#two trials down one to go

[crossbackpoke-check]

blessed be (lorscher bienensegen) | telling the bees (wiþ ymbe)

"Bees" [remixed, abridged], Claudia Emerson // "Letter to Someone Living Fifty Years from Now" [remixed. abridged], Matthew Olzmann // "Letter to my Great, Great Grandchild" [remixed, abridged], J.P. Grasser | Len Redkole, Nina Weiss, Brian Babineau, Christian Peterson, Mitchell Leff, Dave Isaac, Megan DeRuchie

[meirimerens]

got the tldr of the vid that I'm Not Watching All That & somewhat amusing how the straw breaking the camel's back for people over James Somerton is his blatant and unashamed plagiarism (as it should be genuinely i don't think you can nor should recover from this) like he hasn't regurgitated for years vile, unempathetic, ahistorical and Purely Just Wrong information about gay history including about the fight for legal same-sex marriage in the US and the AIDS crisis. like an alarming amount of people truly heard his ass say "all the good fun funky artistic and radical gays died of aids and all those who were left were unfun stuck-up prudes and conservatives also the fight for legal same-sex marriage was an assimilationist ploy by the latter who just wanted big gay weddings" as if the gay men who survived the epidemic didn't literally lose lovers and friends and entire communities and long-term partners who they shared a life with and who were denied any crumb of this previous life at their death because there was no legal recognition for same-sex cohabitation and unions and their homophobic family could tear everything from the surviving partner thanks to this lack of recognition and let it slide.

some people out there were truly so eager to shit on the boring assimilationist prude gays who survived aids by being stuck-up prudes and who just wanted "big gay weddings" they made up in their minds to get mad at that they turned their brains off and let it slide. they could've used their smoothed-out brains for ONE minute & found out that surviving took 1) plain boring luck and 2) radical, loud, proud gay activists campaigning for safe/safer sex and the information campaigns they led, as well as the protests and demonstrations they undertook to make the government fucking care for once. and that legally-recognized unions [be they civil or religious] were a matter of survival for the partner left behind. some people out there truly let a business major with a turtleneck (possibly the definition of boring) passing himself off as cool and radical and an intellectual tell them homophobic bullshit. and did not blink. like OF COURSE this guy's gonna be a plagiarist. he needs to get his information from SOMEWHERE. because when he tries to formulate his own stuff it's complete fabrications or the frankensteining of multiple sources that he manages to misunderstand/misrepresent threefold over. trying to fit a knit sock over the foot with the inside out and wonder why that itches.

i know many people in his audience are likely very young and also likely american and as such did most of their growing up in a world where their country (1 out of 195. give or take.) had legalized gay marriage but i cannot even begin to describe 1) how Young legalized gay wedding is, even in ""the west"" and 2) how many. other countries there are. my country legalized same-sex marriage before the US did. i am not even 25 and i still remember the hordes of catholics marching down the streets chanting homophobic slogans, implying the only reason two mommies or two daddies would want to raise a child together is for nefarious, vile purposes. i still remember families having to drag their asses into court to argue that, yes, a woman who raised a child for its whole life with another woman she's in a long-term committed cohabitated relationship with should have the right to be considered a direct guardian even if she's not biologically related to the child, and spending thousands of bucks having to argue their case in court. this might be shocking to some, but there are countries where homosexuality is punishable by death. in others, not by death, but by imprisonment. in others, not by imprisonment, but by ""medical intervention"". in others, not by ""medical intervention" but by fines. and in some others still, you can be gay (yay!) but you still cannot get married or civil-unioned, and the very same shit that was discussed in the 80s is still discussed now. the right to stay a guardian of your partner's child if your partner dies or is ill, so the kid does not go into foster care. the right to inherit your partner's property according to married rights instead of having through long annoying time- and money-consuming legal processes. the right to arrange your partner's funeral or have a say in their medical choices if they're incapacitated instead of their (potentially homophobic) families.

like We Are Not There Yet. we are not in a world where any homosexual can truly, fully, wholeheartedly assimilate, whether you consider it a good thing or not. fun gay artists and boring uninteresting gay office workers die the same death that we all do. the one you don't wake from. and guess what. all types of homosexuals, regardless of which ones you pick and choose to be mad at, are affected by homophobic legislation. not just the ones you think should be spared because they're oh so fun. and oh so radical.

donate to the rainbow railroad org if you can. they help LGBT+ people escape state-sponsored violence. a singular nail on one of their members' hand does more activism and real-life good than any mfer making video essays could do in his entire life.

[batshit-auspol]

For those that aren't in Australia right now, we have the funniest scandal going on.

Firstly let us introduce you to the eye of the storm: Sam Kerr. Sam is a women's soccer player who has in the last year become one of the most famous and beloved athletes in Australia. Captain of the women's national team, Sam became something of a cult figure after the last Women's Soccer World Cup became a complete unpredicted sensation in Australia, with the whole country getting behind the team.

Sam, up until now, has had probably one of the most squeaky clean images in sport. Generally in Australia it is not uncommon for our sports stars to be caught up in scandals involving drugs:

violence:

drinking their own urine:

or if you're cricket legend Shane Warne, probably all three at once.

Contrasting all this, Sam's image as the squeaky clean saviour for sport made it all the more shocking this last week, when it was announced that Kerr was to face trial after having been charged by the UK police of a "racially aggravated offence" involving a taxi driver.

This was shocking news. Nobody knew what to make of it. Sam was a model for young girls everywhere and a national treasure. "This is why we can't have nice things" screamed the nation. It seemed like all hope was lost.

That is, until, yesterday, when the UK police finally revealed the full details of the case, in which Sam Kerr, sporting legend, was arrested for vomiting in a cab, and then telling an intervening police officer that he was a “stupid white bastard”.

Now we probably don't need to point out that in Australia, vomiting in a taxi and then calling a cop a bastard is about as close to a national culture as we have.

You could not have come up with a better headline to make someone a national hero.

Needless to say, Sam in now being hailed down under as the greatest legend that ever lived, and a petition has already been started to have her picture added to the $5 note.

The tide has swung so far that not one, but TWO, state Premiers have spoken out in support of Kerr, and the Prime Minister has even gone on the record describing her as "a delight".

And so ends the racial abuse saga of our greatest sports hero of all time, and the very first reverse milkshake duck to ever exist.

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

maybe i did have rizz all along... and that's why all my guy friends ended up hitting on me in high school and college (or it could have been the big boobs. probably was the big boobs)

[doberbutts]

I've told this story before but the non-negotiable in allyship really reminded me of my gaming group. So one of my best friends is a twin and while I know *her* pretty well I don't really know her brother as well despite knowing him for roughly same length of time. We play videogames together and her brother asked to join us so at some point I took him aside and had The Talk with him because we at that point had a recently out trans fem within the group and she had just barely started hormones and hadn't done any voice training etc so I fully intended to head any trouble off at the pass.

So I basically had the "respect my friend's pronouns or die by my sword" discussion because while he knows I'm a trans guy and had so far been chill, I didn't know if that extended to all trans people.

What I did not expect was for him to pull an uno reverse on me and invite his two trans woman friends to game with us as well and did a "no no, *you* respect *my* friends' pronouns or die by *my* sword".

When I was working at Petco, one of my coworkers came to me having a total panic and anxiety meltdown and when I finally got them to tell me what was going on, the revealed they had sought me out because they were having Transgender Feelings and wanted advice. I ended up giving them my old binders that were too small for me but a perfect fit for them, and one of my roommates gave them their first masc haircut.

A few weeks later a customer speaking Spanish was saying many nasty things about my coworker and reacting with disgust. Another coworker- a cis gay man who speaks fluent Spanish- came to get me first so I could pull the other coworker away while he effectively cussed them out in Spanish. He told us the sparknotes version of the English translation and it was mostly horrifically transphobic drivel. My coworker had responded mostly neutrally to me being trans, but for him to be visibly steamed the rest of the day over my other coworker definitely bumped my respect for him.

And I've talked about how a cis lesbian friend of mine visibly bristles at anyone she even thinks is being shitty to me about being trans to the point of making them splutter and back down.

A cishet woman I am only sort of acquaintances with once caught me wincing at being she/her'd at a trial and asked if that had been happening all day. When I responded the affirmative, she stormed off and I didn't see her the rest of the day. The next day, any time anyone referred to me there was an audible pause before a deliberate choice to choose masc versions.

Another trans woman who is a friend of mine once beat up a bully for calling her trans boyfriend a heshe when they were in schooling together.

It's about holding the line. It's about making the active choice to show up for each other. And it's about linking hands and refusing to budge.

If you cannot hold the line with me by your side, then we are not moving together.

[csuitebitches]

Start planning 2025

Make a list of all the emotions you want to feel at the end of 2025.

Now work backwards and write down all the tasks you need to do in order to feel that way.

Make a separate list of all the “gaps” - what do you currently not have in order to do those tasks to make you feel the way you want?

And lastly, write down how you can fill those gaps. Do you need a gym membership to become fit to feel good about your yourself? Do you need to learn how to cook better meals in order to feel healthy and energised? Do you need to start applying to jobs, in order to secure one, in order to feel financially safe? Do you need to buy an old school alarm clock that’s going to wake up your entire apartment building in order to wake up early? what do you need to DO?

also, make a list of all the things that worked out for you in 2024. Learn to celebrate and appreciate, even the smallest of wins.

For the next two months start the trial and error process of this program. Let’s say you decide that you want to work out 7 days a week in order to feel good about your body. Now halfway through November you realise that 7 days is probably too much, and 5 days would be better for your schedule. Or you decide to read 3 books a week, but realistically, maybe a chapter a day is better.

November and December are your trial months. By the time January starts, be ready with a program that is built for you, works for you, and can be completed by you.

Don’t forget about keeping a reward mechanism. If you complete your daily tasks for 1 month straight, buy that little purse you were eyeing, or take yourself to a spa. Reward yourself in ways you like so that :

a) you’re not in an endless cycle of never being satisfied

b) you don’t drop everything for a man or a friend who shows you the slightest bit of affection because you won’t show it to yourself

c) it encourages you to work harder for yourself.

[thethief1996]

700 Palestinians were killed in the last 24 hours and the airstrikes are more violent each night. Gaza's hospitals have fuel left for two more days. Israel only allowed aid into Gaza on the condition they didn't carry fuel. The Indonesian hospital has shut down already, because doctors have no supplies and no choice but to let the wounded die. They're calling it a collapse but the term doesn't do it justice.

Over a 100 incubator babies are at risk. There are 50.000 pregnant women in Gaza right now, and 5.500 due to give birth this month. Menstruating people are taking pills in order to stop their periods, because they do not have pads or water to maintain hygiene. Surgeons are operating without anesthesia. Water is not reaching Gazans because there's no electricity or fuel for water pumps.

There's no excuse for this. Israel justifies the airstrikes by saying they want to destroy Hamas infrastructure and release the hostages, but they have refused to negotiate for their release. Hamas informed Israel they wanted to release two elderly women without anything in return, and Israel refused. Netanyahu said they wouldn't take their own civilians back because it was "mendacious propaganda." When the hostages were finally released, Netanyahu prohibited the hospital from giving press releases. Yocheved Lifshitz went behind their backs and talked to the press anyway, saying she was treated very well by Hamas, but the government abandoned them. They're being used as straw men. Israel is conditioning the entry of fuel to the release of hostages and yet, according to The Wall Street Journal, when Hamas proposed to exchange 50 hostages for fuel they denied. IDF officials have said they fear the release of more hostages because that might withhold the order to their ground invasion. They do not care as long as they can use the hostages as a pretext for their slaughtering.

There's a turning tide for Palestine in public support. Support for Israel was built through decades of propaganda and we are making a dent into it. Zionists are desperate, holding zoom meetings to promote zionism, but we have to do so much more. We have to shame people in power into supporting the Palestinian cause.

Keep yourself updated and share Palestinian voices, looking to inform yourself from the sources. Palestinians have asked of us only that we share, tweet and post, over and over. Muna El-Kurd said every tweet is like a treasure to them, because their voices are repressed on social media and even on this very app. Make it your action item to share something about the Palestinian plight everyday. Here are some resources:

Al Jazeera

Anadolu Agency

Mondoweiss

Boycott Divest Sanction Movement

Palestinian Youth Movement

Mohammed El-Kurd (twitter / instagram)

Al-Shabaka (twitter / instagram)

Mariam Barghouti (twitter / instagram)

Muhammad Shehada (twitter)

Motaz Azaiza (instagram) - reporting directly from Gaza

Take action. You can participate in boycotts wherever you are in the world, through BDS guidelines. Right now, they are focusing on boycotting (don't be overwhelmed by gigantic boycott lists. Only boycott additional brands if you can):

Carrefour

HP

Puma

Sabra

Sodastream

Ahava cosmetics

Israeli fruits and vegetables

Push for a cultural boycott - pressure your favorite artist to speak out on Palestine and cancel any upcoming performances on occupied territory (Lorde cancelled her gig in Israel because of this. It works.)

If you can, participate in direct action or donate. Palestine Action works to shut down Israeli weapons factories in the UK and USA, and have successfully shut down one of their firms in London. Some of the activists are going on trial and are calling for mobilizing on court.

Call your representatives. The Labour Party in the UK had an emergency meeting after several councilors threatened to resign if they didn't condemn Israeli war crimes. Calling to show your complaints works, even more if you live in a country that funds genocide.

FOR PEOPLE IN THE USA: USCPR has developed this toolkit for calls

FOR PEOPLE IN THE UK: Friends of Al-Aqsa UK and Palestine Solidarity UK have made toolkits for calls and emails

FOR PEOPLE IN GERMANY: Here's a toolkit to contact your representatives by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN IRELAND: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN POLAND: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN DENMARK: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN SWEDEN: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN AUSTRALIA: Here's a toolkit by Stand With Palestine

FOR PEOPLE IN CANADA: Here's a toolkit by Indepent Jewish Voices for Canada

Join a protest. Here's a constantly updating list of protests:

Global calendar

USA calendar

Australia calendar

Here are upcoming events:

CANBERRA/NGUNNAWAL, AUSTRALIA – Wed Oct 25, 11 am, National Press Club. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/Cyh1xy1BMrU/

OXFORD, ENGLAND – Wed Oct 25, 12:15 pm, Cornmarket. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/CykroKeInz3/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

SMITH COLLEGE (US) – Wed Oct 25, 12 pm, Chapin Lawn. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/CymT8f5vnHN/?img_index=1

ST CATHERINES, ON ( CANADA) – Wed Oct 25, 6 pm, 61 Geneva St Info: https://www.facebook.com/events/889319005528757/

TORONTO, CANADA – Wed Oct 25, 5 pm, Sidney Smith Hall. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/CyjVbpGvva8/

SANT CUGAT, CATALONIA, SPAIN – Thurs Oct 26, 6 pm, Davant l’Ajuntament. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/CynL834tgg9/?img_index=4

MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA – Fri Oct 27, 7 pm, Federation Square. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/Cyhyd0vhP8t/

LIVORNO, ITALY – Sat Oct 28, 2:30 pm, Piazza Cavour. Info https://www.instagram.com/p/CyiWJ06MXpM/

MINNEAPOLIS, MN (US) – Sat Oct 28, 1 pm, Lake Street and Minnehaha.

ROME, ITALY – Sat Oct 28, Rome. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/Cyi7ey-MMs1/?img_index=1

ROME, ITALY – Sat Nov 4, Rome. Info TBA: https://www.instagram.com/p/CyndKUitnMU/

WASHINGTON, DC (USA) – Sat Nov 4, 12 pm, White House. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/CyiecRtr9-B/

Wollongong: Rally at Crown Street Mall Amphitheatre on 21 Oct at 1 PM

Melbourne: Blak and Palestinian Solidarity Rally at Victorian Parliament House Steps on 25 Oct at 6 PM

HOUSTON: Thursday, October 26th, 5:45PM, Rice University, Central Quad

VANCOUVER: OCT 28 at 2PM, Vancouver Art Gallery

KITCHENER: Wednesday October 25th at 5 PM at CBC Kitchener

SANTA ANA: 20 Civic Center Plaza, Santa Ana, CA 92701, October 25th at 5:30 pm

TORONTO: WED. OCT 25 at 7PM at Queen's Park

[CAR RALLY] WASHINGTON D.C: Wednesday 10/25 outside the US State Department on the 23rd Street side

Feel free to add more.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Dolly

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

synopsis: you feel lonely and buy a new sex doll on the market, not knowing what you got yourself into.

genre: smut, fluff, sci-fi

word count: 10.3k

warnings: alcohol, multiple sex scenes, unprotected sex, oral (f and m), squirting, creampies

a/n: spooktober continues����🫶🏻 if u love black mirror, these are vibes for u! also i'm sorry if the ending seems rushed but i have two more things to write for hyunjin before i continue with my spooktober🫠

!!! this fic has an ambiguous ending

~ divider by @bunnysrph

~ Masterlist

~ Dolly masterlist

Your cursor hovers over the 'continue to payment' button.

Are you really doing this?

It's embarassing enough that you can't get a date lately, and everyone around you keeps bugging you about it, asking when you're going to find a partner already.

Like you need one. You were perfectly fine alone.

But everyone has needs, and the ad for the new sex dolls that have just come out on the market looked enticing.

Each one of the new models was a unique one, only one of them made as it was sort of a trial run for them and your attention was captured by Hyunjin, the romantic doll.

It was expensive too, but you had money saved up on the side and thought, why not get something for your pleasure and try something new as well.

'Fuck it!', you thought and clicked on the button, purchasing the doll; there was no going back now.

Eagerly, you awaited the day it would be delivered to your door and three weeks later, there was a big box in the middle of your living room.

Biting on your lip, you stare at the box as your heartbeat quickens.

In the pictures, it looked so real. Like it was a real human being and to say you were a bit disturbed was an understatement.

But as freaky as it was, you were still so curios about it so you opened up the box slowly, your eyes wide for the peculiarity of it all. There were covers neatly placed over the doll, and bubble wrap just about everywhere, but on top of it all was a letter.

You opened it up and it read;

Hello,

my name is Hyunjin and I am your romantic doll.

I love art, good food and wine, long walks on the beach and heartwarming movies.

Please, treat me with great care as I am sensitive, and no matter what you do with me, always end it with cuddles.

Hope you come to love me as much as I already love you.

As you read that, you couldn't help being a little freaked out by the doll professing his love to you, but you had to remind yourself it's just the creators of it who wrote the letter, making the concept more real and human to give some kind of comfort to the buyer and personality to the doll.

Taking a deep breath, you remove all the bubble wrap and slide off the cover.

"Oh." you gasp loudly, your hand slapped on your mouth as you finally see the doll.

He looks too real to be just a doll and for a second you just stare into his eyes, unmoving but somehow warm, his facial features chiseled to perfection, his lips plump and inviting.

Your eyes travel down to see he was dressed in a nice button up, intricate flower patterns sewn into the material, coupled with nice pants and even some very expensive looking shoes.

The doll had jewelry on, his nails were painted, there was so much detail on it; he even had a mole under his eye. You marvelled at the dedication of the people who made it and obviously put a lot of though into Hyunjin.

You notice then that there is a note sticking out of the shirt's pocket and you carefully pick it up.

My love!

I got dressed for our first date!

Hopefully you like it and enjoy our first romantic night together.

"Wow, they really went all out with this." you say out loud as you look at the doll, the next question forming in your mind.

How heavy is the doll?

You spend a few more minutes just examining it with your eyes, too nervous to touch it and you can't get over the way it looks just like a real human being.

You rest your hand on the box, your fingertips gently grazing the doll's cheek.

"Oh!" you gasp, retracting your hand. It feels like real skin and with wide eyes your hand moves closer to his face again, your palm pressing slowly against his cheek.

"Are you alive?" you chuckle to yourself but the doll doesn't answer or move at all, just as you expected.

Your fingers slowly explore the doll's face, his lips are plushy and they seem actually kissable, the material they used, whatever it was, made it seem like they were real human lips.

You lean in closer to take a better look into his eyes, your hand coming up to play with locks of dark hair, which again, seems like real hair, the little curls are soft to the touch and bounce back as you pull on them gently.

Now you're leaning so close to him, and you can smell the nice, comforting scent radiating off of the doll. You've no idea what they used, but he smells fresh and flowery.

"Okay, let's get you out of the box." you lean back and hook your hands under the doll's arms before making it sit up.

His head falls to the side a little, making you feel a bit creeped out because it really seemed like you were handling a dead person instead of an actual doll, but the only indication that it wasn't a dead human is the lightness of it.

He wasn't as light as a feather but he wasn't as heavy as dead weight either.

"Maybe the couch?" you talk to yourself as you look over to your comfy couch, the pillows fluffed up already and a soft blanket thrown over it.

Somehow, thankfully to your regular exercise, you manage to lift the doll into your arms and carry him to the couch.

The way he slumps when you put him down, again freaks you out a little, but for some weird reason you're even more interested in how you can actually use the doll.

You prop him to sit nicely and turn on the tv to some art channel, remembering how the doll 'said' that he likes art.

"I hope that's what you enjoy." you shrug and throw the fluffy blanket over the doll's legs, folding his soft hands into his lap, before you go back to the box to find the manual.

"Here it is." you dig out the booklet and start reading.

They listed the materials but you still had no idea what they were so it flew over your head. There was also a page with pictures of the other dolls and the makers' letter to the customers, thanking them for purchasing the doll.

Flipping the pages, you find what you were looking for.

Your face becomes red as you read the doll's 'abilites', including that his thing can vibrate and cum, he reacts to your touch and that he has a usb charger that gets plugged into the back of his neck.

"W-wow." you nod to yourself as you keep reading until you flip to the last page.

WARNING!

If there are any malfunctions with any part of the doll, please contact our services.

The doll can bathe in water except the charger opening so be aware of that.

Please do not disfigure or mutilate the doll.

Do not throw the doll into the trash.

Do not break, bruise or cut the doll.

If you're not satisfied, you can always return it to us and get your money back.

If you've purchased our Hyunjin doll, do not be too harsh on him considering he's sensitive.

Hope you enjoy the romantic soul you chose!

Bruise? The doll can bruise?

Why are they talking about it like it's alive?

You gulp and turn to look at the couch but the doll is unmoving, turned towards the tv, same position as before.

You peek back into the big box to find another, smaller box inside it, that was beneath the doll's feet earlier.

You carefully take it out, putting it on the floor and opening it curiously.

Inside, you found a change of clothes, more casual looking ones and something to be used as sleep wear. It was like getting a Barbie doll with all her outfits when you were a kid.

So bizzare, yet it made you feel excited in a way.

After getting up, you decide to clean up the mess you made with the bubble wrap and put the box away in your closet, just in case, if you ever wanted to return him.

"Okay." you nod and come back to peek at the doll.

The television screen reflects in his eyes, his hands crossed in his lap, just how you left him and relief washes over you.

Why are you even scared?

You shake your head and decide to prepare lunch.

You're in your kitchen, listening to some slow music as you cook, completely forgetting about the doll sitting in your living room.

That is, until the volume of the tv suddenly increases making you jolt and gasp.

Your back straightens as you turn off the stove.

Slowly turning around, you stare at the direction the sound is coming from.

You swallow and make your way to your couch, you don't know what to expect but the doll is still in the same position you left it, the tv remote is out of his reach, down on the coffee table.

You grab it and decrease the volume before looking back at the doll.

"If that wasn't you, we have ghosts in this apartment. But if it was you, you're obviously wanting my attention." you cross your arms as you stare at him.

Nothing.

"Fine, I will eat lunch with you." you declare before going back to the kitchen to get yourself food.

You mostly eat in front of your tv anyways, not caring about any rules since you live alone, enjoying the freedom it brings you.

Settling down next to Hyunjin, you pull the blanket over your legs too and start eating.

You chuckle to yourself, if someone saw you right now, they'd think you're absolutely insane, sitting down next to an inanimate doll that looks eerily human.

You take a peek at Hyunjin, sighing as he sits still.

"You do look alive. But I'm literally talking to myself." you say and of course get no answer.

Shrugging, you continue about your day, washing dishes and doing laundry, enjoying your selfcare routine after getting your apartment in order, your Hyunjin doll observing your movements from the couch.

In the evening hours, you finally come back to him.

"Are you tired of being in the same position?" you ask, knowing there will be no answer.

"We can have dinner now." you add and leave to the kitchen to bring out some food and a bottle of wine.

"This is insane. Top 5 weirdest things I've done." you talk to yourself as you look down at your black satin nightgown, with lace details on the top, perfectly resting on your chest. "Maybe it even takes up the first place."

You settle next to Hyunjin once again, changing his position a little as you fill up two glasses of wine.

"Our first date, I guess?" you sigh with a chuckle before drinking the wine.

His glass stands full on the coffee table, untouched as you start eating next to him once again.

"I guess I should tell you a bit about myself. I work in an office. I hate my job but it pays the bills." you say, "I always wanted to be in a band though. Played guitar in high school. Never got too far with that. I love art too, you know, any shape or form of it. Maybe that's why I chose you. You seem like an artist. Or you would be if you were real, ha." you chuckle, yapping away as you keep drinking the wine, the doll listening to you without moving.

You keep pouring the wine into both his and your glass but it's only you drinking from both glasses.

It gives you a nice buzz, warmness that spreads through your body and manifests itself between your legs.

Usually, you'd play with your vibrator or dildo but seeing as you got a literal sex doll, you thought you should use him for the purpose he's made for.

"Now, what do I do with you?" you smirk, your hand coming up to play with the doll's hair, twirling the lock in your fingers.

"I mean, I can do anything I want." you nod, scooting closer to the doll.

"I feel fucking crazy." you laugh, pulling the covers off of Hyunjin.

Your hand is pressed on his thigh as you touch him gently through his clothes, your mind still marvelling at the fact that he feels like a real human being.

"I'm curious." you whisper, your fingertip playing with the button of his shirt, wanting to see what he looks like underneath the nice clothes they made him wear.

Slowly, you start unbuttoning the doll, taking your time with it, as anticipation builds up, creating a swirl of excitement inside you.

When you pop open the last button, you open up the shirt and gasp.

"Wow." you lick your lips at the sight, the doll's nipples look aroused, his stomach is toned, it looks like there's a vein leading down into his pants making your eyes fall down at his crotch.

You still have no idea how they made him look so real but you're eager to explore, planting your hands on his chest, running them up and down to his stomach, tracing the vein with your fingertips.

You run your hands back up to his nipples and flick them gently with your thumb before pinching them experimentally.

Gasping, you notice a growing bulge in the doll's pants.

"Am I pushing the right buttons?" you chuckle at your own joke as you continue playing with his nipples.

Your impatience however doesn't let you stall for too long, so your hands make their way down to the hem of his pants.

"Let's see." with a smirk you unbutton and unzip his pants, pulling them down with a little struggle as you have to lift him up a little.

You place your hands on his thighs, squeezing the flesh a little, watching as his cock twitches like he was really alive.

"You really do react to touch." you gasp in wonder, what kind of technology was this?

They even put underwear on him which you think is a nice touch but at this point, you were too curious not to slide them off immediately.

"Woah!" you gasp as his cock springs free of its confines.

You think it's the biggest and most beautiful cock you've ever seen, framed by a neatly cut bush, a visible vein running up the whole length.

You stare at it for a little while before you wrap your hand around it, your other hand fondling his balls.

It feels real once again, like he's throbbing and twitching, hot and heavy on your palm, a bead of precum at the tip.

"What in the hell?" you mumble, your finger swiping at the tip as you gather the liquid and bring it to your lips.

You suck your finger into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and tasting the sweetness of the doll.

How he tasted so sweet was beyond you.

"Fuck it." you chuckle, pulling off your nightgown and tossing it aside, which leaves you completely naked like the doll is.

"I didn't even kiss you. Not very romantic of me." you smirk as you throw your leg over Hyunjin, sitting in his lap, your wet folds pressed against his cock.

You lean in and press a kiss to his lips, and of course the doll doesn't kiss back but his lips move with your movement and it feels good as you grind on his hard length.

"Look at you. Letting me do all the work like all the rest of them." you scoff with a smirk and at that, the doll's cock twitches a little too hard against you, almost pushing inside you.

"Wow. Someone's excited." you stare at the doll's eyes but there is nothing in there to indicate that he was in fact listening to you.

"For how much you cost, I hope this is worth it." you shrug and grip the base of his cock, guiding it inside you.

Sitting down on his length has you gasping as he fills you up perfectly, like his cock was made exactly for your pussy to take.

Your grip the doll's shoulders and use it for what you intended to when you clicked on that purchase button.

No matter how turned on you are though, staring at Hyunjin's almost expressionless face proves to be a turn off so you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you press your chest to his and continue bouncing on him.

Save for the fact that his hands lay limp on the side, his skin feels human and he feels kind of warm, like there was something inside the doll, warming it up.

"F-fuck." you whimper as the head of his cock brushes against the spongy spot inside you, it's like the more wet you get and the harder you fuck on him, his cock responds to you.

"R-right hand for activation." you repeat the instruction from the manual, as you blindly search for his right hand, sliding your fingertips on his wrist to his palm, your head leaned on his shoulder as you slowly gyrate your hips.

Your fingers interlace with his and it feels almost like Hyunjin grips your hand back, making you jump a little but before you can move away, his cock starts vibrating inside you.

"A-ah!" you moan loudly as your other arm curls around him, holding onto him while you fiddle with his fingers, your legs clamping around him as you start falling apart.

"G-gonna cum!" you whimper, burying your face in Hyunjin's neck and he smells so nice, feels so good as his cock keeps vibrating against your spot, bringing you to your high quickly.

The ecstasy you feel as the vibrations persist, prolonging your orgasm, overstimulating you while you ride the feeling makes you miss the single blink that Hyunjin's eyes make before returning to their original glassy and unmoving state.

"Too much." you whimper, squeezing his thumb and the vibrations stop.

You know that the left hand brings a happy end to the doll but you're not sure if you're done with it yet.

Leaning back to finally look at his face has you a little disappointed as you don't notice any kind of change on his face.

"Kinda wish you were real." you whisper, hugging the doll as you start bouncing on his hard cock again, bringing yourself easily to another orgasm.

You squeeze the doll's left hand after that, and feel spurts of warm cum shooting inside you as his cock twitches, the head bruising against your spot violently as he fills you up with copious amounts of the sticky substance.

You're pretty sure the neighbors can hear you moan as you cum again, the feeling of being filled up to the brim satisfies you and has your eyes rolling in the back of your head.

"Wow." you breathe hard, your cheek leaned on Hyunjin's shoulder as you grip his wrists while you come down.

You lean back to look at the doll again.

Were his lips slightly upturned before?

In the fogginess of your orgasms, you couldn't tell or think straight.

"Be right back." you slide off of him and make your way to the bathroom, taking a quick five minute shower before you grab a wet cloth to clean the doll up.

He sits how you left him, and you kneel between his legs to clean him up carefully.

His cock is not completely soft nor hard anymore, it's somewhere in the middle, but as you touch it gently, it seems to react and twitch again.

"You came already." you smirk and experimentally pinch the tip of Hyunjin's cock, but nothing happens except the member twitching again.

You stand up with a sigh, covering him with the blanket again before you leave for the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Just as you turn on the water to wash your mouth out, you hear something akin to a sigh coming from your living room.

You freeze, turning off the water and listening closely but you only hear the quiet buzz of the lamp above your mirror.

Maybe you were just imagining things.

You shake your head and finish your business before going back to Hyunjin.

"I'm too tired to dress you now, but boxers should be enough." you say and struggle to get him dressed, almost giving up during the process.

"I should just keep you naked in my bed to avoid the hassle." you say, lifting him up and carrying him to your bed.

"Cuddles, right? I do love me some cuddles too." you say with a tired smile as you adjust Hyunjin in your bed.

You join him under the covers and lean on your elbow as you lay sideways, staring down at him.

"How'd they make you look and feel so real?" your hand is on his cheek, and you trace his eyebrows, his nose and lips.

Fingertips travel to his ears, down to his neck and his chest.

"Don't come alive and scare me while I'm sleeping, Hyunjin." a shadow passes in his eyes as you say his name but you're too busy caressing his toned stomach to notice.

"Night." you kiss his lips before turning off the lamp and laying your head on his shoulder.

Somehow, you adjust his arms so that it seems like he's holding you and you throw your leg over his, your hand tracing patterns on his chest and side.

It was like hugging and kissing your pillow in high school, except this one took the shape of a human being.

With thoughts and questions about Hyunjin swimming in your head, you fall asleep quickly, not noticing how the doll's arms tighten around you ever so slightly.

Early in the morning as your alarm starts blaring loudly and annoyingly, you groan and stir, almost forgetting about Hyunjin being next to you.

"Oh!" you gasp. "Good morning, dolly." you say after turning the alarm off, as he stares at the ceiling.

"Sadly, I gotta go to work and leave you here alone. You better behave while I'm out." you lift a finger up menacingly, but there's a playful smile on your face.

"Man, I'm crazy." you shake your head before leaning in to leave a nice, wet smooch on Hyunjin's cheek.

"I'll come say bye before I leave."

And you do so, after eating breakfast and getting ready, you're back in your room.

"Should I put you in the living room so you can watch tv?"

The doll never answers.

"Maybe, yeah. You'll be bored lying in bed all day." you nod and carry Hyunjin to your couch.

You make him comfy, cover him with the blanket, card your fingers through his messy hair and then turn on the tv, leaving the remote in his lap.

"Gonna be late because of you." you sigh and lean down to place a kiss on the doll's lips.

"Be a good doll."

And with that you finally leave your apartment.

All day at work, you can't help but wonder if your Hyunjin doll somehow came alive, and for some reason you were looking forward to seeing him even if he didn't.

"What's got you so happy? Finally got laid?" your coworker chuckles as you stand in the office kitchen making yourself some coffee, you know she always gossips about you behind your back so you don't wanna give her the time of the day.

"Mind your business, Amanda." you answer quickly, turning to leave back to your office.

"Okay, you didn't then." she calls behind you with a giggle but you decide to ignore her.

"Fucking bitch." you mutter to yourself as you close the door.

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully and you can't wait to drive back home to Hyunjin.

"I'm home!" you yell out as soon as you step inside, hearing that the tv is still on, nothing out of the ordinary.

You make your way to your living room to find Hyunjin in the exact same position as you left him almost 9 hours ago, the remote still next to his right hand, the same channel you turned on this morning on the tv.

For some reason, your shoulders slump.

"Well, I guess you've been a good doll and took my warning literally." you shrug a little.

"Still, I want to reward you. As soon as I eat and take a nap that is." you add and go about your routine, eating lunch, taking a shower and of course changing into your comfy clothes, which at this time of the year consisted of an oversized t-shirt and panties.

"Let's take a nap together, dolly." you say to Hyunjin as you lift him up and move him to your bed again.

You lay him on his side, then mirror his position, taking his arm and wrapping it around your waist, the other comfortably under your neck.

Tracing patterns on his stomach and chest again, you start talking.

"Your life is so easy. From the couch to the bed, you don't even have to work or go anywhere. Meanwhile, I have to endure fucking Amanda every day at work. Do you have any idea how bitchy that woman is?", you talk as you cuddle your doll. "She has to know eeeeverything about eeeeeveryone. Soon, she'll crawl up my ass just to look at my insides."

You look at Hyunjin's face and for a moment it seems as if his eyes moved.

"Are you listening to me, perhaps?" you whisper, your hand on his cheek. "I know I'm probably crazy. But I'm glad I got you. Even though you're a bit creepy, you bring me comfort." you add, tucking your head into his neck.

"I'm gonna sleep now."

Slowly blinking your eyes awake, you feel warmness enveloping you that's not coming just from your blanket but from Hyunjin.

Quickly, you realize that somehow his thigh ended up pressed against your core, your leg thrown over him as you scooted closer to him in sleep.

"Oh." a little sound escapes your lips as you grind against his warm thigh, feeling wetness on your panties.

Before looking up at him, you press a kiss to his collarbone and it seems like his thigh moves against you once, making you jolt.

"Hey." you look up at him, but his eyes are unmoving as always.

You observe his face but the throbbing between your legs makes you grind against him again.

"F-feels good." you whimper, leaning in and kissing him, letting your tongue dart out and lick at the plump lips.

You feel his erection press against your other thigh, the one flush against him and you chuckle a little.

"Someone likes me a lot." you say, leaning back to look at him.

It looks like there's a small smile on his face that you swear wasn't there before.

"Hm." you squint your eyes as you stop your movements.

"Gotta try something." you declare after a moment of silence, lifting up and removing the blanket.

You push Hyunjin on his back, hooking your fingers in his boxers and pulling them off of him.

"Aw, you really do like me a lot." you smirk at the sight of the doll's cock, twitching and leaking again like it did yesterday.

"I'll give you some attention, you deserved it."

You spread his legs, adjusting them so you can kneel between his thighs and you lean down.

"I haven't done this in a while. You can't complain though." you chuckle a little as you grip his cock and let your tongue dart out, catching the sweet tasting precum with it.

You don't understand how he tastes so sweet, it's hard to put your finger on what exactly the taste is but it makes you want more so you swirl your tongue around his head, your moans muffled as you swallow the sweet liquid.

"Mm. Fuck you taste good." you whine and put your lips around him again, slowly taking more of him in as you bob your head up and down.

Sucking cock like that is not your favorite thing to do, sometimes it makes you feel uncomfortable but having Hyunjin be so still and so tasty has your arousal pooling on your panties and you keep wanting more.

You take as much as you can, coating his cock in your saliva, your tongue pressing along his vein as you fondle his balls has him twitching inside you.

You smirk and grip his left hand, spurts of hot cum hitting your throat and it tastes even sweeter than before as you whimper and swallow everything.

"Damn hot." you whine, quickly getting rid of your shirt and panties, before you take his now completely wet cock in your hand and start jerking him off to make him hard for you again.

It doesn't take long to excite the doll and you decide to turn your back to him and fuck on his cock like that so that you don't have to look into his lifeless eyes while pleasing yourself.

You sit on him and push his cock inside yourself, your warm cunt engulfing his entire length easily.

"Mm." you gyrate your hips as you close your eyes and enjoy teasing yourself, your wet pussy coating his navel and balls.

"God, you're perfect Hyunjin." you whine and start fucking on him.

In the deep throes of passion as you bounce on him, your nails digging into his thighs for support, your eyes closed in pure bliss, you don't notice anything.

You don't notice Hyunjin blinking, his lips opening to speak but nothing comes out.

He can't move no matter how hard he tries and once again his eyes go back to the glassy state they're always in.

"Gonna cum." you whine loudly, gripping his right hand and he starts vibrating inside you, pushing you over the edge and making you scream as you squirt all over him.

"Fuck." you whine as your eyes focus, noticing you have left red marks in his thighs.

"Oh. Did I hurt you?" you gasp, your fingertips gently running over the marks.

"Didn't mean to." you look back at him but he lays still.

His cock twitches inside you and you grip his left hand, making the doll fill you up as you slowly ride him.

You lift up slowly, his cum sliding down your inner thigh together with your release.

"Made a mess of you, dolly." you look at the state of him.

"Maybe a bath?" he doesn't answer but still you prepare a bath and place him in it, careful of the usb opening on his neck.

You get inside after him, settling between his legs and leaning your back on his chest.

"Why are you so warm, Hyunjin?" you caress his arm as you hold it, his other one thrown over your stomach.

Sighing, you lean on his shoulder and close your eyes, trying to relax in the warm water, as Hyunjin 'held' you.

You still couldn't understand how they made him, but you were willing not to think about that, as he brought you a kind of comfort you didn't expect, making you wanna indulge in that feeling for as long as you could.

It's been exactly two months since you've gotten your Hyunjin doll, and ever since then you've loved spending every day with him.

You talked to him like he was alive, you watched movies with him, you read him books, you slept next to him every single night, you brought him to the kitchen so he can watch you cook, you even took him on late night drives sometimes, feeling bad that he was locked up in the apartment all day.

Sometimes, you thought you saw a flicker in his eyes, a slight smile on his face, or his fingers twitching against his thighs.

Some nights, while you're half asleep, you could swear that he tightened his hold on you or his chest lifted up and down like he was breathing.

Some days, as you'd come home from work you found him in a slightly different position than you left him.

One time, you sat him next to the window so you could watch rain together, and when you came back from making some tea, there was a heart shape in the fog on the glass.

"Did you do this dolly?" you caress his hair and look at him closely but he doesn't react.

You sigh, tracing another heart next to the first one before you sit in his lap, bringing the warm cup to your lips and observing him.

You thought you were going crazy in the beginning but as time passed by, you were becoming sure that there was more to Hyunjin than you initially knew.

"Just say something if you can hear me. Or squeeze my hand." you try for the nth time as you sit on your couch with Hyunjin but nothing happens.

"Fine." you huff. "Maybe you want something first. What would you like? I bought you new clothes. Maybe you want something else like... like something to do with art? We can paint together, if you'd like."

Hyunjin doesn't answer.

Nevertheless, you bring your art supplies and a bottle of wine.

You make yourself comfortable on the floor, next to Hyunjin's legs as he sits on the couch.

You end up being the one painting and drinking, Hyunjin's eyes move to look down at you, the look in his eyes softens, unlike the glassy one he always has.

He wants to talk, he wants to lean over and caress your hair, he wants to taste the wine off of your lips and feel the paintbrush between his fingertips.

But he can't. His eyes become glassy again as your phone rings, jolting you out of your peaceful activity.

It's your mother.

The conversation starts as always and it escalates into a fight of when are you settling down, why aren't you married, why are you closing yourself off, why are you such a failure?

As soon as you hang up a sob escapes your lips and you fall into Hyunjin, seeking comfort as you wrap your limbs around him, your face buried in his neck and your hot tears sliding down from your cheeks to his shirt, soaking it up.

"No one would understand." you cry. "They'd say I'm crazy and maybe I am. But I don't give a fuck."

Your body trembles against Hyunjin as you hiccup and sniffle, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, your leg thrown over his thighs.

His body seems warmer than before and you squeeze him a little.

"Maybe I'm fucking crazy for loving a doll. But I love you Hyunjin." you sigh, closing your eyes as you lean against him.

His eyelids flutter a few times. He blinks.

A deep breath through his nose and you almost miss the way his chest moves up.

You place your hand on his chest, and feel it.

A heart beat slowly forming, at first almost too slow to be normal until it becomes steady and then speeds up.

He's breathing, his lips are dry as he licks at them, his hands clutch onto you and you scream.

You jump up quickly, your eyes wide as you look at him.

Hyunjin looks back up at you, his eyes wide and filled with fear and shock, mirroring yours.

He opens his mouth and a series of coughs escape his lips.

"Wh- How? Am I hallucinating?"

"Y- y/n." is the first thing he says, weakly and quietly as he reaches out for you.

You stay still as a statue, not sure what the hell is happening before your eyes.

"P-please, don't be scared." he begs as he tries to get up but his legs give out and he falls to the floor with a thud.

"Ugh." he whimpers, his hands grabbing at the coffee table.

You're slow to react to him falling from the shock of it all, making your way back to him cautiously.

"Did you hurt yourself?" you ask quietly.

"N-no, I don't think so." he says as he looks up at you.

"Who- who are you?" you don't know what else to ask, because the doll you used and played with was now a human with a heartbeat and he was looking at you, even knew your name.

"What do you mean? I'm- I'm Hyunjin, your romantic doll." he answers like it's the most normal thing ever.

"How are you alive? Why now all of a sudden? I don't get it." you say as he sits back on his legs.

"You... You love me. Your love brought me to life." he swallows, his cheeks rosy.

"Oh... There was nothing about this in the manual." The fucking manual. The doll's actual purpose. Everything you ever did to him. Embarassment washes over you and you feel absolutely mortified.

"Do you... did you hear me all this time? And um, see and feel what I was doing?"

"Y-yeah." he nods, his cheeks becoming even more red.

"Fucking hell." you whine, covering your face with your hands as you sit on the couch.

"Hey, it's okay. I- I was made for that." he says, his hand on your knee in an attempt to comfort you.

You peek at him through your fingers.

"And you were so nice to me. So... warm and loving. You made me feel so good. You never mistreated me even when you knew very well you could do whatever you want with me. I'm thankful for that. And I- I love you too, y/n." Hyunjin talks, his thumb gently caressing your skin.

"Are you programmed to say stuff like that? Are you a robot?"

He chuckles.

"I'm not programmed and I'm not a robot. Didn't you feel my heart beating?"

"I did but... I don't understand. How were you made?" you finally remove your hands from your face.

"I don't know. I wish I could answer your questions but I'm as clueless as you are. I just know I was conscious the whole time while I was with you but I couldn't speak or move. Like I was paralyzed. It was horrible. I tried giving you signs, I tried to talk multiple times but it's like something would hold me back, like there was a wall and I couldn't break through."

"That does sound horrible. I'm sorry if I ever did something you wouldn't agree to." you say quietly, your face burning in embarassment.

"No, no, I liked everything you did." he says with a sheepish smile, averting his eyes. "Wish I could reciprocate." he looks up at you through his lashes.

You're biting on your lip nervously, his hand reaches for you and you accidentally snatch yours away, not used to your doll talking to you and trying to touch you.

"A-are you gonna abandon me now?" he asks quietly as he eyes your hand.

"What?" you look back at him to see that his eyes are watery and you gasp. "No, of course not! I always wished you'd come to life. Didn't think it would actually happen so I'm still processing and hoping that I'm not dreaming."

"Oh, thank god." he exhales and you let him grab your hand. "I- uhm... I'm very hungry and thirsty. Could you help me with that?"

"Oh! Of course! I will make some dinner for us." you say and help him sit up on the couch, noticing that now he's heavier than he used to be.

"I guess I still need to get feeling in my legs and arms." he says as you bring him a glass of water.

"Mhm, probably you need to have blood pumping properly through your body. Don't worry." you pet his hair as he drinks and he looks at you.

"Here, you'll be warm like this." you wrap him up in your fluffy blanket and notice a change on the back of his neck.

"Oh!" you exclaim, your fingertips touching the skin there, making Hyunjin shiver a little.

"The usb opening is gone." you declare and he brings his hand to touch it, your fingertips grazing against each other.

"That's weird." he says absentmindedly.

"All of this is weird." you chuckle and he chuckles with you, making you look at him.

God, he's even more beautiful with a smile gracing his face, you think to yourself.

Without thinking your hands gently cup his cheeks.

"You're really alive." you whisper, your thumbs gently stroking his face, his eyes flutter as he pushes into your hands.

"I am. Does that make you happy?" he asks with a sparkle in his eyes.

"Very happy." you nod with a smile, leaning closer to him.

"Good. I want to make you happy. When you're happy, I'm happy too."

"Hyunjinnie." you whine against his lips and kiss him gently.

Having him kiss back as he clutches at your shirt is the sweetest thing ever, you think as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

"Okay, I don't want you to starve now that you came to life." you lean back with a chuckle as he chases your lips.

"Yeah, please, I need food." he nods and you make your way to the kitchen, whipping up a quick dinner, checking constantly if he's okay.

You bring two plates as soon as you're done and Hyunjin's eyes seem to get bigger as soon as they land on the food.

"Be careful, it's still hot." you warn him.

"Okay." Hyunjin nods.

He eats happily, asking for more which you of course bring to him.

"Are you feeling better?" you ask when the two of you finish eating.

"Yes, much better. But I feel very tired now."

"You need sleep. Let's go to bed. Do you think you can walk now?"

"I think so." you grab his arm and help him become steady on his feet.

You lead him to the bathroom and he looks at you.

"Now that you're alive, you need to brush your teeth and wash up before bed."

"Right." he nods.

After a whole ordeal of getting ready, you finally plop down under the covers.

"Can I- Can I hold you?" Hyunjin asks sweetly and you chuckle, rolling your body into his.

"Of course."

"Always wanted to do that." his limbs wrap around you as he holds you tightly, your face buried in his chest.

"Good night, Hyunjin. Please be there when I wake up." you nuzzle into him, inhaling the familiar fresh and flowery scent of him.

"I promise I will. Good night, y/n."

It wasn't a dream.

Your eyes flutter open and Hyunjin smiles at you fondly, his hand gently caressing your cheek.

"Morning, dol- Hyunjin."

"You can call me dolly if that's what you like." he smirks and you chuckle.

"Eh, well you're human now. It feels like I'm degrading you." you gently touch his chest.

"I don't mind." he shifts and you feel his erection press against your thigh.

You gasp a little, your core throbbing with want.

"I'm sorry." his face is red instantly. "It's just- when you touch me... I can't help it."

"It's okay, Hyunjinnie." you slide your hand down to cup him through his boxers.

He whimpers, leaning into you, his eyes fluttering shut and you press your lips on his in a heated kiss.

His tongue licks at your lower lip and you let him in, eager to finally feel his kisses how you craved to.

Hyunjin kisses you messily and hungrily, grinding into your hand, grunting against your lips.

As soon as you slide off his boxers, automatically your hands lift up to push him on his back but he grabs your wrists gently to stop you.

"My sweet girl, let me take care of you how you deserve now that I'm able to." he rasps, his eyes hooded as he looks at you with lust.

"O-okay." you whisper and lay down on your back, letting Hyunjin slide your panties off as you pull off your shirt and toss it somewhere aside.

"I've spent so much time receiving. I want to give, my angel. My hands hurt when I couldn't touch you and make you feel good. That's all I want to do." he sounds desperate as his lips attach to your neck, leaving wet kisses on your skin, his hands roaming on your body and settling on your breasts.

"Mm, make me feel good, Jinnie." you whimper as he squeezes your breasts, massaging them and moaning against your skin like it was more pleasurable to him than to you.

He mumbles sweet praises as he leaves more kisses that lead to your nipple, his tongue darting out to swirl around it, making you arch into him.

His eyes are dark as he wraps his lips around it and starts sucking, his other hand sliding down to grip your inner thigh.

Fingertips ghost on your skin, both his hands now spreading your legs apart.

"Do you know how much I longed to taste your sweet nectar? Will you let me drink from you, my angel?" Hyunjin asks, his finger gently pressing into your clit, circling it.

"Yes, please, oh my god." you whimper, your hips lifting up into his touch.

He smirks, trailing kisses down to your core.

He stops for a moment to admire you and you don't even have time to feel self-conscious as he spreads your pussy lips apart and leans in to stick his tongue inside you.

"F-fuck!" you jolt as he starts moving it before he leans back a little and licks at your sensitive clit.

"Taste even sweeter than I imagined." he moans, his lips wrapping around your clit as he sucks on it, his thumbs gently caressing your pussy lips.

"H-H-Hyunjin!" you whimper as he sucks harder, your hips lifting up in pleasure.

"Could be here for hours. Eating this sweet pussy out." he moans, pushing his tongue inside you again, this time fucking you faster, his nose giving the perfect pressure on your sensitive nub and driving you crazy.

Your hand grips his hair, pushing him more into you as he skilfully moves his tongue, his lips pressing into your lower ones as he makes out with you.

Your orgasm washes over you quickly, coating Hyunjin's face and he laps it all up greedily, his eyes shut as he whimpers into you, sending vibrations right into your core.

You feel crazy with desire the more he continues eating you out like a man starved and you have to grip his hair and pull him away after he gives you two more orgasms.

"H-Hyune, please, I need your cock." you whimper, feeling like you're falling apart.

He licks at his red lips, his eyes crazed with lust he feels for you.

"Anything my angel needs." his voice is husky as he leans over you, the tip of his cock pressed against your wet, messy cunt.

He pushes in with ease, after all, you've been fucking on him for the last two months, your pussy was used to the stretch.

"Mm, Hyunjin!" that doesn't make it feel less pleasurable when he fills you up, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix.

"Move, please." you whimper, already feeling out of it.

Hyunjin grips your thighs and starts fucking you at a steady pace, his cock dragging against your walls deliciously, sliding easily through your wetness.

"Feel so good. So warm. Just for me." he whimpers, his eyes fluttering shut before they open again and look down where his cock disappears inside you.

"Just for you, Jinnie." you moan and he looks up at you, a smile on his face.

He leans closer to you, wrapping his arms around you and in turn you wrap yours around his shoulders, bringing your bodies flush together as he buries himself deep inside your heat.

He ruts into you desperately, your lips meeting in messy kisses, spit dribbles down your chin and he licks at it, kissing your jaw and your neck wetly.

"P-please tell me you love me." he whimpers in your ear, holding you tightly as he fucks you harder, only taking a little bit of his length out and shoving it back in with force that has your mind spinning.

"I love you, Hyunjin. I love you. So much." you cry happy tears, making him cry too as you clutch onto each other.

"My angel, I love you more than anything." he says as he kisses you, his tongue playing with yours.

He brings you to another orgasm, his fingers on your nipples, pinching and pulling as he keeps rutting into you desperately.

"C-can I cum?" he whimpers, his hands gripping desperately at your waist.

"Yeah." you nod quickly and he gives you his left hand to squeeze and as your fingers entwine, he cums, filling you up endlessly, more than when he was just doll and you whimper as your legs clamp around him, lifting your middle into him and cumming with him again.

Both of you breathe hard as he stays inside you for a moment, before pulling out and watching his cum drip out of you.

"D-do I still have to squeeze your left hand for you to cum?" you chuckle a little.

"No, just... force of habit, I guess." he says sheepishly like he didn't just fuck your brains out.

"What about the vibrations?"

"You really liked that, didn't you?" he smirks, his hand sliding up your thigh tentatively, before his fingers slide between your folds, playing with the wetness.

"Shut up." you say embarassingly, swatting his hand away.

"Don't worry, I can vibrate if you want." he bites on his lip as he looks at you.

"I'm too sensitive now." you whisper and he chuckles.

"I know. Usually you don't go above four, five orgasms in one sitting. Maybe six if you're extra horny."

"It's embarassing to me that you know this in such detail." your face becomes red as Hyunjin chuckles, shaking his head.

"Nothing you should be embarassed about. I'm happy to please you." he says and leans down to kiss you gently.

You pull him into your embrace, hoping that from now on, he stays human, and keeps loving you because in this moment you can't imagine your life without Hyunjin in it.

"Thank you for letting me use your painting supplies." Hyunjin smiles up at you as he sits on the floor of your living room, like you always did when you painted.

"Don't thank me, Jinnie. What's mine is yours." you smile as you sit next to him and lean in closer.

"Let me see." you say as he looks down sheepishly.

He pushes the sketchbook towards you and you gasp.

"Hyunjin, this is amazing! How did you manage to paint so well?! And you painted me! That's so sweet."

"I- I don't know. As I started, it's like I got déjà vu, like I already did this before and many times so."

"Really? That's peculiar." you say.

"Maybe we should call the company I got you from." you add, tapping your chin.

"P-please don't!" Hyunjin panics, gripping at your thigh. "I'm scared. I don't know why but when I try to think of that place, it feels bad. Please don't call them. I don't want them to take me away from you."

"Hey, hey, it's okay. No one will take you away from me. I won't call them." you quickly grab his face to calm him down.

"You promise?" his pupils shake as he looks at you.

"I promise." you nod and kiss him sweetly to let him know he can trust you.

Hyunjin visibly relaxes with your touch, wrapping his arms around you and tucking his face in your neck.

"Um... could we go outside? We only ever went on night drives which is understandable but now that I can walk and stuff, we could go out on real dates and maybe visit museums?" he looks up at you with a smile.

"Of course! Anywhere you want to go." you smile back at him, and he leans up to kiss you.

For the next several weeks, you take Hyunjin everywhere.

To the park, the movies, museums, to a club, to different restaurants, to a mall, anything that comes to your mind, the two of you decide to visit, even going to a little town nearby for a day trip.

You don't remember the last time you were this happy and had someone next to you who made everything look so easy and sweet.

Hyunjin had taken an interest in capturing all the pretty moments so you got him a camera, deciding to surprise him for your 6 month anniversary.

As you came home from work, you called out to him but there was no answer.

"Jinnie? Are you sleeping?" you pushed the bedroom door open but the bed was vacant.

A heavy feeling settled in the pit of your stomach as you searched your entire apartment and couldn't find him.

Frantically, you looked for him again, knowing that he didn't suddenly become Barbie sized and hid somewhere.

He was gone.

You ran out of your apartment to knock on your neighbor's door.

"Tony! Did you see Hyunjin today maybe?" you asked him as soon as he opened the door.

"No, I didn't, sorry." he shook his head.

You didn't know what to do so you went back to your apartment and burst into tears.

Hyunjin didn't have a phone you could contact him with as he never had the need to use one so you had no way of reaching him.

All you could do was sit and wait, biting your nails as every single scenario runs through your mind.

He will come back, you reassure yourself as you fall asleep from exhaustion.

And he does, around 10pm the door clicks open and you jolt up from your nap on the couch.

"Hyunjin?" you say into the dark space and he turns on the light, standing in the middle of your living room with two gift bags in his hand and an apologetic look on his face.

"Oh my god, Hyunjin!" you jump to your feet, running to him and throwing your arms around him, squeezing him tightly and almost knocking him down as the bags fall out of his hands and he wraps his arms around your waist.

"I'm so sorry, y/n. I should've left you a note. I-I went out to get a gift for our anniversary tommorow."

"Please, don't ever disappear like that again. Do you have any idea how scared I was?" you cry and Hyunjin gasps, his hands on your face as he wipes away your tears.

"I'm really sorry. I will never ever do something like this again." his eyes water too.

"I should get you a phone." you shake your head. "Hey, how did you even manage to buy a gift? You don't have any money." you chuckle, wiping at your cheeks.

"I went to the park and painted portraits of people for money, then got the gift."

"Oh, Jinnie, you sweet fool. Just don't give me any more scares."

"I promise I won't." he nods and your lips seal in a kiss.

Despite having so many options to choose from now, Hyunjin and you decide to have a nice dinner at home for your anniversary, where it all started.

You even took out the most expensive plates and silverware you owned, adding some candles to create a more intimate atmosphere, some light romantic music playing in the background.

"Y/n, I um- got you something I'd like to see you wear tonight for me."

"Oh, you did?" you smirk. "Show it to me."

Hyunjin grabs one of the gift bags and reaches it to you with an excited smile.

You chuckle and peek inside, seeing that he got you black and red lacy lingerie as well as a dress.

"Do you like it?" he asks.

"Very much so." you take out the dress and touch the silky material. "This dress is very revealing." you notice the opened back and the deep neck line that would definitely almost make your breasts fall out.

"I was counting on the fact that we celebrate here because you in that dress is for my eyes only." his eyes darken suddenly.

"Oh yeah? Let me get ready for our dinner then." you chuckle and make your way to the bathroom.

Hyunjin decides to wear the clothes he arrived in, since those were the only fancy clothing items he owned, and he thought it was kind of symbolic to put them on tonight.

You walk into your bedroom to find Hyunjin dressed and staring at the big box he was packed in, one you still didn't get rid of.

"Jinnie?" you call out as he seems to be deep in thought.

"You kept the box." he says, still looking at it.

"I did. I had no idea what I was getting into so I left it just in case. I was gonna throw it out, it's just really heavy." you explain, making your way to him.

"When you arrived, two men had to carry the box in, and somehow the box seemed heavier than you. I barely managed to get it into the closet. Had to push it and stuff. Sorry I didn't have the chance to get rid of it."

"It's okay, y/n. You don't have to apologize." he smiles as he turns towards you.

"Oh." a gasp leaves his lips as he sees you all dressed up for him.

"You like?" you smirk, winking at him.

"Mhm." he nods quickly. "You look stunning, my angel."

"Thank you, Jinnie. You look handsome."

His cheeks seem to become more red with the praise as he mutters, his eyes darting left and right.

You enjoy your dinner together, romantic music playing in the background, the tv mute, left on just from the habit of it.

After you finish eating, you migrate to the couch to cuddle and drink wine, some stupid show playing on the screen and the two of you jokingly read from the character's lips, making up nonsensical conversations and laughing.

After some time and some more wine, Hyunjin becomes even more handsy than usual, grabbing at your thighs, sliding his hands on the silky material of the dress.

You melt into him, kissing him as your arms wrap around his shoulders, your tongues languidly massaging each other as your core throbs with need.

Hyunjin caresses you gently, his hands worshipping you, sliding down your throat, to your collarbone, to the swell of your breasts, down to your stomach and waist, landing on your hips.

His lips attach to your neck as he leaves wet kisses on your skin, licking at it and sinking his teeth in.

"Mm." you moan, playing with his hair as he kisses your collarbone and the flesh of your breast, leaving another love bite on the soft skin.

His hands travel under your dress, roaming around on your legs and your eyes open, landing on the tv, making you gasp.

"Hyunjin, that's you!" you jolt, pointing at the screen.

"Huh?" he mumbles, already drunk on you.

You quickly grab the remote and turn on the sound.

"...seemingly the dolls have some kind of malfunction that the company does not wish to reveal to the public. All eight of the purchased dolls are required to be returned and the buyers will get their money back, guaranteed. The customers will be contacted accordingly..."

"M-my friends. I vaguely remember them." Hyunjin breathes quickly, you can see that he's getting upset quickly. "They wanna take me away from you."

"I won't let them." you quickly shake your head.

"What are we gonna do?" he asks, clenching his fists and you gently grab his hands, trying to soothe him.

"We're gonna... leave."

"Leave?"

"Yeah, I have a house my aunt left me up in the mountains. I don't think they can find us there. For now, until we think of where to go next." you start planning immediately.

There was no way you would let anyone take Hyunjin away from you.

"But, what about your job? And your things?" Hyunjin bites on his lip.

"I don't care. All I care about right now is making sure you're safe." you smile at him, your hand coming up to caress his cheek.

Hyunjin smiles, leaning into your touch and wrapping his arms around you.

"Thank you." he whispers into your hair.

You get a call from an unknown number the next day, but one quick google search tells you it's the company Hyunjin came from.

You packed one bag of a few essential things you'd need, leaving most of your belongings behind.

"Y/n! There's a black van posted outside. It's been there for hours. They're looking at the building right now." Hyunjin announces and you make your way to the window, half hiding behind him.

"We need to use the fire exit." you declare and Hyunjin nods as he turns to you.

"I won't let them take you. I promise." you hold his hands.

"I trust you, my angel." he smiles and you kiss him gently before the two of you exit the building, quickly entering your car.

You step on the gas, and reach out to hold Hyunjin's hand in yours.

As you speed off into the sunset, hoping for a better tomorrow, a black van rounds the corner, following you from afar...

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @lixies-favorite-cookie

[foldingfittedsheets]

The dog I think of as My Dog was picked up from the shelter when I was about 16 and he was six months old. He was a cattle dog mix, which at the time was really uncommon in our area.

We were only getting a dog because my mom was worried about home invaders which was a bit insane as we were out in the country and we’d left our German Shepherd down in Arizona with my dad for complicated reasons.

I turned the corner and saw him. Instant connection. He was curled up dozing, all blue and white freckles with red ears and feeties. His clipboard said “SLY” in huge red letters. I called it softly and he opened his eyes, ears perking. He roused to sleepily amble toward me, lick my fingers, then go lay back down.

My mom joined me in dismay, seeing the love dripping off of me. She hadn’t wanted a puppy but it was clear which dog we were going home with.

Sly was a monstrous puppy. Fans of cattle dogs will be unsurprised to learn he was exceedingly clever, mischievous and Bored a Lot. It turned out his name hadn’t been Sly. It was Billy. But I think we all know why a huge red warning had been applied to his kennel. We named him Sly anyway.

My mom doesn’t remember threatening in earnest to bring him back but it happened. Sly loved to chew. He had no interest in fetch or most toys but he adored chewing. I lost headphones, backpack straps, and pillows to his voracious teething. We tried to dissuade him. He just learned to chew when we weren’t looking. Then one day, clever but not smart, he set his teeth to a plugged in cord and electrocuted himself. He was fine, just really startled!

Thus ended the chewing, forever.

He wouldn’t even pick up toys. He was fully convinced having things in his mouth was only a matter of time before they turned on him. He’d run after a ball at dog parks, grab it in the euphoria of the chase, then immediately spit it out.

He was still a lot of dog and my moms rumblings about his poor behavior led me to join 4H with him. My friend Lia was in with her spaniels so I had an in. We did twice weekly training in obedience and showmanship.

That was it. Sly transformed into the best dog. From a bored unmanageable puppy he became a partner, ready to work on whatever we needed to work on. He learned buckets of commands, eager to please. Sit, down, wait, stand, front, back up, shake, roll, heel. The only thing we could never convince him to do was speak. His bark was reserved for Danger.

We went to compete in the county fair together, entering obedience trials and dog show portions.

The instructions are clearly stated before obedience testing. A dog must stay sitting for two minutes when told to stay, and three minutes for laying down. If our dog broke we were not supposed to speak to reissue commands, simply wait quietly.

It was us in a line with five other dogs. He passed the sitting part just fine. The down one was longer and a wretched golden retriever broke. But then his trainer pulled out a ball and started trying to redirect him with it. The other dogs watched with interest but stayed down. Sly started up. He desperately wanted to herd the golden back into place.

With elbows off the ground he froze, realizing his mistake. His head whipped to me. In silence, I swept my arm down in the nonverbal command for down. He dropped obediently and watched me fixedly for the rest of the time. I think he could feel my disappointment.

We failed.

But the judge came up to us afterward as I was petting him and said, “I was so impressed your dog knows nonverbal commands, and that other dog was so distracting! Let’s retest with the next batch.”

I was thrilled and Sly was steadfast, staring unblinkly at me for the full three minutes with utter determination. He won blue ribbons in obedience and got later best in breed since there was no other cattle dogs.

[shimmershifts]

an open letter to those who have not yet shifted.

i don't know how many of you will see this, let alone how many will read it entirely. this letter is for those who have been trying to shift for two years, five years, more. those who cannot give up, and those who will not give up, and maybe even those who already have. to preface, this letter will not rehash everything you already know. you've scrolled every forum, you've seen every method, you've read every tip. you've trialed, and errored, and persevered... but you're still here. law of assumption, manifestation, belief, intention. but you're still here. you've been told all about shifting... right? you already know what shifting is... right? you should already know how to shift... right? but you're still here.

this letter is not intended to debase or invalidate those who do already believe in those things and who are satisfied with that. this is for those who have been trying that way for 2 years, 5 years, and more, and still haven't shifted. this is for those who might want an alternative perspective.

what you've been told

in my personal opinion, the online shifting community as it currently stands is very... rigid. narrow. there are a few dominant views, and then the many who drown out any possible dissent or disagreement. i do understand why this happens. reality shifting is already a marginal belief, hounded by anti-shifters and disbelieved and debunked on all sides, so it makes sense that people feel the instinct to close ranks at any sign of an outsider. unfortunately, this has led to a community that raises its hackles at even other reality shifters who simply don't believe the exact same way that you do. law of assumption. manifestation. intent. (and dare i say it, the multiverse.)

i don't believe in any of that, in the context of shifting.

now, wait! don't go yet, stay with me. it's okay if you do. i'm not intending to change the minds of those who already believe in these things. i'm not going to go at anyone and say "i'm right, you're wrong, and you must change your mind to agree with me!" that would be silly, and counterproductive. let's lower our guards, and extend an olive branch, please. if you feel these things serve your journey, then carry on. you're allowed to disagree with me, i won't be upset. you're allowed to think i'm wrong, if you want. literally no worries at all.

but i am a little tired frankly of certain ideas being treated as the only options, and often in a rude or hostile manner. if you are someone who has spent five years trying to shift, and you see yet another post that boils down to "all you have to do is want it hard enough" does that not hurt your soul? the following sections of this post are for those who these ideas have not been working for. for those who have not yet shifted. it's been two years. five years. more. and you're still here. are you open to another possibility?

what is reality shifting?

i've told you what i don't believe, but what about what i do? i'll try to keep this as concise as possible for the sake of brevity and comprehension, knowing i could potentially clarify in future posts. but please continue with the understanding that im a chronic overexplainer, and my curse is the fact that the extra words don't always actually increase understanding. bear with me.

reality shifting: broadly speaking, this refers to shifting your linear experience of reality from one, to another. this has been known by many other names in the past, across continents and cultures, even in pre-agriculture societies. i'd include ideas like persistent realms, quantum jumping, focus 21, etc. language is subjective, and people may describe or understand the same experience in different ways.

i believe reality shifting is a haphazard side effect of our limited ability to perceive and comprehend reality. let me explain. space, as we understand it, is three dimensional. but reality isn't. it's our bodies and minds limiting our perception and understanding that makes all of reality seem that way to us at surface level.

1D: let's consider a hypothetical one dimensional existence. everything would a straight line, and the only way to perceive anything else would be as a single point directly in front or directly behind you. forwards and backward. the 2D and 3D are beyond your limited ability to physically sense or feel, let alone to comprehend. Forget about the 4D (time). due to your lack of comprehension, you cannot move at will in two dimensional planes, let alone three dimensional space or even time. you are static, a single point.

2D: let's consider a hypothetical two dimensional existence. it would be a flat, infinite planar expanse. you might be a square, or a circle. you can move freely in two dimensional directions (forward, backwards, side to side), but not in the 3D. No up, no down. If you tried to perceive a three dimensional object, you would only be able to comprehend it as linear, a line on the horizon where it intersects your 2 dimensional plane. you would perceive the 3D as moving around or within you on its own, without the ability to direct it. the 4D, or time, if you could perceive it, would be static, a singular point at a time.

3D: what about our three dimensional existence? congratulations, you now are a form, such as a sphere, or a cube. you can move freely in a voluminous, infinite three dimensional space. Forward, backwards, side to side, up, and down. if you *try* to perceive the fourth dimension (time), you can only comprehend it as linear, a line where it intersects your 3 dimensional space. You perceive it as moving around or within you on its own, without the ability to direct it yourself. any dimensions higher than that, if you could perceive it, would be static, a singular point at a time.

quick 4D sidebar: clearing this one up now because this will confuse some of you who are involved in other communities. in many law of assumption and manifestation communities, "4D" has been used to refer to your imagination, inner world, a bridge to "higher vibrational states", etc. i don't use it that way. i use it in the sense of the mathematical concept, or linking three-dimensional space with time. 4D=time.

4D and 5D: so, time is the fourth dimension. that means it is four dimensional, yet due to our limitations as 3D creatures, we can only perceive it as linear. we perceive it as moving around us, without our direction, forwards, (or backwards in some cultures). what about the 5th dimension? the static one? the one we can only perceive one point of at a time? let's call this 5th dimension... reality. due to our limited perception, it may not seem like it, but time and reality are just like space in that all of it exists at once. if you were a 5th dimensional creature, you wouldn't see a bunch of different realities, you'd just see one the way we just see one 3D universe around us right now.

tip: think of it this way, if a three dimensional creature moving through time is only able to perceive it linearly, it may think that each point of time exists separately, passing by in chronological order. this would be like a character in a book, the character experiences each page one at a time as we turn the page. but we know that actually, the entire book exists all at the same time, and already did exist before we picked it up and started reading it, and continues to exist even when we set it down. the same is true of time, and reality. even if we perceive it as linear, or a point, all of it actually exists simultaneously, like space.

still, we can only perceive one point of reality at a time. i believe when we reality shift, we are by some freak of nature (or nurture) finding a way to trigger a "movement" in this "5th dimension," and therefor shifting our linear experience of time and our singular perceptual experience of one reality to another. ("movement" is a bit of an abstraction here, as movement generally refers to 3D space. you're not actually moving anywhere, you're already there, you just... can't see it at the same time as this.)

ok, so how the heavens do i shift?

if you read through all of the above, i assume that's what you're asking by now. "get to the point shimmer! how do i shift?" if you don't need intention, belief, assumption, manifestation, three gallons of water, crystals, or anything else then what do you need to shift?

if we boil shifting down to its absolute core, all you need to do in order to shift is to shift. (put down the pitch forks, and the flaming feathers and tar. i'll elaborate.)

shifting involves finding a way for us 3 dimensional creatures to trigger a shift in a dimensional direction that we do not have the capacity to perceive. so what i mean by "all you have to do to shift, is to shift" is that there is no physical movement, or secret password we can whisper that makes us shift, not inherently. it's sort of like being told to find your invisible and non corporeal primordial tail, and then swish it in a direction that doesn't spatially exist. find your "move in the 5D button", and then press it. except, there is no button.

so how do we "move" from one point of reality to the other? well, the first clue to this is in noticing what part of us is actually doing the "moving".

you don't make it happen with your three dimensional form. there is no body part or mass or motor function in your 3D body that triggers a shift. there's nothing that allows a three dimensional form to move in five dimensional directions... you just can't. your body stays here. that's good news actually, in my opinion. there is no need to force yourself into strange bodily positions, or chug water, or whatever else. your 3D body is irrelevant, because it's not going anywhere. you don't have to do anything with your body to shift. some people can shift awake, asleep, in the shower, walking around, etc.

you also don't necessarily do it with the fourth dimension, time. there is no specific amount of time that you'll shift after. it might seem you've spent a lot of time trying to shift, but the actual shift itself is instantaneous. some people shift their first try, and some of you might be on your second decade of attempts. again, the time factor being irrelevant is good news because this means it doesn't have to take time.

i also don't think we do it with just intent or belief. the intention word gets used so much it basically means nothing, but the general idea is that intent is the driving force that manifests your desired outcome. in the context of shifting, people use it like "set your intention to shift, and you will" or "intent makes you shift." or the dreaded "you just have to believe harder." personally, i don't think that's true. i don't think intention makes you shift. if it did, you all would have shifted by now, right? i think looking anyone who's been trying to shift for 4 years dead in the eye and telling them they just haven't intended to shift yet is honestly a bit cruel and unusual. some people who intend to shift will shift, but in my opinion, its a case of correlation, and not causation. there are also people who shift without intending to, or who intend to shift but don't.

it's also not really our thoughts that shift. or our mind as a concept, or our entire self. we know this because you don't turn into a comatose vegetable when you shift to a different reality. your thoughts, mind, and self here are unaffected by your awareness shifting away from it. if you successfully "permashifted" to hogwarts tonight, your self here would still wake up in the morning and go to work.

so what does shift? only our linear experience of our own awareness. so in order to reality shift, we just need to find a way to trigger our awareness to shift from one point of reality to another in a non linear fashion, and then integrate that into our linear experience. aha! you think. great! now how do i do that...? unfortunately, this is not an exact science (yet.) once you begin shifting regularly, i think it gets "easier" in some regards because you get a sense for how your awareness "feels" and what works for you. for those who haven't shifted, i can't say "take three deep breaths and recite the secret words, and then you'll shift." there is nothing specific you can physically do that will for certain make you shift. there's no secret passwords.

there is no key to shifting. the good news is, this means there is also no lock.

what we can do is get ourselves primed, into a state that increases the chances our awareness is triggered to shift. ie, find the "move in the 5D" button, (you know, the one that doesn't exist) and learn how to press it. and because it is our awareness that shifts, my "methods" have to do with priming your awareness for shifting. you don't need to believe, which is a good thing because it means doubts won't hold you back. you don't necessarily need to intend, which is a good thing because it means there are no secret blockages in your way. no "subconscious", no "reprogramming", no "delusion is the solution." you don't need any of that. you also don't have to do anything specific with your body or space unless you feel like it and want to. you don't need a script, but you can make one if you want. it's whatever, it's irrelevant darling, it's non-consequential.

these three methods below basically encompass all shifting methods out there. i might expand on techniques for these methods later, but for now i'll go over the basics.

method one: pure awareness

it basically boils down to two steps. get into a state of pure awareness, and then shift.

the first step for this method is actually a simple one, sort of, but i think it's unkind to call it easy. it can be easy, if you just happen to have a perfect technique that works for you on your first try. if so, congrats! if not, don't despair. it comes more naturally to some than others, at first. you can probably build the skills and try different techniques necessary for you to get there.

but what is pure awareness? it's currently very often being called "the void state", but i'm not using that term for a few reasons. one, i think using the term "the void state" or calling it "the void" is making people think it's some sort of place that they're trying to go. it's not. it's not a physical place at all, and that's kind of the point. most of the time, your awareness is perceiving reality through the confines concept of 3D reality, because that's the data input it's receiving from your brain and body. that grounds you in this reality, and allows you to go about your day to day life. your goal with the pure awareness method is to focus on just your awareness, absent of all 3D distraction data and input. that way, your awareness is primed to be triggered to shift its focus to the 3D perception of a different point of reality when you come out of that state.

i might make a post about techniques for getting into the state of pure awareness, but this post is already long enough.

method two: destabilization of awareness

this method gets over complicated, but it basically boils down to two steps. destabilize your awareness, and then shift.

honestly, most shifting methods i see online are in some way doing this. lucid dreams, the hypnogogic state, SATS, self-hypnosis, "symptoms", and also all those iterations of the "raven method" the "staircase method" the "alice in wonderland method" etc are all basically ways to destabilize your awareness from the linear perception it is so used to in this point of reality, offering the opportunity of triggering a shift to a different one. they're all sort of either distracting or subverting your focus on the 3D here in this point of reality.

basically, you'll be trying to discombobulate yourself to the point your awareness is not focused on 3D reality, and trigger a shift.

method three: absence of awareness

sleep method gang, rise up. i'm serious. this method involves reducing your awareness to zero, or as close to it as possible, another potentially prime state to trigger a shift. (and by sleep method, i don't mean lucid dreamers or SATS, i mean simply going to sleep here, having a period of complete unawareness, like totally dreamless sleep, and then waking up in your DR.)

this absence of awareness during sleep is (in my experience) the most common cause of accidental or unintentional shifts, but you might be one of those who can trigger a shift to desired realities with this too.

sleeping is not the only way to get to the state of the lack of awareness. i'd say total distraction methods also count for this. you're not asleep, your body is awake, but you're so "zoned out" (or alternatively in a meditative state such that) you're absolutely not aware of the 3D experience of this point of reality anymore.

this is completely different from the state of pure awareness by the way, because in the state of pure awareness you are aware. like, in pure awareness you have a full train of thought and total control. the absence of awareness is the opposite. it feels sort of like a "blip" where reality time and space passed you by and you were not aware of it.

[moonstruckme]

remus one shot where he can’t stop blushing around the reader because he has a huge crush on her and sirius and james are like dude please ask her out already?? 🙈

cw: the trials and tribulations of a restaurant job, semi-confident reader (or at least she can withstand Sirius' flirting, which I couldn't), James and Sirius' shameless wingmanning

shy!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

The cafe is crammed. You’ve almost tripped over two kids already whose parents let them run loose, you did let a glass slip from your tray when a customer stuck his leg out into the walkway without looking, and you’ve quickly reached the conclusion that today was definitely the wrong day to break in your new work shoes. You’re on your last straw at only ten in the morning, but your pasted-on smile becomes twice as genuine when you see a table of your favorite regulars. 

“Hi,” you say warmly, clicking your pen and readying it above your pad. “How are we doing today?” 

You’re greeted with two dazzling grins from one side of the booth and a shyer smile from the other. 

“Y/n,” says Sirius, in his suave, flirtatious way (you’ve learned not to take it personally), “you’re looking stunning.” 

You know your hair is suffering from the weather outside and there’s orange juice down the front of your apron, but you smile at him anyway. “Thank you, so are you.” 

“How’s your morning going?” James asks. These boys are never ones to skip over pleasantries to get to their meal, and while with other tables you might try to hurry them along, you never mind in this case. Today especially, you welcome the break. 

“Oh, it’s going,” you try to joke, looking pointedly down at your orange juice stain. “Could be worse.” 

He makes a face. “Yikes.” 

“It’s fine,” you say breezily. “What can I get you?” 

You look to James, because really he’s the only one you ever need to ask. The other two are fairly consistent, but James seems inclined to try something new every time he comes in. 

He doesn’t disappoint now, locking eyes with you seriously over the top of his menu. “How is your butterfly lemonade? No—actually, what is your butterfly lemonade?”

“It’s…” You bite your lip, thinking. Sirius snickers, and when you look he seems to be sharing in some joke with Remus’, whose cheeks have gone a tad pink. “I’m not sure, honestly, but it’s sweet. I think you’d like it.” 

“That, then.” James slaps down his menu decisively. 

“Right.” You write it down. “And then, a caramel latte and a tea?” You look to Sirius and Remus for confirmation. 

The former shoots you a grin you take as a yes, while the latter nods and says quietly, “Thank you.” 

“No problem.” You soften your smile for Remus. You adore all of these boys, but you have a bit of a tender spot for him. Remus is by far the quietest of his friends, though really just as friendly when he does talk. It’s terribly endearing. 

You click your pen again. “Okay, back soon!” 

The boys’ table remains a bright spot in your morning for as long as they’re there. Their antics you’re rather used to—the flirting, and the pranks, and the teasing way both James and Sirius poke at Remus while his blush worsens and worsens—but it surprises a laugh out of you when you joke that you’ll have to spit in Remus’ food if he orders the brioche (which infamously holds up the kitchen every time) and Sirius snorts doubt he’d mind before yelping and jumping in his seat. By the time you’re bringing them their ticket, the cafe has reached its late morning lull and your day is remarkably brighter than it started off. 

You seem to be interrupting some sort of debate when you approach their table, Remus leaning forward to whisper across the booth before he catches sight of you and sits back. The tops of his cheekbones are tinged pink. Sirius, on the other hand, is grinning wickedly, whereas James looks mostly exasperated. 

“Thank you,” James says kindly, taking the ticket from you. Remus starts rifling through his pockets for cash, but Sirius only looks at you as though sizing you up. 

“Y/n,” he starts to say, ignoring how Remus’ eyes narrow in his direction, “are you seeing anyone at the moment?” 

You feel your eyebrows lift. “Not currently, no.” 

“But why not?” He affects a look of puzzled contemplation, propping his chin on his hand. “You’re a pretty girl. Are you not looking to date?” 

You shrug, fighting the urge to cross your arms defensively. It’s not that you’ve never gotten these sorts of personal questions from customers before, but you weren’t expecting them from this table; you thought you knew better than to take Sirius’ flirting seriously. “Nothing has come up lately, I guess.” 

“Do you fancy men?”

“Sirius,” Remus hisses. “Leave her alone.” 

“What?” Sirius spreads his hands, guileless. “None of us would care if you didn’t, lovely—well, some might care, but no one would hold it against you—” He yelps for the second time today, this time shooting a glare at his friend across the booth. “Anyway, you don’t have to say if you aren’t comfortable.” 

You’re laughing a bit now, half nervously. “No, that’s okay. I do, yeah.” 

“Interesting.” James sets down the ticket. It seems you have his full attention now. “And what do you think of our Remus?” 

Remus makes a horrified sputtering sound, and you turn to find him looking at James in betrayal. He’s pink to the tips of his ears. 

You can’t help a small smile as you catch on. “I think he seems very sweet.” 

“Mm, well spotted.” James nods, tenting his hands like a man at a business meeting. 

“Yes, very good taste,” Sirius agrees. 

“He’s a dateable bloke, no?” James asks you. He jolts in his seat a little, but doesn’t yelp like Sirius had. Remus appears caught between wanting to hide his face in his hands and wanting to burn his friends to cinders with his gaze. He’ll be lucky, you think amusedly, if he doesn’t burn himself up first. The hue of his blush is only getting deeper. 

“He is,” you agree. You look at Remus again. This time, he meets your eyes, his look softening. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says miserably. 

Your grin spreads. “No, don’t be.” 

“So would you like to date him?” James furthers. 

Remus does put his head in his hands now, letting out a muffled groan. “James.” 

“What? Clearly you aren’t going to do it yourself, and I am sick of trying to eat my breakfast whilst you moon over—” He jumps in his seat again, and goes quiet, reaching down to rub at his leg. You tuck your lips in to hide a smile. 

“I’m just going to take this,” you say, reaching for the customer copy of their receipt. You bend over, scrawling your number down on the signature line. “And if anyone has more questions for me later, they can give me a ring. Okay?” 

You look at Remus. He looks nauseous and stop-sign red, but he manages to give you a small smile. “Alright,” he says, tentatively.

“Perfect. Bye, boys.” You shoot them a wave as you go to your next table. You hope Remus sees how your smile is really only for him.

[nereidprinc3ss]

hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him. 

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened? 

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a  little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough. 

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop. 

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes. 

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him. 

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was. 

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again. 

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again. 

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table. 

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world. 

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms. 

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now. 

[dunmeshistash]

Ryoko Kui Exhibition & ''Delicious in Dungeon'' Exhibition

"Delicious in Dungeon" Artwork

Cover illustration draft, vol. 1

Since this was the first volume, I tried out a few different drawings and had the editor and designer choose which ones they wanted, then made small adjustments. I personally liked the top-down draft, and the one of the cooking processes (back cover) the best. But looking back, I sincerely think it's good that we didn't go with those. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 2

The format was decided for volume 1. So, volume 2 came together quickly. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 3

I thought it might be cool to make the character Chilchuck darker in the foreground, and the background brighter! But it didn't quite work out the way I had imagined. I think it could have been a bit better. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 4

I remember that the overall shape of volume 4 came together very quickly. The character Senshi's hands didn't fit nicely, so I moved them backwards and to the side. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 5

I thought people might start to think "how many have I bought?" so I wanted to create a slightly different impression with this volume. I decided to put the character right in the center and try putting it together all in blue and green hues. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 6

With the Red Dragon defeated, have we reached the halfway point in the story? With this in mind, I thought of how many volumes were left to go, and the number of characters, and decided to pair up the characters Namari and Shuroiro. In hindsight, it would have been fine to have them on one cover each. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 7

The image is of focus lines converging on the character Izutsumi. This is the kind of cover, with upside down characters, which I've always wanted to try once(?) I submitted it as a trial, thinking that at this point the cover wouldn't dramatically influence sales. However, in the end, we decided it would be better not to have it upside down. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 8

I tried blurring the mushrooms in the foreground, then I accidentally saved over it, and couldn't go back to the original. I remember apologizing that it was probably tacky, when I submitted it. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 9

I don't think snake meat is marbled at all, but if it has an unfamiliar look, people might not recognize it as meat… so I made it look like beef to make it easier to understand. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 10

I thought it might be interesting to have more than one of the main characters on the cover again, so I added the character Falin. I remember it wasn't badly received, but it still ended up just being Thistle on his own. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 11

I wanted this cover to be covered in shiny gold. After I finished it, it didn't have enough color, so I painted the tablecloth green, and it ended up looking like Christmas colors. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 12

Up to this point, the covers have featured one of the main characters holding cooking utensils in the foreground and a monster in the background, but I thought it might be interesting to reverse the format just before the final volume, so I drew this cover with that in mind. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 13

volume 13 was meant to be the final one, but it was too thick to be published as a single volume, so we decided to split it into two. The question of “so, what should I draw next!?" may be at the forefront of volume 13. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 14

I had decided that the final cover definitely needed to have everyone eating together on it, but because I was publishing two books at the same time I was pressed for time, and it was difficult to have a cover with so many characters on it. I also submitted a rough for an illustration that didn't need me to draw any crowds, but such obviously easy ideas are never adopted. (Kui)

TV anime "Delicious in Dungeon"

About the ending illustration.

I drew these based on the director's instruction "This kinds of pictures." I hardly ever have the chance to draw color illustrations, so it was a valuable experience for me. (Kui)

[Kui's commentary is from the english pamphlet]

[gloomwitchwrites]

aftercare with the boys???

Okay, but I love this question. The wonderful thing about aftercare is that it doesn’t need to be complicated and intricate for it to be effective. Good aftercare is tailored to the couple (or multiples if there are more than two people engaging in sex). But also, not everyone is great at aftercare, and figuring out what works for you might take some trial and error. And let’s also be realistic here, not all of the 141 is going to knock it out of the park…they are human after all.

MDNI

written w/ gn!reader

John Price

Seasoned and experienced, Price understands that aftercare is the standard, not the exception.

Whether it’s just a casual one-night affair, or a long-term relationship, Price goes out his way to make sure aftercare happens.

Price doesn’t assume what your needs are. Instead, he presents options before sex happens. There are a few things that come standard like getting you a glass of water, but there are more specific things he wants to know like whether or not you want a shower afterward, and if you want to take that shower alone or with him.

His favorite form of aftercare involves physical touch. If you’re open to it, Price wants a good cuddle with lots of intimacy.

He’s more than happy to chat you up afterward if you need that. Or, if you just need to yap and for him to stay quiet, he can do that, too.

Affirmations, affirmations, affirmations.

Will follow up with you the next day via text or call to make sure you’re doing okay.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

A firm supporter of aftercare.

He’s not one to fuck and leave. Kyle prefers the long-term commitment. He likes the intimacy.

Won’t ask you before sex what you need for aftercare, but will ask after it’s all done. Kyle keeps a list of different options and will cycle through them depending on how intense the sex was. If the two of you engaged in rougher sex, he’s more likely to try and focus on taking care of you physically.

Will take the initiative on a few things like getting you a glass of water and providing snacks (or ordering delivery.)

Prefers giving massages instead of cuddling (but doesn’t hate the cuddling.)

Does enjoy watching a movie or television show after as a distraction.

Conversation and closeness post-sex is extremely important to him.

John “Soap” MacTavish

This goober doesn’t even know that aftercare is an important part of sex. It takes him a bit to figure it out y’all.

That being said, it’s not until Johnny becomes entangled in a serious relationship that the pieces start to fall into place for him.

While others may go for a more sensual approach, Johnny is all about comfort and having a laugh.

When he cuddles, he cuddles hard, and if you try to wiggle away, think again.

Lots of talking, chatting, and verbal affirmations. This man isn’t only telling you how much he loves you, or that he had a lot of fun, but also is doing his best to make you smile and even laugh.

He is the kind of aftercare partner that is absolutely looking up memes and funny videos for the two of you to watch together.

Would have edibles at the ready (if you want them) and endless snacks.

Open to watching something on television or a movie but make it low stakes. Needs to be a comedy or a trashy reality show.

If the two of you bathe or shower, it’s together. No exception.

Lots of touching.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Aftercare is a complicated topic when it comes to Simon.

If he’s only there to get his dick wet, don’t expect aftercare. He will get you off, and find his own release, but don’t expect too much after the fact. But he won’t be a brute or an asshole either.

Aftercare comes when you least expect it, when the casual starts to become serious.

It happens almost accidentally, or rather suddenly, and completely on Simon’s terms.

Perhaps the two of you were engaging in some rough sex—at least rougher than normal—and Simon notices some bruising/tender skin. Maybe when he bit down, he drew blood, even if he didn’t mean to.

He immediately starts cleaning you up, tending to any marks he finds. It’s not a quick dab of a cloth but a full onceover. Simon observers every inch of you, checking to make sure you’re fine.

He does a verbal check in as well, because he understands that a physical check isn’t always enough.

Afterwards, he’s taking you for a bath or shower.

Then, it’s an ice pack or heating pad if you need it.

Don’t expect an outpouring of affection, but he will provide a few affirmations to reassure you.

And he will cuddle. It won’t be anything tight or super close, but rather an arm around you to draw you closer to him.

main masterlist

[gojorgeous]

you meet satoru when his class comes to America for a two-week exchange program. You’re part of the corresponding class year, so it’s your and your classmate’s job to show them around and make them feel… welcome.

It takes him all of two seconds after seeing you to decide you’re his wife.

You’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. You’re smart, you’re strong, you’re THAT girl. He needs you.

The next two weeks are spent like teenagers. You manage to get Shoko in a dress and a full face of makeup and you get a few shots of vodka in the boys and suddenly you’re out dancing at any club that’ll let you in. The nights are fun, the days are even better. You and your friends take them to every good restaurant in the city and to every park and coffee shop.

You know satoru likes you. It’s obvious. Every time his eyes land on yours you practically see hearts. But… you ignore it. It would never work, anyway. You’re not interested in a one night stand and he’s going back to Japan. And even if he did want a real relationship, his clan would never approve of you. He’s Satoru Gojo and you’re a first generation sorcerer from bum-fuck nowhere with no money or status and nothing to offer but a pretty smile.

That’s what you think until he’s scheduled to be getting back on his plane and instead he’s down on one knee in front of you, begging you to come back with him to Japan and… marry him?

You call him crazy. You’re 18. You live on two different continents. It’s only been two weeks. You-

He cuts you off before you can go any further, telling you to please, “just listen”. Before you know it, he’s sliding a massive rock onto your finger and telling you that you can have… a trial period. Come back to Japan with him, live with him for a year. He’ll pay for everything, buy everything, and he’ll wire five million dollars into your account right now as a “safety net”. If you’re not satisfied with his performance at any time, you’re free to leave.

You’re crying, telling him this is a stupid idea, that his clan won’t approve, that the entirety of jujutsu society won’t approve… and yet you still find yourself saying, “yes”.

The next time you call home you have a lot of explaining to do.

[jackalope-patronus]

summary :: very very soft smut of virgin Sebastian and MC reader. With plot! With feelings!

warning :: seventh year. Very soft, virgin Sebastian and reader, touching over clothes, dry humping, oral f receiving, raw, references to the angst that happened in the game, purity culture (yes, it's the 1890s), lots of love and fluffy stuff. Also there's a spider bite. Possible mistakes, I wasn’t able to check over the entire thing.

note :: I’m forever a hater of rough smut, ‘you like that, you dirty slut?’ uhm no, why are you calling me names!!

“Sebastian, down here.”

“Found something?”

“There’s a cave connected to her home.”

Isidora Morganach's home, or at least one of her homes. You weren't quite sure. It had plenty of notes and discoveries on her adventures travelling after graduating from Hogwarts, some keepsakes from other countries, and plenty of chests already emptied out. The home was ancient and very worse for wear, the roof had long since cave in, allowing the rain from above to patter against both you and Sebastian. You had spotted a deep cavern within the corner of her living-room. Big enough to fit the both of you.

"After you," said Sebastian, gesturing to the dark, black entrance.

You would've retorted, if you hadn't felt so seriously. It had been two years since you'd dealt with anything related to Isadora and the sudden discovery that one of her homes was merely a broomstick flight away from Hogwarts felt troubling to your intuition.

Sebastian could practically see the tension in your body when you first told him.

"I heard rumours of a home that could've belonged to Isadora nearby the castle."

“Isadora?” He choked on the food he’d served himself.

"Yes. I'm going to go and search it after dinner." Something troubling swirled in your eyes and Sebastian jumped to distract you from it.

"I'll come with you." He said.

"This might be something I'll have to do on my own, Sebastian." You stated. If there was a trial or something related to ancient magic, he wouldn't be able to do anything. Professor Fig never could. You'd be better off alone. 

"You won't even take me as a chaperone?" Sebastian asked, grinning at you. 

It was that grin that had him coming with you to the half rubble household, in the pouring rain, at the dead of night.

Your search was cut short when the moment you reached the end of the slope into the cave, a six legged beast jumped you. You recognised it as a hatchling, small for its kind but big enough to knock you off your feet. You attempted to reach for your wand but the large pincers found your arm, the hollow fangs sinking into your tissue. A sharp wail escaped you as the venom soaked into your muscle.

"Incendio!" The spider was thrown off of you with a quick ball of flame and Sebastian replaced it, kneeling at your side and pulling you up.

"It got me." You hissed, revealing your torn up sleeve. 

He cursed, then took your wrist in his large hand and pushed back the fabric of your sleeve, bringing your numbing arm to his mouth. He latched on before you could quite make sense of his actions, he sucked twice against your raw skin and then spat to the floor next to him. Again, he sucked on the bite then spat out what you hoped was most of the venom, and what looked to be some of your blood, and perhaps some rainwater.

You couldn’t be sure the flush falling over your face was from the venom or not, but the dizziness that followed suggested the first.

Through the haze of the sickening poison flooding your system and the feverish puffs of air you let out, you could hone in on Sebastian’s final part from your irritated skin. A thin, watery string of spit connected him to your arm before it broke and he turned to gauge the effects of the venom on your face.

“Wiggenweld?” You had some faint idea he had said something else, but you weren’t sure.

“My pocket.” You huffed, eye-line peering up at the dark, rocky ceiling dripping rain.

You recalled another flush passing over you, whilst desperate hands pat over your sides, legs and chest. Soon enough, the hands found what they were looking for. After that, a vile pressed to your lips and you felt yourself return to your pained body. Your legs must’ve given out, because Sebastian held you against himself, one hand cupped around your jaw.

“I’m alright.” You croaked, his hold loosening and giving you space. Your stiff legs ached at your weight and you patted your pockets for another wiggenweld potion, but came up empty. You let out a tired groan.

“Let’s head back.” He said. 

"But we've yet to look everywhere." You gazed around the dark and rocky cave, slithers of other spiders echoing through the darkness.

"The house won't be going anywhere, we can come back when you're well again."

Still, you shook your head. “It’s the middle of the night, we’ll surely be caught by some prefect if I’m in this state.”

“It’s worth it, we’ve got to get you another potion and get you right.”

So reluctantly, you let Sebastian help you out of the cave and onto your broom, keeping a weary eye on you until you snuck back into the castle.

Sebastian muttered something about peeves when you entered, your arm around his shoulder and a light hand on your side, keeping you steady as though he was a friend helping you home after a night of drinking. You needed a brewing stand to rid you of this horrid, sickening ache and the fuzziness behind your eyes.

"What in merlin's name..." A nearby wall began to shift, swirls of a door began to form and you had never been so relieved to see the entrance to the room of requirement form for you. It felt like a dear friend coming to your aid. 

"Inside, come on." You ushered, pulling Sebastian along. He held you closer, mumbling 'careful.' at your quickness.

Sebastian sat you down carefully on the closest thing he could, which happened to be a plush settee that you couldn't remember placing when you were last here. Perhaps the room had conjured it up just for you.

"My brewing stand, it should be over there." You blurted.

"You've really decked this place out." He muttered and behind you, you could hear the sizzling of a potion brewing. Sebastian had followed you into the room once or twice before, but not enough to be acquainted to it like you were. An uncomfortable minute passed before Sebastian handed you the potion which spread relief through your body once you drunk it.

He watched your eyes keenly for any haze or sickly glossiness. "Another?" He asked. 

"No I'm alright." You nodded. He sighed thankfully and you smiled at his relief. “I’ve never known you to be the doting type, Sebastian.” You uttered contently, placing down the empty vile.

“Well, you’ve never needed doting.” He rounded the large settee and sat beside you. 

"I never thought you had it in you to be so… gentle."

The word stunned Sebastian, but only for a moment. "Me? Not gentle? How could you ever come to think so low of me?" He jested, an eyebrow raised your way.

"Apologies, I don't know what could've convinced me otherwise." A lot lurked behind your retort, and although you could still see a grin on his face, Sebastian's shoulders deflated. "I'm only joking." You quickly added. "You've always had a soft side, I've been especially reaping the benefits of it in our recent time spent together."

"Well, I'd ought to start treating you well some time in our friendship." He continued, a playfulness added to his somewhat serious statement.

You hummed, although awkwardly. After fifth year, Sebastian had somewhat clung to you. Soloman was dead, Anne had left and his relationship with Ominis had never been so broken. All his time, his loyalty, his effort and his love was directed to you because, plainly, you were the only one who stuck around. You were the only one he'd give it all to, whether you were completely aware of it or not.

So when the two of you tipped around his less than stellar actions towards you, you could see the guilt wrack him. See his regret. Inwardly, Sebastian wished to scrub the memories of his slights against you from your brain. He wasn't that boy anymore. He wasn't so obsessed with finding a cure for Anne, driven by his one-track mind. No, now you had become his obsession. His motivations now revolved around you and he pursued you just as relentlessly as he pursued that cure for Anne, maybe even more so. Perhaps he is the same boy from two years ago.

You glanced at him, his eyes downcast to the marble floor. "I know you always cared for me. Just... Sometimes you had a funny way of showing it." You played with the hem of your skirt, rubbing the fabric between your index and forefinger. "You're a true friend Sebastian, don't doubt that."

"You're one to talk." He suddenly grinned, arm stretching out on the camel back of the sofa, close enough anyone else would consider Sebastian had his arm around you.

"Am I?" You smiled, less wary.

"The entire cohort is deeply in love with you. Perhaps some of the teachers too. I'm sure Professor Wesley would give just about anything to adopt you, and I've never seen Sharp so kind to someone. Truely, it's terrifying."

You shook your head, laughing. "Oh stop, there are plenty who don't like me. What about Imelda?"

"Don't be daft, she'd drop just about anything for you I'm sure." He hummed, smiling at the idea (although it made his affection towards you feel slightly less significant. Still, you were here with him, not Imelda or any other adoring fan you had. That must've counted for something). "You might consider me a charmer, but you're like an Amortentia potion given life."

"Compliments like these are precisely why I enjoy spending time with you Sebastian." You said. Sebastian chuckled lowly.

"Cheeky." He commented.

"So then, can I consider you deeply in love with me too? You did say everyone in our cohort." Daring, but you enjoyed the rush of flirting with Sebastian whenever the opportunity arose.

"Imelda, the teachers, even Ominis and yes, me."

The space between you somehow lessened, the teasing drawing your faces together. In a moment of weakness, yours eyes darted to his smiling lips. He’d caught the glance, igniting a wild tinkle in his eyes. He knew where your thoughts lie and you could see it in the way he looked at you. He took your cheek in his hand and you retracted into nervousness, opening your mouth to say something before Sebastian leaned in to pressed a kiss to your lips.

It felt curt at first, because Sebastian broke away too soon, perhaps because he realised to gravity of his action. But you trailed after him, following his lips and giving him the desire to kiss you again. So he did.

This time, with the assurance of you kissing him back, passion bloomed.

He rested an eager hand on your side, his other still holding your face. His fingers threaded through your hair as his lips pushed into you, with longing and need. It wasn’t messy, nor sloppy, just long moments of intimacy between quick breaths.

After a quick separation, Sebastian dove into you again, furthering his weight into you until you relented and laid back against the sofa, pulling him down with you whilst you kissed.

You utterly lost yourself in the swirls of emotions, drowning in the desire to just be with him, and feel him. It felt hot, light, but above all it felt natural.

Both hands now cupped your sides, pressing you into the pillows. His mouth moved to your cheek, then jaw and you attempted to breath out and slow your racing pulse but the sound that left you was much more vocal than you wanted it to be.

Sebastian stopped and you quickly sobered from the passion. He raised himself off of you, and you jolted up.

He wiped a hand over his mouth. “This is… compromising.” He muttered whilst you were being brought back to the reality of what you were doing.

Kissing Sebastian— kissing anyone!—Alone in a room together, with wandering hands and hot bodies. It was completely and utterly shameful. It wasn’t as though you were innocent children who could get away with linking arms or coupled rendezvous, the two of you were about to graduate and enter ‘proper society’ and however forward thinking the magical word was compared to the muggle word, hooking up with your dearest friend with no ring was still considered dishonourable.

“It is.” You nodded, wide eyed. Would you still be able to wear a white wedding dress after this? Was it allowed? What even was ‘being unclean’? Did making out count? The dizzying feeling returned. All you wanted to do was rewind time and stop yourself from ever making a peep so that Sebastian would’ve continued his journey down your body.

And clearly, Sebastian didn’t want his exploration to end either because his hands lingered around your uniform vest.

“Are you hot?” He asked, eyes dark and utterly taken by you.

“A little, yes.” You nodded, keenly watching his hands encompass the first button.

"May I?"

"Yes." You sighed shakily.

He was slow to thread the black buttons through their slits, opening your chest up to the cool air inside the room of requirement. It seemed the rain had also dampened the fabric underneath the vest, clinging it to your skin. The sight elicited a rough exhale from Sebastian whose reflex was to avert his gaze. He slid the vest off of you and rested his hands at your torso.

"Are you alright?" You asked in hopes to catch his eyes.

"Yes. I'm more than alright, actually." You would laugh if the comment hadn't made goosebumps rise on your skin. He finally returned to face you. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes.” You replied, with an embarrassing eagerness.

He returned from where he left you, kissing your jaw and then ear with such lightness it could’ve been a peck from a pixie. You weren’t sure what you expected, but the way he held you cried love and devotion. Treating your skin like porcelain, and your lips like a favourite dessert he needed to savour (lest he never eat it again). You supposed Sebastian would be a fast lover, a man who would take as he desired and give his all.

This was slow, relaxing, gentle and kind. Almost melancholy. As though with every simple kiss he pressed to your lips, he was apologising.

However you were done with apologies from Sebastian. You wanted his love without guilt.

So you took his face in your hands and kept him locked to your lips for a rhythmic kiss which had his hands clenching and his head feeling light from the rush of blood south. Now you could feel him adjusted to you, taking your lead.

Sebastian decided, when you whimpered at the sensation of his tongue sliding across your lip, that this moment would forever vex him during nights of loneliness.

You weren’t sure when, but his hand had found itself on your inner thigh, below the safeguard of your skirt and squeezing your leg in assurance. His thumb dragged over the dip on your stocking, so close to where you longed most.

As your tongue met his in a long swipe, he squeezed you again but this time the squeeze portrayed a promise, that he was going to touch you and draw pleasure from you.

Your heart skipped a beat, and the butterflies became too much to bear.

“Sebastian— I’m, I’m worried.” You gasped, breathing out a shaken breath.

His hands were away from you, almost in an instant and most unfortunately so was his mouth. “Then we should stop.”

“But I—” You couldn’t allow yourself to truely express you wanted more, wanted to continue and be enveloped by him. But he knew, like he always did, what you wanted.

So against his better judgment, Sebastian mumbled a quiet “Sorry.” To your previously untouched maidenhood, then found your body with his lips again.

He needed this. He loved you too much to stop.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” You asked meekly, as he kissed and sucked at the skin that peaked from your collar.

“I can’t say I’m experienced, but I know what I want to do.”

“What’s that?” You dared to inquire.

“Show you how dear you are to me.”

You whispered a too-soft 'okay' before laying down on your back, like a cat showing its belly to signify its trust. The gesture and the sight of you sprawled out for him, made Sebastian grab his clenched jaw and hide the red settling under his freckles.

You could see a reservation form— or perhaps it was an anxiousness to please swirling in his eyes. You couldn’t tell, but he watched you intensely as his hand traveled down, past your beating chest, over the knobs of your ribs until he dived under your skirt and made his stop at where you burned for him.

His thumb glided over your core and the space between you two felt as though you were on a stage and Sebastian was the only audience member. You had gasped and excitement flickered in his dark eyes. Again, he dragged his thumb over you but with more weight and your previous gasp turned into a whimper. You held onto him, pulling him down into you to avoid his excited stare. His body blanketed you, his scent enveloping you along with the masculine weight of him.

You could feel his hand shift, dulled by the fabric of your stockings then the force of his palm rub against your clothed bundle of nerves. Your legs attempted to close at the sensation, but Sebastian's body kept them open to him. Your chest pounded uncomfortably, so fast and so heavy with the weight of your first-time arousal.

His lips locked to your neck again, his free hand pulling at your tie and unbuttoning the first button on your blouse. Now he kissed a lower, new, more sensitive territory. He moved to the second button and you thought it was impossible for your chest to thud any faster until his wet lips reached a particular sweet spot between your shoulder and neck whilst his other hand worked your sex.

“My heart.” You whimpered, tugging at his robe. His hand halted, resting around your thigh. The sigh he exhaled lingered on the skin of your neck before he leaned to press his ear against your chest.

He listened for seconds, long enough for your fingers to find their way to his hair. You hadn’t realised he held stiffness until his body relaxed into you at the tender rake of your nails through his soft brown locks.

“I’m sorry, I can’t control my nerves.” You said, catching your breath and willing your anxious heart to slow.

“Don’t be.” He countered, lifting his head from your thudding chest. “I’m affected by all this, too.” He took your hand and pressed it into his chest. You quickly felt the thick beats of his pulse, in a rhythm that easily matched your own.

He returned to lay over you, between your legs, with his head beside your own. You clung to his body that draped over you like a blanket along with his wet, wood smell that you'd only ever caught brief whiffs of before this. You felt guilty, leaving all the pleasing to him, especially since he'd been so kind to your hesitations. "I'm sorry. I'm not doing much, am I?"

"Is sorry your favourite word, love?" He asked, his warm hand caressing your cheek. "You deserve someone doing something to please you for once. Besides, your little sounds are doing enough for me as it is."

You pushed a hand to his face, covering the grin that turned you a deep plum shade. He chuckled and kissed your palm. "And what of you, Sebastian?" The kisses began to lead up your arm but you stopped him. "Sebastian."

"Your selflessness never retires, does it?"

You ignored him, propping yourself up to loosen his tie in a simple show that now, it was his turn. You did so smoothly and so gently that it made Sebastian's jaw tighten. You tossed it to the pile where your vest lay, then moved to his robes, sliding them off him. His expression seemed hard, annoyed almost but you continued. He took your wrist only when your fingers edged to undo his third button.

"Don't do this for me." He muttered, clearly thousands of thoughts buffering his mind, but that horrid guilt resurfaced on his face.

"For you?" You somewhat gaped. He must truly think of you as a saint (a push-over, but a saint) to believe you so innocent in your motives. "Not for you. With you, Sebastian." The words were enough to ease his hold on your wrist, so you continued.

Just as Sebastian, you had little to no experience on any sexual matters. You were hardly familiar with your own body, let alone a male's. So ever the improviser, you lifted yourself over him and sat gently, feeling the poke of his arousal against you. You shivered, and had to look away from him for a brief moment.

His hands snapped to your hips, and he looked at you with some kind of warning in his eyes. Tread carefully. The look said.

With Sebastian below you, you finally got a clean look at him; red lips, flushed face, rustled hair. You'd never seen him in such a state. It allowed you to understand why he enjoyed watching you whilst touching your most sensitive area.

With your hands on his chest for balance, you gently swayed your hips against him. His fingers curled around you, his knuckles blanching, and he let out a grunted curse that melted your insides to molten.

Again you moved against him, finding your own pleasure in the movement, prompting you to do it again. Sebastian was unravelling beneath you, eyes creased shut with his head thrown back and mouth letting out choked moans.

You began to notice Sebastian's hips joining you, rolling up with a feverish need. You dipped down to him, deciding the space was too much. His arms envelop you in a strong hug, tightening when you began to leave kisses across his skin.

“Does it feel good?” You asked insecurely whilst already knowing the answer.

“Hng— yes.” He nodded desperately.

The following exchange between you two was nothing more than writhing bodies, quiet moans and shallow breaths.

At some point, appearing fed up with your pace and control, Sebastian had shifted you off him and to his side, where he then mounted you. Finding his rightful place between your legs and returning his core to yours, grinding against you in a manor that reminded you what was to come once the layers between you were gone.

It made your insides plea for him, his hand. Anything.

So you took his face, and guided it back to your lips. It was messier now, not fast or rough, just messy as his mind strayed between his deep rolls against you and the way your tongue met his bottom lip.

But he stoped, retracting his hips but not yet his mouth. You broke from him first.

"Sebastion." His name was a plea, a whine against loosing the sensation of him finding friction against you.

"If we continue like this, I... I won't last. You should find your release before it's over."

You wondered how Sebastian might've known you were even capable of climax, then consider what other kinds of books were available in the restricted section of the library he might've come across. The thought didn't linger in your mind for too long, because he had sat up and had begun removing your stockings.

"Sebastian..."

The familiar sound of your nervous unease halted him.

"Just don't stare." You asked, looking away from the sight of him undressing you.

"Of course." It was a shotty promise, but you allowed him to take off your puffy drawers and settle over you again. He kissed your lips briefly, then your cheek, jaw, neck, collarbone and the plush of your breast that peaked from your halfway unbuttoned blouse.

You gazed up at the ceiling you'd designed two years ago, finding comfort in its familiarity. You wondered briefly that if you had told your younger self that Sebastian Sallow would one day see you half undressed, flushed with lust and be kissing his way down your ribs, abdomen and stomach until he reached your sex, what she might say. You had some faint idea, younger you would've responded with "Sounds about right."

The kiss he pressed against your knee was unhurried and deliberate, even more-so was the one he pressed to your inner thigh. When his mouth finally found you it drew a sharp intake of breath from your chest, suspended in the heavy quiet of the room.

Your hands, awkward and alone, grabbed at your skirt and shirt, clenching the fabric until your knuckles went white. One of them instinctually reached for his hair when his hot, wet tongue slowly swiped you for the first time. Another gasp joined the symphony of echoed silence, aside for the occasional rustle of clothes.

His tongue explored you carefully and too light but with each vocal exhale or quick tug at his hair the experimental licks became sure as he uncovered what made you react the most.

You could feel a simple quake in his hands as they held your thighs open and your trembling body steady. You reached to the fingers that created craters in your flesh, brushing across them in a plea for him to hold your hand. And he did.

You had never imaged it could feel like it did, so warm, so encompassing, so vulnerable yet so rewarding. It was all utterly overwhelming. You couldn't think of anything else other than the sensations. His wet tongue sliding across your nerves, the softness of his chestnut brown hair, the puffs of his hot exhales against your skin and the loving hold of his hand.

The builds of pleasure had begun to undeniably form, and the incoming reality that Sebastian would made you climax quickly sent a storm of butterflies within your stomach.

"I think I'm close." You uttered.

Sebastian's eyes fluttered at your heavenly admission, but he didn't allow the swirling of pride in his chest to sway him from your pleasure. His tongue and mouth moved with such deliberate care, that you whimpered to consider how much he must've loved you, to want care for you this way. No, Sebastian was not a fast lover by any means.

The building peaked, until it snapped and you unravelled. Sebastian had known it by the shiver that ripped through your body and the way your fingers tightened almost painfully around his hair. All that, and the moan you let out was the loudest you'd made yet.

You felt the warm cavern of his mouth seperate from you however you were well past the point of reaction as you sobbed and gasped for oxygen to feed your rapturing heart.

Sebastian's eye's glazed over your now glistening skin "You finished." He stated, almost asking in such bewilderment. You didn't reply, still catching your breath. He picked you up from your weak lay on the sofa and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly.

You wondered when he kissed you, if that sweet tang on his tongue was the taste of you.

The intimacy lingered, guiding you into a heat you didn't expect so soon after your peak. Your hand reached the rim of his trousers, index finger curling around his belt and ever so lightly tugging at it.

Sebastian seemed to hesitate, separating from your lips and gazing at you. “We can stop here. There's no rush—” he began, his voice low and warning, but you silenced him with a soft shake of your head.

“I don't want to stop,” you whispered, the words shaky but certain. The way his breath caught at your words sent warmth bloating your chest.

His hug around you faded as he fumbled with the button of his trousers, his hands trembling slightly as his usual confidence slipped for a vulnerable kind of focus.

Your gaze rose at the ceiling instinctively, to avoid an image so lewd your heart might explode.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours again. The kiss was softer now, as if trying to calm both of your nerves. “It’s just me. You don’t have to be nervous.”

“I’m not,” you lied, the tight weakness in your throat betraying you.

Sebastian smiled, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “I think you are,” he countered, “but that’s alright. This is... I’m nervous too.”

“You don’t seem it,” you admitted, and he let out a breathy laugh.

“I’m good at pretending,” he confessed, his tone light but honest. He kissed you again, slower this time, and the warmth of his lips helped steady you.

As he positioned himself, his movements slowed, almost hesitant. His brow furrowed slightly as though searching for the right way to proceed. “If it hurts, or if you want me to stop, you’ll tell me?”

You nodded.

When he began to push forward, he braced himself with a groan you only recognised Sebastian let out when he'd been in pain, though this was something else entirely. The exhale that followed seemed to have winded him. It was as though sliding into you was like sliding into some exquisite oil.

Despite what you might've expected, no pain flooded your body. There was an uneasy pressure, but no incredible discomfort. As his size slid across your nerves you couldn't help the sharp intake of air through your teeth

Sebastian froze immediately. "Too much?" He asked.

"No," you managed, although sounding as if you were holding back a sob, "It's just.. new." His shoulders sagged with relief.

You shifted beneath him, angling your hips instinctively, and the change made him groan, his head dropping to your shoulder. “Gods, you feel… perfect,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin.

He halted a slow jut into you, experimenting with each gentle motion, balancing his desire with your comfortability. That uneasy tightness had lifted almost completely as he massaged your insides, spreading a melting warmth that eased any tension in your mind.

His name fell from your lips and it shattered what composure he had left. "Does it feel better now?" Although the question sounded worried for you, Sebastian wanted more, to go further and harder and needed the permission from your pleasure.

"Yes," you gasp, "Its— ah— Sebastian it's so much better."

Now he had a newfound confidence and his movements grew surer but still achingly gentle.

It was all becoming smoother, more instinctive, and you found yourself matching him, your hips rising to meet his. He groaned at this. The sensation of him filling you, of your bodies moving in perfect sync, was intoxicating. You could feel his hands sliding up your sides, his touch gentle yet tight as he held you close.

The feel of him gliding inside you, slowly and shallowly pleasing you send spark dancing underneath your skin and another tension, similar to the one you felt with Sebastian's mouth around your sex, although not the same, began to build. “Sebastian,” you gasped, your voice laced with urgency. “I—”

“Just a little more,” he coaxed, remaining loyal to the kind rhythm of his thrusts. “I can feel it, too.”

You held yourself together for only a moment longer, unravelling too soon and too fast. This one was intense, flooding your body and contracting your muscles, even the ones that surrounded Sebastian. It had pushed him over the edge, too.

A warmth flooded you and the hands clutching his back became sharp nails digging into his shirt and skin. You didn't forget the way he moaned at the rake. Both of you shuddered, Sebastian at finding his release inside you and you feeling it merge with the aftershock of your own climax.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your breaths mingling in the stillness, the world outside forgotten. Sebastian lowered his forehead to yours and collapsed breathless at your side.

You could've drifted off into a deep slumber, you might've for a single moment, if Sebastian hadn't removed his blanket of warmth by lifting himself from the sofa. He took his robe off the pile of strewn bits of clothing, and draped it over you.

Through tiredly lidded eyes, you heard the rustle of clothing as he buttoned up the loose pieces hanging off him.

"Sebastian?" You weren't done basking in the aftercare yet.

"I'm going to brew the potion."

"Potion?"

"A... preventative."

You sat up. "Preventative?"

Although he'd been deep inside you just a moment ago, he attempted to avoid crudeness. "To, you know, stop you from being.. with child."

You weren't sure if you should laugh, or freak out, so an odd mix between the two emotions emitted from you. "Sebastian how do you know so much about all this?"

"Why? Did my skills exceeded your expectations that much?"

"Please, be serious," you begged.

"Well, you know how much I like to read." He seemed to shy from the confession. "After a while, one gets curious about certain things and... as for the potion, I found it in a book about married couples. Said it was 'to only be used to prevent further conception after having too many children' although I think we can bend the rules for this occasion."

"Children? Oh merlin, what have we done." The afterglow had faded too soon and you were left with the cries of a culture that told you sex before marriage was unacceptable. "I'm going to have to wear a black wedding dress..." You despaired.

Sebastian only laughed.

"Don't laugh! I'll have to lie to my future husband, and—"

"I'll be marrying you," he stated, as though you were slow for not already knowing this.

"What?"

"Love, don't think for a moment I'd let you share yourself with me like this and not marry you," any words you could've hoped to say were buried deep in your pit of a gut, "besides, I've always thought you looked quite pretty in black."

You weakly laughed, the other option being to cry from overwhelm of it all.

"I'll tell you a secret though—we're quite late to the party."

"What do you mean?"

"Weasley, Prewett and Plummly."

"You're joking." You gaped, "with who?"

"None of them will tell. Suppose they might be lying, though I'm sure I did spot Weasley snogging a Hufflepuff once. Might've been her."

"Huh." You supposed that if you had to have guessed, Garreth Weasley would've been the first name you called.

"Pretty sure word got out about it too, that's why he's been in detention for so long. The teachers can't prove it happened, but they can still punish him for it."

So that's why you hadn't seen Garreth as often anymore. With his aunt as a teacher, she'd surely be on his tail about anything scandalous. Then stress twanged your heart.

"What if someone finds out about us, about tonight?"

"They won't."

"What if they do?"

His mouth quirked into a half-smile, equal parts reassuring and mischievous. “We’d get scolded, thrown in detention, and likely forced to marry sooner than we’d like. Expulsion would be threatened, but I reckon most of the professors have enjoyed watching our so-called ‘budding romance.’ I’d wager they’d let it slide.”

"Professor Wesley would have you strung up by your ears for taking me to bed," you muttered, finding humour in the image, but also horror in the truth of it. "Oh Merlin she'd be so disappointed in me..."

"You're right," he muttered with an exaggerated sigh, "if it was Ominis who'd taken you, she'd be so much happier."

You couldn't help the laugh that left you, or how it quickly dissolved into a groan. "Sebastian please, I— what if this was a mistake?"

His amusement faded and he softened. "Think for one moment, with no one else's judgement, did it feel like a mistake?"

"No..."

“You think I’d do this with anyone else?” he continued, his voice softer now. “That I’d risk everything—us—for something fleeting?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sebastian let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Merlin, you really don’t give me enough credit, do you?”

“It’s not that,” you protested weakly.

“Then what is it?” he pressed, his gaze intent but not unkind.

"You're not just saying all this to make me feel better, are you? To make me think you want me?" The words felt stupid the moment they left your mouth.

Sebastian blinked, stunned into silence for a moment before a laugh—warm and disbelieving—escaped him. “You’re daft if you think I’d ever not want you. Have you met me?”

You swatted at his arm halfheartedly, your cheeks burning. “This is mortifying.”

“Mortifying?” He scoffed, pulling you closer. “The only thing mortifying about this is how much I love kissing you, everywhere. Truely, I won't be able to think about another thing."

"If we get married, I think I'll die of a heart attack."

"Not if, love, when."