#these tags are all for me if i want to find this post later lol

[joseigamer]

Patalliro! is fascinating to me because of stuff like this. It's unapologetically gay - even within its anime which aired during primetime hours in 1982 - in a way that many later BL manga would never be, like the ones from the early 2000s which would never dare to call their characters actual homosexuals. Patalliro has actually aged quite well in this regard, there's something comforting about how campy it is.

[seraphic-sibyl]

I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been

[ratatatastic]

do you write fic on ao3?

unfortunately for everyone involved i do!

[brittlebutch]

finally found a place to read With the Light online and i'm thrilled; if you haven't read this manga i do Legitimately recommend it

[longagoitwastuesday]

Rereading my own posts about JJK and the tags I left in those posts is making me want to chew wood. I knew virtually nothing but yeah yeah. The parallels between Gojo and Sukuna not only exist, but they are key. Yeah, Gojo indeed knows, trusts and relies on the people around his age he interacts with in that flippant, intimate and vulnerable way (Ijichi, Shoko, Nanami, Utahime); they were his classmates and childhood friends. Yes, Megumi and Gojo do go way back, I wasn't hallucinating it; in the last chapters, this will weight on the scenes in which Megumi laughs and smiles faintly. Yes, Gojo does sincerely care about things and the kids, and tries his best to do good and be good, even if he's also annoying and rude. Yes, indeed it is all very lonely. Yes, indeed there's ontological alienation. Yes, indeed love is like a curse, it is even stated that way. Yes, indeed last words doom, and keep people going; that too is a blessing and a curse, like love is. Yes, there's significance in Gojo using "boku". Yes, "when granted everything, you can't do anything... but just die peacefully" does apply to Gojo's life miserably. Yes, indeed there is a mix of longing for a normal life and being drunk on power, the feeling that one is hindering the future generations and a desire to make it better for them. Yes, indeed it is a mix of selfish and selfless motives. Yes, Gojo musing about Nobara's power being intriguing is indeed shady. Yes, Gojo's death will be done in a way that imply continuity kinda similarly to Cantor's hypothesis on the cardinality of the Continuum. And so on and on. Unfair how well constructed this manga is. Unfair how much wasted potential there is in it too. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop being frustrated about it all. It's so good. It's so unsatisfactory. The last chapter made me smile because oh it made so much sense, of course; it also broke my heart, because of course. I wish I had never gotten into it. It's given me a lot of joy, despite everything. I've drowned in remembrance. I've had a lot of fun. And in short, I love it, quite honestly. I can't even wish I didn't. I resent it, but I can't even wish I didn't. I love it, it's both a blessing and a curse; but that's how it always goes when it comes to love.

[nostalgia-tblr]

i've been trying to Do Tumblr Correctly and only Like posts so I can return later and Reblog them but I don't remember to do the Reblogging and some of the Likes were just in case I did so my Likes page is as unhelpful as it was before but now I also feel the loss of Liking things just to show whoever posted it that that I saw it.

Also I must say I am, in general, not a fan of the Tumblr Use Rules that you only find out about when people tell you off for not following them.

[trashlie]

ILY FP 210, 211, 212

WOOOOOOOF I’ve been holding off on writing this post, because I wanted to wait for this whole “episode” to fully come out. Quimchee revealed they were all meant to happen in one episode, but SO MUCH was happening in the episode that it was too long to do as the one. I... kind of wish I hadn’t waited because now there is SO MUCH for me to cover, so I’m going to do my best to keep this organized and coherent.

No lie, these go up there in my top episodes, especially 212. I have a feeling I might have some different feelings than others on this one...? We’ll see, I’m keen to hear how all of you are thinking and feeling about it. To me, these episodes really encapsulate a good 80% of the plot that we’ve been dealing with, and there’s some good reveals in here that have been a LONG time coming. I think everything is set up now for the time skip to come, and especially after all the events that transpired this arc (remember how this all started out so many moons ago with Nol going to the company Christmas party? That feels like it was years ago to what is happening now!) I am BEYOND excited to see what the time skips have in store for us! 

Anyway, before I start spoiling things, let’s get into it!

Well and truly, I love this arc! It’s really capture so much of the story this bigger story has centered on - the relationship between Nol and Kousuke. This isn’t the root of the story, of course, but it’s a significant portion of what we’ve come to read for, I think, and I cannot tell you how much I love seeing the characters verbally acknowledge things they’ve swept under a rug. 

212 felt especially raw to me - Kousuke’s confessions are tragic in the way of too little too late, and the realization that Nol was never against him, that he was always on the same side, that they could have been an incredible team may come to haunt him. That acknowledgement of his that nobody really liked him - no one else but the one person he had demeaned and devalued until he was truly nobody - really hit me like a sucker punch. I truly thought these were truths Kousuke wouldn’t be able to reach until he lost more, like his job or his sense of self, but I guess we can argue that he’s lost a lot of his sense of self; from the moment he punched Nol, it’s clear that he’s dissociating. That also serves to tell us how important this moment is for Kousuke, what it means to him, what Nol means to him.

Now, I’ll be upright honest with you guys, because I think this is where the difference of opinions will come in. I really enjoy stories with this kind of element of hatred and care so intricately interlaced in family or friends. There’s something about this sense of care being overwritten by jealousy so scathing it mutates into resentment and hatred and loathing. The way these two feelings battle out, the way ugly emotions are so strong they come to eclipse any hope for warmth. Idk it’s intriguing to me, it creates a compelling story. 

And in Kousuke’s case, it is! A running theory has been that Kousuke treats Shinae the way he does because he is, subconsciously, treating her how he wishes he’d treated Nol. As the story went on and Kousuke’s ugliness started to come out more and more and his paranoia began to consume him, I think it was probably difficult for many to find credence in this theory - that there was no way Kousuke could have cared about Nol and transferred it to Shinae when he treated Nol how he did but I’m still here for the theory. It’s just that Kousuke’s ugliness was so strong, overwhelming, it eclipsed anything else. 

Now I’m not saying I think Kousuke loves Nol or thinks of him as a brother, but rather I think deep down, he understood they were connected. As a child, Nol was the only person who didn’t treat Kousuke like an object - like a puppet or rich vending machine or influence to be gained. But how could Kousuke allow himself to think so favorably of Nol when he was so deeply rooted in jealousy? 

This is what I find especially intriguing about their dynamic. Something I talk about a lot is that Nol and Kousuke are both the products of abuse - Kousuke is the way he is due to neglect and manipulation, and in turn he took that out on Nol. I’ve seen people say Kousuke doesn’t make sense to them, but he DOES and this episode really drove that home and confirmed a lot of things I’d felt. 

Kousuke’s treatment of Nol all stems from Rand and his affair. Let’s look at it from Kousuke’s perspective. He has a father who is never around, and when he is he’s busy and always puts his career first. He rarely joins them for family time, there’s a rift between him and his wife. All young Kousuke wants is for his father to spend time with him, to be around, to notice him. His mother tells him things - if he’s a good boy Father will pay attention; if he wants his father’s attention he needs to be just like him; if he wants Father to care to notice he must be exactly like him. But his mother also says other thing - that there’s someone else, money is being wired to someone. At school people murmur similar things. 

All he wants is his father’s approval, his father’s pride, his father’s attention, his father’s time. He must not be good enough, yet. He must not matter, yet. He’ll make sure he does, though. He’ll do exactly what his mother says, he’ll buckle down just like she tells him, he’ll make sure to become the perfect son that his father can be proud of. 

So you can understand, then, why the discovery that the murmurs are true, that there’s another family, would shatter him the way it did, why it remains a point of breaking for him even as an adult, why he never really reconciles his father’s affair. How is it that the man who has no time for him or their family, had enough time to create a second family? Why was he so undeserving of his time? Why was he so undeserving of his attention? 

And it rooted deep inside him, right in the core of his foundation. This other boy who describes his father as someone who couldn’t possibly be the same man as his father - a funny man, a kind man. That is not the father Kousuke knows, so why does this other child know him? (Never mind that this child has also never met that version of his father.) It all stems from that: a craving for something he’s never received. 

Kousuke’s whole speech about how there was only one kind, sweet, generous, funny person in his life was the very person he attacked and tore down hit me HARD. His admission of fear, that he ACTUALLY ADMITTED TO BEING SCARED, that he’ll never be good enough for Rand, that nothing he would ever do would make him worthy of his attention actually hurt. This is the kind of thing I’ve been wanting Kousuke to acknowledge and embrace, because it’s the one thing that has been fueling and propelling him. He doesn’t do this job because he’s passionate about it - he does it because he’s still vying for love and attention. He didn’t forsake his childhood because he was above it - he literally sacrificed it for his father. Regardless of what you think about Kousuke now, it has to be acknowledged that he, too, has suffered. And let’s not pretend that Yui truly believed that Kousuke could win Rand’s affection this way - it still feels like it was a game for her, a manipulation to turn him into someone she could use to get her way, a puppet if you will. It’s fucking sad to think that he gave up everything because he was so determined to earn his father’s love, that his love and attention was believed to be so conditional he had to make himself worthy of it. 

“I hate you for making me aware this person exists. And I hate your face being a constant reminder of it.” 

So many times, Kousuke has berated Nol for his playful, joking behavior, for seeming so lax and carefree. I’d always thought it was jealousy that he didn’t have that kind of life, that he wasn’t allowed it - and that probably is still a part of it - but now we know that when Yeonggi laughed and played around, he was a vision of a version of Rand Kousuke had never known, a spitting image of a man Kousuke didn’t even know could exist. 

And as Nol points out, it was all for naught. All of Kousuke’s jealousy and his fear, tearing down Nol so that he could instead get to know that version of Rand. All of it was for naught, because who knows if that man even exists? It seems like only one person ever knew her, and who’s to know if she didn’t make him up. Kousuke has spent his entire life - sacrificed his childhood, accelerated himself through school, forsook any fun or leisure - on a quest for a man who probably doesn’t exist, for something he’ll never achieve. He spent his whole life tearing down someone innocent trying to get to something he’ll never have. 

I really thought it would take for Kousuke to lose it all, to stumble in his career before he’d realize it, but here he is. 

But on the other side of that, we have Nol. Nol, who also lost - and lost more than Kousuke did. Nol who was isolated and alienated, Nol who tried time and time again to reach out and create a connection, and was refused every time. Nol who suffered under Kousuke and Yui’s watch over and over. Nol, who despite it all, still tried to treat Kousuke well, still tried to give him a chance, still tried to reach out to him at his most desperate. 

I think that really illustrates something important: an understanding that there is a reason for Kousuke’s behavior and his paranoia, where it comes from, but that reason doesn’t justify. I can acknowledge both that Kousuke absolutely is the product of his environment and that he has been an asshole about it lol. Idk I can admit that my intrigue in his has grown a LOT. 

These episodes have just tapped into something so deep that I love about this series - that our experiences heavily color our interpersonal relationships, as well as our relationships with our own selves. Nol notes that he, too, suffered, he, too, lost, he has been alone and alienated and despite it all he still tried, and he still attempted to be a good person, in contrast to Kousuke who let his suffering turn him into an asshole. It was kind of a hard-to-read moment, because Nol spoke the truth, and as much as I feel for Kousuke, Nol is right. Because he never attempted to deal with those ugly feelings, because he never chose to face them, because he instead wore them as armor, it became his identity, he became an asshole through those experiences. Had there ever been a moment that he could have met Nol in the middle, that he could have put aside his jealousy, that he could have turned off his Rand blinders, he could have seen what Nol was able to see earlier and more clearly. And isn’t that sad? They could have been a great team, they could have had each others’ back in a world where no one else did, they could have been there for each other, but Kousuke couldn’t cross that line. 

Again, I fully acknowledge that Kousuke is the way he is because of those experiences. I acknowledge that this is the wake up call he needed, that he was forced to finally reckon with the truth. 

But I also worry what will come of Kousuke as a result of Rand’s arrival. Is he going to backpedal? Is this going to short-circuit something and push him to double down, or is it going to free him? 

Kousuke has spent his entire life trying to earn Rand’s favor, to earn his attention. Everything he has done has been an angle to get closer to his father. Like, when you break it all down, that’s the sad, basic truth. He was a child who so desperately wanted his father’s attention that his life became about that. And here comes Rand, showing up when it looks like Kousuke is running away. Rand who never had time for him, Rand who didn’t shower him with warmth and affection. 

Rand who showed up and wailed “My son” in response to Nol. 

That whole scene honestly hurts me. Nol is hurt, Rand is anguished and horrified, and Kousuke? Kousuke finally witnessing his father show a fatherly side - and it wasn’t for him. And not only that but Rand might not even believe that Kousuke was trying to get help, that he attempted to get Nol up but couldn’t. And does it even matter when the truth is that Kousuke DID cause this? I can’t imagine it was his intention - I don’t think his mind went “punch Nol and he’ll fall over the railing” as much as Nol tried to leave and Kousuke reacted on that. But the point still stands: even if it wasn’t his intention, this is still ultimately his fault. Nol goaded him on and played a part, but Kousuke was the hand that acted. 

I fear that this will ruin what little relationship Kousuke has with Rand - and it’s a fear because it means Kousuke could swing in two wholly opposite directions. Does he double-down and return to the side of his mother, the only family member who has made him feel like someone’s child? I don’t think he’s at the point where he can extricate himself from the family, as good as it would be. And I worry that if that’s the case, will he double back down on his treatment and resentment of Nol? For this one moment, he saw that they were equals, that they both had a broken, shitty relationship with Rand. And then Rand showed up, showing that paternal side Kousuke has longed for. 

As much as I WANT Kousuke to hold on to that moment, I don’t know that he can. I think the cracks have formed and I think his fragile reality is crumbling faster, but I fear he’ll retreat back into the “comfort” of the world he knows. 

Here’s the thing about Kousuke: on some level he knows. He knows that Yui isn’t great, he knows that she has done awful things, he knows that Nol did no wrong, he knows that Rand will probably never change. But these are such uncomfortable truths and he has spent his life propped up by a false reality. This was pointed out by AugmentedElle on reddit, but look at the difference in Kousuke’s flashbacks. Look at the memory in 210 vs 212. The flashback in 210 is the strongest, most vibrant memory we’ve yet seen. Ordinarily they’re in some kind of grey scale, or at least muted colors, sometimes with spot color like in Shinae’s. In Nol and Kousuke’s flashbacks thus far, we’ve seen those muted colors or alterations - Nessa’s face appearing scribbled out in Kousuke’s memories, just as in 212. The use of color suggests that the memory in 210 is, quite possibly, fabricated. It starts out with Kousuke dazed, unable to remember what just happened, and Yui comes in and tells him he won’t have to see that boy for a long time. It feels like something happened - that perhaps Kousuke did something (the huffing that parallels his huffing after he punches Nol in the current story) and blocked it out or whited out and Yui came in and gave him an iteration of the story. It’s the strongest memory because it didn’t come from him - because it was filled in and colored in by someone else. The whole time we’ve thought Nol had perhaps been pushed to the bring, that Kousuke instigated a fight and Nol snapped, but maybe it was never Nol. Maybe the whole time Kousuke has associated Nol with danger and violence - because he was wired to think that way. That whatever happened and lead to that moment was so traumatic he doesn’t have the real memory, and instead carries a fabrication. 

And that is essentially the basis of Kousuke’s entire life. Regardless of intent, Yui does manipulate Kousuke. She says things knowing full-well the effect they’ll have. Consider that moment with Nol and Nessa vs Yui in Kousuke’s flashback in 212. He watches Nessa blow raspberries on Nol’s cheek, a warm and silly exchange full of so much love and care - and then he looks up at Yui, who wears her maternal mask, shadows falling eerie over her face. Doesn’t it feel so much like she set this up? Doesn’t it feel like she knew Nessa and Nol would be around? She fills his head with things like “the only way to get your father’s attention is to be just like him” and “we’re not like other families we’re so special” and “isn’t it just so wonderful that rand at least has enough time to eat with us”? That’s not vouching for Rand - that’s passive aggression towards Rand and creating an idea of who Rand is - that Rand unwittingly lives up to. Despite speaking of the affair in front Kousuke, she turns and tells him that “Your father values us too much, he would never do such a thing” - a blatant lie that only plays into that feeling Kousuke wears that he’s been cheated, that there exists a version of his father that has been denied to him. Nessa tells Nol that Rand was a kind, sweet, generous, funny man. Yui tells Kousuke that Rand is anything but funny and he has no time for jokes. Maybe both are true, but Nol’s unintentionally makes a point about how Yui speaks of Kousuke’s father, vs how Yui spoke of Nol’s father. Why would a parent speak ill of the other parent -- if not to make the child see them that way. 

(She also tells him there’s nothing she hates more than people who don’t take things seriously, and well, look at how Kousuke came out.) 

There’s a fragile cognitive dissonance between what Kousuke knows to be true - that is, the reality that has been shaped by his experiences and Yui’s manipulation - vs actual reality, and we’ve seen this a number of times when various events threaten that tentative balance. Kousuke at the club, angry and paranoid, is aware of what people really think of him. Deep down he knows people don’t see him as great, as an honorable gentleman. Deep down he knows he’s a selfish, judgmental asshole, but it doesn’t fit the fabricated reality he believes in, so it only comes out in his paranoia. He knows that Nol is like him, that he didn’t have the love Kousuke coveted, that he tried to get by quietly, but Kousuke’s fear and paranoia still thought of him as the boy who had earned the love that Kousuke couldn’t, and that made him a threat. He knows what kind of person Yui is and has tried to draw boundaries, but he’s still told her things about Nol that she could act on, because he knows what she is capable of. When people or events fracture that reality, he struggles and lashes out, because he needs that reality to keep it together, but it’s crumbling fast. 

Between the phone call with Rand and the moment that Rand shows up on the scene - what is the state of Kousuke’s reality? Is it crumbling? Is he trying to stuff the crumbling rocks back into the foundation? Will he retreat to his mother, the only one who can keep the tint of his rose colored glasses or will he be forced to face reality for what it really is? I wish it would be the latter, but I just don’t know if he’s ready for it yet. I don’t know if he can face that which he’s run from this whole time just yet. 

As for Nol, woooooooof. What a fucking NIGHT. To think - THIS IS HIS GODDAMN BIRTHDAY. On the one hand, I think, maybe this can give him some kind of peace. He’s finally gotten a piece of Kousuke’s mind, he finally knows how Kousuke sees him, what he thinks of him, and what motivated him all these years. Maybe with this knowledge, Nol will be able to walk away in peace. He doesn’t have to wonder anymore. He knows where he stands - and where he’s always stood - and I think he’s made it clear that he’s drawn his line. He is done, he is finished, with all of them. If Kousuke can find his way to the other side of the line, then good for him, but Nol has no intention of trying to bring him over anymore. 

I do think there’s a lot of room for them to reconcile in the future - when Nol’s raw anger has maybe ebbed, when Kousuke has found himself and learned to stand on his own ground, rather than prop himself up by his fabricated reality. But they are far from there. I’ve said before that I had a feeling maybe we’ll see the three main characters reunite in the time skip as adults after having gone separate ways, and that feeling still lingers. Nol has made it clear that he still wants to get away - and frankly I think he needs to. I wish he’d say so much to his friends, I wish he’d tell them where they stand. I feel so bad for Shinae, who went through so much grief and angst and really put herself out there to bring him back, to get her closure - and then when she had it and was ready to let him go, he insisted on staying. For him to turn around and leave like that again, after everything she told him, after the ways she opened up to herself, god that must hurt a lot. I guess on the one hand, she got the closure she wanted but.... it wasn’t even that long ago that Nol was making jabs at Kousuke for abandoning his friends, and there he goes doing it a SECOND time. 

There’s a piece I’d love to give more time and thought to - that maybe all along, on a deep, subconscious level, Kousuke feared Nol leaving and that’s why he’s always acted when Nol was on the leave. If Nol leaves he’ll be truly alone. If Nol goes, there is truly no one left who ever liked him, who ever saw any value in him. This post is already long enough, so I’ll try to spit that out later this week, if I can. I think it’s not a coincidence that Kousuke punched Nol as he was leaving, that he didn’t bring himself to do it when Nol promised he’d leave, just as he let Yui know Nol was planning to leave. Maybe he doesn’t recognize it yet, but I think Kousuke is terrified of being left alone and Nol escaping without him. 

Like I said, more on that later, but it’s an important point that I think ties in really well with this relationship Kousuke has towards Nol. It’s complicated, fucked up, toxic, and messy, and it needs a LOT of untangling by professional help. But I do think these last episodes really set something up for Nol and Kousuke’s future - as much as there is so much resentment and anger between them, there’s a mutual sense of longing, of needing each other to fill a void: for Nol, he sought out a brother in Kousuke, a companion against the adults in their lives; for Kousuke, that knowledge that Nol, too, had suffered that neglect, and was the only person who had ever truly liked him. I think one day when that anger has died, when they’ve made peace and hopefully worked on themselves, when Kousuke has freed himself, I think there’s a chance they will be able to reconcile. Like I said, maybe they’ll never be family to each other; there’s so much damage there, it’s really possible that can never be undone. But I think at some point, at least, they will see themselves on the same side, rather than each other. 

[todayisafridaynight]

time a flat circle why the hell am i usin the same loafers i bought for one cosplay of my fave antagonist for another fave antagonist

[aloysarrow]

She looks sick af. Now I'm glad I built like 60 pity trying to get Jade lol

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[acourtofquestions]

KINGDOM OF ASH (by SJM)

Chapter 48

THE FAMILY REUINION🥹😆😭🫶& MY SOULLL

But when they reached Princess Hasar's battle tent, when they had all gathered around a map of Anielle, they had only a few minutes of discussion before they were interrupted. By the person Chaol least expected to walk through the flaps.

A moment later, Chaol was glad he was sitting down.

Nesryn breathed, "Holy gods."

Chaol was inclined to agree as Aelin Galathynius, Rowan Whitethorn, and several others entered the tent.

They were mud-splattered, the Queen of Terrasen's braided hair far longer than Chaol had last seen. And her eyes ... Not the soft, yet fiery gaze. But something older. Wearier.

Chaol shot to his feet. "I thought you were in Terrasen," he blurted. All the reports had confirmed it. Yet here she stood, no army in sight.

Three Fae males-towering warriors as broad and muscled as Rowan—had entered, along with a delicate, dark-haired human woman.

But Aelin was only staring at him. Staring and staring at him.

No one spoke as tears began sliding down her face. Not at his being here, Chaol realized as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin.

But at him. Standing. Walking.

The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy and flung her arms around his neck. Pain lanced down his spine at the impact, but Chaol held her right back, every question fading from his tongue.

Aelin was shaking as she pulled away. "I knew you would," she breathed, gazing down his body, to his feet, then up again. "I knew you'd do it."

"Not alone," he said thickly. Chaol swallowed, releasing Aelin to extend an arm behind him. To the woman he knew stood there, a hand over the locket at her neck.

Perhaps Aelin would not remember, perhaps their encounter years ago had meant nothing to her at all, but Chaol drew Yrene forward. "Aelin, allow me to introduce"

"Yrene Towers," the queen breathed as his wife stepped to his side.

The two women stared at each other.

Yrene's mouth quivered as she opened the silver locket and pulled out a piece of paper. Hands trembling, she extended it to the queen. Aelin's own hands shook as she accepted the scrap.

"Thank you," Yrene whispered.

Chaol supposed it was all that really needed to be said.

Aelin unfolded the paper, reading the note she'd written, seeing the lines from the hundreds of foldings and rereadings these past few years.

"I went to the Torre," Yrene said, her voice cracking. "I took the money you gave me, and went to the Torre. And I became the heir apparent to the Healer on High. And now I have come back, to do what I can. I taught every healer I could the lessons you showed me that night, about self-defense. I didn't waste it-not a coin you gave me, or a moment of the time, the life you bought me." Tears were rolling and rolling down Yrene's face. "I didn't waste any of it."

Aelin closed her eyes, smiling through her own tears, and when she opened them, she took Yrene's shaking hands. "Now it is my turn to thank you." But Aelin's gaze fell upon the wedding band on Yrene's finger, and when she glanced to Chaol, he grinned.

"No longer Yrene Towers," Chaol said softly, "but Yrene Westfall."

Aelin let out one of those choked, joyous laughs, and Rowan stepped up to her side.

Yrene's head tilted back to take in the warrior's full height, her eyes widening-not only at Rowan's size, but at the pointed ears, the slightly elongated canines and tattoo. Aelin said, "Then let me introduce you, Lady Westfall, to my own husband, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius."

For that was indeed a wedding band on the queen's finger, the emerald mud-splattered but bright. On Rowan's own hand, a gold-and-ruby ring gleamed.

"My mate," Aelin added, fluttering her lashes at the Fae male. Rowan rolled his eyes, yet couldn't entirely contain his smile as he inclined his head to Yrene.

Yrene bowed, but Aelin snorted. "None of that, please. It'll go right to his immortal head." Her grin softened as Yrene blushed, and Aelin held up the scrap of paper. "May I keep this?" She eyed Yrene's locket. "Or does it go in there?"

Yrene folded the queen's fingers around the paper. "It is yours, as it always was. A piece of your bravery that helped me find my own."

Aelin shook her head, as if to dismiss the claim.

But Yrene squeezed Aelin's closed hand. "It gave me courage, the words you wrote. Every mile I traveled, every long hour I studied and worked, it gave me courage. I thank you for that, too."

Aelin swallowed hard, and Chaol took that as excuse enough to sit again, his back giving a grateful tinge. He said to the queen, "There is another person responsible for this army being here." He gestured to Nesryn, the woman already smiling at the queen. "The rukhin you see, the army gathered, is as much because of Nesryn as it is because of me."

A spark lit Aelin's eyes, and both women met halfway in a tight embrace. "I want to hear the entire story," Aelin said. "Every word of it." Nesryn's subdued smile widened. "So you shall. But later." Aelin clapped her on the shoulder and turned to the two royals still by the desk. Tall and regal, but as mud-splattered as the queen.

Chaol blurted, "Dorian?"

Rowan answered, "Not with us." He glanced to the royals.

"They know everything," Nesryn said

"He's with Manon," Aelin said simply.

Chaol wasn't entirely sure whether to be relieved. "Hunting for something important."

The keys. Holy gods.

Aelin nodded. Later. He'd think on where Dorian might now be later. Aelin nodded again. The full story would come then too.

Nesryn said, "May I present Princess Hasar and Prince Sartaq."

Aelin bowed—low. "You have my eternal gratitude," Aelin said, and the voice that came out of her was indeed that of a queen. Any shock Sartaq and Hasar had shown upon the queen bowing so low was hidden as they bowed back, the portrait of courtly grace.

"My father," Sartaq said, "remained in the khaganate to oversee our lands, along with our siblings Duva and Arghun. But my brother Kashin sails with the rest of the army. He was not two weeks behind us when we left."

Aelin glanced to Chaol, and he nodded.

Something glittered in her eyes at the confirmation, but the queen jerked her chin at Hasar. "Did you get my letter?"

The letter that Aelin had sent months ago, begging for aid and promising only a better world in return. Hasar picked at her nails. "Perhaps. I get far too many letters from fellow princesses these days to possibly remember or answer all of them."

Aelin smirked, as if the two of them spoke a language no one else could understand, a special code between two equally arrogant and proud women. But she motioned to her companions, who stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce my friends. Lord Gavriel, of Doranelle." A nod toward the tawny-eyed and golden-haired warrior who bowed.

Tattoos covered his neck, his hands, but his every motion was graceful. "My uncle, of sorts," Aelin added with a smirk at Gavriel. At Chaol's narrowed brows, she explained, "He's Aedion's father."

"Well, that explains a few things," Nesryn muttered.

The hair, the broad-planed face ... yes, it was the same. But where Aedion was fire, Gavriel seemed to be stone. Indeed, his eyes were solemn as he said, "Aedion is my pride." Emotion rippled over Aelin's face, but she gestured to the dark-haired male. Not someone Chaol ever wanted to tangle with, he decided as he surveyed the granite-hewn features, the black eyes and unsmiling mouth.

"Lorcan Salvaterre, formerly of Doranelle, and now a blood-sworn member of my court." As if that weren't a shock enough, Aelin winked at the imposing male. Lorcan scowled. "We're still in the adjustment period," she loudly whispered, and Yrene chuckled.

Lorcan Salvaterre. Chaol hadn't met the male this spring in Rifthold, but he'd heard all about him. That he'd been Maeve's most trusted commander, her most loyal and fierce warrior.

That he'd wanted to kill Aelin, hated Aelin.

How this had come about, why she was not in Terrasen with her army ... "You, too, have a tale to tell," Chaol said.

"Indeed I do." Aelin's eyes guttered, and Rowan put a hand on her lower back. Bad— something terrible had occurred. Chaol scanned Aelin for any hint of it. He stopped when he noticed the smoothness of the skin at her neck. The lack of scars. The missing scars on her hands, her palms. "Later," Aelin said softly. She straightened her shoulders, and another golden-haired male came forward. Beautiful. That was the only way to describe him. "Fenrys ... You know, I don't actually know your family name."

Fenrys threw a roguish wink at the queen.

"Moonbeam."

"It is not," Aelin hissed, choking on a laugh.

Fenrys laid a hand on his heart. "I am blood-sworn to you. Would I lie?"

Another blood-sworn Fae male in her court.

Across the tent, Sartaq cursed in his own tongue. As if he'd heard of Lorcan, and Gavriel, and Fenrys.

Aelin gave Fenrys a vulgar gesture that set Hasar chuckling, and faced the royals. "They're barely housebroken. Hardly fit for your fine company." Even Sartaq smiled at that. But it was to the small, delicate woman that Aelin now gestured. "And the only civilized member of my court, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth." Perranth. Chaol had combed through the family trees of Terrasen just this winter, had seen the lists of so many royal households crossed out, victim to the conquest ten years ago.

Elide's name had been among them.

Another Terrasen royal who had managed to evade Adarlan's butchers.

The pretty young woman took a limping step forward, and bobbed a curtsy to the royals. Her boots concealed any sign of the source of the injury, but Yrene's attention shot right to her leg. Her ankle. "It's an honor to meet all of you," Elide said, her voice low and steady. Her dark eyes swept over them, cunning and clear. Like she could see beneath their skin and bones, to the souls beneath.

Aelin wiped her hands. "Well, that's over and done with," she announced, and strode to the desk and map. "Shall we discuss where you all plan to march once we beat the living shit out of this army?"

[silvermeww]

will someone ever tell me why cilan is afraid of purrloin???

[mita-vittua-olivia]

first week of uni is so the magnus archives martin blackwood s4 coded (lonely)

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were. 

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you. 

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive. 

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later. 

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost. 

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go. 

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question. 

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you. 

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet. 

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong. 

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours. 

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms. 

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close. 

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want. 

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel. 

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart. 

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you. 

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you. 

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure. 

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger. 

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes. 

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies. 

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch. 

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.  

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.  

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way. 

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak. 

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear. 

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you. 

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to. 

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him. 

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise. 

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important. 

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra. 

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him. 

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked. 

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands. 

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Not right now,” he agrees. 

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides. 

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown. 

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range. 

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff. 

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight. 

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles. 

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing. 

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs. 

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought. 

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning. 

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you. 

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together. 

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles. 

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage. 

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair. 

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess. 

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you. 

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you. 

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this? 

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself. 

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches. 

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply. 

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone. 

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck. 

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him. 

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff. 

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again. 

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod. 

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.  

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze. 

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction. 

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him. 

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions. 

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core. 

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry. 

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious. 

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest. 

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him. 

Thankfully, he delivers. 

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl. 

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you. 

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds. 

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second. 

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh. 

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer. 

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit. 

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair. 

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light. 

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous. 

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning. 

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan. 

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it. 

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection. 

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core. 

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first. 

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen. 

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

-

part three

[lillypad910]

Such a Good Girl

Dom! Eddie Munson x Sub! Girly! Reader

Warnings: (not pre-read well, apologize for some errors, I wrote his half awake) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! smut, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), piv, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), bit of fluff, reader is an "innocent" slut (I'm not sorry about it), pet names (Bunny, Baby), Kinks (breeding, sub/dom relationship, reader has a pile of stuffed animal that he literally fucks her on, have fun lol)

Summary: Eddie sneaks into your window to find you getting ready for bed. But he was other plans for your evening.

A/n: I wrote this half asleep and it is pure filth. I haven't written smut in a HOT minute and this was me kind of getting a practice run to write the smut for a later fic with a certain character reader I fear people are BEGGING from this blog. Enjoy!

If you wanna be tagged when I post ask or comment telling me so!

All Pics from Pinterest!

Eddie parks his car down the road, not wanting to alarm your parents with his van sitting outside. He walks all the way up to your house, jumping your white picket fence and making his way towards the backyard. He knows which window is yours, having snuck in a few times before. He climbs up the lattice on the side of the brick wall of your house, making his way up to your window. He places his feet firmly on the roof that sticks out, looking into your window.

There you are, his beautiful sweet girl, brushing your hair at your vanity. Your cute flowy nightgown makes you look like you stepped right out of a 1960’s magazine. Your window is open a bit, letting in the cool air of the night.

He knocks on the glass, startling you a bit and almost making your drop your hair brush. You turn and immediately smile at him. You walk over and open the window more, letting the rocker inside. “Hi, Eddie.” You giggle as he stumbles in, nearly tripping over your lace curtains. “Hi, sweetheart.” He straightens himself out before closing the window, “you look cute.” Your cheeks flush a bit at the compliment. You aren’t used to compliments yet, but Eddie is determined to make sure you know your worth.

“I’m sorry for coming so late, were you about to go to bed?” He asks, glancing over at the pink comforter with multiple stuffed animals on it. You shake your head, climbing onto the bed and grabbing one of the plushies, holding them close to your heart. It was one he got you, a little bunny with big floppy ears, Mr Flospy is what you named him.

Eddie sits on the edge of the bed, reaching over and pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t wanna keep you up, Princess, you need your beauty sleep.” You look up at him, your eyes glistening a bit in the light from your bedside lamp. “But you just got here…” Eddie smiles and holds out his arms, and you immediately tackle him in a hug, Mr Flopsy still in your arms. “I don’t want you to go, please stay.” You nuzzle your nose into his neck, and he hums, enjoying the feeling. “Bunny,” the nickname earns a whimper from you, it’s your favorite, “you said you want me to stay?” He clarifies, leaning you back into your stuffies. You nod, holding Mr Flopsy to your chest.

“Bunny,” Eddie leans over you and kisses your forehead, “have you been a good girl?” You nod again, your thighs pressing together. “Use your words, sweetheart.” “Y-Yes… I’ve been a good girl…!” Eddie loves these moments, your cheeks flushed and beautiful eyes blown. “Hmm,” he leans down and kisses your soft pink lips, he can tell you have on a cherry chapstick. He kisses you a few times, earning little whimpers from you, before moving down your jaw and neck.

“E-Eddie…” you grip at his vest, legs already getting shaky and he hasn’t even done anything other than kiss you. “Bunny, relax, you’re working yourself up.” He runs his palms over your thighs, securing his hips in between them. “Such a pretty girl,” he nibbles a bit at your collarbone, earning a gasp from you, “Quiet, sweetheart, don’t want your parents hearing their little girl being a total slut, do you?” You glance away from him, the blush on your cheeks expanding out to your ears. He knows what you like, what you need.

He lifts your nightgown a little rubbing his ringed fingers over your panties. You grip his arm, not wanting him to pull away. His fingers dip under the fabric, beginning to rub circles over your clit. You swear he can do what ever he wants to you, you’d obey everything he told you to do gladly if this was the reward.

Eddie sighs into you ear, watching you twitch at the attention he’s giving your most sensitive place. His hot breath on your skin makes you shiver, along with the soft but firm circles his fingers dance over your clit. You feel your breath catch, a knot already forming in your stomach. “E-Eddie…”

“God, you’re so easy…” Eddie moves his hand a little lower into your underwear, slowly inserting two fingers in see to you. You grip his arm tighter, a soft gasp leaving your lips that makes him smirk. “What? What is it, Baby…? Fuck, are you drooling?” He places his free hand under your chin and whips away the bit of saliva that leaks from the corner of your mouth, watching you begin to pant a bit just from his fingers curling inside you.

You moan, your hand smacking against your mouth to muffle it. Eddie only smiles wider at this, removing his hand from your underwear, getting you to pout. He’s quick to remove the garment, sliding it down your legs then dropping it over the side of your bed. He places his hands on your thighs, spreading your legs so he can see all of you.

“Fuck, Bunny, you’re dripping.” He lowers himself down, leaving soft kisses down on your abdomen. “So needy,” he kisses lower and lower, before leaving one right on your clit, earning another moan from you.

You reach down and tangle your fingers in his hair as he finally places his mouth to your cunt. God the feeling…

“E-Eddie…!” One hand moves to shove two fingers back inside you as his tongue laps around. He’s learned your body, what you like, and how to work it.

He buries his head into your cunt, sucking on your clit as his fingers pump inside you. You wreath at the feeling, lifting your hips off your bed from the pleasure. He takes this as encouragement, wrapping his other arm under you and moving his fingers faster.

It doesn’t take long before you’re shaking, oozing all over his face. He pulls away and pushes your legs up as he gets closer once more, pressing his clothed crotch to your soaked cunt.

“Fuck, you feel that, Bunny?” Of course you do, his large, hard cock fighting to get out of his pants as he grinds against you. “Do you want me to fuck you?” His question is rhetorical but you still answer anyways. “Please… E-Eddie, please…”

He unbuttons his pants, yanking them down and tossing them away, then the same with his boxers. His cock springs free, earning a soft gasp from you.

God, it looks so good…

“You’re drooling again, Bunny.” But this time he doesn’t wipe away the spit, instead he pulls away from you all together. “Do you wanna suck it?”

You don’t even hesitate as you push yourself out of the pile of stuffed animals, crawling onto your stomach in front of him. You grab his cock, immediately shoving your face into his crotch. He groans as you lick up his shaft, your nose taking in the musky scent. “That’s it, Bunny.”

You take the tip of his dick in your mouth, not wanting to wait anymore. You have to open your mouth a bit wider to fit him, but you love to do so. Eddie combs his fingers into your hair before gripping a chunk, “come on, Bunny, you can do better than that.” He slowly pushes your head down, which you happily take.

Before long your nose is brushing into his hair, his cock deep in your throat as it twitches. You’re drooling so much. You moan, sucking his cock as you hollow your cheeks. You move your tongue skillfully, just like he trained you.

“You’re doing so good, Bunny. Just like that. Such a good girl.” He moved his hips back before thrusting forward, earning a throaty moan from you. You try not to gag, angling yourself just right to where he’s not agitating it.

He thrusts into your mouth again, making your thighs press together. You begin to bob your head with his thrusts, pairing it perfectly so that when he slams back in, you push your head against him too. He gets a bit rough, beginning to thrust faster and harder until you can control the angle anymore. You gag, but don’t pull away, honestly you can’t. His hand holds your head down as he uses your throat like a toy.

And then he yanks you off, your throat sore as you try to catch your breath. He shoves you back into your stuffed animals, before grabbing your legs and lifting them up to your head. You blush, embarrassed at this position. But you don’t have long to think about it before he’s climbing on top of you and rubbing his dick along you.

“Eds…” you moan out as you feel his tip press to your cunt. He wraps his arms around you, locking you in place, before thrusting his hips forward, his cock going deep inside you.

You gasp, your mind blanking as he begins to thrust hard and faster, using your cunt for his own pleasure. You moan, your bed squeaking as you take his cock. “Look at you, taking my cock so well.” He mumbles into your ear.

You pant as you feel him twitch inside you, your cunt already becoming sore from the abusive thrusts. But you don’t care, how could you? Your pussy is being used for what it was made for.

You cum hard on his cock, squeezing around him until you see stars but he doesn’t stop. If anything he’s thrusting harder, pounding you in as you become a panting, moaning mess.

He’s fucking you stupid.

“Such a good girl, taking my dick so deep.” His cock pistons in and out of you, your mind foggy as you just take it. You have to be good and just take it, or you won’t get your reward.

He groans as his thrusts get sloppy, hitting certain angles that’s has you wreathing. “Eddie!”

He’s quick to silence you, one hand quickly wrapping around your throat and giving a good solid squeeze that has you coming undone on his cock again. “I’m gonna fucking breed you.” He groans into your ear. “Gonna fill you up just how you want, fuck you full.”

You’re gasping for air as you cum on his cock again, but this time, he thrusts a few more times before he finally thrusts deep inside you one last time. You feel the warmth of his cum gush inside you, moaning at the feeling. You need him, you need him to fucking ruin you. Imagine what people would say if he got you pregnant? Your family would be furious…

You hope he did.

You both sit there for a while, basking in the post sex glow. He’s collapsed on top of you, pinning you still to your bed. You don’t mind, your arms wrapped around him as his cock is still buried inside you.

He kisses you lovingly, smothering you in them as you giggle. “You’re so pretty,” his voice is horse, but you understand him well enough.

You snuggle into his neck, still a bit dazed. “I love you.” The words slip out so effortlessly, but of course they do. It’s Eddie.

“I love you,” he smiles into your hair, nuzzling into the strands.

Then you hear a door down the hall open. The hall light flicks on. Eddie scurries off you, grabbing his clothes off the floor and hiding behind the door. You wobbly get up from the bed, but you don’t have time to put on your underwear before a knock comes from your door.

“Sweetie? You alright?” Your dad calls from the other side. You take a deep breath, straightening your 60’s nightgown so it’s just covering you. You open the door just enough to pop your head out. “Yes, Dad?” You smile at the older man, trying to put on this innocent look.

“Are you alright?” He goes to lift his hand, placing it against your forehead, “You feel warm, are you catching a fever?” “Oh, no, I…” you try to think of something quick, “I just had a nightmare. Sorry if I woke you.”

You feel Eddie’s cum starting to drip out of your used cunt, and you try to press your legs together a bit to stop it.

“Are you sure? Do you need some water?” He looks over your face once more. “No, no, really, I’m good. Go back to bed, Dad. I’ll see you in the morning.” You give him a smile and he nods before walking off again. You shut your door slowly, hearing it click into the hold.

“Well,” Eddie comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, “You need to be more quiet next time.” You go to turn around but he stops you, holding you in place in front of him. “Oh, Bunny,” he trails his hand down your front, “you’re letting too much out, we can’t have that.”

Oh tonight’s on a be a long night.

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@cagethemunson

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[pedrospatch]

mornings like these

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: There’s a reason you’re always late to morning patrol. That reason’s name is Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION, NO AGE SPECIFIED FOR READER. established relationship though it’s lightly implied it’s a fairly new relationship, hints of fluff, hints of smut, morning wood, very brief mentions of oral sex (female receiving) and fingering.

word count: < 1k

a/n: this is quite literally nothing. just a blurb i wrote in 20 ish or so minutes. it could have been a whole thing, but i am in the middle of editing a long wip update. i needed a break from it and this happened. hardly any plot, hardly any porn, what would you even call this? lol

You wake with a gentle start, your eyes fluttering open.

Sunlight filters in through the sheer white curtains.

Soft. Warm. Golden.

A strong arm tightens around you.

“Mm,” he mumbles from beside you. “S’nice.”

His voice is deeper than usual, thick with sleep.

You’re still getting used to it. To mornings like these.

Waking up next to him—with him.

Naked in his bed, wrapped in his sheets, in his arms.

You’re laying on your side, your back against his chest.

You feel him already, hard on curve of your ass.

Suddenly, all you can think about is the night before. 

Every deep, swollen kiss he gave you.

Every sweet, loving word he’d whispered to you. 

Every minute of every hour he’d spent worshiping your body like he was getting to know it for the first time all over again.

“It is nice,” you agree with him, exhaling a small sigh of content. Finding his large hand splayed over your lower belly, you lace your fingers together with his, the same long, thick fingers that stretched the tight walls of your aching cunt all night long. “After three days of pouring rain, this is very nice. It almost makes me look forward to going out on patrol.”

Chuckling softly, Joel nuzzles his nose into your bare shoulder, deeply inhaling the subtle, delicate scent of milk and honey soap. “Don’t mean the weather, sweet girl.”

You raise an eyebrow. “No?”

He gently nips at your flesh with his teeth. “Nope.”

“Then what do you mean?” you press, innocently.

As if you don’t already know.

“This.” There’s a brief pause. “Wakin’ up with you.”

Giggling, you tease, “You’ve gone soft for me, Miller.”

“And so what if I have?” He’s grinning, you can feel it.

Slowly, he begins to lower your intertwined hands and drags them further down your belly.

You know what he’s doing. The man is insatiable.

“Joel,” you utter his name breathlessly.

“What is it, honey?” he coos into the nape of your neck.

Oh yes, you know exactly what he’s doing.

Pulling your hand out of his, you roll onto your back and turn your head, your nose lightly bumping his. “Don’t start,” you warn him in the sternest voice you can possibly muster.

There’s a mischievous glimmer in his dark brown eyes.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, darlin’.”

His cock is rock hard, poking into your hip.

“We have patrol in an hou—”

Joel’s hand slips between your thighs and you’re cut off by the sound of your own loud gasp as he drags a finger languidly along your slick, warm folds.

He skims your jawline with his nose. “Now, what were you sayin’?”

“Oh my fuck,” you curse as he sinks his finger into your cunt, burying it to his knuckle. “Joel, Tommy will kill us if we’re late to our shift again—” You moan as he curls his finger upwards, your hips bucking up off of the bed and into his hand.

That’s where Joel Miller had you.

Right in the palm of his hand.

In every which way possible.

“I can stop,” he murmurs against your cheek, the scruff of his beard tickling your soft skin. “Just say the word, baby, and I’ll stop.”

You don’t tell him to stop.

Of course you don’t want him to stop.

You never, ever want him to stop.

Moments later, Joel’s head is between your thighs and he’s devouring your cunt like he’s having breakfast. His tongue swirls around your clit, his fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy, a mere warm up before you take his throbbing cock.

Hands tangled in his graying, dark brown curls, you forget all about getting to patrol on time.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍