots where she usually saw you, waiting for that familiar feeling of your eyes on her.

But you weren't there.

But Tara kept walking, her heart heavy as she scanned the hallways. That's when she spotted Amber, standing by her locker, waiting. The familiar feeling of longing tugged at her, but this time it wasn't as comforting as before.

Amber caught her eye and signaled for her to come over, flashing that smile Tara always fell for. Without thinking, Tara did. She walked straight into Amber's arms, letting Amber sling her arm casually around her shoulders as if nothing had changed between them.

For a brief moment, Tara felt like she had what she wanted. Amber was there, holding her close, showing everyone that she was hers—at least for today.

But there was still a heaviness in her chest, something she couldn't shake. It didn't make sense. She was with Amber now, wasn't this enough?

The thought of you crept in, uninvited.

No, it couldn't be that.

She pushed the feeling down, convincing herself that having Amber was enough.

It had to be.

That's what she told herself for the following days, trying to convince herself that Amber was enough, that this was what she wanted.

And for a while, it almost worked. Amber had been good—more attentive, more affectionate than usual—at least during the school week.

The weekends, though, were different. Parties took priority, and Amber's attention drifted.

Yet even when things were good; better than ever if you will, Tara couldn't shake the feeling lodged in her chest, that gut-wrenching discomfort that seemed to cling to her no matter how much she tried to ignore it.

The more she tried to push it down, the more it twisted inside her, leaving her uneasy.

And all of the thoughts led back to you. To Tara's own surprise.

You didn't try to search for her between classes, didn't glance in her direction when you passed her in the hallways. Nothing. Like she didn't even exist.

That was what Tara should've expected, really. After everything she'd done—after the way she'd strung you along, pushed you aside, left you waiting on the sidelines—it made sense. She had no right to expect anything different.

Tara had always been the one to call the shots, to decide when and where things stood between the two of you. Now, for the first time, the power was out of her hands.

She kept telling herself it was temporary. You'd come back—you always did. She just had to wait it out. Maybe this time it would take a little longer, but you'd be there, eventually. You had to be. So she forced herself to get used to it, to the absence, pretending she could handle the emptiness you left behind.

But what really started to get under Tara's skin wasn't just your absence or the way you seemed to move on so easily. It was seeing you with someone else.

She first noticed it during English class. You had been sitting next to some girl—someone Tara vaguely recognized but never really paid attention to before.

At first, she didn't think much of it, but as the days went on, she kept seeing the two of you together. Talking. Laughing. It wasn't just casual conversations either. You looked comfortable. Almost like you were enjoying yourself.

And as the days passed, Tara couldn't help but notice it more.

You hadn't even glanced her way in days, and yet here you were, cozying up to someone else like nothing had happened.

And every time she glanced in your direction during class, there you were, talking to her. Sometimes you'd laugh, or lean in a little closer, your body language relaxed in a way that made Tara's stomach twist.

You weren't just sitting next to each other anymore—you were... comfortable. And it wasn't just in English. She caught sight of you together in the hallways, outside the building after school.

The more she saw the two of you, the more it grated on her nerves. A sharp, simmering anger that built with each passing day.

Every smile, every shared glance between you and this girl made it harder for her to focus on Amber, even when Amber was right beside her, holding her hand or whispering in her ear.

It shouldn't have bothered her like this. It shouldn't have mattered.

You were free to talk to whoever you wanted. For all Tara knew, she was just a classmate, someone you happened to sit next to by chance.

But that didn't stop the ugly feeling from growing inside her, gnawing away at her with every interaction she witnessed.

She told herself it was nothing. That it didn't mean anything. But with every glance, every shared word between you and that girl, her anger simmered, coiling tighter until it was all she could focus on.

It wasn't jealousy, Tara told herself. It couldn't be. She had Amber, after all.

Yet there was no denying the way her chest tightened every time she saw you with her. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. You weren't supposed to matter anymore.

But somehow, you still did. Of course you did.

___

"What's got your panties in a twist?" Amber's voice broke through Tara's thoughts, cutting through the low hum of the campus.

Her tone was sharp, playful in a way that normally would've made Tara grin, but today it grated, pulling her out of the spiral she had been sinking into.

They were sitting outside, perched on one of the weathered wooden benches that lined the quad, the usual bustling energy of lunchtime fading as the crowd thinned.

Chad and Liv had disappeared first, throwing out some half-hearted excuse about "something better to do," Mindy had ditched too—not that Tara blamed her, considering she wasn't exactly Amber's biggest fan. Which left only Amber and Tara behind.

Normally, Tara would've reveled in that—the rare chance to have Amber's full attention, unshared, unchallenged by anyone else. She used to crave these moments when it was just the two of them, when Amber's eyes were only on her.

But now, Tara could barely summon the energy to care. The thrill of it had dulled, smothered under the weight of everything else she couldn't stop thinking about—of everything she couldn't feel.

Your absence hung heavy in the air, even though Amber didn't know it was there. She couldn't know.

She wouldn't have cared if she did.

Amber shifted beside her, more out of impatience than concern. "Seriously, you've been acting weird all week," she pressed, her voice tinged with frustration.

She wasn't used to Tara being so distant, and the idea that something might be slipping out of her control clearly bothered her. "What's your problem?"

Tara blinked, her mind sluggish, trying to catch up. It wasn't like she could explain it—not in any way that made sense.

How could she tell Amber that the cold shoulder she had been getting from you had thrown her completely off balance?

That it was the same cold shoulder she'd given you, over and over again, each time leaving you on the outside while she stayed wrapped up in Amber's world. How could she admit that now, when it was her on the receiving end, it felt like a punch to the gut every single time she saw you?

"I don't know," she mumbled, her voice barely audible. "I'm just tired."

It was the best she could come up with, the easiest excuse, but even as the words left her lips, she knew it wasn't enough.

Amber wasn't the type to let things slide, especially not when it came to Tara. She was used to being the center of attention, the one calling the shots, and when Tara's focus wasn't on her, Amber always took notice.

"Yeah, well, you've been 'tired' for a while now," Amber snapped back, her tone cutting through the brief silence like a whip.

She didn't sound concerned, not really—just annoyed, irritated that something wasn't going her way. "Maybe you should come out with me this weekend, you know? Party with me."

Amber's suggestion hung in the air between them, and Tara hesitated. Normally, Amber didn't bother to ask.

She'd go without her, living up the night on her own, letting Tara watch it all from the sidelines. She'd see it unfold through Amber's and other people's social media—photos and videos of Amber laughing, surrounded by friends, completely absorbed in her own world.

But this time, it felt different. Tara could feel it in the way Amber's eyes lingered on her, waiting, expecting something—expecting Tara to be excited, to jump at the chance like she would've done before.

But the thought of it, the thought of pretending everything was fine, felt suffocating.

She nodded anyway, forcing herself to give Amber the answer she was waiting for, even if it felt hollow. "Yeah. Sure."

But even as the words came out, Tara felt the weight of them, heavy and wrong.

Because the truth was, none of it mattered—not the party, not Amber's fleeting attention. None of it made a dent in the gnawing ache in her chest that had started the moment you stopped looking at her.

She told herself it was fine. She could play along. She had done it before. But deep down, Tara knew that no matter how much she tried to push it down, nothing could fix this disgusting feeling.

She sat in silence for a moment longer, staring at the ground as her mind whirred with thoughts she didn't want to have.

She clenched her jaw, trying to shake the feeling, trying to make herself believe that this—Amber, the party, all of it—would be enough. It definitely would've been before, hadn't it?

But now, the weight of your absence pressed in on her from every angle, heavy and suffocating. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. It wasn't supposed to matter so much.

Amber shifted beside her, sighing loudly. "Whatever, Tara," she muttered, standing up and brushing invisible dust off her jeans. "Don't get all weird on me."

Tara barely registered her leaving. The rush of relief she might have once felt in moments like these—when Amber turned her attention elsewhere—was gone, replaced by an ache she couldn't name.

A week ago, maybe two, Tara would've called after her, almost running to catch up. She would've asked if they could get ready together, spent half an hour agonizing over what she should wear, hoping for Amber's approval.

Her mind would've spun with questions, things she'd never needed to worry about when she was around you.

What should she wear? What did Amber want her to look like? Was her hair okay down, or should she try something new? She would've sent selfies for Amber's opinion, eager for a reaction, any reaction, to reassure her that she was enough.

But now, the questions didn't come. They felt distant, buried under the weight that had settled in her chest and refused to leave. Tara didn't care what Amber thought anymore. She didn't even care what she looked like.

The weekend came sooner than she had expected, almost sneaking up on her while she drifted through the week in a haze.

Throughout the week, Tara had tried to text you. Just one message each day, nothing too desperate, nothing that screamed she was losing her mind over your silence.

But each time, the bubble turned green, and with every little notification, her hope that you might respond twisted into something bitter, something angry.

Were you with her? That girl from your English class, the one she'd seen you walking with down the hallways, laughing, your head bent close to hers like you didn't have a care in the world.

Tara's stomach knotted at the thought, her grip tightening on her phone every time she imagined the two of you together. Were you sharing the jokes you used to save just for her? Did you laugh the same way?

By the time Friday came around, the anger had wrapped itself around her chest, growing heavier each time she looked at her phone, still green, still silent.

It weighed on her as she stood in front of the mirror that night, staring at her reflection like a stranger. She had thrown on whatever was closest, not caring how it looked—not caring how she looked—and now, standing there, she could feel the frustration boiling over.

She looked terrible, and she knew it. The clothes didn't sit right, her hair was a mess, and she didn't even have the energy to fix any of it.

Normally, she'd have texted Amber for advice, asked her what to wear, how to do her makeup. They might've gotten ready together if Amber cared enough, Amber teasing her the whole time but never letting her leave the house unless she looked perfect.

But tonight, none of that mattered. Tara was angry—angry at herself, at you, at the girl you were probably with right now. She felt like she was spinning, her thoughts spiraling into a million catastrophic possibilities, each one worse than the last.

Maybe she just needed to see you in person. Maybe if she could find you, look you in the eye, and tell you how she was feeling right now, you'd understand. Maybe that's what would finally break through this silence.

If she could just get you to listen, maybe if she could tell you all of it—how she didn't know what she was doing, how none of it made sense to her—you'd understand.

But would you even believe her? Would you even want to hear her out?

Without thinking twice, she pulled out her phone and typed out a message to Amber.

can't make it tonight. smth came up.

She didn't even wait for a response before throwing her phone onto the bed, her mind already somewhere else.

Part of her wanted to look you up, track you down, and talk to you face-to-face. Whether you were with someone else or just avoiding her the way she'd been avoiding you —but either way, Tara was done waiting around for you to reach out.

She stood frozen for a moment, feeling ridiculous as the thought of showing up at your house unannounced settled in.

She could already picture how stupid she'd look, standing at your door, trying to explain herself. You'd blocked her—didn't that already say everything she needed to know?

But then that other girl's face flashed in her mind, the way you laughed with her, walked next to her in the halls.

The thought of her taking you away, of her being the one you shared everything with now, twisted Tara's stomach in knots. She couldn't let that happen. Not without at least trying.

She didn't want to be too late.

Tara hated how desperate she felt, how even after everything, after you'd blocked her, she was still running after you. But she couldn't help it.

Even if she had to look you in the eye and hear you say you didn't want her anymore, she needed to know for sure. She needed to fight, because the thought of losing you to someone else was worse than any rejection you could throw at her.

With a deep breath and her hands shaking, she grabbed her jacket and keys.

Feeling stupid the whole way, she headed out the door, her heart pounding with every step she took toward your house.

___

didn't think u were weak enough to back out.

guess i was wrong.

Amber's text lit up her screen, but Tara barely glanced at it.

Normally, Amber's words usually stung, leaving Tara questioning herself, doubting everything. But tonight, they barely registered. She didn't care anymore, not about Amber's opinion or her insults.

The thought of how she'd been stringing you along—pushing and pulling, hot and cold—made her stomach twist in a way Amber's games never had.

Tara had always hated how Amber toyed with her, how she'd be there one day and gone the next, keeping Tara on a leash just long enough to never fully let go. Now, she realized, she was doing the same to you. She'd been selfish, scared, and now it was coming back to haunt her.

Amber had dragged her through the same emotional mess for so long—back and forth, never knowing where they stood—and now she had done the same to you.

It wasn't about Amber anymore. It was about you. And she wasn't going to let you slip away without at least trying.

She made it to your house almost sooner than she'd liked. The sight of your front door tightened the knot in her stomach, something she wasn't used to feeling.

Tara wasn't the nervous type—usually, she could handle herself in any situation, always sure of what she'd say or do. But now, her palms felt damp, her breath catching every time she thought of you opening that door.

She didn't know what she was going to say. Hell, she didn't even know if you'd open the door. But she had to try, even if her nerves were making her feel like a complete idiot for being there.

But she was already here, and she'd come this far—she couldn't just turn back now. She'd fought her way through every doubt to get here, and backing down wasn't an option.

Her feet felt heavy as she took each step up the walkway, the familiar creak of the wooden steps underfoot echoing louder in her ears than it ever had before.

The closer she got, the more every little detail stood out—the chipped paint on your door, the soft glow of light seeping out from the window.

She raised her hand to knock, fingers hovering just inches away, her heart pounding so loudly she wondered if you'd hear it from the other side.

Taking a deep breath, she let her knuckles tap lightly against the door, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the still night air.

It took long enough for you to answer that her thoughts had time to spiral. She knew your parents weren't home; in the little time she'd spent actually getting to know you, she'd learned that they hardly ever were.

You were probably home alone, and the idea haunted her—maybe you'd invited someone else over, maybe you weren't even alone at all, maybe you were with that girl she'd seen you with before.

By the time she heard footsteps approaching, her heart was beating so fast she almost felt sick, every possibility fighting for space in her mind.

Finally, the door swung open, and for a split second, there was a soft smile on your face.

But the moment your eyes landed on her, it vanished, replaced by something unreadable.

It wasn't anger—your expression was calm, almost neutral, yet there was a guardedness to it, like you'd been caught off guard, not entirely prepared to see her standing there.

The warmth in your eyes had dimmed, leaving something harder to read.

Tara couldn't tell if that look meant you were relieved or if she was the last person you wanted to see right now.

For a second, Tara felt so small. She knew she was short, but this was different—she'd never felt this out of place, like she was shrinking right there on your doorstep. Not since Amber.

Her fingers fidgeted, tracing over her knuckles as she tried to read you, to figure out what was going on behind that guarded expression. She barely registered the sound of her name until she heard your voice.

"Tara.. Hi."

The words hung there, making the quiet between you even heavier.

Tara didn't respond right away, too caught up in the questions swirling through her mind.

Had she interrupted something? Were you expecting someone else—someone who actually wanted to be here?

Her mind raced, flashing back to all the times you'd tried reaching out, inviting her over, and all the times she'd ignored you, too wrapped up in the momentary thrill of Amber's attention.

She hadn't let herself think about what that might've felt like for you.

And now, standing here, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was karma—that maybe you'd moved on, found someone else who didn't make you feel like a backup option. What if, after all this, she was too late?

Finally, after a moment, she managed to speak, her voice barely above a whisper, unsteady.

"Were... were you expecting somebody else?" Her words faltered, her gaze fixed on her hands as she twisted her fingers together, almost as if she could hold onto some kind of confidence.

You furrowed your brows just slightly, a small, almost confused smile pulling at the corner of your mouth as you let out a soft, breathy laugh. "No... why would I?"

Tara's mouth opened, but no words came out right away. She hadn't expected you to look so genuinely surprised, and now she felt her cheeks warming, her gaze darting down as she scrambled for something to say. Her fingers twisted together, and she forced herself to meet your eyes again, feeling silly for even bringing it up.

"I... I don't know. I just thought... maybe." Her voice was barely a whisper, and she hated how uncertain it sounded, as if she'd already given away too much. But she couldn't help it—she just had to know.

You tilted your head slightly, still wearing that soft smile, though there was a hint of something knowing in your eyes.

"Is she.. ignoring you again?" you asked, the question so casual yet so pointed that Tara's breath hitched.

She knew you meant Amber—you didn't even need to say her name. And the worst part was, she felt a pang of guilt because, honestly, it wouldn't have been the first time.

She swallowed hard, feeling like her own answer was betraying her. "Actually... no," she said slowly, her voice faltering as she tried to piece together her words. "She, uh, actually invited me to a party."

Your expression shifted, that lightness fading from your eyes, and Tara's stomach twisted painfully when she noticed.

She hadn't expected you to react like that, hadn't anticipated that flicker of hurt crossing your face. And now, standing there in the doorway, she felt a rush of regret wash over her.

Before she could stop herself, she added, her voice barely above a whisper, "But I didn't... I didn't go."

You didn't respond right away, just looked at her, eyebrows raised, silently waiting. Tara shifted under your gaze, feeling smaller by the second, until finally, she started to speak.

"I know you probably... don't want to talk to me right now," she began, her voice a little too fast, like she was rushing to get the words out before she lost her nerve.

She took a shaky breath and continued, "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. I mean, it's not like I've given you a reason to, you know, feel any different... or... yeah."

Her hand drifted up to her wrist, squeezing it as she fumbled for her next thought. "I... I messed up. And, I've been thinking about it, like, a lot, and it's just—I didn't know what I was doing. I mean, I thought I did, but then I... I didn't. And I didn't mean to make you feel like you weren't... important, or that I didn't care, because I did. I do."

She bit her lip, glancing up at you, unsure if she was making any sense, but she kept going. "I know it's probably too late to say any of this, and you've probably moved on, but I just... I don't know. I didn't want you to think that I... forgot about you. Or... or that you didn't matter."

Her gaze flickering down to the ground, then up to yours again, almost as if she's scared you'll walk away.

"That message where I told you to... that I didn't want anything to do with you..." She shakes her head, struggling for the right words. "I shouldn't have said that. I was... I don't even know what I was thinking. I just... Amber was there, and I felt like if I didn't, she'd—" She stops herself, clenching her fists a little, swallowing hard.

"And all those other messages.. I just kept trying to say sorry, but it was probably just... desperate, I guess. I didn't know how else to say that I... I wanted you, that I didn't mean it. That I still..."

Her words falter, and she sighs, rubbing her forehead as though exhausted with herself. "I know it probably doesn't make up for any of it, but... I swear, I didn't mean it. I never wanted to hurt you."

As soon as she stopped talking, a wave of embarrassment crashed over her, and it was all she could do not to cringe.

She hadn't even planned on saying half of what she'd said, and yet here she was, fumbling through one strained apology after another.

It felt messy, like she was just piling words on top of words, hoping that somehow they'd turn into something that made sense to you, that could somehow make things better.

But in her heart, she knew it sounded like nonsense, just a lot of desperate, pointless excuses that probably made her look even more pathetic.

And you just stood there, looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite read—somewhere between shocked and neutral.

The silence between you seemed to stretch on, making her rambling feel even more pointless, like each second of quiet only added weight to her mess of words.

Tara could feel her face heating up, and all she wanted was to take everything back, to make it sound right somehow—but she didn't even know what "right" would be.

Her fingers tightened around her wrist, her gaze dropping back to her worn out converses as the silence thickened around her. Part of her wanted to shrink back, to stop talking altogether, but she'd already put too much out there to turn back now.

So when you didn't answer, she continued.

"I... I want to do better," she said, each word a little slower, like she was searching for the strength to actually mean it. Her eyes barely lifted to meet yours, as if waiting for something—anything—that might tell her it wasn't too late.

Your hand, which had been holding the door open this whole time, finally slipped away. You clapped both hands against the sides of your thighs, the sound breaking the quiet between you two.

Then, with a tone that was almost unreadable, you asked, "Is that it?"

Tara's face fell slightly when your words cut through the silence. She searched your expression, looking for something—anything—that hinted at forgiveness, but the steady way you looked back at her made her stomach drop.

Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to speak, her voice barely above a whisper.

"So... you don't forgive me?"

Tara looked up at you, her eyes wide and glistening, almost like a puppy's, searching for any hint of understanding. It was a look she hadn't meant to put on, but somehow it found its way back to her face, a reflex from childhood.

She remembered using those same eyes when she'd gotten into trouble with her mom or when Sam wouldn't let her hang out with her friends. Back then, she'd wielded them like a weapon, a last-ditch effort to melt hearts and earn forgiveness.

Now, though, it felt different.

There was no intent behind it, just a genuine plea for empathy that made her feel exposed, and a wave of embarrassment washed over her as she realized how desperate she must look.

You took a breath before responding, your gaze steady but distant. "I do.. but I don't see why that matters because it'll all happen again." You said slowly, weighing each word.

Tara felt her heart sink at your words, the reality of what you said hitting her hard. She knew all too well how it felt to be caught in that cycle—Amber had done the same to her, repeatedly promising change only to slip back into old patterns.

It was frustrating and disheartening, and in that moment, she understood where you were coming from.

She took a shaky breath, trying to find her voice. "It won't... I promise it won't." Her tone was earnest, filled with a desperate need to be believed, to convince you that this time would be different.

Tara searched your expression, and as your words echoed in her mind—you did accept her apology—a flicker of hope ignited within her. It felt like a delicate promise written in cursive, intricate yet fragile, and she couldn't help but cling to it.

She tried to muster a soft smile, though it felt tentative, as if it might shatter under the weight of everything left unsaid.

"Can we... do you think that maybe we can try again?" The words tumbled out, filled with a mixture of uncertainty and determination. It was a fragile request, a chance she hoped wouldn't be met with rejection.

She could see the flicker of thoughts crossing your face. Your brow furrowed slightly, and she sensed the hesitation lingering in the air between you. It was as if you were weighing her words, measuring the sincerity of her apology against the weight of the past.

She couldn't tell if you were considering her request or if doubt still lingered in your mind.

It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for a sign, desperately hoping that you would choose to leap with her this time.

After a long pause, a small, soft smile crept up on your face, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit. You finally met her gaze, and the warmth in your eyes hinted at something Tara had been longing to see.

"Sure... yeah, I'd like that," you said, your voice gentle but firm, like a lifeline tossed her way.

Tara let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, her shoulders eased slightly at your response, something softening in her expression as she processed your words. It wasn't a promise, but it felt real enough.

A quiet acknowledgment that maybe this could lead somewhere different.

She looked at you for a moment longer, managing a small, uncertain smile as if not entirely sure this chance would hold but willing to take it anyway.

The silence lingered, weighty but almost comfortable. Tara held your gaze, her expression softening just a bit as she let herself settle into the quiet, not wanting to push any further. When she finally managed a small smile, it was tentative, as if she was holding onto it carefully.

"Guess I'll... see you around?" she asked, her voice a quiet murmur, like she wasn't entirely certain if she should even say it.

You gave a slight nod, already moving to close the door. The subtle acknowledgment was enough to let her feel that maybe, just maybe, things could shift—if only a little.

She shifted slightly, like she wanted to say something more but couldn't quite find the words. A small, unsure smile crossed her face as she looked up at you again, her voice softer.

With that, Tara turned to go, casting one last look back at you before turning around to walk away.

___

The next week, Tara's phone buzzed on her nightstand, pulling her from a the books scattered all over her bed.

She squinted at the screen, hoping to see your name lighting up, a sign that things were finally moving forward between you two.

Maybe it was about the plans you'd casually mentioned — plans that did not include Tara bringing out her frustrations in bed with you.

Instead, her heart sank a little as Amber's name flashed across the screen.

u free this friday?

For the first time, Tara felt a surprising clarity wash over her as she read the message. She didn't hesitate, knowing exactly how she wanted to respond without second-guessing herself.

In the past, she'd tiptoed around her replies, always afraid that Amber would judge her for whatever she said.

But now, after everything with you, she was certain of what she wanted. This time, there was no uncertainty clouding her thoughts. So, after a moment, she typed a quick reply.

im actually busy, sorry

With a breath of relief, she hit send and immediately blocked Amber's number. She felt a weight lift off her shoulders.

This time, she wouldn't be waiting for Amber's text, for promises that never changed anything.

She knew what she had now—this newfound sense of clarity—and what she wanted. And that was enough.

This was how it would stay.