#this is actually a little statue that I have

[phosphns]

⌗ . . . bathroom sex with dealer!chris

warns. smut. oral [f. receiving]. unprotected sex [don’t be silly]. porn without plot. creampie. explicit language. degradation kink. pet names [doll, baby, princess]. teasing, lowercase intended.

“chris — please — move!” your hips instinctively nudged forward, searching for just a shred of contact with his fingers, which where buried deep inside you, still.

he shook his head, amused by your pathetic reaction at his touch. “uh-huh. you’ve been such a bad girl the instant we stepped into this party,” he said, keeping his free hand at the side of your head, trapping you between his body and the wall.

when he dragged you into this bathroom by the arm you knew what was coming. you actually had seen it coming from the moment you decided to wear that tight, little dress — the one he expressly affirmed he didn’t want you to wear.

“you knew this would happen, didn’t you?” he suddenly curled his fingers inside you, caressing your insides, making you let out a load moan. “you acted so bossy out there with that douchebag, what happened now?” he added, alluding to your wasted status.

he had in fact barely touched you, pushing you against the cold tiles and lifting your slutty garment up to your navel as soon as you entered the bathroom and you already were a moaning mess, craving for more of his touch.

“please chris — i-i need you,” you said blubbering. he smirked down at you. “need me to what?” he teased. you could tell he was holding back. his eyes were dark and glossy in lust and desire and if you only moved your leg a little bit you could’ve felt the hard-on that was starting to grow between his legs.

“need you.. need you to- to make me feel good,” you were slurring your words, trying to stay still to not upset him more, even if everything you could feel in that moment was your aching core begging to be relieved.

he bit his lips, moving his head in disapproval “gonna need something more, princess” the brunette said, approaching dangerously to your face. he started to leave a trail of wet kisses all over your jaw and neck.

you swore you were about to lose it and starting fucking yourself on his fingers on your own.

“chris — chris — please make me cum. i need it- need you so bad,” you begged him miserably, closing your eyes at the overwhelming sensation of his mouth on your collarbone.

“look at me — he grabbed your chin with two fingers, making your eyes flutter open — y’think you deserve it?” he said, pulling away from your chest and looking at you in your eyes, which were imploring for some kind of contact. “you deserve to cum after acting like a slut in front of me and the whole party? mh?”

he started to move his middle and pointer finger inside you painfully slowly, making your spine shiver and your mouth let out a whimper. his thumb reached your swollen clit, rubbing it just as slowly. you tried to say something but a low whine broke the words in your throat.

“mh? fuckin’ answer me,” his fingers went abruptly deeper, while he placed his knee between your legs, blocking them to close.

“i don’t! i was such a slut! i’m sorry- please i’m sorry!” you almost screamed in frustration.

he sharply removed his fingers from my heat, grabbing you by the waist and turning you around, making you face the big mirror. “i think you need a reminder of who you belong to,” he roamed his hands all over your body, caressing your hips sensually.

you could feel his boner pocking onto your ass, so you pushed back on purpose, trying to have some friction. “mhm, you surely need it,” he added, before shoving two fingers inside your pussy once again, this time his pace was fast and rough.

your eyes closed again due the overstimulation that you were accumulating. “didn’t ya understand me? i want those pretty eyes open,” he repeated. what you saw once you accomplished was your reflection being fingered-fucked by your boyfriend, and that did nothing but turn you on even more.

your mouth kept letting out a sequence of moans and whines, as you felt the familiar tension building up in your stomach. “god — right there, don’t stop, please”

his gaze was fixed on his digits appearing and disappearing inside you, moving it on your face when you letted out a nearly pornographic moan. “you like bein’ treated like the whore y’are, don’t you?”

“yes, yes, yes,” you repeated like a mantra, getting off on the wet sounds that the contact made. he speeded up his pace, pumping his fingers furiously in and out of you, knowing that you were getting closer and closer.

as you were about to reach your climax, he stopped again, making you groan. “no, no please, i was so close!” you cried out.

he ignored you, removing his hand for the umpteenth time that night to hook his fingers onto the fabric of your panties, pulling them down to your knees. “if you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna do it on my cock,” he said, pushing your back down, so that you were bent over the counter.

he didn’t waste time to pull down his zipper and take out his length, that slapped on his stomach because of the stimulation. his red mushroom tip was leaking pre-cum, streaming down his erection.

he took it in his free hand and beat it a few times, before lining it up with my entrance. he rubbed it between my folds, gathering some of your juices as lube. “these were your intentions f’this party, isn’t that right?” he kept teasing.

you arched your back, trying to have his dick finally buried deep inside you, as you, indeed, had tried all night long. “please chris — i-i need it” you mumbled, biting your bottom lip so hard that almost bled.

“you knew i had deals to take care of, and yet, there you were, grinding yourself on some random jerk” he traced a finger on your back, from your neck to your ass, delivering an harsh slap on your right cheek.

you were a mess at this point, your stare on his face, on his lips, on his body, in the hope that he would’ve done something anytime soon.

suddenly, he slammed his hips forward, making your eyes roll back in your head from the shock. he didn’t give you time to adjust to his size, he just began to move in and out roughly, his pace fast and constant. his hands rested firmly on your hips, you both breathing heavily as he hit all the deeper spots.

one of his hands flew to your bundle of nerves, grazing against it to add pleasure at your already near climax.

“chris” you moaned, saying the only thing you were able to vocalize. your face was contorted in gratification, your knuckles becoming white due the hard grip you had on the counter.

“shit — i know baby,” he whispered, continuing to slam his hips on your ass, his balls on your clit. his grasp grew harder on your skin, sign that he was close too.

you started feeling the peak in your stomach, your legs becoming jelly and trembling. you couldn’t hold back anymore. “i’m gonna come — god, chris i’m ‘bouta —”

“fuuck — cum for me, doll” he told you, continuing thrusting in you nonstop.

it only took you one sentence and a few moments to start creaming on his cock, feeling it twitching inside you. “aah — chris… oh my god” 

you finally felt l his cum spurting in your cunt, the warm liquid filling you up. he pulled out, letting out one last moan, the two of you trying to re-stabilize your breathing. 

you tried to lift your back, but chris stopped you, making you bend over again. you felt his fingers on your core once again, “chris — no more — m’too sensitive,” i cried out.

“nuh-uh. not letting any of it going wasted” he said, collecting his semen and yours that was leaked out your pussy to put them back in. your cunt hurt for the overstimulation, all red and puffy — to him, it hadn’t never looked prettier.

when he finally pulled away, you raised your panties up and lowered the dress down, fixing — or attempting to — your hair and make up to make it seem like you hadn’t occupied the room for over thirty minutes.

“you okay?” chris asked you, turning you around. he wrapped his arms around your waist, your back hitting the counter. i nodded, “yeah, i think i remember now” you said making him smirk.

“you made me lose a buyer — we’re not done” he added, half joking and half serious. i let out a chuckle, my hands flying around his neck, brushing my lips on his.

he closed the gap and gave me a soft kiss, before pulling away and putting his arm around my shoulder. we leave the room, acting like nothing happened under the judging gazes of the long queue of people who were waiting to use the toilet.

“i hope you enjoyed your fuck, fuckin’ almost made me piss myself”

yaps. it was supposed to be shorter but i got too involved… anyway i need him so bad it’s concerning.

wc. 1,5k

[esote-rika]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause as well, “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips are upon him. 

That’s inaccurate. 

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

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

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soft. So damn soft. 

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

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

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

“Shut up,” you grumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold on, Spencer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

There’s nowhere else he would rather be. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Asshole.”

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

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

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

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There, there, yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re making jokes now?”

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

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

“I’ll hold you to that.”

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

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

[moonstruckme]

Tumblr disappeared the request (I'm going to tear my hair out) but this is a silly little thawing out drabble! Read the series here

request: okay thawing out scenario!! only if you want to but something with talks of their relationship on social media? not smau but either an interview or them reading tweets or theories people are cooking up and laughing about it??

cw: modern au, some allusion to non-hetero relationships not being the default

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

“They’ve caught on!” 

Sirius wastes no time with a greeting as he marches into Remus’ flat. Neither you nor Remus do more than look up from where you’re sitting together on his bed; you’re both used enough to this sort of behavior to defer overreaction. 

“Also,” he goes on in the same tone of urgency, “it’s fucking freezing out there. Scoot.” 

“Hi.” You laugh as Sirius takes off his shoes and crawls onto the bed with you, immediately tucking his feet under your bum. Remus is grateful his own arse is too bony to be selected for this purpose (much), but you bear it complaisantly. “What have they caught onto?” 

Remus loves how comfortable you both are here. His flat has become the unofficial rendezvous point for the three of you, despite having no furniture yet other than a large bed and an armchair one of his neighbors was trying to throw out when he moved in. He presumes this is only because it’s situated nearly equidistant to your apartment and Sirius’, but it makes things marvelously easy for him; most mornings after practice you all simply come here, and Remus doesn’t ever need to go far looking for love when it’s always knocking at his door. 

“They know about me and Remus,” Sirius says, tapping at his phone. 

Remus feels his brows furrow. “Who knows?” 

“The press!” 

You lean over to look at his screen, and a snort escapes you. “The press. Tabloids are not the press.” 

“They have a picture of us at the grocery, someone must have taken it very sneakily.” Sirius is positively glowing as he delivers news of his stalker victim-hood. “We’re holding hands and everything, it’s very scandalous. I have to say, I’m a bit impressed with how progressive they are to discover us before one of us and y/n,” he scrolls downward, “though there are a few comments about you stealing me away from her…” 

Remus can’t help a small smile. Sirius is so clearly delighted with his new celebrity status, he’s unlikely to shake the swagger from his step for the rest of the week. 

“Unfortunately, they aren’t quite that progressive,” he says. “I saw a photo of y/n and I last week.” 

“What?” 

Sirius’ head whips up so fast Remus worries for his neck. If he thinks for a moment to look to you to laugh at your ridiculous boyfriend with him, Remus is mistaken; you turn to him with a similar expression, shock mingled with dismay. 

“What?” you ask. “Why didn’t you say?” 

“Yeah! Why didn’t you?” Sirius agrees fervently. 

Remus shrugs. “I didn’t think any of us would care.” That’s a lie; he knew Sirius would care, but he would care too much, and at ten in the evening when Remus saw the photo he simply didn’t fancy the prospect of staying up all night. 

“I want to see.” You’re pulling out your phone now, too, looking up your names online. “What were we doing? Did I look okay?” 

Sirius scoffs. “Gorgeous, don’t make me laugh.” 

Remus hums his agreement, wrapping an arm around your neck and kissing your head. 

“Now that I’m looking…” Sirius continues scrolling. “There are people talking about your pictures in the comments, too. Some people say you’re keeping Remus from me.” 

Remus muses aloud, “I wonder how long it will take for someone to actually consider that none of us is keeping any of us from anyone.” 

Sirius’ eyes flash. “Care to make a bet?” 

“No,” you mumble reflexively, still hunting down your paparazzi photo. Remus, however, is considering it. “It could be argued that I’m keeping both of you away from the general population, anyway.” 

“Awe,” Sirius coos. He dips his head to mush a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Though your expression doesn’t change as you stare at your phone, Remus is willing to bet that your skin has warmed a few degrees. “Thanks, baby.” 

“Oh god.” Remus can tell the moment you find the photo, because your tapping stops all at once, brows stitching together in distress. “Why would they catch us then, of all times?”

“Let me see.” Sirius practically clambers into your lap, despite the fact that he could easily have looked from his spot beside you, to view your screen. 

“I look like death.” Sirius usually monopolizes the drama department in your relationship, but you sound properly horrified. “Is that what I really how my posture is?” 

“I didn’t think it was that bad a photo,” says Remus. He leans over to see. “Dove, you look fine.” Behind your back, a skinny finger snakes around to jab Remus’ side. “You look lovely, you always do.” 

The photo was taken at your usual coffee shop, likely in the early hours before practice. Ordinarily the three of you would go together, but Remus remembers this particular morning because it was only you two. Sirius had come down with a nasty cold, and you had asked Remus to come to the rink with you anyway to oversee some of your moves for the new routine you were working on. He’d known as soon as he’d seen you that Sirius’ illness had passed on to you; his bright-eyed early riser was droopy and out of it, your smile appearing only at intervals and seemingly with some effort. Remus had played along with your usual morning routine until the warm drinks were in your hands, and then he’d shepherded you back to your apartment and to bed. 

“My dark circles are so bad I look like a cartoon skull.” You press the pads of your fingers underneath your eyes concernedly. 

“They weren’t that bad,” Remus assures you, rubbing your shoulder. “And I’ve only seen your posture look like that when you’re sick and it’s four in the morning. Don’t worry over it.” 

“I think you look cute.” Sirius smiles at the picture. It’s the soft, unaffected kind that makes Remus’ heart thump painfully. “You two do look very couple-y, though, I can see how they drew conclusions.” 

“Wonder why,” Remus mutters. 

“So, a wager? I say a month until they put it together.” 

“A month?” No way is anyone going to guess polyamory in a month; not when they’re just starting to fight about who’s stealing who from whom. “Sure, I’ll take that.” 

“He’ll only stack the odds by being obvious in public,” you say, finally putting down your phone with a slight sulk. “I, for one, don’t fancy being kissed with ulterior motive.” 

Sirius snuggles up to you, cooing. “I would never kiss you with ulterior motive, my love.” 

“Forget it, then,” Remus says hastily. 

“No, no, wait. What if I promised not to stack the odds?” 

You look at Sirius, interested. “That would mean no public displays of affection until the bet was finished,” you say, slowly. 

Sirius’ mouth pinches with displeasure, but he says, “Fine. Two weeks.” 

“You think you can make it two weeks, Pads?” Remus teases. 

“I’ll have you know I can exercise extraordinary restraint, when I want to. Shake on it.” 

“Alright, I’ll take your money.”

[winters-on-the-wing]

regulus chose to get the dark mark

not even his PARENTS have the dark mark (i’m pretty sure).

regulus literally adored voldemort and didn’t feel a shred of empathy for any of the oppressed parties UNTIL it affected HIMSELF.

i don’t get where all this newfound sympathy for regulus is coming from when for 95% of his life, he was living high and mighty. utmost privilege. money and power and essentially heir status.

i swear people just want to invent new tiny uwu shy mentally ill little white boys out of thin air. it’s actually obscene.

“Sirius left both grimmauld place and his little brother regulus behind!!!” I’m going to hold your hand when i say this. No he didn’t. Sirius didn’t exist as some sort of saviour of Regulus’. He didn’t exist to tell Regulus to do something he didn’t want to do. Regulus made his choice and he did what he wanted to do. Sirius made his choice and he did what he wanted to do. He didn’t leave Regulus behind because Regulus wanted to stay and because Regulus did not want to become something better than the beliefs instilled in him.

[shanklin]

In a world where the belief of humans can create gods and deities, Stan dies from an infection soon after losing Ford.

It’s just a minor setback! Or so Ghost!Stan tells himself as he tries desperately to figure out how to touch stuff again. It doesn’t help that Ford warded most of his things against ghosts.

One day while practicing to become corporeal Stan comes across a couple of weird creatures [a gorilla wearing underwear? Unicorn made out of corn? A horse riding another horse? What?] ranting about Bigfoot and how stuck up she’s gotten ever since she ascended to godhood just because some crazy fanatics turned the hunt for her into a cult.

Meanwhile smaller szories and folktales like them are trying their hardest to survive. But peoples belief is fading and soon they will be forgotten and cease to exist.

This changes everything! Stan knows a great business opportunity when he sees it!

It’s almost too easy to abuse the system.

Religion has always been a scam in Stan's opinion. So he might as well turn himself into a god.

Good thing Ford did all the hard work for him by becoming the mysterious science man in the woods. All Stan has to do is to make himself visible long to create Mr. Mystery.

The belief of the townsfolk grants Stan enough strength to become corporeal and soon enough Stan opens his temple [tourist trap] for business. 

People pilgrimage to his holy ground, pay tithings [entrance fees] listen to his sermons [tours] and leave offerings [cash] in exchange for blessings [cheap souvenirs Stan tells them will bring them luck]. They even take little statues of him back home and convert others to believe in him as well. [It's a fun tourist trap why wouldn't you believe the owner exists].

Eventually he even gets his own priests [employees] to help him out.

In exchange for favours Stan also promotes the almost forgotten and fading folktales he meets. They quickly become his most loyal followers. Stan may have scammed his way into godhood at record speed but he still cares for the little guys. He’s saving their lives and they could not be more grateful. 

The other gods however HATE him but cant do anything about it because he's not technically breaking any rules.

With every new believer Stan grows stronger and changes.

His lies turn into reality. His souvenirs become actual blessed artifacts protecting the owners and Stan becomes one with Gravity Falls. Its true protective deity. Time has no meaning and throws up a barrier protecting his home. The same one Ford has already studied in the past.

And when the zodiac fails and Stan tells Bill that that doesn’t matter because Bill will die here, Gravity Falls rumbles with excitement.

Stan spins a story about the deity protecting this land and how they will not allow Bill to break the barrier or harm them any further.

All Stan needs for everyone to do is to close their eyes and pray.

“Stan, we don't have time for your ridiculous lies!”

“Just once in your life do as I say and believe in me, Sixer!”

The people of Gravity Falls have surprising faith in their local conman and so do the kids. With no other options left Ford closes his eyes and says a short prayer.

When he opens his eyes again the world is engulfed in blue flames and before him stands the young form of his brother surrounded by the real life versions of fake tourist attractions.

Stan puts on his holy knuckle dusters and grins. 

[vivisextion]

MEGATHREAD OF KIM MENTIONS BY ALL SKILLS

While doing my max stats run, I noticed Rhetoric called Kim 'Kim'. I thought this was a little unusual, as I assumed blue skills would address him in a more formal fashion. This led me down a rabbit hole of how they all refer to Kim, so here you go.

DISCLAIMER: These are all mined from fayde.co.uk (big shoutout, this post would not have been possible without it). I have removed all duplicates and interactions with variants ("Replaced with:"). It is also possible despite my best efforts my dyscalculia may have fked up with the larger figures but I did go over it multiple times, so it's unlikely. OK LET'S GO

BLUE SKILLS

LOGIC

All 3 mentions of 'Kim' are late-game. Otherwise, Logic defaults to 'the lieutenant'. Only 1 mention of 'Kim Kitsuragi' and that's only when talking about the case file number sequence for The Hanged Man.

ENCYCLOPEDIA

The full name usage is related to when you discover his past with pinball - even the one mention of 'Kim' is in reference to how Seolite people love pinball. Otherwise, the most common address is also 'the lieutenant'.

RHETORIC

Seems like the use of 'Kim' is an outlier and like I suspected, the default tends to be 'the lieutenant'. It wasn't a late vs. early game thing either because I got the 'Kim' mention on Day 1 of the game.

DRAMA

Interestingly, no 'Kim' at all. Drama prefers more bombastic and less personal terms, I guess.

CONCEPTUALIZATION

No use of 'Kim' or 'Kitsuragi'. The only direct address was the line "Dammit lieutenant, have you no intellectual curiosity?"

Otherwise, like most of the other blue skills, Conceptualization doesn't mention Kim that much.

VISUAL CALCULUS

Mentions Kim (in all forms) the least, which is not surprising.

Like all other blue skills, 'the lieutenant' is the most common used. They tend to be more on the less personal side.

PURPLE SKILLS

VOLITION

Only 1 direct address of 'lieutenant'. The line mentioning Pinball/Kimball is 'Any plan to call him Pinball or Kimball is immediately wiped from your neocortex, as if with some sort of mind altering device. It is simply not going to happen.'

Still more of a formal address preference.

INLAND EMPIRE

The only time IE uses 'Kim' is "If you can't trust your own eyes, who can you trust? Certainly not Kim. He's so… suspicious." in regards to finding a key card in Evrart's office.

Also prefers 'the lieutenant', like the blue skills.

EMPATHY

Also seems to refer to Kim in a more respectful way. The only mention of 'Kimball' is about footprints in the dust in the back of the Whirling: "This is so good it makes him forget the whole Kimball memory."

Also note the increased frequency in Kim mentions.

AUTHORITY

Of course 'Lieutenant Eyebrow' occurs during the famous showdown. One mention of 'Kim' is earlier game and one is late game. Makes sense Authority would be professional most of the time and use 'the lieutenant'.

ESPRIT DE CORPS

Will not shut up about Kim (101!!). Most mentions advise you not to complete important tasks without him. 1 repeat of 'Lieutenant Kitsuragi' mentions the black bomber jacket you get from hardcore mode. The last one is when Harry climbs the horse statue during the moralist run.

SUGGESTION

Much less quiet in comparison, but still polite.

Purple skills mention Kim a lot more, in general, than blue ones, which makes sense as they concern external affairs and people moreso. Out of all the skills, they refer to Kim the most, actually, as we will see.

RED SKILLS

ENDURANCE

The two instances of 'Lieutenant Kitsuragi' are during the confrontation with Ruby: "The torment Lieutenant Kitsuragi is experiencing is worse than your own."

PAIN THRESHOLD

Doesn't care about anyone but Harry, probably. Only mention is talking to Klaasje about the body hanging behind the Whirling: "A bitter cringe. It hurts. You look to the lieutenant…"

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT

The most disrespectful. Refers to Kim as a binoclard the most out of all the skills.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY

The only mention of 'binoclard' is when you try to teach Lilienne's twins to say 'fuck'. EC cheers you on. Volition is disappointed, as is Kim ("deeply unimpressed").

"Why does he have to be such a binoclard? It's just a funny word!"

SHIVERS

Doesn't have much to say about the lieutenant. 2 of the 4 are variations of each other during the Moralist quest. Duplicates are due to the Noid vs. Soona version of the quest.

HALF LIGHT

One mention is during the game of Suzerainty, when Kim has the upper hand, which is a funny time for a fight-or-flight response to kick in.

In general, the red skills don't concern themselves much with Kim, since they largely are focused on Harry.

YELLOW SKILLS

HAND/EYE COORDINATION

Second least mentions of Kim in the yellow skills.

PERCEPTION

Both 'Kim' mentions are Sight. Mentions of 'the lieutenant' by category: 2 Smell, 6 Hearing, 2 Sight. (No Taste… sadly).

REACTION SPEED

Gets a little more fancy with it 'the good lieutenant' and also addresses Kim directly the most out of all the skills (2 mentions of 'lieutenant'): "Too late, lieutenant." and "Impressive note-keeping, lieutenant."

SAVOIR FAIRE

The duplicates have to do with a line during the Ultraliberal quest: "The lieutenant speaks as if you're rich -- a common misconception -- especially if you count the tax. No, we've got a long way to go before we can feel financially comfortable. The hustle never stops!"

INTERFACING

Least reference to Kim of all yellow skills, which is surprising considering the Kineema interaction.

COMPOSURE

The chattiest of the yellow skills about Kim, though yellow skills still have the second lowest mentions of the lieutenant.

STATS RUNDOWN

Total Kim mentions by colour

Blue: 82

Purple: 245 (thanks, EDC)

Red: 31

Yellow: 62

Top 3 mentions

EDC: 128

Empathy: 43

Rhetoric: 30

Bottom 3 mentions

Pain Threshold: 1

Interfacing, Shivers, VisCal: 4

H/E Coordination, Endurance, Half Light: 5

Most common address

the lieutenant: 335

Kim: 32

Lieutenant Kitsuragi: 26

So, overwhelmingly, most of the skills seem to default to 'the lieutenant'. Not just the blue ones. Hopefully, that helps someone, although how I have no idea.

BONUS: YOU!

What about Harry, you ask (or not)? I GOT YOU.

Harry calls Kim a binoclard more than Physical Instrument, though one time he says it as an apology.

Both times he uses Kim's full name and title is during radio comms.

Harry calls him 'Kim' to his face (457) more than 'lieutenant' (89) (spread over early to late game).

To others, Harry refers to Kim as 'Kim' 39 times, compared to 4 uses of 'the lieutenant'.

The only time Agent Kim is used is discussing the Seolite conspiracy.

That's it! One last parting gift: Kim refers to Harry as 'Harry' 15 times. :)

[amourtoken]

https://x.com/heliishporn/status/1877396059422380399?s=46

This.. this screams Nico

anything insanely intimate immediately makes me think of Luke or Nico cause they're the types to be like "I cannot fucking cum unless you kiss me :(((" yk?

the way he pulls away from the kiss just to bury his face against your shoulder and rock his hips harder into yours???? That's so fucking Nico I'm SICK. He picks up the pace when you wrap your arms around him and he can't even tell what he's chasing anymore at this point. The feel of your hands against his skin? The pretty noises and pitchy cries of his name escaping your lips? The way you clench around his cock when he groans praises against your neck to remind you just how good you're being for him? Maybe.

He could die happy like this with your legs hooked around his waist, your nails etching patterns between his shoulder blades and sinking in like little daggers when he thrusts a little too harsh. This might be heaven actually. You're so fucking warm and the wet sounds of his hips meeting yours have him really losing his composure, fuck.

I could fs see this being the night you told Nico he could finally knock you up and he took that SERIOUSLY.

[embbarnes]

giggling and kicking my feet 💕 I loved how this was written, such a fluffy and sweet fic! I don't see very many that are majorly fluffy like this, and it's always so sweet to read!

Ofc my thoughts as I read below the cut ~ I got a little thirsty at the end LMAO

Of all the ways you had been hoping to spend the last few hours of Valentine’s Day, over 30,000 feet in the air next to a snoring man who has never heard of deodorant was at the bottom of your list.

I literally hate flying for this specific reason. I'd buy an entire aisle to avoid this. I don't like being on planes in general, but the people and dealing with the public when everyone is already cranky and irritable is not fun.

Today is your first Valentine’s Day as a couple, and instead of spending it with him, you’re spending it on a commercial flight with dozens of strangers. You can’t help but wonder how many of them are missing their significant other, too.

You know that's true. I've flown around holidays and had flights cancelled, and I wondered how many people would be missing Christmas with their families because of the flight. It's a better perspective to have, instead of just focusing on the negatives, realizing other people are in the same boat you are.

If you’d had it your way, you would have woken up to his face this morning. The two of you would have slept in as late as you desired, and had a slow, lazy morning before cooking him brunch. Waffles, sausage and bacon, scrambled eggs with extra cheese and hot sauce – all of his favorites. You would have taken a stroll through the park before stopping at the bakery that you frequent for doughnuts and coffee, and maybe visited the botanical gardens before your dinner reservations this evening.

Stop this is literally the most perfect day 😭

Valentine’s Day aside, you simply miss him. You’ve been missing him since the moment you left for Nebraska, and you’re more than ready to be back in his arms. This is not the first time you’ve been apart due to work related trips, but this is by far the longest – a whopping seven days.

Nebraska 😭 I will never go back.

You miss the way he wants to keep at least one hand on you throughout the night, the way he talks to Alpine as if she will actually respond, and the way that he hums without even noticing that he’s doing it. All of the seemingly little things that you don’t think much of on a day to day basis, but when you’re apart, make you miss him all the more.

Alpineeee my shaylaaaa 😭💕

Plus, if he had picked you up, it would have ruined your plan to surprise him by stopping by his favorite pizza parlor down the block from your apartment on your way home. Sal’s Pizzeria is always open until midnight, and every year they run specials the entire week of Valentine’s Day on heart-shaped pizzas.

My hometown had a Sal's that just shut down, that's insane. But some places here have heart-shaped pizzas around valentines! I've never had one, but I want to try to this year!

At first, you assume that Bucky is already asleep. But as you walk down the short hallway, you realize there’s soft music playing from somewhere in the apartment. You don't think much of it, since you know that Bucky prefers playing music as opposed to the television for background noise.

What are you up to buck buck...

You stop dead in your tracks when you step into the kitchen. Dozens of tea light candles illuminate the room, placed strategically on the island in the middle of the room. And on the countertops, and the shelves – basically any flat surface twinkles with the delicate flames. You stand frozen as a statue with your mouth agape as you take in the scene before you. In addition to the candles, there’s a spread of food across the island. Plates of delicious smelling pasta, small bowls of soup and glasses of red wine. Tied to the backs of the barstools are red and pink heart-shaped balloons. It looks straight out of a romance movie.

This would make me cry fr. He is so sweet omg.

“Pizza pairs well with pasta, I think,” Bucky's voice breaks you out of your trance. “Can never have too many carbs.” Your gaze snaps over to where he emerges from the den. He wears a bashful smile, and even in the low glow of the candlelight, you can see the faint hint of blush blooming across the apples of his cheeks. He has his hands behind his back, as if trying to conceal something from you. “You did all of this?” You ask lamely. Your voice is barely a whisper and contains a noticeable quiver. “For me?” You can’t wrap your brain around it. No one has ever done anything quite like this for you. All of your ex boyfriends always shrugged off Valentine’s Day, leaving you feeling lucky if you got so much as a card. You’d long ago learned not to expect much of anything. Definitely not anything as intimate and thoughtful as this.

Crying omg. This entire bit is absolutely precious. I love the dynamic and his demeanor sm.

“Who else would it be for? Alpine?” He teases, extending the jar to you. You plop the box onto the counter so that your hands are free to accept the flowers. Upon closer inspection, you realize the bouquet of flowers are not real flowers. Well, yes and no – they’re wildflowers, made of out Legos. You can’t help but giggle, remembering how you had mentioned how cute you think the Lego set is when you saw it while buying some groceries at Target a few weeks ago. You giggle even harder when you picture Bucky assembling all of the tiny pieces of the bouquet with his large, vibranium fingers.

I'm tryinggg to not reblog the entire fic again but it's so hard to contain my thoughts! It's just so thoughtful and special, not plainly and mindlessly picked like roses would be. Which those are fine too, of course, but I like more personalized gifts, ones with thought and meaning behind them like this.

“All I got you is a lousy heart-shaped meat lovers pizza,” you sniffle against his t-shirt and you feel his chest vibrate with laughter. You know that you have the reasonable excuse of being on an assignment in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere Nebraska for the last week, but you still feel bad. “Hey,” he murmurs, using his index finger to tilt your face to look up at him. He grins down at you for a moment before tenderly pressing his lips against yours. You melt into him right away, having missed the feeling of his lips on yours in the week that you’ve been apart. His hands travel to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. Your own hands cradle his face, your thumbs caressing the light dusting of stubble that adorns his cheeks. You can already feel the outline of an erection forming through the thin material of his pajama pants when he pulls away, much to your disappointment. “I love meat lovers pizza,” he assures you with a smirk. “And I love you. The best present you could give me is coming home to me.”

I got something else for you too - AHEM. I want to kiss him so bad, it's not even funny. The gentleness, how he presses his lips against the reader is sooo good. I can feel how tender he is. And y'know...I can only imagine how his tent feels too~

You eat together in the glow of the candlelight, with soft music playing in the background and heavy rain beating down against the windows of your apartment. You talk about everything from the details of your mission to what he did while you were away. The food is delicious, the wine he picked out pairs perfectly, it’s cozy and peaceful and romantic – and you realize that you’re enjoying this so much more than you ever would have enjoyed an upscale steakhouse in downtown Brooklyn.

I love how domestic this feels. Something as simple as sharing a meal and talking, but it's so hard to imagine and see Bucky in a calm, loving setting with his life and whatnot. I always really like it when it's included in fics because it's what he deserves.

He opens the shower door, a cheeky grin spreading across his face as soon as his eyes trail up and down your body. The way he looks at you never fails to make you feel like he’s seeing you naked for the very first time, every time. His hands immediately come to rest on your hips, easing you back against the cool tiling of the shower wall. “God, I missed you,” he sighs as he massages his fingers into the meat of your hips. The contrast of his warm flesh hand and cold vibranium hand on your waist has you arching into his touch.

God you really know how to set a scene. You write things out so well, I can vividly see this happening and I want it 😭

He nudges your legs apart with his knee, inserting one of his large thighs in-between your own. You sink your bare pussy onto the expanse of his muscular thigh, dragging your center across him for friction. He kisses you until you’re breathless, and only pulls away to instead latch his mouth over one of your nipples. He rolls it between his lips and tongue, using his hold on your waist to help move you up and down his thigh. He alternates between each nipple, kissing and sucking on each until they’re pert and pebbled.

YEAH SO, EATING GOOD HERE

He presses a final kiss to the side of your neck before pulling away and smirking down at you. He reaches over to one of the shelves in the shower, grabbing a loofah and your bottle of body wash.

I always forget loofah is spelled that way and it catches me off guard anytime I see the word written out 😂

“I’ll have you know that I showered before you got home,” he says as he squirts a dollop of the gel onto the sponge. “I’m just here for your entertainment – and your convenience, of course. Now turn around.”

He's so cheeky I love it

“You’re really going to tease me like that? On Valentine’s Day, of all days?” “Pretty sure it’s after midnight now,” he quips with a smirk.

Still being a brat but I love him for it

You turn so that you’re out of the direct line of the water, and lower yourself to the shower floor. His cock bobs inches in front of your face. You grasp him in your hand, languidly stroking his length as you stare up at him. “Then I guess you’re lucky that I missed you so much.” He opens his mouth to retort, but snaps it shut with a sharp intake of breath when you wrap your lips around his tip. You swirl your tongue around him, lapping up the beads of pearlescent white that had gathered around his slit. You begin to bob your head, taking more and more of him into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat.

That thing is gonna imprint itself in my throat istg.

Above you, he throws his head back and hisses at the sensation. His metal hand cradles the back of your head, guiding your movements. You gag at the overwhelming fullness, pulling away from him for air. You ease him back into your mouth, setting a steady pace. He rocks his hips forward, meeting your movements with his own. In one hand, you cup his balls, gently massaging the sack. With your free hand, you attempt to relieve the growing ache between your own thighs by rubbing quick circles over your clit. The thrusts of his hips start to grow erratic, and you feel him twitch against your tongue when he suddenly pulls away from you.

This is so hot but I also love his he cups her head like that. I get tired of the grabbing and jerking you around I see constantly. This is much better and sweeter, and I love it.

He wastes no more time, diving into your pussy. His tongue swirls over your clit as he brings one long, metal finger to tease your hole. He nudges it inside as his lips suction around the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of your folds. Your body goes relaxed, your back sliding down the wet tiling of the shower wall. Bucky helps support you from down below as he sinks his vibranium digit deeper inside you. The coil in your lower belly tightens quickly, pent up from a whole week without his touch. He can always tell when you’re close by the little noises that you make and the way that you tug on the short brown locks of his hair with your fingers. He groans as he licks a thick strip up your slit, sending you over the edge.

Good GOD, girl. I know that metal hand feels soo good up there. His tongue movements and focus are perfect. I love the detail that he knows when she's close, it shows their bond and how tight it is by how familiar Bucky is with her.

Alpine is snoring softly at the foot of your king sized bed, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re even home. Everything is exactly as you left it, from the stack of half finished books on your nightstand to the orange Himalayan salt rock lamp that hasn’t been turned off a single time since the two of you moved into the apartment together. The comfort and familiarity of everything makes you feel all the more grateful to be back home.

Again, another thing I love that you add. These little details that paint the scene are wonderful and it makes the fic feel warm.

“Catch!” He warns before gently tossing it across the bed to you. You catch it, a smile blooming across your face as you sooth your thumb over the velvet material encasing the small box. He walks over to your side of the bed to stand beside you. You raise the lid to box, revealing a dainty gold chain with a capital letter B dangling in the center. You think it’s perfect. It’s isn’t overly ostentatious – it’s the perfect size, and so very you. “Do you like it?” Bucky asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I love it,” you assure him, overwhelmed by how sweet and thoughtful he is. “Help me put it on?”

I want one RN.

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper as you raise up on your feet to press your lips to his. The light flavor of your slick lingers on his lips, sending a fresh wave of arousal through your gut. “So much.” “Of course,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Now lay down. Wanna see how it looks on ya without the towel.”

Move aside...I got this one 😈

Fr such a beautiful, fluffy fic. I loved this one, perfectly soft and tender while being hot with the smutty scenes. Still so, so Bucky. You characterize him so perfectly I am addicted to your writing. Descriptions are always perfect, you add all those little details that I adore, and you know just how to make words feel like home. 💕💕

all's well that ends well to end up with you

bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky isn't going to let an extended mission, a severe thunderstorm, and a delayed flight ruin your first valentine's day together.

word count: 3.8k

warnings/tags: SMUT, 18+ only mdni, oral (m&f receiving), fingering, nipple play, reader is afab, established relationship, no use of y/n, reader is described as being shorter than bucky, fluffy as hell, sweet domesticity

wrote this for my bb @embbarnes 💕 happy (very early) valentine's day, everyone!

Of all the ways you had been hoping to spend the last few hours of Valentine’s Day, over 30,000 feet in the air next to a snoring man who has never heard of deodorant was at the bottom of your list.

You should have seen it coming from the moment that your two day mission was extended to a three day mission, but you naively held out hope that you’d be able to make it back home in time to salvage the second half of the day.

Getting back early enough to keep the seven o’clock dinner reservations that you’d made for a new, upscale steakhouse in Brooklyn would have been possible if a last minute thunderstorm hadn’t delayed your flight back to New York.

Now it’s already half past seven, and you’ll be lucky if you make it back home before midnight.

Truthfully, you don’t care about the dinner reservations. Sure, you’d heard great things about the food and you had been excited to go, but you could easily reschedule the reservations for another time. The only thing that you were truly bummed about was not getting to spend the day with Bucky.

Today is your first Valentine’s Day as a couple, and instead of spending it with him, you’re spending it on a commercial flight with dozens of strangers. You can’t help but wonder how many of them are missing their significant other, too.

If you’d had it your way, you would have woken up to his face this morning. The two of you would have slept in as late as you desired, and had a slow, lazy morning before cooking him brunch. Waffles, sausage and bacon, scrambled eggs with extra cheese and hot sauce – all of his favorites. You would have taken a stroll through the park before stopping at the bakery that you frequent for doughnuts and coffee, and maybe visited the botanical gardens before your dinner reservations this evening.

Bucky had assured you that it wasn’t a big deal and that the two of you would make up for it when you were back home. He patiently reminded you that life doesn’t take holidays and special occasions into consideration when dishing out things such as extended work trips and inclement weather conditions.

Valentine’s Day aside, you simply miss him. You’ve been missing him since the moment you left for Nebraska, and you’re more than ready to be back in his arms. This is not the first time you’ve been apart due to work related trips, but this is by far the longest – a whopping seven days.

You miss the way he wants to keep at least one hand on you throughout the night, the way he talks to Alpine as if she will actually respond, and the way that he hums without even noticing that he’s doing it. All of the seemingly little things that you don’t think much of on a day to day basis, but when you’re apart, make you miss him all the more.

By the time your flight lands in New York and you catch an Uber back to your apartment, it’s nearly eleven o’clock. Bucky, of course, had offered to pick you up from the airport, but you had insisted that you were okay with getting an Uber, not wanting him to get out so late at night in the heavy rain.

Plus, if he had picked you up, it would have ruined your plan to surprise him by stopping by his favorite pizza parlor down the block from your apartment on your way home. Sal’s Pizzeria is always open until midnight, and every year they run specials the entire week of Valentine’s Day on heart-shaped pizzas.

Knowing Bucky, he’s likely been living off of instant Ramen since you left for your trip, so you figure he’ll be ecstatic over a late night pizza. Not to mention, you’re famished yourself – all you’ve eaten since lunch being the pack of Biscoff cookies you’d been given on the plane.

Lugging your suitcase, a backpack, and the large pizza box, you fumble with your keys before unlocking the door and stepping inside.

At first, you assume that Bucky is already asleep. But as you walk down the short hallway, you realize there’s soft music playing from somewhere in the apartment. You don't think much of it, since you know that Bucky prefers playing music as opposed to the television for background noise.

It’s almost completely dark, minus low orange lighting that trickles into the hallway from the kitchen.

“I’m home, baby,” you call softly as you approach the kitchen’s entryway. “I know it’s late, but I brought you some pizza, if you're hun—”

You stop dead in your tracks when you step into the kitchen. Dozens of tea light candles illuminate the room, placed strategically on the island in the middle of the room. And on the countertops, and the shelves – basically any flat surface twinkles with the delicate flames.

You stand frozen as a statue with your mouth agape as you take in the scene before you. In addition to the candles, there’s a spread of food across the island. Plates of delicious smelling pasta, small bowls of soup and glasses of red wine. Tied to the backs of the barstools are red and pink heart-shaped balloons.

It looks straight out of a romance movie.

“Pizza pairs well with pasta, I think,” Bucky's voice breaks you out of your trance. “Can never have too many carbs.”

Your gaze snaps over to where he emerges from the den. He wears a bashful smile, and even in the low glow of the candlelight, you can see the faint hint of blush blooming across the apples of his cheeks. He has his hands behind his back, as if trying to conceal something from you.

“You did all of this?” You ask lamely. Your voice is barely a whisper and contains a noticeable quiver. “For me?”

You can’t wrap your brain around it. No one has ever done anything quite like this for you. All of your ex boyfriends always shrugged off Valentine’s Day, leaving you feeling lucky if you got so much as a card. You’d long ago learned not to expect much of anything. Definitely not anything as intimate and thoughtful as this.

“Of course for you,” he murmurs with a low chuckle. He saunters over to where you’re still standing with the pizza box clutched in your hands, and pulls what appears to be a bouquet of flowers in a large mason jar out from behind his back.

“Who else would it be for? Alpine?” He teases, extending the jar to you. You plop the box onto the counter so that your hands are free to accept the flowers.

Upon closer inspection, you realize the bouquet of flowers are not real flowers.

Well, yes and no – they’re wildflowers, made of out Legos. You can’t help but giggle, remembering how you had mentioned how cute you think the Lego set is when you saw it while buying some groceries at Target a few weeks ago. You giggle even harder when you picture Bucky assembling all of the tiny pieces of the bouquet with his large, vibranium fingers.

Your eyes begin to well with tears that threaten to spill over. You quickly blink them back, not wanting to show just how emotional the ornate, colorful arrangement of plastic flowers is making you.

Not just the bouquet – all of it. The food and the wine, the balloons, the candles, the forties music playing lowly from the record player in the living room – the sheer amount of time and attention that he put into creating such a romantic display, and all from the comfort of your home.

“They’re perfect,” you murmur, wiping away a stray tear with sleeve of your sweater. You place the mason jar of the plastic flowers in the midst of the spread of food in front of you, making the scene complete.

“It’s all perfect.” He opens his arms to you, and you happily melt into his embrace. He smells of his familiar earthy cologne, and you can’t help but inhale deeply, relishing in the comfort of his scent and warmth.

Even if you’d come home to him passed out in bed, you would’ve been ecstatic to just crawl under the covers beside him. All of this is more than you ever would have hoped for.

“All I got you is a lousy heart-shaped meat lovers pizza,” you sniffle against his t-shirt and you feel his chest vibrate with laughter. You know that you have the reasonable excuse of being on an assignment in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere Nebraska for the last week, but you still feel bad.

“Hey,” he murmurs, using his index finger to tilt your face to look up at him. He grins down at you for a moment before tenderly pressing his lips against yours. You melt into him right away, having missed the feeling of his lips on yours in the week that you’ve been apart.

His hands travel to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. Your own hands cradle his face, your thumbs caressing the light dusting of stubble that adorns his cheeks. You can already feel the outline of an erection forming through the thin material of his pajama pants when he pulls away, much to your disappointment.

“I love meat lovers pizza,” he assures you with a smirk. “And I love you. The best present you could give me is coming home to me.”

“Still. I’m going to make it up to you,” you promise with a feather light kiss to his lips. “I promise. First thing tomorrow, I’m going to—”

You’re cut off by a low rumbling noise that sounds from between your bodies – a reminder that you haven’t eaten a substantial meal in twelve hours now. You glance over to the plates of food on the island beside you, inhaling the delicious aroma of the dishes.

“I made an educated guess that you’d be hungry,” Bucky chuckles. He reluctantly drops his hold on your waist and moves to pull the barstool out for you. You hop up, taking your seat in front of a heaping plate of pasta and a bowl of French onion soup. Your stomach growls again at the sight.

“Did you make all of this?” You ask, unable to hide the surprise in your voice. It’s not that Bucky is a bad cook – he has a few go-to meals that are always excellent, but he normally doesn’t stray too far out of his comfort zone.

“I did not,” he admits with a sigh. He takes a seat directly across from you. “I ordered takeout from the bistro down the street before they closed earlier. Heated it all back up when you texted me that you were almost home.”

“Well, it’s fucking delicious,” you mumble through a mouthful of the creamy pasta.

You eat together in the glow of the candlelight, with soft music playing in the background and heavy rain beating down against the windows of your apartment. You talk about everything from the details of your mission to what he did while you were away. The food is delicious, the wine he picked out pairs perfectly, it’s cozy and peaceful and romantic – and you realize that you’re enjoying this so much more than you ever would have enjoyed an upscale steakhouse in downtown Brooklyn.

You both end up being too full of pasta and soup to eat any of the pizza that you’d brought home, but you’re happy that you’ve got a whole pizza to look forward to having for lunch tomorrow.

“Thank you, baby,” you tell him after swallowing the last sip of your wine. “For all of this. It was more than I could’ve hoped for today.”

He reaches across the counter, grabbing your hand in his own and bringing it to his lips. “Of course,” he murmurs against your skin, eliciting goosebumps down your arm. “As much as I wish we could’ve spent the day together, I still wanted to make the last hour of it as special as possible.”

He stands, releasing your hand as he begins to collect the empty plates and glasses. “You go on and get ready for bed, yeah? I’ll clean up in here.”

“Nonsense. It's almost midnight. These dishes can wait until the morning. Just stick them in the sink and come shower with me.”

You don’t even care if the whole apartment still smells of garlic and French onion soup in the morning – you’ve been showering and sleeping without him for the last week, and it’s still technically Valentine’s Day, so you’ll allow the dirty dishes to sit for the next eight hours.

To your pleasant surprise, he needs no further convincing. He piles the dirty dishes into the kitchen sink and puts the uneaten pizza in the fridge while you get the shower water up to temperature. By the time his pajamas fall to the bathroom floor, you’re already standing under the hot stream of water.

He opens the shower door, a cheeky grin spreading across his face as soon as his eyes trail up and down your body. The way he looks at you never fails to make you feel like he’s seeing you naked for the very first time, every time.

His hands immediately come to rest on your hips, easing you back against the cool tiling of the shower wall. “God, I missed you,” he sighs as he massages his fingers into the meat of your hips. The contrast of his warm flesh hand and cold vibranium hand on your waist has you arching into his touch.

“I can tell,” you giggle, pulling his face down to yours by the back of his neck. His mouth slates over yours, his tongue sweeping along your bottom lip. You part your lips for him right away, more than ready to feel and taste him after all of your time away.

He nudges your legs apart with his knee, inserting one of his large thighs in-between your own. You sink your bare pussy onto the expanse of his muscular thigh, dragging your center across him for friction. He kisses you until you’re breathless, and only pulls away to instead latch his mouth over one of your nipples. He rolls it between his lips and tongue, using his hold on your waist to help move you up and down his thigh. He alternates between each nipple, kissing and sucking on each until they’re pert and pebbled.

His erection gains your attention as it juts against your belly. You reach between your bodies, taking his length in your hand and stroking him with ease, the water from the shower making his skin slick.

You whimper above him, desperate for some release. He laughs, peppering kisses across your breasts and up your neck. You feel him smiling into the column of your throat.

“I think you missed me, too,” he murmurs against your pulse point.

“Maybe,” you admit, your voice etched with impatience. “Why don’t we hurry and get out this shower so I can show you just how much I missed you?”

He presses a final kiss to the side of your neck before pulling away and smirking down at you. He reaches over to one of the shelves in the shower, grabbing a loofah and your bottle of body wash.

“I’ll have you know that I showered before you got home,” he says as he squirts a dollop of the gel onto the sponge. “I’m just here for your entertainment – and your convenience, of course. Now turn around.”

You do as he says, turning around to face the shower wall. You brace yourself against the tiles with your forearms, relaxing as he begins to massage the soap across the tops of your shoulders and down your back.

He takes his time, lazily rubbing the skin of the backs of your thighs before reaching around and doing the same to your stomach and chest. As good as it feels, all you can focus on is the head of his cock nudging against the curve of your ass.

“Bucky.”

The word comes out somewhere between a moan and a warning – a warning that if he doesn’t finish lathering your body in the next two seconds so you can rinse the fuck off, you’re going to take matters into your own hands.

“What is it, baby?” he asks innocently, stepping forward ever so slightly so that his cock inches between the space where your thighs meet your ass.

You turn back to face him, grabbing the loofah out of his hand and tossing it to the opposite end of the shower. The stream of water that beats down against your bodies washes the suds down the drain.

“You’re really going to tease me like that? On Valentine’s Day, of all days?”

“Pretty sure it’s after midnight now,” he quips with a smirk.

You turn so that you’re out of the direct line of the water, and lower yourself to the shower floor. His cock bobs inches in front of your face. You grasp him in your hand, languidly stroking his length as you stare up at him.

“Then I guess you’re lucky that I missed you so much.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but snaps it shut with a sharp intake of breath when you wrap your lips around his tip. You swirl your tongue around him, lapping up the beads of pearlescent white that had gathered around his slit. You begin to bob your head, taking more and more of him into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat.

Above you, he throws his head back and hisses at the sensation. His metal hand cradles the back of your head, guiding your movements. You gag at the overwhelming fullness, pulling away from him for air. You ease him back into your mouth, setting a steady pace. He rocks his hips forward, meeting your movements with his own.

In one hand, you cup his balls, gently massaging the sack. With your free hand, you attempt to relieve the growing ache between your own thighs by rubbing quick circles over your clit. The thrusts of his hips start to grow erratic, and you feel him twitch against your tongue when he suddenly pulls away from you.

“Not gonna cum in your mouth,” he answers when he looks down to see your questioning stare. “Not tonight. Missed you too much.”

He pulls you up by the tops of your arms and eases you back against the shower wall once more. He then takes your place on the floor, kneeling in front of you. He trails kisses along the wet skin of your thighs as he hooks one over his shoulder. He wastes no more time, diving into your pussy. His tongue swirls over your clit as he brings one long, metal finger to tease your hole. He nudges it inside as his lips suction around the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of your folds.

Your body goes relaxed, your back sliding down the wet tiling of the shower wall. Bucky helps support you from down below as he sinks his vibranium digit deeper inside you.

The coil in your lower belly tightens quickly, pent up from a whole week without his touch. He can always tell when you’re close by the little noises that you make and the way that you tug on the short brown locks of his hair with your fingers.

He groans as he licks a thick strip up your slit, sending you over the edge. Your orgasm washes over you, your cunt clenching around his thick vibranium finger as he sucks your clit until you go still above him.

It's then that it hits you that the water from the shower has started to run cold.

“Come on,” Bucky says, rising as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He turns the faucet off and grabs the two towels that hang over the glass wall of the shower, handing you one before wrapping his around his waist. “Let's get out of here. I’ve got one more gift to give you before we continue this.”

“Another gift? You’ve already done so much. I didn’t even get—”

He gently shushes you with a sly grin, exiting the shower before you can protest any further. You pat your skin dry before securing the towel around your chest and then follow him into your shared bedroom.

Alpine is snoring softly at the foot of your king sized bed, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re even home. Everything is exactly as you left it, from the stack of half finished books on your nightstand to the orange Himalayan salt rock lamp that hasn’t been turned off a single time since the two of you moved into the apartment together. The comfort and familiarity of everything makes you feel all the more grateful to be back home.

You grab a bottle of lotion off of your bedside table and begin lathering it onto the skin of your legs as you watch Bucky rummage through the drawer of his own nightstand. After a moment, he pulls out a small, dark red colored box.

“Catch!” He warns before gently tossing it across the bed to you. You catch it, a smile blooming across your face as you sooth your thumb over the velvet material encasing the small box. He walks over to your side of the bed to stand beside you.

You raise the lid to box, revealing a dainty gold chain with a capital letter B dangling in the center.

You think it’s perfect. It’s isn’t overly ostentatious – it’s the perfect size, and so very you.

“Do you like it?” Bucky asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“I love it,” you assure him, overwhelmed by how sweet and thoughtful he is. “Help me put it on?”

You don’t care that it’s the middle of the night, you want it on you right now.

Bucky takes the box from you, carefully removing the necklace. You turn away from him, letting him drape the delicate chain around your neck. The charm lands just below your clavicle.

“There,” he murmurs as he clasps the chain together. You turn back to face him, letting him see his initial displayed across your chest. “Perfect.”

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper as you raise up on your feet to press your lips to his. The light flavor of your slick lingers on his lips, sending a fresh wave of arousal through your gut. “So much.”

“Of course,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Now lay down. Wanna see how it looks on ya without the towel.”

[just-shairahhh]

Wings and Venom

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw fem!reader.

Part: One of (Undecided Yet).

Summary: When Theodore Nott, a brooding Slytherin bound by his family’s dark legacy, and a fiercely determined Ravenclaw collide as Potions partners, sparks fly. What begins as sharp-tongued rivalries and cold glares slowly unravels into a connection neither of them expected. As secrets, prejudices, and insecurities surface, they must decide whether to let their differences define them or risk everything for a bond that could rewrite their stories forever.

A/N: Hi, everyone! I really hope you enjoy this story. This series contains themes of emotional repression, societal pressures, and the consequences of prejudice. Both characters are grappling with identity and self-worth. If you have any special requests you'd like for me to include in the storyline, let me know. And, I'd love to hear your views on this part.

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"If you’re so confident in your abilities, why don’t you take over completely?” Theodore snapped, his usual calm replaced with a simmering irritation.

For a second, you were taken aback. After all, you were just trying to help. But the surprise on your face was fleeting, replaced by a sharper undertone. “Maybe I should. We are, after all, being graded as partners. If you mess this up, it’s going to reflect on me.”

Theodore’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping a degree colder. “I’m not going to mess it up.”

“Really? Because your potion looks more like murky pond water than something worthy of Snape’s approval,” you retorted, your tone cutting.

Theodore’s temper flared. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, “some of us don’t have to rely on everyone else for everything. Some of us actually know what we’re doing.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. You've never had to rely on anyone for anything. You're one of the top students in your year, and you take immense pride in your hard-earned success. “What’s that supposed to mean? And what exactly would you know, then? Clearly, following instructions isn’t one of your strengths.”

Theodore’s voice dropped lower, his words coming out sharper than he intended. “You wouldn’t even know how to brew a proper potion if you weren’t holding someone else’s hand. Mudbloods like you don’t belong here.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and the instant they left his mouth, Theodore immediately regretted them. His gaze snapped to your face, and he saw the flash of anger —something far sharper than he'd expected. You two had always clashed, sure, but it had never escalated like this. It had never felt this personal. Maybe it was the letter from his father that he got this morning, burning a hole in his pocket, feeding that simmering frustration inside him. But even then, there was no excuse for what he'd just said. He didn’t even believe in the Mudblood and Pureblood nonsense, despite his family’s obsession with bloodlines and their obsession with the old ways.

Your hands clenched on your cauldron, lips pulling into a tight line. “You really think that matters?” you chuckle, your voice cold and tight. There's no humour in them. “That your blood status is somehow better than mine?”

Theodore opened his mouth, to apologize, to explain that he hadn’t meant it—but you were already a step ahead. Sure, you and Theodore had clashed since the very first day you were paired for Potions, but this was different. This—this stung. You hadn’t realized just how deep the poison of old bloodlines ran within him. This idea, this poisonous belief, had nearly obliterated your existence from the very first year, before you could even fight for it. You’d fought tooth and nail to carve your place, to prove your worth—and no privileged, entitled prat was going to strip that away. Not now. Not ever.

“Must be nice to have your precious little pureblood status to fall back on, isn’t it?” Your voice cut through him like a dagger. “But maybe you should worry more about whether your daddy's name will protect you when people start asking questions you can’t answer.”

The insult hit him harder than he expected. His father. Theodore had lived in that shadow for years—had been consumed by it—and yet he couldn’t escape it. The weight of the name was suffocating. Every step he took felt like it was tied to his father’s reputation, pulling him further into the depths of expectations he never asked for.

And immediately his mind drifted back to the letter. That morning, a letter had arrived, sealed with his father’s unmistakable crest, a reminder of everything he could never escape. The letter sat heavy in his bag, unopened, as it always was, but its presence alone burned through him. A letter meant to remind him of his place, his bloodline, the legacy that was already set out for him. And now, here he was, echoing the same disdain he’d heard for years.

But this time, it was different. The words he had spat at you lingered, an unforgiving reminder of the man he was trying—and failing—to avoid becoming. What was he doing? Theodore’s mind raced, a blur of confusion and regret. Who did he want to be? The man he had been taught to become—driven by family, tradition, and bloodlines—or the man he feared becoming—the man who followed those ideals blindly, without question, without thought of the consequences?

The world felt like it was choking him again, and for a moment, all he could do was stand there, paralyzed by the sting of your words. The weight of it all pressed down on him—his father’s shadow, his family's expectations, and now, the sudden realization that he had pushed you away. The worst part was that with those words, he had seen the respect you once had for him—his intellect, his hard work, his quiet dedication—fade away. It was replaced by the same look everyone else gave him. The look of someone privileged, spoiled, entitled.

And he didn’t know why it bothered him so much. Why it cut deeper than anything else. But it did. It hurt in a way he couldn't explain, a way he didn’t know how to handle. Maybe it was because, for the first time, you saw him exactly as everyone else did. And that scared him more than anything.

But he wasn’t going to let you see how much it hurt. Without a word, Theodore turned and walked away, his footsteps loud and defiant. He didn’t look back.

.

.

.

That day, you entered your room, slamming the door behind you, the weight of the moment crashing down in a final, thunderous sound. Your bag hit the floor with a dull thud as you sank onto your bed, your thoughts spiraling back to your first year. Back when Draco would make cruel remarks about your non-magical roots, and every word felt like a dagger. It had taken you time—so much time—to accept who you were. The proud daughter of two hardworking, brilliant, loving parents who had raised you with love and strength. And you’d never let anyone—anyone—make you feel ashamed of that again.

Your intellect, your kindness, had always been the things that carried you forward, the things that earned you respect in places where golden blood could never flow. A respect that comes not from your lineage, but from your knowledge. And yet, Theodore’s dismissal of it today stung in a way you hadn’t expected. You couldn’t for the life of you understand why it hurt so much. It was as if he had shattered something delicate—something you had worked so hard to build.

“Hey,” a voice pulled you from your spiraling thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed the door crack open.

Elena, your best friend, stepped into the room with a sympathetic expression, her blonde curls bouncing slightly with each movement. “Bad day?” she asked, already dropping her bag by her desk and crashing next to you on your bed, like the two of you had done, for years.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you flopped back next to her, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know why I let him get to me,” you muttered. “It’s like everything I’ve worked for, all the things I’ve fought to stand by… he just dismissed them like they were nothing.”

Elena raised an eyebrow. She was mad at Nott herself for treating you the way he did in class. “Still thinking about Nott?" She asked, her lips pressed in a thin line.

You winced at the mention of his name. Theodore and you were never friends, but after being partnered up, it's like the last few weeks had been a rollercoaster of awkward glances, clipped conversations, and sudden, uncomfortable silences whenever the two of you were together. There had been moments when you thought things might’ve changed, but the tension was always there, just beneath the surface.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I don’t even know why it matters. He’s just one person. But he—he just has this way of making everything feel… wrong.”

“Well, I mean, that’s Theodore Nott for you,” Elena said with a mischievous grin, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced toward the door. “The broody, annoyingly good-looking Slytherin with a chip on his shoulder.”

You shot her a look, but Elena just shrugged, her expression turning playful. “What? He’s got that whole ‘mysterious bad boy’ thing going on. I’m just saying, it’s hard not to notice. And even harder not to fall for.”

You rolled your eyes, but the teasing tone in her voice made your cheeks warm. “You’ve got a weird taste in guys.”

Elena laughed, unfazed. “I’m not saying I’m interested. But let’s be real here, Theodore Nott is NOT a "weird taste in guys". He's like....” Elene finishes her sentence with a deep sigh, pretending to swoon over that one guy, most girls in your year had tried getting with.

You smiled, despite yourself. “Yeah, well, I used to think he was just some grumpy guy who didn’t care about anything. But there’s something different now. It’s like... he’s always watching. Waiting for me to mess up or something.”

Elena gave you a knowing look and straightens up. “It’s because he’s an absolute idiot, and you’re way too brilliant for him. He probably doesn’t know how to deal with someone who doesn’t fit into his little Slytherin world. But, if you ask me, I think he’s a bit jealous. You’ve got this whole ‘I-don’t-care-what-you-think’ vibe that he could never pull off, and it probably bugs him.”

You shot her a half-smile. “Yes, because it's so hard for Theodore to pull off that vibe. Please. His entire personality says "I don't give a shit" or "I'm too cool for school". Except he is smart as a whip."

"And that bothers you? I don't even know how the two of you got into this academic competition thing anyway." Elena asks with a huff.

You chuckled, shaking your head at the memory. “You know, it actually started in first year. I remember it so clearly.”

Elena raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes fondly. “We were in the library—no surprise there—and I was working on a potion assignment. I had it all figured out, but then I heard this voice. ‘You’re not supposed to add the powdered moonstone before the powdered dragon liver.’ And I looked up to see Theodore, sitting across from me, looking at me with a straight face. Except, his face was flushed. I'm guessing from all that ego boost he was getting from this." You scoffed again.

Elena leaned forward, grinning. “Let me guess, you argued?”

“Of course I did,” you said with a smile. “But then I double-checked, and he was right. He’s insufferable about it.”

"And that was the start." Elena finsihes.

"Yeah" You continue. "Potions and weirdly, Charms was always his thing. DADA and Care of Magical Creatures was mine."

"And both of you are collectively bad at Divination" Elena supplies.

"Hey! We just don't believe in the concept." You defend.

"Riiiight" she drawls playfully.

Elena and you spend the night gossiping about your previous school years. You were so grateful for her. She always had her way of making you feel better about things and distracting you from what hurts you, when you need it.

.

.

.

The next morning, Theodore enters the Potions classroom and immediately notices that you’re not sitting at your usual desk beside him. Just then he heard a melodious laughter, from the back of the room. His eyes snapped to it immediately, as if his body had its own reaction to that laughter he had now gotten used to and somewhere, started to love. And there you are, sitting with another Ravenclaw, whatever-his-name-was, who was whispering something that made you laugh. You’re laughing—something that, only yesterday, he could have made happen with just a quiet remark, a sarcastic comment. The sight twists something inside him, a pang sharper than he expected.

He freezes for a moment, caught off guard by the unfamiliar weight in his chest. Why did it bother him so much? It wasn’t like you were friends. If anything, the two of you had always been at odds, sniping at each other over Potions techniques or study strategies. You were supposed to be rivals—partners by necessity, not choice. So why did seeing you so deliberately avoid him feel like… loss?

He’d spent most of the night replaying his words, hating himself for how easily they’d slipped out. A part of him had thought he’d come in today and—well, not apologize, exactly, but something. Fix it, maybe. Yet now, watching you sit so far away, the distance between you felt bigger than just a few feet. And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why that mattered so damn much. So, in that moment, he did the only thing he could—he kept stealing glances at you. There wasn’t a single trace of yesterday’s storm etched onto your face. It was as if it had never happened. And yet, the ease with which you seemed to have erased it from your mind gnawed at him. He didn't want you to hold onto whatever he had let slip in a moment of weakness, he had spent most of last night trying to erase the memory of your hurt expressions. The fleeting vulnerability that passed through your face in that moment, stabbed at his heart more times than he could have counted. Yet, he didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—why this indifference bothered him so much.

What he doesn’t realize is that you’ve been watching him, too. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him hesitate, his posture tense, his movements less precise than usual. His uniform is rumpled, his tie hanging loose and slightly crooked, a stark contrast to his usual meticulous appearance. His dark circles are more pronounced today, as though he didn’t sleep at all last night, and his hair, usually tousled in a way that feels deliberate, looks like he’s run his hands through it one too many times.

Your frown deepens as you catch the way his jaw clenches and unclenches—a habit you’ve noticed he falls into when he’s agitated. He looks… off. Tired. Worn down.

You try to shake the worry off. He doesn’t deserve your concern, not after yesterday. Still, it’s there, lingering at the back of your mind like a whisper you can’t ignore. You tell yourself you’re just being observant—it’s what you do, after all. But deep down, a part of you wonders why he looks like the weight of the world is pressing on his shoulders. And why you care at all.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you turn towards Nathan and try to focus again on whatever he was saying, his voice a low hum against the storm of thoughts in your head. You nod absently, trying to piece together a response, but the weight of the tension in the room—of him—is impossible to ignore.

Nathan says something that might have been a joke, and you force yourself to muster up a smile, hoping it looks convincing. You don’t want him to notice your mind is elsewhere, but it is. Despite your best efforts, your thoughts keep drifting back to Theodore: his rumpled uniform, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders seemed to sag just a little more today.

You shift in your seat, gripping your quill tighter than necessary, willing yourself to stay present. Whatever this is—this inexplicable worry that keeps pulling at you—it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. But no matter how hard you try to push it away, the image of him, sitting there in silence, keeps creeping back into your mind.

The bell rings, pulling you out of your thoughts, to signal the end of the lesson, and Theodore watches as you gather your things quickly, almost too quickly, like you're trying to avoid anything that might make your paths cross. You don’t even glance in his direction. It’s like he’s invisible, like all the moments, the words, the discussions you’ve shared have been wiped away in an instant.

But as you reach the door, something unexpected happens. You pause, just for a fraction of a second, your hand gripping the frame as though you’re hesitating. Theodore catches the movement, his heart leaping despite himself. He doesn’t know what he’s hoping for—an accusation, an apology, a glance, anything—but then you step out without looking back, leaving him sitting there, alone with his thoughts.

He stares at the empty doorway, jaw tightening as the silence in the classroom swallows him whole. And then, as if on instinct, his fingers brush against the letter in his pocket—the one from his father, the one he hasn’t stopped thinking about since yesterday. His gaze flicks to the spot where you’d been sitting.

“Tomorrow,” he mutters under his breath, so low even he barely hears it. “I’ll fix this tomorrow.”

.

.

.

[fushiguruuzzzz]

00 :: MEET THE EMPLOYEES (intros)

series mlist | gen mlist

GROUPCHAT 01 :: KIYOKO FANS UNITED

Hitched since freshman year, it’s unusual to see any of them without the other unless it’s Tsukki and Yams. It might not look like it but there’s a lot of love I PROMISE! Yn and Kiyoko are planning on moving in with each other for uni but yns parents make it… difficult.

Tsukki wants to be mysterious so bad. Like no pfp no banner but he refuses to private his account because he believes that would make him weak (for some reason he has beef with twitter??). It’s okay though because Noya and Shoyo embarrass him in public and even it out. Yn is very whimsical she taught sho that word and now he won’t stop using it. Everyone is sick and tired except for her.

GROUPCHAT 02 :: COURTESY OF UNC

Kuroo made the group chat. Kuroo is unc. They all live together in an apartment close to both uni and work/where yn lives, which gives everyone a little too much freedom. Nobody can remember the last time these mfs spent a full 24h in their own home.

Akaashi parents all of them he is a single mother balancing two jobs and housework. Kenma is the teen that refuses to take care of himself or come out of his room, Bokuto can’t be trusted with a butter knife, and kuroo alternates between responsible father and big brother that instigates all of their tomfoolery. Save Keiji pls I beg.

GROUPCHAT 03 :: 100% PROFESSIONAL GC

Includes yn, Kuroo, Kiyoko, akaashi, daichi, and yams. Everyone keeps assuming Kiyoko is in charge (she basically is) and Daichi is SICK and TIRED. Someone grant my boy his authorative title he gets scary when he’s pissed off.

Kiyoko and Daichi have been working there the longest (since they were the required age actually—one year before yn could work there considering she’s a year younger than them), Shimizu got yn her job there once she could because she was sick of the men because she missed her bestie. Then Akaashi was hired, and shortly after came Yams. Lastly was Kuroo, which is elaborated in the prologue.

Age hierarchy: Kiyoko, Daichi, Kuroo (uni third years) | yn, akaashi (uni second years) | yams (uni freshman)

taglist open (check masterlist for updated status)

@adoresia @kawoala @sahrii @angeleilee @gumims @cinnamxnangel @44twentytwo @bubybubsters @cherrysurf @s6rine @saintcosette @mayyhaps @jayathelostdragon @azinniyaa

[respectthepetty]

Background Noise - Futtara Doshaburi

I liked that right after returning the umbrellas to the restaurant, the guys had to take refuge in a nearby building to escape from the unexpected rain.

And it gave a peak into their reactions when the unexpected happens. Hagiwara Kazuakia laughs. He finds joy in the break of monotony, but Nakarai Sei pauses and assesses.

Then he explores.

And while he reflects on the pieces and his placement with them,

Hagiwara Kazuakia gets far more personal with the art and inserts his physical presence in the art.

This was also seen in their responses to the "two types of women" question since Hagiwara Kazuakia, who is sexually frustrated with his girlfriend, saw women as objects to be fucked or not fucked, and Nakarai Sei, who is sexually attracted to men, viewed women as an aesthetic who either put on makeup in front of others or didn't.

The building they enter is an actual gallery, and a majority of the artwork is Akio Omori's, but without knowing the artist's intentions, his artwork seems to rest in a space of spirituality and the feminine, which is an interesting theme for these two to journey through together.

The flowers, which are viewed as feminine object, have some spiritual correlation. The translation of the first dark flower, which could be incorrect, is "Devil's Thoughts" and it seems to have dragon-like wings and thorns. The second red flower with its gold butterfly-like wings that Nakarai Sei closely looked at was titled "Angel's Face," so we have the abstract (thought) and the physical (face), but also good and evil.

And this dichotomy runs throughout the pieces, yet it's more of a question of the complexity of two supposedly different ideas since both flowers are still beautiful and tempting, which we also see with the celestial bodies.

Red is normally the color associated with the devil and aggression. But also love, and the red figure with its gold wings has the halo. It's the angel.

While the blue and white figure, which are normally colors associated with purity and heaven, has the dragon wings and the spiked tail. It is the devil.

Then we come to the grand piece that resides in another space separated from the rest.

As a Catholic, I immediately saw La Virgen.

But I also noted the shaped of the statue because it looks like a vulva.

And it wouldn't be the first time I saw a vulva in art when that was never the artist's intention (hello, Georgia O'Keeffe, we meet again!), but I do think it adds to the way each man reacts to the piece since they have already walked through a room that has planted the foundation for complex thought since the piece is about a devout woman who ascends to heaven while her chest is partially exposed. The piece is about heaven/God/good, and although the bare chest isn't sexual, there is something about the shape of the statue and the exposure that makes it feel a little tempting, like the flowers.

Hagiwara Kazuakia, the one who enjoys the unexpected, the one who gets closer to the art, the one who inserts himself into the art, sees it as a female statue that reminds him of his sexual frustrations. But Nakarai Sei, the one who pauses and reflects, the one who keeps his distance, the one who thinks about himself in relation to the art, sees it as a wooden statue which, although exposed, can't decide if the statue is obscene or sad. It's the "two type of women" question all over again.

Because just like Fujisawa Kazuaki stated, "no matter what I pick, it will apply to men too. Traits that befit women or men don't really exist," so the men aren't simply looking at art that is nestled in the complex relationship between the feminine and spiritual, but they are examining themselves.

Then the rain stops.

In their relationships, the men dream about the past and the future, but only question the present with each other. Hagiwara Kazuakia hates that he can hear the rain in his apartment because it reminds him of what he once had with his girlfriend. He is stuck in the same cycle of replaying the past.

Nakarai Sei hates that he cannot hear the ran in his apartment because it reminds him of how alone he is and what he will never have. He is stuck in a prison he refuses to leave.

And yet Nakarai Sei stood in the rain outside of the restaurant and Hagiwara Kazuakia tried to provide him shelter from the rain. The past and future collided in the present.

So when they arrived on the gallery's steps after returning the umbrellas, Nakarai Sei went inside to hide from the rain, and Hagiwara Kazuakia laughed as he enjoyed the surprise of it.

The art is them. Neither is simply one thing. They are complex. But they also a pair. We have the angel with its spiked tail and the devil with the halo. We have the winged flowers. We have a man who hates the rain yet laughs when it does rain and one who misses the rain yet hides when it does rain. And I think that is why they have this yin and yang quality to them. They see things differently, yet neither is fully right or wrong. They are the celestial figures. They are the statue. They are frustration and sadness. But they need the other one so they can understand that.

They are getting to know themselves by understanding the other. They want BOTH intimacy and sex, but they are figuring that out as they ask more questions of the other since for the first time they are focusing on the present, so their responses to finding out that their pen pal is right next to them after Hagiwara Kazuakia sends the email about the rain noise app is the same response they had when it rained. Nakarai Sei sits in it and thinks it over, and Hagiwara Kazuakia laughs. Because it's the unexpected.

And for two men who keep going through the motions of what is expected of them, they need the other one to shake up their expectations of what is right, what is good, what it is be a man

And what it means to love.

[muffinsin]

Hii! Can I please have some headcanons of the Dimitrescu Daughters with a new little sister that Alcina created with the Cadou?

For sure :) I’ve done something very similar to this before, so I’ll leave it linked here if I find it

Let’s get into it🙌

Masterlists

Alcina didn’t quite plan on having another daughter, per say

The thought just rarely crossed her mind, really

Of course, there were times she thought back to the early days in her daughters’ lives, back when they messily grabbed at her clothing for comfort, unsteady on their shaky, weak legs that just kept on turning into swarms of flies, much to their frustration

When they whined and snarled for attention, when they bit at her hands affectionately, unable to express their adoration and happiness in many other ways

Back when they were just reborn, when they were but little swarms of flies and limbs, their eyes wide and curious as they took in the world

Occasionally, she thinks of the wonder in their eyes, of teaching them and showing them new things

Of their achievements, their little giggles once they finally understood how to swarm

Alas, the thought of actually taking in another daughter hasn’t crossed her mind

She has her three precious girls already, after all

Her precious eldest, so smart, headstrong, and caring. Her pride, her successor. Her Bela, her eldest

Her fierce Cassandra, improving her tactics day after day so Alcina is sure she will outnumber her kills and outmatch her as it comes to the hunt in no time. She couldn’t be any prouder

Her sweet Daniela, playful and curious, energetic and clingy. Her sunshine, capable of bringing a fond smile to her face even when she storms into her room snarling and whining, complaining about her sisters or the staff as she often does. Of course, to Alcina, her little Daniela could do no wrong. None of her daughters, for that matter

She’s happy with them, honored they chose, accepted, her as their mother

But then, something odd

A call, an offer, directly from Mother Miranda

A reject, a woman reborn through the cadou, much like her daughters

Alone? Surely, you would not survive

No, Alcina Dimitrescu didn’t think of asking for another daughter, already so happy and fond of her three little flies

But, being summoned to Miranda’s lab and seeing the little fly pile move and toss and to hear the whines from within…

Alcina Dimitrescu is a mother

And when a little hand reached out from the pile of flies and blindly reached for her dress, just as she remembers her daughters once did, it was over

She takes you in on the same day, eager to bring you to your new home

This, of course, leaves Bela, Cassandra and Daniela…confused

While the brunette believes you might be prey brought home for dinner, Daniela squeals happily at the sight of you, gushing about how cute you are, whining and swatting at your own flies

Bela, as often, observes with a calculating gaze

And only when Alcina clarifies your status as their younger sister, things turn a little…messy

While they aren’t proud of it and often feel guilty for it, your three older sisters did not cope well when you were brought into the family

Often, they would stay away, plagued by insecurity and jealousy after it was just the three of them for so long

You grow fast, clinging to Alcina and sneaking glances at the three beautiful, intimidating women mama said are your sisters

You don’t understand much at the start, your body and mind remade after being reborn. But, you like them

You like them even as they don’t talk to you in the early stages, when they can’t even bear to look at you after seeing Alcina shower you in attention

Of course, the mother of four tried her best to balance things out, to show them, this doesn’t change her love for them

But you’re reborn, dependent, young. You need her constant attention, unlike them, biologically speaking. You’re her youngest, now. And they don’t like that, for a long time

Funnily enough it’s Bela who interacts with you first, after a few months of being reborn, when she dares sneak a peak at you again

She often used to tell herself she doesn’t care for you, that she doesn’t like you, perhaps even hates you for taking her mother. She knew even then, it isn’t true, was never true

But the jealousy…

She’d sometimes venture into your room, her golden eyes set on you. Sometimes, you’d respond, a happy smile

And one time, one day, she interacts with you

She doesn’t want to, really, didn’t mean for it to happen

She watched you try to climb from the large bed you’re on- a bed made to fit Alcina, not one of (somewhat-) human stature

She watched you fall

And before she could help herself, she caught you, unwilling to see you get hurt

From then on, she’s a little friendlier to you

Yes, you took her mama’s attention from her, but she can’t help but care for you, still, feeling your swarm even in the early days

(-in the time to come, Alcina would regularly schedule time for each of her daughters, as she did in the early days of her eldest 3, to ensure all still feel her care and get to bask in her attention)

Daniela was next, comes around when you became old enough to understand words and babble quietly to yourself and others

While she used to feel a fierce sense of jealousy, having been the youngest of the family before you, she couldn’t help but think of all those times she craved her family’s attention

When she so badly wanted someone to play with, all alone in the big castle when mama had to work

When Bela studied, when Cassa trained

She figured, she could try being that person for you. Just to give it a try

And so, one day, you find your older sister sat with you on your mama’s bed, rambling on and moving her hands as she talks for hours to no end

You don’t understand most of what she’s saying, but you like it, still

Especially back then already, you loved Daniela’s voice. She’s the most energetic out of your older sisters. She’d ramble for hours. As you got older, this would cause lonely hours to pass fast and to make you smile even on bad days

Then, lastly, Cassandra

She never cared much for being at you at the start, something she is deeply ashamed of to this day

She just didn’t see the point in being with someone unable to talk, walk, hunt, or even train with. Such boring company, really!

But, she’d stay with you at times, sharpen her weapon while sitting by your side, grumble about this and that

Quality time, or something like that, her sisters had insisted

It isn’t you she doesn’t like, really. Just the lack of things to do with you, at the start

But, as you grow older, grow from a toddler-like mind state to the one of a child, of a teen, she already becomes much more involved

Cassandra quickly becomes your go-to person to turn to when you want to have fun

Even on bad days, she can make you roll with laughter

She teaches you how to hunt, teaches you how to sneak out, how to scare your sisters

The two of you become very close, and much like with her sisters, she turns out to be fiercely protective of you

They all are, for that matter

With three sisters and your mother up and about the castle, you never have no one to turn to

When Bela and mother are busy, there’s always the option of chatting with Daniela or helping Cassandra out

She especially likes to show you how to hunt and prepare meat

Funnily enough, Cassandra is also the only one to encourage you to visit the basements and hunt early on- under supervision for safety, of course

You’re a Dimitrescu, after all. You have no one to fear, nothing at all, not even the basement

Should you show interest, this sister is more than eager to teach you to hunt and fight, to train you, to introduce you to her favorite torture methods and so on

About this, even she can ramble on for hours

When it comes to gossiping or deep emotional talks, though, you know Cassandra is not the one to seek out. She’s just not that type of person, but will hold and try to comfort you nonetheless whenever she notices you’re in distress and she can’t actively do something to help by killing whoever is responsible for your sorrow

Bela, you find, is an excellent listener and teacher

You can always come to her, will always find her room open to you

She’s stricter than your other two siblings, more mature, and it somewhat shows

She tries to raise you to be your best, at times, and it shows

Bela teaches you to read, write, how to think critically and make good choices

She understands, you are the youngest. She just attempts to raise you to a higher level of maturity than her playful, younger sisters nonetheless

That being said, she will still always have an open ear for you, and open arms ready to wrap around you

And, while Cassandra and Daniela both claim she’s uptight and a snitch at times, you find; Bela never tells on you

She scolds, yes, ensures you never do things again by explaining why they were bad. But she never tells on you, never tells Mother when you did something bad or stupid

She insists, she trusts you will take her warnings and explanations to heart and stay out of trouble when you can

And lastly, a complete opposite;

Daniela

Your most playful sister by far, and the most random and spontaneous one

While Bela tries to help you become more mature and think critically, Daniela loves to just have fun, regardless of what the consequences may be

Like this, she often (nearly-) gets you in trouble, times when both of you stand in front of your mother, awkwardly looking away to avoid her disappointed glances

That is, at least, up to the point when Daniela pulls out the most effective puppy eyes you will ever see, effectively lessening your punishment or making your mother forget she was upset with the two of you in the first place

Regrettably, Daniela does not teach you this move, insists it’s for her to know alone

But, you find something almost as effective

You find, merely pleading with your mother and reminding her of the early days in your life does the trick

No matter how upset, she will always calm and smile when you bring up how much you love her and- oh, yes, can she remember the time you’d cling to her, too young to walk? Why not tell you the story of it again?

Like this, all her anger and disappointment is gone

You, and your sisters, will forever just be her little flies, after all, forever her little, buzzing swarms in her eyes

[felixcloud6288]

Dungeon Meshi Chapter 68

Over this readthrough, I've refused to call Thistle the Lunatic Magician like everyone else does. I don't remember if it was because I didn't like the title or if it was because I wanted to know more before jumping on the bandwagon.

At this point, it's safe to argue that Thistle is not insane or a lunatic or anything like that. He acts the way he does because he can only see the world the way the Winged Lion wants him to.

This chapter is happening concurrently with the last one.

I like those moments where the villains are shown to not be the all-powerful chess masters they appear to be. We saw back in chapter 55 that Thistle is actually pretty weak if he doesn't have his magic. And we're seeing how horribly anxious he gets when he loses control of the situation. He first appeared as this terrifying, unstoppable force. But now he's kind of pathetic.

And he had the equivalent of a secret Tumblr blog from 2014 where he posted his cringe teen emo angst poetry. I bet those diaries are full of self-shipping fanfics with Delgal. And I bet Marcille read all of them and loved them.

The flashback answers a few minor history questions I had asked before. The Winged Lion was worshiped before the kingdom became a dungeon and the ancient elf/dwarf war happened before the kingdom became a dungeon, not because of it.

The enemies in the flashback are dwarves.

The castle was built on top of a Dwarf-style dungeon that used to be a Dwarf town that was later taken over by the elves. So the current dungeon is actually two different dungeons where the newer Golden Kingdom castle dungeon enveloping the older Dwarf ruins dungeon. Maybe that fancy door on the sixth floor was the original entrance to the inner dungeon.

Considering how the dungeons will shift to fulfill desires, maybe worship of the Winged Lion came first and the demon in the dungeon both took on its appearance to seem more trustworthy and placed that statue in the dungeon as bait.

Thistle's eyes became demon eyes when he summoned the monsters to slaughter the invaders. He's willing to fight and kill to protect those he cares about, but his violent nature is from the demon's influence.

Also, there's a thing with spider legs in the group of monsters so giant spiders might be a thing.

B-baby basilisk. Is so dorable and fluff.

That magic curcle looks a lot like what Marcille drew to resurrect Falin. She said it connected Falin to the dungeon so maybe this is Thistle giving the fifth floor its layout changing effect.

Yaad looks just like Eodio when he was little.

Thistle laid out the royal family's bodies exactly like how they sat at the table. He still has the memory of being close to the royal family and is trying to preserve it, but he doesn't remember why it's precious.

They're eating and talking and sharing a meal together, and that's what made this moment a cherished memory.

I looked back at a few chapters where ghosts appear or are mentioned because I was hoping to find Eodio or his wife somewhere. Instead I discovered that the panels in chapter 46 where Yaad talks about the ghosts losing their bodies and the panel where everyone recalls Laios turning them into sorbet were copy/pasted panels from chapter 30 and 11. Anyway, I didn't find a ghost that I could tell looked like either of them.

Yaad was born in the dungeon so there's (presumably) nothing actually stopping anyone from having children now. Either the kingdom people are so dismotivated that they aren't bothering to raise families, or Thistle later blocked their ability to have kids since Eodio wanted to leave the dungeon to show Yaad the outside world.

Thistle's eyes took on a demonic appearance when he ripped Eodio's soul from his body. If not for the lion's influence on him, Thistle may have agreed to have everyone leave the dungeon. It's in the lion's best interest to keep everyone trapped in the dungeon so it can feed on them though.

Confirmed: Hats don't have souls.

Hold up!! Marcille IS a half-elf? I mean, I already speculated that might be true, but it's told so matter-of-factly that I almost missed that detail. And Thistle could tell she's a half-elf so there must be some physical trait that distinguishes her from full elves. The only thing I can tell right now is Marcille's ears are rounded at the end while every other elf's ears are pointed.

Thistle used to wear his mage garbs when he acted as a dungeon lord, but now he wears the jester clothes instead. He even uses his flute as his magic catalyst. Maybe it's because he's stuck in the past. But it is an apt design; the magician is a fool manipulated by the lion.

But similar to what I said at the start of this post, the lion is shown to not be as capable of manipulating others as it seems. At some point, it horribly miscalculated some things and Thistle is completely out of its control. It has to get Laios to bail it out because it screwed up.

Oh. So it really was Delgal who went to the surface. He just did it in Eodio's body. I just really want Delgal to show up in the story cause he's been such an important figure through all this.

back

[arduousflame]

Stay, you are safe.

Needed something soft between these 2.

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

“Lucanis, is everything all right?” Rook’s head peeked over the banister. Below, the Crow had been rolling his shoulders, pacing in tight circles around the chairs. She didn’t miss the pained scowl flickering across his features.

“Ah, I’m fine. Just a bit stiff after that last stint in Rivain.” Lucanis waved a hand dismissively, but Rook kept looking down at him, and after a few seconds, her head tilted slightly.

“Rook, I’m fine,” he insisted, his tone firmer this time.

Her silence stretched, unbroken except for the soft creak of wood under her weight. Then she replied, dryly, “You want to tell Viago that?”

Lucanis chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “A round of stretches and some rest should do it.” He rolled his shoulders again, forcing himself to straighten.

Rook disappeared from view, but only for a moment. When she reappeared at the top of the staircase, she was rubbing her arms. A telltale habit, one he recognized as uncertainty.

“I… might have something that could help?” she offered, hesitating just enough to give herself away. Her words hung in the air as her cheeks flushed pink. “Ah, only if you want to, of course!”

Lucanis paused, tilting his head at her, intrigued.

“I learned some massage techniques…” She trailed off, her voice quieter now. “Long story, but I could help ease some of the discomfort. I know where and how you ‘rest’ and that’s only going to make it worse.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, but when she finished, she froze like a statue, bracing herself for his response.

Lucanis crossed his arms, leaning back slightly on the balls of his feet. He didn’t speak right away.

Rook’s face faltered—just barely, but enough for him to notice. Her smile returned a tad too quickly. “Never mind,” she said, her voice light, her words rushed. “Forget I asked.”

In truth, he was conflicted.

A part of him, a loud, insistent part, longed to say yes.. To let her closer. To feel her warmth, not just in her laugh or the brightness of her smile, but in her touch. The kind of touch that wasn’t born of battle—when outstretched hands met to steady or warn—but something softer, more deliberate.

He envied the others sometimes, how freely she gave her affections. The way she hugged Bellara and Harding every morning, unreserved and easy. How she bumped shoulders with Davrin and Taash, playful and familiar. The way she leaned in conspiratorially with Neve, or the quiet focus in her hands when Emmrich taught her a new spell.

But with him…

She always kept her distance. She’d step aside to let him pass, hand him a blade so their fingers wouldn’t brush. Her laughter and her smiles she gave him freely, but her touch? That, she withheld.

He’d start to think Rook did not care for him, now that he was a literal demon.

But the truth was, he did the same to her. Illario had always been the suave one. How

Lucanis exhaled softly, shifting his weight. “Rook,” he began, his voice low.

Her eyes snapped to his, cautious but still hopeful.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer,” he said. A small smile tugged at his lips. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

For a moment, her expression was unreadable. Then, a bright, genuine smile broke across her face. “Of course. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.” She took a step back on the landing. “Give me a minute,” she said, “let me grab some stuff. Meet you in your room?”

He did not trust his voice anymore; so he only nodded. The soft fast taps of her bare feet on the wood betrayed her enthusiasm she hid so well in her words and voice.

Was this really happening? Had he actually said yes, letting her get just a little closer? The last five minutes kept replaying in her mind, over and over, as she hurried back to her room.

The thought was still a whirlwind as she dumped her pack onto the bed, rummaging frantically for that small tin of numbing balm. Her fingers closed around it, and before she could lose her nerve, she was rushing back down the hall toward the dining room.

It was late—thank the Maker—so she didn’t run into anyone. Rook was grateful for that, sure that anyone who saw her now would immediately notice the telltale flush on her cheeks. She did have a reputation to uphold.

She skidded to a halt in front of the large doors of the hall. A deep breath in. A deep breath out.

She stamped her feet lightly on the floor, a giddy little motion that she immediately scolded herself for. Stop that, Rook. Compose yourself. She shook her head, willing the excitement to settle. The last thing she wanted was to scare him off now. Not when he’d finally let her in, even just a little.

Steeling herself, she raised her fist to knock on the pantry door when his voice called out: “Come in, Rook.”

Of course he’d heard her coming.

Her heart gave an unsteady flutter as she pushed the door open, just enough to peek inside. There he was—Lucanis, sitting on the edge of his cot, a coffee cup in hand. His posture was tense, his right shoulder slightly drawn back in a way that made it clear to her that he was in much more pain than he’d ever let on.

“I got the stuff I needed,” she said, her voice coming out softer than she intended. She hesitated a moment, then stepped fully into the room, holding up the small metal tin for him to see. “For your shoulder,” she added, a bit sheepishly.

The words hung in the air, and for a fleeting second, her nerves threatened to overtake her. But then, his gaze met hers—not sharp or dismissive, but steady, with the faintest flicker of something she couldn’t quite place.

It was enough. She took another step forward and closed the door behind her.

“How do you want to go about this?” Did he sound nervous?

“Well, it’d be easiest if you sat on the ground... Then I could sit behind you on the cot.” She hesitated, then added quickly, “Oh, and no need to take off your shirt! I’ll be careful not to get any balm on it.”

He regarded her silently for a moment before lowering himself to the floor, cross-legged and straight-backed, as always. She’d never catch him slouch, she was sure. He placed the empty cup on the crate he used as bedside table.

On the tips of her toes, she moved to perch behind him on the cot. Normally, she’d steady herself by slipping her legs around the person she was working on. But not this time. She tucked her legs beneath her, sitting back on her knees instead.

The tin resisted her efforts, her fingers fumbling briefly before she finally pried the lid open. The faint scent of the balm filled the air as she dabbed some onto her fingers. But then, just as she was about to begin, she froze. Her hands hovered over his shoulders, unsure.

“Ready?” she asked softly.

Lucanis didn’t answer, only nodded, leaning back ever so slightly. Barely noticeable, but enough.

Now or never, before the spell broke.

The warmth of his skin was immediate, still lingering from his pacing in front of the fire. He stiffened at her first touch, muscles rippling beneath her fingertips like a coiled predator, taut and poised to strike. The tightness where his shoulder met his neck spoke of strain—too much time spent on edge.

She started lightly, her fingers brushing across his neck and shoulders, searching, mapping. Prodding carefully here and there to gauge his reactions—was the discomfort from pain or from her touch?

It didn’t take long to find the source of his pain: a stubborn knot along his scapula, the skin warm with tension. Her movements grew more assured when he didn’t flinch or pull away, her hands working in firm, measured circles.

“Tell me if it gets to be too much,” she said, her voice steady but low. “Or if you need a break. Just say the word, and I’ll stop.”

His reply was a hum, deep and low, vibrating faintly through her hands. She’d take that as consent.

They sat in silence for several minutes, broken only by the occasional soft wince when her fingers pressed a tender spot. Her nose was scrunching in concentration.

At this point, Rook was sure she was more nervous than Lucanis. Finally, she felt him begin to relax under her touch, his tension melting away bit by bit. Emboldened by this shift, she rested her free forearm on his opposite shoulder, subtly bracing him against her as she applied a bit more pressure.

The silence lingered, heavy but not unpleasant, until it was finally broken by his low voice. “Where did you learn this?”

Her hand stilled for just a moment before resuming its rhythm. “When my mother died,” she began, her voice quiet, “and before he lost his fortune, my father got involved with a courtesan. She... took pity on me. I guess she saw a young girl without a mother figure and wanted to help. She called them ‘useful life skills.’” A faint, hollow laugh escaped her lips. “Let’s just say this was the one I kept up with. I realized it could come in handy in more ways than one when I joined House de Riva.”

Her hands faltered again, this time longer, as she blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears that blurred her vision.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Lucanis said gently, his voice softer now. She felt him shift, starting to turn toward her.

Panic flickered through her. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her cry. “Ah, no, don’t move!” she said quickly, patting his shoulder to keep him in place. “You’ll pull the knot. Stay still.”

Her words were firm, but her touch was light, her fingers resuming their work with renewed focus. She hoped the slight tremor in her voice had gone unnoticed.

Despite herself, wanting nothing more than to stay this close, Rook finally asked, “How does this feel? It should be better now, right?”

Lucanis flexed his shoulder and stretched out his arm, testing the range of motion. “Ah, this is much better.”

Rook leaned back on her legs, settling her hands in her lap. Already, she missed the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. She tried not to dwell on it as her fellow Crow turned toward her.

“Thank you, Rook,” he said, his tone sincere. “I must admit, I was… a bit hesitant. But this really eased the pain.”

His eyes met hers—warm, dark, and so impossibly soft.

“Well,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light despite the flutter in her chest, “can’t have you out of commission. I’ve got to keep my team in fighting shape.”

A chuckle escaped him, followed by a small shake of his head. But before Rook could savor the moment, he winced sharply, his hand flying to his face.

“Lucanis?” she asked, instinctively reaching out.

He waved her off, his other hand resting on his knee as he shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just Spite.”

“Did I upset him?” she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Those dark eyes found hers again, holding her gaze for a moment longer than she expected. “Trust me,” he said, his voice low, “you’re not the one he’s upset with. On the contrary.”

The last part was barely above a murmur, so faint Rook wasn’t sure if she’d truly heard it or imagined it entirely.

“I better get another brew going. There will be no sleep for me tonight.”

“You do need to sleep, Lucanis.” Rook did not say it outright, but the implication hang between them: the only reason Lucanis got hurt, was because he lost his edge in the field. Another night of no sleep. A moment too slow and the Antaam’s hammer had hit him square on the arm.

She stepped off the bed and motioned for him to sit back down.

“I’m fine, Rook, really,” he protested.

Rook wasn’t having it—not now, not anymore. The nervousness she’d felt earlier in the evening had burned away, replaced by a sharper edge of worry. She’d deal with the implications of bossing a Dellamorte around later. Right now, she spoke as his leader.

“I know some other techniques that might help you relax,” she said firmly, her tone leaving little room for argument. “I can stay here, keep an eye on Spite.”

A flash of panic crossed his eyes, brief but unmistakable.

“Lucanis, please.” Her voice softened. “Let me help. Next time, you might not get off with just a stiff shoulder.”

At last, his resistance cracked. He sighed, shoulders slumping. “What do you need me to do?”

She stepped closer, leaning over him to grab a cushion and placed it against the opposite side of the bed. “Lie down,” she instructed.

His movements were slow, reluctant. As he lowered himself onto the bed, she grabbed another blanket from the corner, folding it neatly and plopping it on the floor by his headrest. She could feel his eyes tracking her every move.

He lay back at last, arms crossed over his stomach, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m not sure about—”

“Same as before,” she cut him off gently. “Just give the word, and I’ll stop. But let me try before you call it quits. Can you do that?”

A pause. Then a nod.

Rook moved behind him again, settling onto the folded blanket at the edge of the bed. Her hands, still slick from the balm, hovered for a moment before she went to work.

This time, she let her fingers drift along his throat, up his jaw, and into his hair. His breaths deepened, steady and slow. A soft hum of appreciation escaped him, so low she almost didn’t catch it.

Rook couldn’t suppress the small smile that crept onto her lips. Not so bad after all, she thought.

She kept up her slow, rhythmic movements until she was certain he had fully surrendered to her ministrations. His breathing softened, slowing to the steady cadence that teetered on the edge of sleep.

Carefully—so carefully—she slipped one arm along the curve of his neck, letting her hand rest lightly on his chest. Beneath her palm, she felt the faintest hitch in his breath, a tiny stutter that made her pause. But he didn’t pull away or speak. Instead, after a moment, his breathing evened out again, the tension melting from his body.

With her other hand, she tilted his head ever so gently until his cheek came to rest against her forearm. His eyes were closed now, lashes dark against his skin. For the first time in what felt like ages, that perpetual furrow between his brows had smoothed out. His face, so often marked by strain or focus, was slack and soft in a way she’d rarely seen before.

Her fingers traced lower, brushing along the line of his neck and dipping toward his collarbone. His chest rose and fell beneath her touch, his breaths slow and deep. At last, she was certain he’d fallen completely asleep.

Still, Rook didn’t stop right away. She kept going for a while longer, her movements gentle and unhurried, until her fingers began to cramp. Only then did she still her hands—one resting on his chest, the other cradling his head against her arm.

She sat there quietly, gazing down at the man in her arms.

Catching herself, Rook tried to pull her arms back, ready to let the man finally sleep undisturbed. But as she began to lift her hand, it was caught by another—his.

Her breath hitched as she looked down to see a faint purple glow streaking through his eyes. The voice, low and resonant, was unmistakable. “Stay.”

His hand rested heavy over hers, a weight that felt both firm and pleading.

“Spite,” she said. She ran her free hand gently through Lucanis’ hair again, her fingers combing through the dark strands with deliberate care. The response was immediate: a satisfied hum, deep and almost content, reverberated through him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised.

The demon’s eyes drifted closed, and his voice followed, barely a whisper, rough around the edges. “Rook is safe. Warm. He dreamt of this. Stay.”

Did he really?

“I’ll stay,” she said softly, finally, her hand stilling against his hair, resting there like an anchor.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The soft tapping beneath his hand stirred him awake, all his senses snapping to attention. Blinking against the faint glow of candlelight, he glanced down to find the source of the sensation: a hand, covered by his own, twitching faintly in sleep.

His gaze followed the hand to its owner. She sat behind him on the ground, her head resting on her other arm, blonde hair falling messily across her face.

The events of the night before trickled back to him slowly. The offer. The warmth. The weight of her presence at his back. It all came rushing in, a quiet tide that brought with it an unfamiliar sense of calm.

His slight movement must have disturbed her, because she began to stir as well.

“Oh, good morning,” she murmured, her voice soft and tinged with sleep. A yawn escaped her lips. “Is it morning?”

“Spite says so,” he replied, his voice lower than usual, still rough with lingering sleep. “We slept a few hours, at least.”

Rook pulled her hand free from his, and already he missed the weight of it. She stretched lazily, arching her back with a contented sigh.

“Must say,” she began, a teasing lilt in her voice, “not the worst place I’ve slept. At least there are no fish here to judge me.”

He blinked at her, caught off guard. “The Fade fish are judging you?”

“Yes, the beady-eyed bastards,” she replied without missing a beat, tilting her head as though to listen for any phantom aquatic critics.

Lucanis stared, equal parts bewildered and amused.

“No one in the kitchen yet,” she observed, brushing her hair back and rising to her feet. “You want some coffee?”

“I’ll make it,” he said quickly, pushing himself upright.

“Oh, that was a quick dismissal,” she laughed, raising a brow.

He smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Viago taught you a lot. Unfortunately, I must agree with him on one point: the tenaciousness of your Ferelden heritage.”

“Tenaciousness?” she repeated, crossing her arms and mock-scowling at him.

“You at least appreciate coffee, which saves you from complete condemnation,” he continued, his tone turning dry. “But between you and Harding, I’d never willingly accept a cup from either of you. No offence.”

Rook gasped, clutching her chest in exaggerated horror. “Oh, no offence at all! Next time, I’ll be sure to serve it lukewarm and watered down, just for you.”

“Kind of you,” he drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching.

She laughed again, the sound warm and bright, and he felt the strange tension of the morning ease just a little.

“I hope you got some rest, Lucanis.” Her tone softened, becoming more serious.

“I... did. Thank you.” He inclined his head in a small bow, his hand resting lightly over his heart. But then, he hesitated, tilting his head with a faint look of surprise. “Spite wants to thank you as well, it seems.”

Rook’s smile returned, warm and reassuring. “Good. I’m here if you need anything, either of you.” Her tone turned playful again as she added, “Now, let’s see if you’ve accomplished what Viago apparently could not. It’s been far too long since I’ve had a chance to properly rile him up. Coffee?”

[downins]

.☘︎ ݁˖𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇, 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍.☘︎ ݁˖ (caitlyn kiramman headcanons)

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────────────

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗅𝗒𝗇 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗂𝖼𝖾𝗁𝗈𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗒!𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝖾𝗋, 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗇!𝖺𝗎

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀(𝗌): 𝗎𝗌𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒/𝗇, 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────────────

how you meet:

‣ given the sport you play, you're have a prominent social status in high school. everybody was head over heels for you, even the girls. you never found it difficult to charm your way into getting what you want, not even once

‣ caitlyn wasn't one of them, she knew better than to fawn over some high school jock. although, there were brief moments where she had to stop what she was doing and take a look at you

‣ unfortunately, due to long practice hours and upcoming tournaments for the season, you were sort of falling behind on certain classes. so, you took it upon yourself to study at the school library after classes to go over the materials and complete mock exams

‣ caitlyn prefers to spend her spare time in the library, mostly to read or just complete her assignments. after a couple weeks, she noticed that your visits to the library were getting more frequent and that intrigued her

‣ she never tried to initiate any conversation with you up until one day where she saw you struggling with history. you were frantically flipping through the pages of the textbook and had your head plopped down on the table

‣ "are you alright?" her tone was neutral but there was a glimpse of concern too, she pulled the chair then taking a seat beside you. "no i'm dying" you mumbled under your breath as you leaned your chin to the heel of your hand

‣ your response cracked her up a little, she took your history book and flipped through your notes. "these are well written and very organised, i'm impressed honestly" she said as she read through them. you thanked her and fixed your posture to have another attempt at trying to comprehend your notes

‣ ever since then, the two of you have been meeting up after school at the library and sitting in the same spot. you take turns teaching each other and your friendship with her grew closer

how she fell for you:

‣ being with caitlyn, allowed you to actually be yourself unlike when you're with your other friends. she was aware of this but she never thought about it that much, she just assumed you felt comfortable around her as a friend

‣ as your tournaments are around the corner, you and your teammates are usually asked to leave early during classes for practice. sometimes, this causes her to miss your presence a little more than usual

‣ over time, she senses that her attachment to you started growing even more and she never wanted it to stop. every single time she sees you or is around you, she loses her composure. there was once where caitlyn was in the locker room with you alone, you unzipped your team jacket and only wearing a compression shirt on the inside. it showed off your lean but also slightly muscular figure and that caught her off guard

‣ she was caught red handed for practically staring at you, "don't worry, i get this all the time" you teased her. she was snapped back into reality and got flustered. "you're irritating" she bantered with you. "you still stared though", you winked at her

‣ you're the captain of the hockey team, of course there are times where you have to be strict and get your team together. she found it attractive how you were able to discipline them and produce results

‣ the other thing about you that has her crushing on you is how the two of you can be yourselves around each other, don't forget that caitlyn also has an image to uphold. she comes from a well known and wealthy family, obviously having a good reputation is something huge to them

how the confession happened:

‣ caitlyn was hanging around your house after school as usual, you were sitting on a bean bag and turning the gaming console on, hoping to wind down after a long day of school and practice

‣ she took another bean bag and sat down beside you, leaning closer towards your side. she was watching you playing attentively, enjoying your company

‣ you acknowledged that and handed her another controller you took from your table, "here you go". she looked up at you, there was a sheer embarrassment on her face. "what's wrong, cait?" you quickly took her hand and fixed her hair. "i'm just.. not good at this" you gave her a reassuring smile and guided her hands to hold the controller properly

‣ you were patient and explained everything with full detail while holding her hands. the thought you of making physical contact with her and your voice speaking to her softly was messing with her mind

‣ after a couple more further explanation, you two decided to play mario kart together and it was pretty clear that you were the one winning each round. caitlyn was growing frustrated since she wasn't even close to victory in every single match, this led her to tickle you mid-game as an attempt to distract you and win at least one game

‣ "hey!! this is unfair!!" you exclaimed as you tried to push her off but she had a tight grasp on your wrists. as the tickle fight continued, she was straddling you and still holding your hands together

‣ "not if you let me win, just once!" she stopped for a second to put up one finger in the air as a signal. "fine fine! i'll give you a head start, now would you please let me go?" you pleaded and her grip on you softened. after letting you go, you quickly swooped her off her feet and brought her to your bed to get revenge. you poked her sides causing her to giggle uncontrollably

‣ "what are you doing? stop!!" she was trying to push you away and apologising for starting the fight. "okay okay, truce?" she threw both of her hands in the air. "fine, you really started that because you couldn't win a round at mario kart" you signalled her to scooch over so you could have some space to lay down

‣ "that's not my problem" she laughed softly as she rests her head on your pillow, facing you. both of you have your faces inches away from each other, you were admiring her features and how gentle she looks in the moment. you were so distracted by her and your thoughts that you weren't even aware that she was also staring at you

‣ she chortled and said, "now you're the one staring" that led you to roll your eyes but also your cheeks to heat up. " don't worry, i get this all the time" that line sounded familiar until it clicked in your head, you've said this before. "are you alright, y/n? you're not responding" her question startled you. "no i'm good, i was just thinking" you shifted your position to be closer to her

‣ you could basically feel her breath at this point and your heart was beating out of your chest, this was new to you. sure you've had crushes but none of them made you feel a certain way, only caitlyn

‣ "can i kiss you?" you practically choked your words out, your heart sank to your stomach after seeing the look on her face. you got up from your bed and raced to your door, you apologised out of embarrassment

‣ you stopped in your tracks as you feel her arms wrapped around your body with her head on your back. "i'm sorry, i was just taken aback by your question. i like you too, i promise" you face her and tried to meet her gaze. "are you sure? you don't have to lie-" you started rambling and was cut off with a kiss. "you talk too much"

how dating her would be like:

‣ she enjoys attending your tournaments and even your practice sessions, it makes her happy to see you in your element and she basically fall in love with you all over again

‣ good luck kisses before tournaments!! it's a tradition ever since you two started dating. if you somehow forget, she'll pull your helmet off gently and give you a quick peck on the cheek. your teammates tease you jokingly and your face turns red right away

‣ caitlyn would ask you if she could have the jersey with your name and player number on it. she wears it a lot, even to school too. she loves it a lot, mostly because she's able to show herself off as your girlfriend

‣ you two are loved by most students in your school but after your "fans" found out that you two were dating, you would receive some negative comments and weird looks when walking down the hallway. caitlyn doesn't let this bother her, in fact she'd leave hickeys in some revealing places just to rile them up

‣ she's always ensuring that your shin guards, helmet and sticks etc are in good condition. she would constantly ask you about them after each game and when you treat them lightly, it pisses her off a little because she's always prioritising your safety

‣ speaking of safety, caitlyn is always concerned whenever she sees you falling down in the ice rink or colliding with another player. you could see her kind of panicking from of the corner of your eye. to soothe her mind, you would skate to her and give a thumbs up

‣ after practice, you're always tired and often skip dinner since it's a hassle to cook along with washing dishes. but that stopped after you started dating caitlyn, she would cook and pack dinner then give them to you at school so you could reheat them when you're home

‣ if she's staying over, she would definitely prepare a gourmet meal. you feel guilty every single time so you'd offer to clean up after but she insists that she does everything, using "you're exhausted" as an excuse

‣ during your game breaks, she'd take care of you from afar by keeping an eye on you. it turns her on impresses her when you're in hyperfocused mode with your jaw clenched while listening to your coach's advice

‣ you and caitlyn get a thrill out of making bets before playing, not money but definitely something else. "if you win, i'll meet you in the locker room" she says as she runs her finger along your jawline and pulls you in for a kiss. "and if i don't?" you teased. "then you're in for a long night" your mouth agape in shock, "should i be playing my best or treat this as a friendly match then?", a smile flickered across her face, "stop teasing and get ready, now"

[nthspecialll]

Hi! I genuinely really appreciate all the time and care you put into your analysises of the characters and the world surrounding them, and they genuinely make me love the red dead franchise even more than I already did!

I’m just wondering if you have any thoughts about how and why Arthur plays up the act of being nothing more than a ‘dumb brute’? I know that he does it to cope partially with his own guilt and such, but I was just curious to hear your take on it, if that makes sense haha? What also intrigues me is the fact that Hosea seems to always poke fun at Arthur for being ‘stupid’ but at the same time seems to see through Arthur’s act?

Sorry if this doesn’t make any sense haha <3

It makes sense, don't worry! And also thank you! I put a dumb amount of time into this, like underneath the rdr2 fan wiki it said "you visit a lot" like okay thanks PFT.

But as to why Arthur plays a dumb brute, it is due to the way Hosea raised him. Hosea raised him to put on this mask because those are Arthur's good traits, he is big, intimidating and with the canon fit does look kinda dumb, he plays exactly into a role that people already know and fear. Dutch himself says that the sight of Arthur would make even statues talk and it would be dumb for them not to play into that, even Stauss plays into it. They don't have a lot but they play into what they have.

Arthur himself did not do this, Arthur when he joined the gang he was an angry little kid but he was raised into acting dumb, you can actually observe Hosea's way of raising by looking at Sean because the exact same thing is being done with Sean:

As to why Hosea plays into it at some times and doesn't in other. See it like acting, when Arthur was young Hosea put this mask on him and told him to play a part, Hosea was his stage partner and now they need to convince everyone else that Arthur is in fact this character and not jsut acting. That would be utterly impossible if Hosea, as his stage partner (because we know the two made a lot of jobs together) did not refer to Arthur like that.

Imagine you go to see a movie but one of the side characters keeps treating the main character like the actor who plays them and not the actual character, it would be so hard not just for the viewer to get into the story but it would also be hard for the main character's actor to get into the character because they are pulled out.

So Hosea plays into it because he needs Arthur to keep that mask, but why does he then go out of it? This is best explained by using the interaction where Hosea, Lenny, Tilly and Arthur talk about how they want to be buried. Arthur says he doesn't think much about it but Hosea says "I know you aren't that dumb" or similar. Here Hosea is not asking the brute, he is asking Arthur behind the mask, he is asking the actor and not the character.