#when i'm in a good mood i become an open book and i need to stop that

[statisticalcats2]

One of these days I'll finally learn my lesson about the trap of thinking I can tell my mom stuff about what I'm doing in the little independence I have in my life. Today was not that day.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s. 

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side. 

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him. 

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night. 

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real. 

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word. 

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one. 

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair. 

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question. 

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to. 

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment. 

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth. 

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.” 

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up. 

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table. 

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you. 

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God. 

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out. 

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you. 

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially. 

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door. 

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal. 

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you. 

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you. 

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable. 

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong. 

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him. 

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss. 

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up. 

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine. 

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment. 

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze. 

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound. 

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text. 

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling. 

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will. 

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough. 

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty. 

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly. 

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan. 

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck. 

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak. 

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you. 

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more. 

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” 

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent. 

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him. 

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet. 

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about. 

“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers. 

Long night, huh? I remember those days. 

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all. 

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor. 

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning. 

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated. 

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation. 

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away. 

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.” 

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him. 

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see. 

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken. 

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away. 

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down. 

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem. 

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve. 

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently. 

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad. 

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what. 

But that’s not the topic at hand. 

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow. 

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response. 

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting. 

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers. 

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back. 

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting. 

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here. 

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough. 

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you. 

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list. 

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough. 

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice. 

He can’t not worry. 

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him. 

-

part nine

[tan1shere]

Heyy I was wondering if you could do a fic with Ellie x reader when r is on her period. Ellie doesn’t know, but she’s really hormonal, moody, and lashes out at Ellie. Eventually Ellie connects the dots and is really sweet and understanding and R just breaks down in tears saying stuff like she’s a terrible gf etc. R is also in a lot of pain with cramps and just wants to sleep and Ellie is there for her there too. I love your writing!!

You're ok

Ellie Williams x female reader!

A/n: hiii thank you 😊 I'm so glad you enjoy it, this one's just for you nonnie <3 hope you like it !!

Warnings: none really, fluffyness ! Moody reader ? -

Masterlist

Birds were chirping, the sun starting to shine in. You smiled to yourself, this was going to be a good day! Until your legs hit the floor. A wave of blood washes over your uterus. Fuck. No no- was all you could think. You groan, it was always so irregular. It was supposed to come next week. You flop back on the bed, dreading this day already. Curling back up into the sheets. Why today, you planned to do stuff, be productive. It frustrated you how your period could be. Just be normal for God sake.

"Morning baby, I made you some breakfast." You hear your girlfriends voice. You groan in pain, your cramps starting to kick in like crazy, as usual. "Not hungry." Her brows furrow. "Bu-" "I said I'm not hungry." You spit. Her brows furrow more, deciding to leave you alone at your sudden outburst. All you wanted to do was sleep and hope the day speeds up faster.

It infact didn't. The common headache starts, the cramps become more and more. You decided to get up to get some water, moody and annoyed. "You done with whatever this morning was?" "Shut up." You grumble. Exhausted, hair a mess. Her head tilts looking at you in thought. "What it up with you today." You don't reply just wanting to lay in your bed again. She hated seeing you this way. "Hello?" You then go back up the stairs to lay down.

She opens the door a few hours later grabbing a book from the bedside. Noticing you were asleep. She was trying to rack her brain what was bothering you so much, then it clicked. "Period." She whispered. Then her demeanor softens. She felt awful for not noticing. Ellie was smart she pieced it together, she got them too she knows. But she also understood how badly you got yours, especially after you missed last months.

Another hour passes and you're awake again, staring at the ceiling. Your body ached, but your mood certainly changed. You hated how your body made you treat people, your mind all over the place. You look at the clock to check the time. It was way later in the evening. You decided to get up and go see your girlfriend just wanting some comfort after today. But most importantly to apologize, for no real reason as Ellie would say. She was so understanding, always saying that there was no need to apologize. You walk down seeing her watching TV on the couch. "Ells?" You softly say.

Her head turns to look at you. "I'm sorry Ellie, I'm so sorry." - "Hey hey its fine. You're ok." She lifts the blanket. "Come here." And you do, getting under it with her. "Why didn't you tell me when you saw I didn't know yet?" You shrug lightly. "I dunno baby, I'm sorry I've been so awful and evil today." This makes her laugh. "My wicked little moody monster." Your eyes roll with a huge smile. "Youre so silly." Her hand comes in contact with your hair. "How bad have they been?" You sigh and that's enough for her to know that they were bad. "Everything aches." A sad look is present on her features. "I'm sorry angel.

Your body moves closer into her touch loving the warm feeling she gave you. Why couldn't you of just done this, this morning. Instead of lashing out. "Look at me baby." She then says pulling you out if your thoughts. "It's not your fault. It's ok, I understand now, please don't worry about this morning." She saw through you and your mind. You nodded. "We're only human bub." Her soft way made you snuggle into her more. She was truly the best.

"Will you let me take care of you now?" You nod gently. And this makes her smile stick. She loved taking care of you, it filled her with so much joy to be there for the person she loved. "Thank you for being so patient with me." You tell her. She gives you a kiss on the forehead. "I will forever be patient with you, I love you."

"I love you too."

For the rest of that night that's what she did, she made sure you ate. Had something warm on your stomach for the pesky cramps. Ran you a soothing warm bath, for the whole of your aching body. And the cuddliest cuddles to end of a horrible day.

[littlejuicebox]

Milk.

Back again for the third time today, this time with some porn with a plot.

I'm really on one with the Dadstarion fics. Something has been unleashed inside me, people.

I need to edit all these headers at some point.

Warnings: babies, angst w comfort, smut, nipple play, breast milk, breast milk drinking, breeding kink, daddy kink, teasing, dirty talk, a bit of soft dom Astarion vibes, 18+ only please

A/N: Most of you already know I'm a degenerate.

-----

Astarion had been uncharacteristically melancholy this week.

Sure, it wasn’t unusual to witness him in one of his moods of irritation or frustration, particularly when some business deal or another was not going particularly well, or a contract he’d already drafted more times than he could count came back to him with more rebuttals.

But to witness this cloud of sadness around your husband, especially after Gale’s birth, was odd. He’d been the picture of domestic joy and fatherhood, completely over the moon in his new role. He even wore the sleeplessness better than you in the first few months, happy to assist where he could so that his little love could get more valuable rest.

However, just recently, his mood had become detached and distant. Everything he did and said seemed tinged with worry or sadness. It reminded you of the spawn version of Astarion from several years ago, almost always caught in a poor memory or concerning line of thought. That version of Astarion hadn’t shown up in a while. You couldn’t be sure what triggered it.

“Gale’s getting quite good at holding his head up,” You inform your husband as you crawl into bed with him after just putting the three-month-old down for the evening.

“That’s wonderful news, darling.” Astarion replies, with that same distant, pensive air he’s addressed you with all week as he focuses on the book in his lap.

You sigh, and put your hand over the book, obscuring the pages and forcing the elf to acknowledge you, “What is it, Astarion? You’ve been in this… mood all week and I’m beginning to worry you’re regretting parenthood.”

Your husband’s eyebrows crinkle as he places the book on his nightstand, staring at you with a mixture of shock, hurt and confusion, “Darling, do you truly think that? What have I done besides absolutely dote on Gale? And on you!”

You realize you’ve misspoken. You see the wounds on your husband’s face as he assesses you, and your hands come to his cheeks, searching his eyes, “No, no I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I know you don’t regret Gale… I just. I’m worried, Astarion. You seem… sad. Lost in thought in a way I haven’t seen in years and… I don’t know why.”

There is a moment of silence as Astarion’s eyes flash through several thoughts, filtering through a week's worth of garbled noise within his mind. And then he sighs, “I…” he pauses and blinks, forcing himself to meet your gaze, “I’m worried that I won’t be the right masculine role model for Gale. That I’m not strong enough to show him… to show him how to be a good man.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. You cannot even think of something to say, because this certainly wasn’t the direction you thought Astarion would take. He was always quite self-assured in his talents and never hesitant to be the true version of himself after the parasite fiasco over a decade ago.

He continues, “I don’t live in the woods, or whatever it is exactly Halsin does. I’m not an especially talented spell caster like Gale. And I’m fair with a blade but it’s been years since I’ve had use for one and I don’t have the level of training nor regular practice like Wyll nowadays, dear. I review contracts and make investments; I run the winery. I embroider. I’m not exactly the picture of masculinity in comparison to… others.”

There is a moment of quiet between the two of you. Concerned tears form in your husband’s eyes, which he quickly blinks away.

“Astarion… you are the strongest man I know.” You murmur, running a finger along the elf’s cheek as he scoffs and shakes his head. His eyes jerk away from your face; clearly, he does not believe you.

You gasp in shock as you cup his face harder, willing the elf to understand how serious you are. You continue, vehemently, “My love. You cannot seriously believe otherwise! You have endured more than any of us could ever imagine. Over 200 years of… horrible atrocities. And then you came out on the other side of that, after having sacrificed so much — and Astarion, do not ever forget how much you willingly sacrificed — to be better. To choose differently. To be so much more.”

You are ripping the blankets away and crawling into your husband’s lap now, wrapping your limbs around his torso. His head comes to the side of your neck as you hold him, hoping to convey the love and respect you have for the elf with the warmth of your arms. Your fingers latch into the curls on the back of his neck as you speak in a reverent whisper, urging him to believe you.

“I watched you endure years without the sun in more stride than I could have possibly thought. And you are perhaps softer than you were when we met, yes. But this version of you gives me and Gale everything we need and more. I cannot imagine someone stronger or more courageous than you, my love. And I think you have forgotten how much strength it took for you to become this soft in the first place. I love this version of you. And Gale has a wonderful, loving, strong father in this version. Please do not ever doubt that.”

A quiet hum of acknowledgement comes from your husband, but no other words escape him as he lifts his head from the crook of your neck and envelopes your lips in a soft kiss. A thank you.

Your heart is pounding from the passion with which you spoke, and when Astarion’s lips press into yours, that passion and love begins to flow throughout your body. Pieces of you start to wake.

It had been a while since you two were intimate. Not since before Gale's birth. Days and nights had recently been filled with parenthood and left little time nor energy for much else. But as Astarion pushes forward, wrapping his arms around your back, you feel the stirrings of desire deep in your core. A soft moan leaves you as a fire begins to grow where mere glowing embers had been left several months ago.

Astarion must be feeling the same pull, because his hand trails from your back and sneaks under your nightdress to brush along your thigh. He slowly traces up the length of your leg to cup your bottom while he deepens the kiss with a soft, breathy moan of his own. He’s flexing his hips up toward you, the growing bulge in his trousers begging for further stimulation. Your lover’s tongue swipes along your lower lip, asking for entry, and your mouth opens to accept the swirling heat of desire from the elf.

He explores your mouth and caresses your bottom for a while, tenderly, slowly, and in no rush to further things along despite the mutual growing desire between your two bodies. It’s you that finally breaks the kiss before ripping your night dress over your head, exposing two heavy, milk-laden breasts in the process. Astarion brings the hand not kneading into your ass to cup your breast before thumbing the pert nipple.

You gasp, and your husband’s brows crinkle for a moment as he pauses his ministrations.

“Too sensitive?” He asks, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your other breast.

“No, keep going,” You urge him, closing your eyes and rolling your hips forward to grind into his groin. He bucks forward to meet you instinctively.

He tentatively thumbs the nipple again and you moan in response. Without thinking much about it, Astarion brings his mouth to the other breast and wraps his lips around the bud before sucking gently. You release an ecstatic keen in response when his teeth graze against the tender flesh. You are continuing to roll your hips into him when he suddenly retracts from your chest with a shocked gasp.

Your eyes snap open, and you catch the final glimpse of your husband wiping breast milk from the side of his mouth as his cheeks and ears slowly turn pink. And then you feel your own embarrassment growing as rosy patches flush across your chest and cheeks. You quickly move to cover your breasts.

“I-I’m sorry,” You whisper, “it slipped my mind. I forgot about the…”

You’re thinking the moment’s ruined, and moving to climb off your husband, but he quietly brings his hand to your waist and stills you. His eyes search yours silently for a moment, and you’re still so consumed by your own embarrassment that all you can do is stare dumbly back at him, eyebrows furrowed.

But then Astarion lifts one of his hands to your own, slowly lowering it from where it had been covering your breast. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he once again leans forward and wraps his lips around the nipple, sucking gently. Warm milk flows into his mouth and you inhale sharply, unable to look away as your husband removes his lips from your breast, opens his mouth to show you the white liquid, and then closes his mouth and swallows.

He swallows.

And then he smirks up at you with a self-satisfied, mischievous glint in his eyes that causes the slickness between your legs to instantly double.

Gods, this man.

You are convinced your entire body is flushing red at this point as Astarion slowly brings his other hand up to palm the flesh of your breast.

“Would you like daddy to do it again?” He purrs before his tongue laps circles around the side of your heavy tit.

“I— gods, yes.” You respond, blinking down at the elf.

“Okay. But you have to ask me very, very nicely, little love.” He responds teasingly as he trails kisses to your other breast, waiting for you to say something.

“Please suck my nipple,” You whisper, eagerly rolling your groin into your husband's raging erection.

But Astarion doesn’t do what he’s asked. Instead, he’s teasing the bud with the flat of his tongue and humming contentedly, waiting for something from you.

“Please suck my nipple, daddy.” You amend, and the elf instantly engages his lips around your other breast with a soft groan. He’s drinking with vigor as your hands find the curls at the nape of his neck and take hold. Before long he’s retracting again, his mouth full of liquid gold.

And he pulls the same maneuver. Mouth open, flashing the white liquid as he looks directly into your eyes. Mouth closed. Swallow. Devious smile.

“It’s delicious, you know.” He murmurs as you stare at him, still in shock and still somewhat embarrassed by the fact that you are actually enjoying this. His hands come to either breast, both now significantly lighter, and he fondles the soft tissue.

“You shouldn’t be so surprised that you like this darling, I distinctly remember a time when I made you orgasm by mere nipple play alone.” He whispers, a glint of that cocky rogue playing across his face before he trails kisses up your chest and along your neck.

“Gods, Astarion,” You respond, “I need you inside me, now.”

You’re done with the foreplay. Your husband has you ridiculously hot and bothered, and it’s been far, far too long. You're on your knees, which are straddled on either side of his hips as you urgently tug at the waistband of his trousers, trying to work his pants and underclothes off in one motion. But your husband is purposely resisting and refusing to lift his hips, watching you with that same arrogant smile.

Oh, he's toying with you.

“Darling, why am I always the one dirty talking you?” He asks, pulling back from your neck and cocking his head just slightly as he studies your face.

“I— what?” You ask, still pulling insistently at his waistband.

“I’m always the one charming the pants off of you, dear. In over ten years, it’s never really been the other way around. But you know that I love to hear your beautiful words.” He continues, moving one of his hands to stroke between your still-clothed folds.

“Astarion, please fuck me.” You try as you struggle to keep your composure. The slickness of your cunt is making obscene noises as he expertly maneuvers between your slit, watching your expression attentively as you come undone.

He chuckles darkly as he brings his lips to your breast once again, trailing kisses along the side of the flesh, “I think you can do better than that, my love.”

You groan in dismay as the bastard continues to tease you. Several months without sex and somehow you’re still the desperate one while he’s effortlessly maintaining his cool.

“What do you want daddy to do to you, darling?” He purrs, teasingly, as his other hand that isn’t stroking between your legs trails across your skin to fondle your ass once again.

“I want you to fuck me and fill me with your seed.” You whine as his ministrations on your clit become more insistent. You’re trying to play into his desires, to convince him to stretch you open with his thick cock.

Your legs are trembling now. He’s going to make you come embarrassingly fast. You know it. He knows it.

“Won’t you beg me, my love?” He murmurs as his eyes trail across your chest, admiring your larger-than-usual breasts before his gaze locks back onto yours, fingers still strumming your clit, now adding more pressure, “You know I love to hear your sweet little pleas.”

“Please— Astarion. Please, daddy. Please fuck me. Breed me like your good little wife and fill me with—“

You gasp and then moan as your orgasm rips through you with little warning, drenching your husband’s hand in your arousal. The release causes your legs to turn into jelly, and Astarion uses the opportunity to quickly maneuver you into a new position. You are sitting on the side of the bed, and he is now standing, quickly lowering his trousers.

His cock springs free, and the sight causes your eyes to widen in shock. It’s so engorged that the head is slowly turning from that gorgeous pink to a deep purple, begging for release. Thin rivulets of pre-cum are falling in strings from the tip; much of his shaft is glistening from the same evidence of his arousal.

Astarion glances down at his own erection and then warns, “It’s been a while darling, not quite certain how long I will last.”

“Just get inside me already, daddy.” You plead and that’s enough to make your husband growl as he strokes his own member once, twice, prepping himself. He peels your drenched undergarments down your legs and tosses them aside.

As Astarion’s cock slides between your folds you gasp. Gods, it really has been too long. And then he’s pressing into you slowly, groaning deeply with the amount of effort it’s taking him to not release his spend right upon entry into your tight cunt. When he reaches the hilt, the elf stills for a moment and lowers himself down to kiss your lips before pressing his forehead against yours. And then Astarion is slowly rolling his hips, his mouth hanging open in a gasp at the delicious sensation of your walls clenching around him before he closes his eyes to focus.

It isn’t long before he's losing control. Your husband normally prides himself on being a consummate lover; it’s quite typical that he brings you to orgasm twice before finding his own release. But it has been quite some time and perhaps holding off in an attempt to hear your pleas wasn’t as easy for him as it appeared on the outside.

“Gods, darling. You feel so perfect.” The elf pants, almost breathless, his hips stuttering as he jerkily thrusts into you, trying and failing to maintain some rhythm as the pleasure overwhelms him, “So perfectly wet and tight.”

“Come inside me, daddy.” You whisper as you bring your hand to the side of Astarion’s face.

The command shocks him. Like you, he’s suddenly coming with very little warning. His eyes rip open as he’s spilling into you with a loud groan, his cock jerking inside your walls where he’s instinctively buried himself to the hilt.

“Fuck-- gods, Tav--" He hisses through the waves of pleasure racking his body as his eyes roll back. His thighs are trembling as his member continues to throb, spilling several streams of hot, thick seed into you as you watch his face in awe. Mouth agape, cheeks flushed. You love the way he looks when he loses control.

You smile and kiss your husband gently as he comes down from his high, your hand stroking his cheek. And then he’s laughing and pressing his forehead back against yours. A few of his curls fall haphazardly and you reach up to lovingly comb them back into place.

“You are… still full of surprises, aren’t you?” Astarion asks as he slowly withdraws from you, causing the slickness from your lovemaking to run down your thighs and into the sheets.

“I thought you would like it,” You offer shyly, now somewhat embarrassed at your own crassness as the tides of passion recede.

“Oh, I certainly did, darling.” Your lover reassures you as he bends down to retrieve his trousers from the floor, "You cheeky little degenerate."

Just then, Gale lets out a sharp cry from the nursery. You move to stand up, but your husband stops you with a gentle hand and a soft, adoring smile.

“I’ll go and get him. Don’t waste the seed still inside you, dear. Give it a few more precious moments to try and do its thing, hm?” Astarion says, partly teasing and partly serious as he shoots you a wink before heading out the bedroom door to retrieve the infant.

This one won’t take, you know as much. You aren’t ovulating. But as you watch the love of your life exit the room on his way to retrieve the other love of your life, you think you may actually be ready to start trying for another one sometime soon. You know Astarion is simply waiting for your cue.

Anything for daddy. 

[mindfulstudyquest]

❥﹒♡﹒☕﹒ 𝗯𝗲 𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗿 ( 𝗮𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 !! )

𝟭. improve your writing skills ( ✒️ )

i feel that not everyone has the perception of how important it is to know how to write. you don't have to be a poet, nor the new emily brontë, but fluid, conscious, rich writing makes the difference. really. you could write a page without saying anything at all, but if that damn page is written good and smoothly, then you can be sure that you will get extra points. take the time to improve your writing skills, the best advice i have for doing so is reading. read as much as you can. read novels (non-fiction in this case doesn't help because the content is preferred rather than the form), read contemporary authors – you don't necessarily have to read sophocles' tragedies, but read quality stuff. expand your vocabulary, your knowledge of syntax, learn to use punctuation! and then write, tell stories, write love letters, write reviews of films, books, cultural festivals, open a blog on tumblr and write to practice, reread what you write ad nauseam, until it is perfect, until the form of your essay is pulitzer prize worthy.

bonus some of my favourite authors (tell me in the comments about yours!): ian mcewan, banana yoshimoto, haruki murakami, george orwell, josé saramago, albert camus, khaled hosseini, hanya yanagihara

𝟮. develop critical thinking ( 💭 )

if you have always studied passively by absorbing information and vomiting it onto a test sheet then you have wasted your time. taking on information is not enough, you need to know how to rework it and develop your own idea about it. especially in the arts and literature one may disagree with certain information provided by a textbook. developing critical thinking is not easy, especially due to the school system that teaches us to standardize thinking. always consult all available sources on a given topic, compare them, analyze contradictions. it might be difficult and tiring – our brain spends more energy processing two conflicting pieces of information than processing two pieces of information that agree – but it will be worth it. by practicing critical thinking and improving your argumentation skills, you will not only be able to improve in your studies, becoming able to present complex topics and make interdisciplinary connections, but also in daily life, you will become much less influenced and manipulated by external information.

𝟯. find yourself an interest ( 🌷 )

it could be anything, but find an interest that excites you and you enjoy and do research about it. watch videos, documentaries, read articles. it doesn't have to be school-related, it must be an external topic that you are passionate about and that allows you to rediscover the joy of studying and learning every time school seems to suffocate it. sometimes i'm not in the mood to study for exams, so i dedicate myself to my personal research and finally find my spark, my seek for knowledge. for example, my interest is true crime, it has always fascinated me since i was little, but yours could be wild animals, makeup, comics, ships, planes, ocean flora, literally anything. there is no constraint.

𝟰. analyze your mistakes and recognize your wrongs ( 🫒 )

there is no shame in making mistakes. everyone makes mistakes, we are human, but the real sin is getting bogged down in mistakes, refusing to acknowledge them, and continuing to make them again and again. we should be continually growing, continually discovering ourselves, both intellectually and emotionally. how many of you were the "gifted kid" when you were little and then grew up into burned out high school / uni students desperately seeking academic validation? there comes a time when talent isn't enough, you have to put in the effort, and this doesn't make you less intelligent or gifted, in fact, quite the opposite. dedicating time and attention to your personal and intellectual growth also means having to ruminate on your mistakes. it's scary, but it's the most effective way if you really want to improve. take a notebook and at the end of the day reflect on the highlights and the wrongs, what you could have done better, where you would like to push forward tomorrow, what you achieved today. did you make a mistake? first ask yourself why and then look for a way to solve the problem, make every bad moment a lesson, a brick on which to build the version of you you wanto to become tomorrow.

𝟱. don't be afraid of doing researches ( 🧃 )

the amount of fake news and misinformation online is appalling. opening any app like tiktok or instagram we are inundated with information that is often (not always, but not so rarely) inaccurate. don't be afraid to conduct your own research, if you have time to mindlessly scroll through tiktok you will also have five minutes to read an article regarding that information provided. don't know the meaning of a word? look it up before using it. not sure about a piece of information? check it before using it in your argumentation. in the age of immediate access to data we have no excuse to be superficial.

𝟲. master communication ( ♟️ )

mastering communication is essential in both personal and professional realms. it's the cornerstone of building meaningful relationships, whether it's conveying ideas effectively in academia or fostering connections in the workplace. developing strong communication skills not only enhances your ability to articulate thoughts but also empowers you to listen actively, empathize with others, and resolve conflicts constructively. ultimately, honing these skills cultivates confidence, credibility, and success in all aspects of life.

𝟳. push yourself out of your comfort zone ( 🧸 )

build your confidence. confidence is uncomfortable. don't be afraid of it. you are young, this is the right time to experiment, take risks, discover who you really are. this is the best time for you to do those things that you would otherwise never do, you don't want to regret later in life that you didn't accept that scholarship, that trip abroad, that job opportunity, because you didn't feel comfortable enough. do things that take you out of your comfort zone until everything becomes your comfort zone. go on solo dates, be a social butterfly, tell the girl at the bookstore you love her t-shirt, go to the theater alone, eat at a restaurant alone, take that trip. if it goes badly, you'll only have one funny story to tell.

𝟴. stay informed about the news (but not too much!) ( 🌍 )

this might be controversial, but: stay informed about the news, just don't overdo it. personally, i am an easily influenced person and i realized that being constantly exposed to the bad things happening in the world had drained me and made me terribly depressed. don't get me wrong, you need to be informed about what's happening in the world and in your country, just being constantly surrounded by horrible news repeated ad nauseam on TV programs is of no use. be aware.

[anthonsgi]

★’･ﾟ:｡･:*:HSR Men random bf!headcanons:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★

【Note: Hello! I have decided to write short headcanons for a few men in this game [playable only, sorry Oleg simps (*_ _)人], excuse any fluency errors, English isn't my first language, and I am still learning as I go! Please enjoy, and don't hesitate to request anything; I'm open to suggestions!】

【Pairings: Dan Heng, Gepard, Jing Yuan x GN!READER】

【CW: none!】

☆〜DAN HENG〜☆

He enjoys your company even if you two aren't speaking; simply being aware of your presence near him when he's focused on something insignificant, like reading a book, relaxes him.

Definitely has a soft spot for you and lets go of his usual cold and reserved demeanor when you two are alone.

There have been a few instances of him unconsciously beaming at you as he got lost in thought, looking at your excited face while you rambled about something you're passionate about. He'd never admit to it, though, if you called him out on it.

Prefers to be the big spoon mainly because he loves the feeling of your back pressing against his chest when your breathing slows as you fall asleep.

However, he appreciates it if you ask to be the big spoon whenever he has a nightmare or one of his visions.

He has little relationship experience [renheng ＼(º □ º l|l)/], so as committed as he is to making you feel loved and appreciated, he searches the data bank in the archives for information on romantic gestures and comes across a book about the significance of pet names. After "educating" himself more, he may refer to you as "my love," "darling," or even "baby" if he's feeling particularly lovey-dovey.

Dan Heng isn't a jealous boyfriend; nevertheless, if something bothers him, he becomes touchy! Always holding your arm or wrapping his hand around your waist.

Haven only just awakened, he's such a sleepy cutie! He'd try to kiss you but miss and peck your chin instead.

☆〜GEPARD〜☆

He's an exceptionally blushy guy, and it's pretty simple to make him flustered. Just hold his hand, and he'll melt.

No matter how long you've been together, Gepard loves to kiss but will never do it without getting your consent first. His kisses are short and gentle, but they are also tender and reassuring, given that he frequently cups your face in his hands.

Even though this guy evidently struggles to keep his plants alive, he will make every effort to grow a lovely flower as a gift for you.

He attracts kids like a magnet; some of them aspire to be captains like him, and it's the cutest thing ever to see him grow nervous as they shower him with compliments and questions.

Sometimes he'd find you asleep on the couch, and he'd pick you up bridal style and carry you to bed carefully so as not to wake you.

Oftentimes, Gepard's responsibilities prevent him from spending time with you, but he always strives to make up for it.

Used a cheesy pickup line once and never tried it again after feeling the second-hand embarrassment.

He always looks for a way to impress you with his strength.

☆〜JING YUAN〜☆

His duty as General usually keeps him occupied with work stuff, so when you pay him a visit during the day, he'll light up almost instantly and he'll be in a good mood.

You have to constantly kick him (gently or with force depending on how much sleep he has robbed you of) so he can turn to the other side and stop snoring.

When writing about his day in his diary, he always mentions the instances where something reminded him of you. (Spoiler alert: the majority of his day description is him adoring your facial features).

Jing Yuan's kisses are typically quick, although if he's feeling exceptionally touch-deprived, he prefers deeper, longer kisses.

If you decide to move in with him, it will be incredibly domestic; you would prepare each other's favorite drinks and meals just the way you like them without needing to ask, and you will share each other's clothes and accessories on a daily basis.

Routine, even if secure, can be exhausting, and he finds himself trapped in one. Therefore, Jing Yuan appreciates it when you try new things with him and make him feel like he can breathe freely again. Without worrying about any boring responsibilities, just you and him spending time together. Those are his most treasured moments.

He's very protective of you. Secretly that is. It might seem that he's not that bothered by the times you may have spent a while longer on an errand or went exploring, but he's actually worried! Sometimes to the point of sending someone to go look for you, just to be sure you're all safe and sound.

Has asked you to massage his back on multiple ocassions after a particularly tiring day.

[windvexer]

What counts as a spell? Is intent all you need or do you have to do something before to get it all juicy and stuff.

Hi Anon! What a fun question, because there is no answer except this CAN OF WORMS you just opened.

There is no consensus anywhere as to what constitutes a "spell."

There is even LESS consensus as to what makes a spell go.

Intent is a good starting place. It is probably where you should start for all acts of practical magic.

But I find that in it's common form, the idea of intent + willpower = magic has been diluted past the point of utility for most people.

Like if we're talking about "intent is everything" I'm reminded most closely of Chaos Magic. But Chaos Magic is not a school of "just set your intent and you've worked magic!". It's a very rigorously developed system.

In Hine's Condensed Chaos, he lists the third Core Principal of Chaos magic as technical excellence, and I quote:

One of the early misconceptions about Chaos Magic was that it gave practitioners carte blanche to do whatever they liked, and so become sloppy (or worse, soggy) in their attitudes to self-assessment, analysis, etc. Not so. The Chaos approach has always advocated rigorous self-assessment and analysis, emphasized practice at what techniques you're experimenting with until you get the results you desire. Learning to 'do' magic requires that you develop a set of skills and abilities and if you're going to get involved in all this weird stuff, why not do it to the best of your ability?

Later in the book, Hine likens "magical powers" to the concept of achievements, and goes on to say:

Something which is an achievement is the result of practice, discipline, and patience.

Shortly after:

Chaos Magic is not about discarding all rules and restraints, but the process of discovering the most effective guidelines and disciplines which enable you to effect change in the world.

(In above quotes, all emphasis my own)

But these ideas get taken - and I'll give a big nod to the LOA which is just the worst kind of brainrot for encouraging the "intent is all that matters" mindset - and the ideas get diluted so much that people are literally out here saying, "so all those people who spend years studying magic in order to get results are buffoons? All I have to do is imagine what I want and it will be delivered to me? All humans since the start of history just have to decide they want something and it will happen in a miraculous manner?"

(Not you, Anon. I'm just in a mood)

In my mind, yes - something beyond intent must occur in order to make spells go.

But what?

Anon, have you ever heard that dumb belief floating around that all herbs in a spell can be replaced by rosemary, and all stones in a spell can be replaced by clear quartz, and these two things are "universal substitutes"?

I am 95% sure that this nonsense was based on two very popular dictionaries Cunningham wrote in the 80s, the Encyclopedia of Crystal, Gem & Metal Magic, and Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs.

In the very long entry for Clear Quartz:

Quartz crystal is used as a power amplifier during magic. It is worn or placed on the altar for this purpose.

And from Rosemary:

Rosemary is generally used as a substitute for frankincense.

And I believe that someone somewhere got the idea that since clear quartz amplifies all other powers, it therefore somehow magically Ditto-copies all other powers, and like a shapeshifter somehow becomes something it is not nor ever was.

And, you know. What's the difference between subbing out frankincense and blackthorn between friends?

These beliefs have become so popular that sometimes when unscrupulous blogs rip off entire Cunningham encyclopedia entries and paste them into tumblr posts (without credit), THEY INCLUDE THE EXTRA MADE-UP BIT ABOUT ROSEMARY BEING A UNIVERSAL SUBSTITUTE.

Anon, your question is "is it just intent or do we need other stuff to make it go," but sadly,

IMO common beliefs about the stuff that makes spells go have also been diluted past the point of utility for most people.

Because if I sat here and said, "hey Anon, it's not just intent, you also have to use correspondences ^-^/" then the very first thing you are likely to run into is absolute nonsense about correspondences. IMO, effective utilization of correspondences is a skillset based in research, theory, and technique.

Or if I said, "you also have to raise energy! 👍", this may be mistaken to mean, "set intent but also visualize white light inside of a candle," because the concept of raising energy and visualizing has been (IMO) diluted past the point of utility for most people. I believe that effective utilization of energy work is a song composed of many notes and chords, several of which you must practice before you can utilize it.

And to complicate all of this, which non-diluted things in which combinations you need to make the spell go depends on what paradigm you operate off of, because while there are approximately one billion ways to do magic that works, my currently very dim worldview is that most people who are talking about magic are doing magic that doesn't work,

and in my opinion the actual basis and reasoning, like the rationality behind the magical systems is really important. Because you need that shit to understand what it is within that system that makes the spell go.

And you need to understand what makes the spell go to make the system fit into your life without breaking it, and in order to troubleshoot problems without making things crumble further.

Because when people don't understand the basis and reasoning you end up with "rosemary is a universal substitute" and "imagining white light makes the spell go."

There are a few circumstances where you can totally strip technique from theory and be successful, but there are also a hell of a lot of people out here feeling shit about their practice because their spells never seem to work.

So.

I really just recommend choosing what school of magic you would like to learn about and participate in, and reading an introductory book on it.

This is because it is the job of introductory books to explain the principles and theories behind a system of magic, and most importantly, what makes the magic go, and a step-by-step primer on what you, the practitioner, are supposed to do to make that kind of magic go.

Despite above rambles I'm really not a Chaote, so I can't recommend a strong primer. As far as I'm aware, Liber Null & Psychonaut by Peter J. Carroll is a core text.

For Traditional Witchcraft, try The Crooked Path by Kelden.

For something more Wiccan, I can't recall having anything bad to say about Psychic Witch by Mat Auryn.

If either of these things are too Witchcrafty for you, try Six Ways by Aidan Wachter, which is still witchcraft, but it hits different.

For a general primer on helping your spells go, try Elements of Spellcrafting by Jason Miller.

[mak-be-ghouled]

Can I have a little snippet of Mountain/Rain? Sweet or spicy, I don’t care. 💕

Here's some sweet Mountain/Rain bc as much as I love spicy I don't think I'm good at writing it

I may have gotten a bit carried away so enjoy almost 1k words of tooth-rotting fluff under the cut

Mountain’s eyes flutter open at the first hint of sun, curse his inability to sleep in, no matter how late he may have stayed up the night before. But as the sleep induced fog dissipates from his vision, he is met with something equally as dreamlike. 

Rain, still fast asleep, sprawled out practically on top of the earth ghoul, bare chest to bare chest. Rain truly was Mountain's siren, and Mountain his pirate. Rain nuzzles in closer to Mountain’s neck in his sleep and Mountain can't help the smile tugging at the corners of his lips, filled with nothing but complete and utter adoration for the ghoul currently drooling on his chest. 

But as all good things must come to an end, Mountain knows he has to start the day, winter is approaching and the greenhouse needs his magic, regardless of how much sleep he got, his aching joints, or even his own sleeping beauty. Apparently not everything is as enraptured by his siren as he is.  

Rain begins to stir, rubbing his eyes and wining in protest as Mountain holds him tight. Not because he doesn't love being entangled in Mountain’s embrace, but because he knows what this one in particular means. Mountain only ever holds him this specific way when he's about to get up, and Rain is just as aware of the time of year as Mountain is, his own joints becoming increasingly stiff and the lake turning unbearable, even to a water ghoul such as himself.  

“I know my love, I'll be back before you wake again, I promise”  

Mountain shushes Rain's whines. 

And Rain knows the earth ghoul is telling the truth, a ghoul of routine, Mountain will return a few hours later, two steaming mugs of tea sitting next to him, his hair tied into a messy bun, reading glasses sitting low on his nose, and some romance book Rain can't ever seem to remember the title of. Rain knows he’ll wake up with his arm slung around Mountain’s hips, his head pillowed on his stomach, because even in his sleep he will always find Mountain.  

So, Rain reluctantly lets Mountain roll him off to the side and tuck him back into their plush nest, nestling his shark plushie into place, a poor excuse for a Mountain replacement if you ask Rain, but for now it'll have to do. He knows all too well that convincing Mountain to stay is impossible, truly a ghoul of routine, but he will wake again soon to that handsome face. 

Before Mountain leaves their bedroom, he pads over to what he assumes to be a sleeping Rain, pressing a kiss between his horns 

“Rest well my love, I’ll be back soon”  

Rain mumbles something unintelligible into his shark plushie 

“What was that baby?” 

Mountain giggles out the question 

“Wear a jacket...is cold out” 

Rain slurs sleepily, only a fraction more discernable.  

Mountain laughs again, 

“Yes my love, I will, promise” 

Mountain begins his trek down to the greenhouse, it shouldn't be a trek, it really isn't, but the cold weather has begun seeping into his joints already. Wrapping itself around his knees and spine, settling for its hibernation, ever persistent for the coming months. 

Not even an hour into his morning duties, Mountain hears the door of the greenhouse creek open. He expects to see Swiss or Dew, fellow early risers in the mood for a quiet morning, or a not so quiet one he supposes. What he doesn't expect to see when he turns around however, is his beautiful water ghoul, drowning in a pair sweatpants and a hoodie that must be at least 3 sizes too big for him, his hands poking out just enough to hold two steaming mugs of tea. 

Mountain huffs out a laugh as he moves towards Rain, smiling brightly and taking the mug from Rain’s outstretched hand. Mountain takes a sip of the tea, somehow it always tastes better when Rain makes it, he swears he does something to it, water ghoul magic or something else, he doesn't care to find out as long as Rain is willing to surprise him with tea. 

Rather than thanking him with words, something both of them are too tired to truly comprehend at the moment, Mountain sets his mug down, Rain following suit, and pulls the water ghoul into himself. Any tension Rain was feeling immediately dissipates as he bathes in the radiance that is Mountain in his element. 

Mountain pulls away, smiling to himself while Rain protests for the second time this morning, 

“Are those my clothes?”  

Mountain gazes down at Rain, mock interrogating 

“No, they're mine, found ‘em in my closet” 

“Rainy, baby, love of my life, you are drowning in those” 

“Nuh uh, ‘m a water ghoul, can't be drownin’” 

Mountain chuckles, and pulls Rain back to his chest 

“Everything alright?” 

Mountain asks after a long moment, a bit worried, he really did mean he’d be back soon and he was under the impression Rain was okay with that. 

“Uh huh, just missed you” 

Rain responds, pulling Mountain impossibly closer. 

Mountain smiles at that, leading Rain over to the daybed situated in the greenhouse. His knees had begun protesting all the standing and he could imagine Rain’s were probably doing the same. 

After getting settled into the daybed, Rain pushes himself up, hovering over Mountain 

“I would like my good morning kiss now” 

Rain says entirely matter-of-factly 

Mountain chuffs, 

“So now you're bossy and a thief”  

Mountain accuses an entirely unmoving Rain. 

“Whatever you want my prince” 

Mountain whispers before reaching out for Rain's cheek, pulling him into a soft kiss. Rain hums into it, content with where the morning is going. 

[orieriee]

Chapter 4 ✦ Light or Darkness?

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Sypnosis: Y/N L/N is a special shaman from a jujutsu family. Y/N was sent to Tokyo to go on missions to prove their worth as the next heir. With the ability of 'flow', a cursed technique that allows its user to see and manipulate forces of energy freely. Y/N stumbled across Geto Suguru amidst a dark aura, carrying a weight of chaotic and dark energy. Will Y/N be able to help Geto overcome his turmoil? Will Y/N fulfill the lifelong anticipation and succeed in becoming the next heir?

Time setting: 2007, a year after Amanai Riko's death, before Geto Suguru's breaking point. gn!reader. I use they/them pronounce for neutrality.

Disclaimer: This will be a slight crossover with chainsaw man because I needed a mentor figure who is not known in Jujutsu Kaisen. I do not own any of the characters from Jujutsu Kaisen or Chainsaw Man. The characters belong to Gege Akutami as the creator of Jujutsu Kaisen and Tatsuki Fujimoto as the creator of Chainsaw Man. I only own the story plot of this work of fiction. I will also mix in a written story for the plot so it's not just the SMAU story. Also english isn't my first language so excuse any grammar errors in the story (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

"Good morning." the morning of your mission, you were waiting for Geto in front of the train station, "Ready to depart?"

"Why are you wearing... Such clothes?" Geto looked perplexed at your traditional yet fancy attire. Let's say it's similar as Geto wearing a Gojo-kesa in jjk but it's more inspired by Inuyasha's clothing with modification. Such attire would attract attention in the modern day of jujutsu kaisen.

"It looks more convincing that I'm a traveling monk-shaman, does it not?" you beamed, shaking your staff a bit to show off the ringing sound of the bells.

"At least the villagers will be convinced." Geto sighed.

"By the way, here's your sweets. I got a few types of candies that are popular in the area of my mission." you handed him a bag of sweets and patted him on the back, "Well then, let's go."

Amidst the hurried footsteps of the train station, Geto found myself lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts. Depressing thoughts clawed at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to consume him. He's on the brink of darkness, his moral compass has wavered, slowly carrying a malicious intent towards non-sorcerers little by little.

The sound of the train rumbled in the background but you can only notice the silence coming from Geto as you rambled on little things about your previous mission.

"Geto, are you listening?" you realized his gaze wasn't right the whole ride, seemingly just out of it. Just like the time when you two first met at the train on the way back to Tokyo.

"Hm? Yeah what was it again?" he gave a masked smile.

You weren't convinced. With your cursed energy's ability, flow, you are able to sense people's state of cursed energy. Whether they're stable or unstable. And right now, even though Geto smiled, his energy is screaming in agony.

With a soft smile, you reached out a hand. "You don't have to pretend with me," you speak softly. "It's clear to me that your mind is in turmoil. I won't pester you to tell, but you don't have to face your demons alone.".

"... You can tell?" Geto was a bit surprised that you could read his mood, "Well, you did say you can read people like an open book."

"I've been wondering about my existence and goals a lot." Geto opened up a little, "Going on a mission like this, all seemed like a symptomatic treatment rather than a causal treatment to terminate all cursed spirits."

"That's why you've been thinking about creating a world where cursed spirits doesn't exist, right?" you connected the dots.

"... Yes. Sorcerers should be able to live without fear of cursed spirits like non-sorcerers. But all we do is clean up after their mess." he acknowledged his twisted mindset, "It would be better if all non-sorcerers are gone so we wouldn't need to suffer loss."

"..." you looked down at your feet, trying to understand such mindset of someone who's slowly spiraling down the path of evil.

"Say, Geto. Why did you become a sorcerer in the first place?" you asked, curious about the reason why he joined jujutsu high.

"... The strong must protect the weak. Though now I don't know." he admitted with a nonchalant look on his face.

"So in your mind, you think of sorcerers as the strong ones and non-sorcerers are the weak?" you crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow, finding the idea a bit absurd.

"We simply exist to eliminate curses caused by non-sorcerers and protect them." Geto went poker-faced as he admitted it.

"Then, let me ask you this. Which one is stronger, light or darkness?" you questioned, leaving him a bit dumbfounded by the sudden random question.

"Well, it might depend on the scenario." Geto took a moment to answer the question.

Your smile slipped as his answered succeeded your expectation.

"Right? Just as darkness may seem capable of engulfing a single light, so too can a bright light illuminate even the darkest depths of darkness." you quoted, "But light and dark exist to create balance. Light without darkness would be blinding, overwhelming in its brilliance. Darkness without light would be oppressive, suffocating in its obscurity."

"You understand my analogy, don't you?" you smiled at him. Geto's face expression relaxed a little, trying seemingly understanding the conveyed message.

"Well, I don't know what you've been through but like you said, if the strong must protect the weak, then when you choose to become the strong one then you have chosen to help people in need. You chose to become a jujutsu sorcerer in the end." you reassured him, "You could've chosen to be the 'weak' and turn your backs on the jujutsu world. There are many of those with the ability to become a jujutsu sorcerer but chose to be regular people instead, kid. But you didn't. And you're not alone in this." you gave him a reassuring pat on the back/the head.

"Aren't you about the same age as me?" Geto smiled softly as he finds it funny that you talk like an elderly.

"You may be a special grade sorcerer. But you're still young. Don't shoulder too much burden, it'll only make you look old faster." you laughed, helping Geto to get into a better mood.

"... Somehow I feel a bit better when I'm with you." Geto whispered in a low tone voice that you can only catch a little.

But his cursed energy flow is getting more stable so it's good to know that his mind is more at ease now.

© published on 14/01/24 by orieriee

written and published by orieriee on tumblr. Please do not copy or repost in any other platform.

[mayajadewrites]

For Me (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

summary: Levi Ackerman has a staring problem. Specifically staring at a woman that he has been admiring at his local coffee shop for months. She doesn't usually notice, however, one day she did. She would flip his world upside down, but would she let him in her world?

pairing: levi ackerman x reader

modern attack on titan au (no titans)

CHAPTER ONE: EARL GREY

ao3

"One Earl Grey tea." The barista at your favorite locally owned coffee shop sings. She's always in the best mood, even on days where the sky looks like it's about to break out into tears. "If it isn't my favorite regular!" She smiles and slides the tea towards me. "Writing anything good today?"

"One can only hope." You smile, grabbing the cup of tea. The steam is almost dancing off of the hot liquid, the warmth gracing your skin. "I'm working on my latest fiction novel. Romance is not the easiest to write for, contrary to popular belief." You offer her a warm smile. "I'll see you soon."

"Good luck!" She waved as you walked to your usual table. The coffee shop is based off earthy tones, plants hanging in the corner along with welcoming decor. As you sink into your seat, you feel a pair of eyes on you. You think about looking up into the eyes that could burn a hole in your skin, but you don't. You have work to do. 

Your tote bag sits on the seat next to you, almost bursting with anything one would need for a day out. You pick your headphones out of the bottomless pit and pick out your 'writing playlist'. Next, your laptop. As you open it, you stare at your reflection across the black screen. A sigh leaves your lips as you type in your password and begin brainstorming for your next novel. 

Your books have become more popular as more people are reading now-a-days. Thanks to social media, a few of your books have gone semi-viral. Typically you write fiction, specifically romance. Your fans are usually on the younger side, falling in love with your characters and wishing for more books featuring them. 

You bite your lower lip as you begin typing, only to press down on the backspace key a few seconds later. Since when is coming up with ideas so hard for you? 

You feel goosebumps populate your skin as you sense the same pair of eyes looking at you again. This time, you indulge. Your eyes meet his steel grey ones and it feels like time has stopped. The world now only contains you and him. You expect him to look away, but he keeps staring. 

Raising an eyebrow, you continue to hold his gaze. Without looking down, he takes a sip of his tea from the ceramic white mug that comes with every drink. 

His jet black hair mostly stays on one side, covering one of his eyebrows. You notice his undercut, which looks like he just recently got it buzzed. You study his skin, clear of any imperfections. His mouth is almost in a straight line, but his lips are pouting ever so slightly. He is dressed like he's going to work as a CEO - suit, tie, all that. 

You break the staring contest you were participating in when you hear someone next to you trying to get your attention. 

"Hey, sorry to bother you." A man with light brown hair smiled, watching you take your headphones off.

"Okay..." You look at the man, waiting for him to speak. "Did you need something?" 

"I-I just wanted to tell you that you're beautiful." His cheeks began to turn a shade of red. "And I would like your number." His eyes darted to the floor. You raise an eyebrow, analyzing his face. He looks young, can't be older than 23. You notice a group snickering as the man seemingly embarrasses himself in front of you by the color of red that is burning his cheeks. 

"Do you have a name?" You ask, taping your almond shaped fingernails on your laptop. You look down at your hands and admire your perfect manicure with your favorite nude shade of nail polish.

"Jean. I'm sorry, I should have started with that." 

"Yeah, maybe." You glance at the group again. "Are those your friends?"

"Yes. They didn't think I was man enough to come up to you and ask for your number, which is why they're rudely staring right now." 

"I appreciate your bravery, Jean." You smile at him, holding your palm out. "Hand me your phone." 

Without hesitation Jean slips his phone into your hand. You open up the contacts app and add your name and number. You tell Jean your name as you give his phone back to him. 

"Thank you. I'll... text you later?" Jean ended the sentence as a question. 

"What else would you do with my number?" You let out a soft laugh. "Yes, we'll talk soon." 

Jean walks back to his group of friends, putting his hands up to show victory. He's with 3 women, and 3 men. The men pat Jean on the shoulder while the women shake their hands, continuing whatever conversation they had going on before Jean came up to you. 

When you turn to focus on your laptop once again, you feel eyes on you again. 

This man will not stop staring, and he's almost shameless about it. 

__________________________________________________________

Back at your apartment, you begin your 'Sunday reset' of your apartment. It's a weekly tradition for you - your sheets get washed, the floors get mopped, and you get your house ready for the week to come. Since you spend most of your time there, you try to make it as clean as you can while still feeling like a lived in home. Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you strip your bed of your sheets. 

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Hey! It's Jean.

YOU: Hey there.

JEAN: Thank you again for giving me your number, I can't believe a woman as beautiful as you would even give me the time of day.

YOU: I admire your bravery and think it's cute that you got all red trying to talk to me. And thank you, you're very kind.

JEAN: Can I take you out for dinner this week? Wednesday?

YOU: Sounds like a plan. Text me where and what time and I'll meet you there. 

JEAN: Will do! :)

You smile to yourself as you put your phone on your side table next to your couch. Your mind wanders as you clean, leading back to the man that has a staring problem. Why was he staring? How long had he been staring for? 

[elle-maybe]

Afternoons with Matty

Matty x reader

Warnings: smut, 18+

As morning fades into afternoon you and Matty decide to head downstairs and spend some time in the garden. It's not big, and there isn't any grass but you've got a couple of sun loungers and some potted plants, and fences high enough to award you privacy without blocking out the sun. And the sun is shining today, it feels like the first proper day of summer. A comfortable 18 degrees, Matty reclines on the sun lounger with his sunglasses on, soft cotton shorts and a loose vest, you've thrown on one of Matty's t shirts with a pair of cycling shorts, your hair pulled up in a messy bun. You sit on the other sun lounger and open your book but you can't get comfy, you try lying on your side, raising and lowering the back of the lounger, but it's no use. You climb over to where Matty's lying and sprawl yourself out over him, snuggled under his arm you wrap your left arm and leg across his body and squeeze tight, whilst your other limbs are wedged in at his side. Its a tight squeeze, but you close your eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Everything ok my love?" Matty asks with a chuckle. "Missed you" you reply and nuzzled your head into his chest as if you were trying to climb inside his body. "I was right next to you my darling " he says and holds the back of your head, gently rubbing your neck. "Too far away" you answer back. 

You and Matty decided after a difficult tour spent apart that you wouldn't say "I miss you" in your phone calls or texts. It made things difficult if Matty had been having a good day but you phoned him telling him how much you missed him then he started to feel guilty and it could bring his mood down, and the same for you if you'd had a day spent with your friends and Matty told you he's been missing you all day then your mind could start to play tricks on you. Some people find it strange but it's what works for you. You were still honest with eachother and told eachother if you were feeling low or having a bad day but your days weren't spent back and forth texting about who missed the other one more. It did however mean that when you were reunited the first few days were spent reminding eachother "I missed you so much, I love you I love you I really missed you so so much". These comments were of course met with kisses and cuddles and tight squeezes and "I missed you too darling, every day." 

As you daydreamed about your time spent apart you realise that Mattys breathing has become heavy and you hear a gentle snore. Of course he was exhausted with jet lag and you're glad he's finally managed to drift off. You peel yourself out from beside him, slowly untangling your limbs, and you creep into the house. You stocked up the cupboards before Matty came home but there's one thing you really fancy right now so you grab your keys and purse, and scribble a quick note "gone to the shops, back by 12:30" and leave it on the counter incase Matty wakes up.

When you get back Matty's still fast asleep on the sun lounger, so you make a start on lunch, setting the worktop with hot dog buns, salad, cheese and various sauces; stuffing bananas with squares of chocolate and wrapping them in foil, then heading outside and trying to light the disposable barbecue that you'd bought. You find one of Matty's lighters next to the plant pot that has doubled as an ash tray, and you set to work, lighting the sheet of paper inside the barbecue and watching the flames start to build. What you hadn't anticipated is the smoke that would start flowing into Matty's face, rudely waking him from his slumber with a cough. "Oh my god I'm so sorry" you laugh, "I wanted to let you sleep until the food was ready." "Are we having a barbecue?" Matty says, his voice groggy from sleep. "Yeah was it not obvious from the smoke" you tease. "Shut up" Matty laughs, "it's looking good though, should be ready to put the food on soon, what are we having, did you make banana splits?" "I think it needs a bit longer actually, you're meant to wait until the flames have all stopped. And yes of course I made banana splits, it wouldn't be a barbecue without them and I got hot dog stuff too". 

"How long do we have then?" Matty asks, "enough time for a quicky?"

"Matty!" You exclaim, "again?? Already??" You can't help but laugh. Matty sits up on his sun lounger and pulls you to stand between his legs, you have other ideas and straddle his lap instead, your knees either side of him, holding his face between your hands. "Ok maybe a cuddle then" Matty smiles up at you. You lean in to kiss him, your lips meeting his, slowly parting as you let your tongue enter his mouth. You reach your hands around the back of his neck, deepening the kiss, remembering all the nights you spent lying in bed on the phone telling Matty everything you wanted to be doing to him, hearing his breathing get faster as you explained in explicit detail exactly how you wanted to get him off. Hearing his soft moans down the phone as he reached his high, it was never as good as being together but you and Matty had ways of keeping intimacy going between you even when you were apart. You feel a warmth running through your veins and you find yourself needing to hear those familiar moans coming from Matty's lips.

As you continue to make out you slowly grind your hips into him and you get the expected result, feeling him start to harden underneath you. You climb off Matty's lap, and keeping eye contact with him you grab a cushion from the sun lounger and place it on the floor kneeling on it, between his legs. You tap his hip and he lifts up, so you can pull off his shorts. "Babe you know I was joking, we don't have to..." "Shhh" you cut him off, "I want to. Just relax yeah?" You place a hand on the outside of either leg and start gently kissing up the inside of Matty's right thigh, just when you reach the top you go back down and start at his left knee, kissing your way up again. Matty leans back on his hands, his sunglasses ontop of his head and his eyes looking down at you. You know you don't have a lot of time if you want to get lunch on, but you also don't want to rush. You kiss the skin under mattys belly button and work your way down. You lick your lips and look up at him, then lick a long stripe all along his shaft before it enters your mouth. You hear Matty gasp, and you see his hands scrunch into fists, you moan around him and start to gently bob your head, never breaking eye contact, as you suck on him, hard and aching inside your mouth.

"Fucking hell babe" Matty moans "so good, so good with your mouth, fuck, you know just how I like it". You let him gently thrust against the back of your throat, and you feel saliva dribble down your chin. You keep a steady pace going and you can taste the first drops of salty pre-cum as they drip into your mouth. You have one hand on mattys hip, helping to set the pace, and you bring the other hand underneath to his balls. You know how sensitive they are and you can hear from mattys panting and moaning that it won't take much for him to be pushed over the edge. "Please, uh please babe" Matty says, his eyes tight shut and his head thrown back. you know what he needs at this point and you're more than happy to give it to him, you mumble a "yeah" without taking him out of your mouth. But matty needs proper confirmation that you're ok with this, so he looks down at you "can I?" You nod. He gently runs his hands through your hair and grips onto the back of your head, he starts fucking your mouth, letting out louder and louder groans with every thrust. You feel your eyes watering and Matty's hitting against your gag reflex but you love giving him this power. There's nobody else that you trust, or have ever trusted this much, and Matty knows that. The amount of mutual respect in your relationship allows you to push the boundaries and give control over to the other person in a way that you never thought you would be able to do. Matty's pulling your hair tight now, fucking into your mouth whilst tears run down your face, you can hear how close he is and as you give his balls a firm squeeze he lets out a cry and warm cum spurts into your mouth. You swallow down every last drop, wipe the saliva off your chin and look up at matty with a feeling of adoration. He looks down at you and wipes the tears from your cheeks. "You ok darling? I didn't hurt you?" "No my love, you've never hurt me." You climb back onto Matty's lap and snuggle into his neck, he squeezes you tight and you feel at one with him as your breathing synchronises with his. "I suppose we'd better get the food on now" you say, and start to reluctantly peel yourself from his lap. "Just one more minute" Matty responds and you sink back into his lap once more.

[cherryrainn]

can you do triple s (sonic, shadow, silver)(separate) best friends with reader headcanons?

━━ ✧ 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ; sonic + reader, shadow + reader, silver + reader (all platonic)

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ; i love all these new requests i'm getting! of course i can do this for you. here you go.

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; none

─ ✩ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 ; none

𝙎𝙊𝙉𝙄𝘾 ★

sonic notices when you're feeling down, even if you try to hide it. he stays up with you into the early hours of the morning, sitting with you in silence or letting you vent about what's bothering you.

on particularly tough days, sonic takes you for a high-speed run through green hill zone or other scenic spots. the rush of the wind and the beauty of the landscapes provide a brief escape from your troubles.

sonic opens up to you about his own challenges, reminding you that even heroes have their moments of doubt. he assures you that it's okay to feel vulnerable and that you're not alone in your struggles.

sonic and you embark on spontaneous adventures, exploring new zones and discovering hidden paths together. the laughter and thrill of the journey bond you even closer.

sonic treats you to his favorite chili dogs at a cozy corner in station square. the two of you chat, joke, and create new memories while enjoying the comfort food.

when you're in need of a mood boost, sonic teaches you some of his signature dance moves. the two of you end up laughing uncontrollably as you try to keep up with his lightning-fast footwork.

just remember, even the fastest hedgehog has days when he stumbles.

𝘚𝘏𝘈𝘋𝘖𝘞 ★

shadow has a knack for picking up on your mood shifts, even when you're trying to hide them. he may not be the best with words, but he sits with you in silence, offering his presence as a source of comfort.

when you need space, shadow understands better than anyone. he doesn't push you to talk; instead, he joins you in your solitude, letting you know he's there without overwhelming you.

on your worst days, shadow leaves a simple note or a small gift by your side. these thoughtful gestures remind you that someone cares about your well-being.

despite his serious demeanor, shadow surprises you with spontaneous adventures. from racing through the fields to exploring hidden caves, these unexpected moments lead to some of your fondest memories.

you find solace in watching the stars together. shadow may not show it, but he enjoys these moments of quiet connection, where the vastness of the universe reminds you both of the bigger picture.

you discover that shadow has a dry, often sarcastic sense of humor. you share inside jokes and witty banter that only the two of you understand, creating moments of laughter amidst your adventures.

𝘚𝘐𝘓𝘝𝘌𝘙 ★

silver has a strong sense of empathy and is quick to notice when you're feeling down. he approaches you gently, offering a kind ear and genuine concern, creating a safe space for you to open up.

when you're troubled, silver's psychic abilities sometimes pick up on your emotions. he visits you to share his visions of hope, assuring you that brighter days are ahead.

when you're feeling overwhelmed, silver uses his psychokinesis to create a soothing environment. the gentle movement of objects and calming energies help alleviate your stress.

silver takes you on journeys through different eras, giving you a firsthand look at the past and future. these trips create unforgettable memories and deepen your connection.

you and silver bond over shared interests, like stargazing or reading. learning about his love for constellations or his favorite books becomes a source of joy and understanding.

silver surprises you with lighthearted pranks using his psychic abilities. your laughter and camaraderie strengthen as you engage in good-natured tricks and friendly retaliation.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Buffalo Bill

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Back in 2019, I started Psycho Analysis with a review of one of cinema’s most overshadowed and underrated villains. Now that I’m better at this, I've decided I'm redoing those old reviews, giving them a fresh coat of paint, fitting them into the modern Psycho Analysis style, and updating the scores. I figured there’s no better place to start than with good ol’ Jame Gumb.

Jame Gumb (yes, Jame, he doesn’t have an “S” in his name) is the enigmatic serial killer from The Silence of the Lambs known as Buffalo Bill. He’s left a trail of flayed women in his wake, his motives unknown, and it’s up to Clarice Starling to stop him with a little help from a smarmy cannibal asshole. He’s the perfect sort of twisted, perverted freak you’d hope to find in a grim, gritty detective story. In fact, he almost seems a bit uncontroversial and unremarkable in terms of villains, doesn’t he?

Oh, if only. Unfortunately, there are aspects of Bill’s character that have made him the second most controversial villain of 90s cinema after Ray Finkle from Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. And we’re going to discuss all of that, because the big question when discussing Bill ultimately isn’t whether he’s good or bad, but is he good despite the unfortunate implications he ends up carrying due to what is and isn’t adapted from the book?

Motivation/Goals: Bill just wants to play dress up. Unfortunately, his idea of dressing up involves skinning women and then sewing said skin into a woman suit he can wear to dance about in his underground dungeon, penis tucked between his legs. To accomplish this Ed Gein-esque goal, he uses the playbooks of other killers like Ted Bundy to lure in unsuspecting women of considerable girth, traps them in a well in his basement, and forces them through a strict skin care regiment until it’s time to kill and skin them.

All of this is just incredibly fucked up, and also isn’t elaborated on to quite the degree the novel does due to Bill not being a character we focus on to gain real insight into. The full reveal of his plan is a shocking twist, but we don’t have the full psychological scope of his actions that was laid bare in the novel; while it doesn’t diminish Gumb in my opinion, it does leave the door open for some… problematic readings of what he’s up to, which we’ll discuss later.

Performance: While I don’t think I could possibly say he is an actor who manages to achieve the lofty heights of Hopkins, Ted Levine is still absolutely fantastic in his role. He’s an actor who always manages to inject his characters with a sort of unsettling air; just look at his brief appearance in Shutter Island if you need proof of this. Those skills are put to good use here, as he manages to make Gumb truly unnerving, and arguably far more realistic in his depiction of a serial killer than Lecter is.

Final Fate: After stalking Clarice Starling through his blackened basement while wearing night vision goggles, the tables are turned on Bill and the hunter becomes the hunted as Clarice unloads her gun into him. It’s a rather fitting death; as he preyed on women at their most vulnerable, it only makes sense that a woman strip him of all his power when he appears to be in control.

Evilness: I really don’t think there is any good argument against Bill getting the full 10/10. I mean, the man skins women so that he can wear their skin as a suit. How much fucking worse can a person even be in a story like this? It says a lot that Lecter comes off as more reasonable and less evil than the guy (even though this is decidedly not the case).

Best Scene: You know what it is:

And it’s even Jay and Silent Bob approved!

Really gotta compliment the song choice here; Q Lazzarus’ ominous dance tune “Goodbye Horses” forever had its image altered by its use here, but it really heightens the mood and feeds in to the unsettling nature of Bill’s dance. You can’t hear the opening notes of the song without this scene immediately coming to mind. And to think, its inclusion was all because she happened to pick up director Johnathan Demme in her taxi during a blizzard and showed him her demo tape.

Best Quote: From the above scene, Bill drops one of the most famous serial killer quotes in cinematic history:

“Would you fuck me? I’d fuck me. I’d fuck me so hard.”

Final Thoughts & Score: Buffalo Bill is horrendously underrated as a villain, though clearly there are some out there who appreciate him (Seth Green for example, who based Chris Griffin’s voice in Family Guy off of Buffalo Bill’s). That being said, the movie unfortunately ends up dipping into problematic territory as by excising most of the elaboration from the novel, Bill can unfortunately be read as an unflattering depiction of a trans woman.

Now you and I know that isn’t true, and anyone else who has read the book knows it isn’t true, but do you really think the average moviegoer in the early 90s cared about that? They see the freaky man dancing around with his schlong tucked away, wearing a woman’s skin, and find it unsettling and grotesque. It is incredibly easy to see how someone could see this as something akin to a villain in a crappy JKR detective novel, and it really didn’t have to be that way because the book really goes out of its way to not demonize trans people; while a bit outdated by modern standards, the book explains that trans people are not inherently violent and that Gumb is merely deluding himself into believing he is trans as some sort of warped justification for his actions. It even pointing out he was rejected for gender reasignment surgery. The movie has a few lines, but that’s kind of disappointing compared to the original novel, isn’t it? Then again, perhaps over-explaining would lead to the same criticisms the ending of Psycho gets, where laying things out for the audience in a way that tries not to demonize marginalized individuals is seen as tacky and unneeded.

Considering that Gumb was inspired by real life killers and their motivations (particularly Ed Gein, who has a higher number of fictional characters inspired by him than he does victims) and because I read the book, I don’t necessarily find his portrayal all that offensive, but I am a cis guy. If you do find his character tasteless, I won’t exactly blame you. It’s a rather unfortunate side effect of the transition from book to film that we lost the details that would ameliorate the problematic image of the character. With all that said, I still think he gets an 8.5/10. He’s certainly not as iconic as Lecter is and he’s too problematic to score any higher, but he is a very effective villain for the film he’s in and Levine’s performance is chilling and entrancing.

If nothing else, his existence led to the greatest open RP of all time. That’s gotta count for something.

[yellowloid]

ten people i'd like to get to know better

i was tagged by @uhbasicallyjustmilex @arcticshadowturtles @rearviewghost - thank you so much!! 💖

last song: girl, so confusing - charli xcx feat. lorde

favourite colour: purple and black 💜🖤 all shades of purple are just my favourite but especially lilac which i made my whole personality ever since i was like 13

last book: currently reading normal people by sally rooney, i'm really enjoying it so far! can't wait to catch up with the tv show, i've heard very positive reviews of it + i love daisy edgar jones' and paul mescal's on-screen chemistry, plus i miss ireland sm and the book is continuously feeding my dublin blues </3

last movie: i honestly can't remember bc i don't watch that many movies (i'm more of a tv show girlie) but it was probably visconti's 'death in venice' after reading the short novel - thomas mann is one of my favourite authors and the movie perfectly captured the languidly eerie atmosphere of the book

last tv show: tim burton's wednesday! i purposely avoided it back when it came out bc everyone was talking about it and you know how it goes, the more people talk about smth the less i feel the desire to watch it lmao. but then last month i was in the mood for smth with a spooky autumn vibe that was also kinda light, so i decided to give it a chance and it was a really nice surprise! i wasn't expecting to like it so much but i found it really entertaining, i loved jenna ortega's portrayal of wednesday and i also found her and enid so cute (GOD i hope they make wenclair canon in s2 it'd be so good)

sweet/spicy/savoury: savoury all the way, but after that then also a sweet treat

relationship status: blessedly single and also the dating scene is so atrocious i'd rather put my hand in a blender than open tinder ever again

last thing i googled: t.s. eliot's poem 'the naming of cats' because i remembered i had it saved somewhere but couldn't find it so i just looked it up - it's so silly i love it

current obsessions:

am/tlsp as always - i  finished writing a very long chapter of my wip the other day and even tho it was very angsty i'm so happy i finally finished it because i'd been bogged down in a slump for quite some time and i'm just so glad i managed to pull myself out of it. just a couple of chapters left and then the fic will be completely written :')

taylor swift as always - last couple of days i've been losing my mind over her new surprise songs outfits specifically. i see. i see it all so clearly

garrett and andrew (my favourite youtubers along with dan and phil): i LOVED the new spooky video and ugh every single one of their videos has the power to become a comfort video to me

bungo stray dogs and soukoku in particular - i watched the anime for the first time back at the start of 2020, then i rewatched it around this time last year and i'm afraid ever since then it's been living in my mind rent free, especially these two chaotic bitter exes </3 i'm on volume 18 of the manga but i need to catch up asap!!

looking forward to: having dinner with my friends on saturday night, the new bsd chapter at the start of november, christmas time, planning another trip with the girls <3 also having a break (isn't going to happen soon unfortunately) and getting some quality SLEEP i'm so tired

tagging: @alexturner @mrschwartz @reconciledviolence729 @hesterias @partynthem @depressedraisin @glorious-blackout @1llusionmachine and anyone who wants to do it 🫶

[sw33tsnow]

Beautiful stranger

Firefighter!Simon Riley x illed!F!Reader (18+)

Summary:

Warnings: NOT FOR MINORS, protective!Simon, soft&sweet!Simon, "single-day memories" illness!reader, misunderstanding, (slight) angst, metions of injuries and blood, wholesome, etc. Wordcount: 3k

NOTE(s):

I'M TERRIBLY APOLOGIZE FOR ANY GRAMMAR AND LANGUAGE ERRS.

This blog is quite silly but it's adorable too, so I hope y'all enjoy it🙏🏻🙏🏻.

Simon could list a thousand reasons why he despised the humidity and fog in Manchester, and at such an odd time of year, the snow had started to melt, making the roads so much more treacherous and sticky.

But standing in front of this cozy book café with minimalist yet refined decor, all of the stubbornness vanishes. Taking a deep breath, it felt as if he's living again. Because behind that door is you, the blond's most important person who has been, is, and will continue to be. The one he would crawl back to, even if it is hundreds of miles away.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Simon was sent back to Manchester with the fire department a few years ago. Simon didn't want to go into details how it happened, let alone consider returning here, but he was extremely annoyed because the big boss had denied his request not to move him. The blond lost his family in the fire, which served as incentive and desire to become a fireman. Fortunately, he met a new family and was sent to another area to work, but still eventually returned to where he came from.

The first few days were bland, so Simon opted to go strolling around the neighbourhood, which was understandable given how much had changed since his last visit.

And he stumbled into your café.

To his surprise, your café is rather small and pleasant. It's nestled in a narrow lane and hence well hidden from the main road, making it difficult to spot. With the main brown and cream tones, along with plenty of doors with glass panels and vines clinging to the walls outside, indicated that the owner is a calm and hospitable person. Wholly opposite him in every way. 

Simon had initially intended to stick to the plan exactly: visit and take note of a few noteworthy locations, without loitering. But even a tea junkie like him was lured in by the aroma of the roasted coffee beans.

"One cup surely won't kill me" The blond thought to himself.

Pushing the door open, the pleasant sound of the small bell hanging right above the door rang out. The bell wasn't loud but due to the quiet space of the shop, it rang for a while before stopping. Simon glanced around, and as soon as his gaze fell behind the cashier, you got up, grinned so sweetly, and tilted your head slightly to invite Simon to approach.

"Good afternoon, sir" You said in a soft tone so as not to disturb the other guests and bowed your head slightly, "What can I get for you today?"

"Nothing in mind, do you have...uhm, any suggestions?" Simon replied in his baritone voice, trying not to seem overly snarky, 

For some reason, he didn't want to scare you, you looked so small compared to him and so approachable or he didn't want to make you feel nervous because of his rigidity.

The smile returned to your face. Without makeup, your long, slightly downturned eyelashes and smooth skin give you a serious, aloof look when you're not smiling. But the dimples, the large eyes and the way you have to look up to meet his eyes due to the height difference made the man know for sure that he has terribly misjudged you.

Your pupils fixed at the blond's for quite a while, truly taking him in and then sparked up, "A warm cuppa Earl Grey is all you need but I think a Mont Blanc would brighten your mood also, sir"

Simon gave you a nod, but he didn't seem convinced.

"Don't worry, I guess you're not a sweet tooth so I suggested that specific dessert." You turned to face him after glancing at the glass cabinet next to you that was holding an array of cakes, saying, "The choice is still yours."

The man was quietly pretty impressed by your dexterity and persuasiveness, rarely was Simon wowed by anyone since Johnny was the closest with his exuberance.

"All heard you" The blond nodded and kept his tone flat.

"Lovely" Your voice dropped to a whisper at the end of your sentence "Tha'll be £7.49 total" Your fingernails clicking on the screen behind the register desk.

"If you need anything else, feel free to call for me"

It was odd how Simon, far from being happy that he was back in Manchester as his mates had assumed, was secretly pleased for this transfer. However, the blond's frequent visits to this tiny bistro were becoming more frequent. For the first time in many years, Simon had to spend part of his personal income on more delectable cakes and coffee for his coworkers in order to allay suspicions. Simon also increased his frequency of gym visits, citing his need for extra coffee from his workouts as his justification, and for no other reason at all, when he bought it for everyone.

And gradually, the man and you also spoke more. The familiar time and your gorgeous smile were what greeted him every time, could probably say Simon felt at ease in this quaint café, so all of his awkwardness slowly vanished and was replaced by a naturalness between the two of you.

"Mr. Riley" You beamed, "You’re late today"

Simon chuckled lowly and shook his head before saying, "Told ya t' call me Simon, luv"

"Right, my apologies" You gave a cheeky smirk, "Usual?"

"Nah, I need something stronger t'day" He looked at the blackboards written in crisp white chalk hanging behind you, above the stacks of washed cups.

"How 'bout an Egg coffee from my hometown?" You tilted your head, "It's sweet enough so ya won't need a tart but the coffee is strong"

"Yeah? Still wanna 'ave a taste of your new recipe though" He smirked, "Ya forgot, 'aven't ya?"

Raising your eyebrows a little as you giggled gently in front of your lips, "Of course not, I'll get it for you right away" 

"Do ya need anything else, Mr. Riley?" 

"Uh, yeah....Can I take tha' Pumpkin Pie? Need to bring some treats back for the mates” The man scratched his head and looked at you.

"Already in love with ma baking, Simon?" You sweetly asked.

Simon blushed and coughed, but he knew you weren't the kind to make fun of people too much, so he kept quiet.

And you… did it on purpose. The fact that you described Simon's first meeting in over eight pages was embarrassing. The voice, the towering height and sturdy shoulders, and of course the messy wind-blown blonde locks. Oh my, the deep tone that used to give you butterflies in your stomach, as though you were bewildered by your own muscle memory. It seemed as though falling in love with this gentleman was possible without even knowing his face. However, as soon as he removed his thin mask to savor the flavor of the tea you had prepared, that dashing visage was glued to the front of your notebook.

Although you didn't have any intentions on those previous days, it was definitely the reason you called his name, Simon, to see the light pink layer spread across his ears.

"Here you go" You handed the pie, "My treat"

And of course the blond refused you, but what could he do, you're more stubborn. So Simon had to leave with you seeing him off at the door, because he couldn't stop insisting on paying for the pie.

Bidding the taller gentleman farewell, you blew on your hands and rubbed them together to warm them before rolling up your sleeves and began to wash the dirty plates and cups.

"Someone's in love" The young girl gave you a prod and spoke with your mother tongue, it's your sister.

You laughed and rinsed the soapy cup, wiped your hands on your apron, and without hesitation aimed straight at this little employee's chubby cheeks and pinched them. As usual, the little girl just cried out in pain and gently pushed you hand away.

"Watch it" You glared, teasingly threatening her.

The girl stroked her cheek and murmured, "I'm not wrong." "Not like the other customers you mentioned to me to help you remember, Mr. Riley is indeed very special to you."

You didn't object, just smiled warmly and shook your head, turning back to wash your cups. If you were to talk, you didn't know Simon that well. You were always curious to know what he did for a job, how his family was, and so on. You just wanted to hear that honey-like voice respond to all of your queries. God, though, how do you open up?

.....And how would he react to your condition?

_-_-_-_-_-_

The familiar chime of the bell caught the attention of the girl who was occupied with the mop and the wet wooden floor was decorated with footprints of mud and melted snow. With a quick glance at the clock, it was late enough for the shop to be open, as evidenced by the chairs driven upside down on the tables.

"Mr. Riley!?" Leaning the mop against the wall, the young girl looked surprised before turning directly to face the older man.

Simon's dark brown eyes quit darting around, as though he was looking for someone, and he nodded a greeting. As if understanding his gesture, the girl pointed towards the back door of the café and he immediately followed the direction she pointed, not forgetting to also grunt out thank you.

It was difficult to tell the difference between hot breathing and cigarette smoke owing to the chilly weather, but the aroma was unmistakable - that's how Simon found you. Standing in a jet black turtleneck dress that accentuated your skin, the waistline hugging your lower belly and the shapely hips that made him gulp. You leaned against the wall, holding a lit cigarette between your index and middle fingers while the smoke steadily out your mouth and nose. You were wearing a long trench coat and matching boots that nearly reached your knees. Although you were worn out, Simon thought that didn't take away at all from your beauty.

"I thought you're gonna to keep the cigarette fo' me like you said?" The man came slowly toward you and cleared his throat.

Startled that you hadn't heard the footsteps, you whirled around. You glanced at the person in front of you and blinked. Messy hair neatly combed, big palms with a beautiful bouquet, and warm eyes looking straight at you. Simon gently took the cigarette from your hand and brought it to his lips to inhale.

"My apology....do I know you, sir?"

What?

Simon must have heard it wrong, mustn't he? The blond gave you a subtle glimpse before giving you back the half-burnt cigarette. You weren't upset with him, were you? The man chuckled softly, he grabbed your chin and brought you closer to his face.

You didn't back away nor did you push him off, but your eyes were distant and confused even though you tried to hide it. Simon's panic was starting to set in. What happened while he was gone?

You, on the other hand, had no fear of this man. You had no idea why, yet he treated you so gently. His deep voice and stern appearance went against every gesture. You couldn't recall what it meant but you know there's something going on between you and this man.

“I'll see you later”

The man spoke after a long silence. After offering you the bouquet with a "This's for you," he gingerly withdrew and swiftly vanished from the view.

You immediately stubbed out your cigarette and ran after him but it was so contrasting to his muscular body, Simon silently disappeared into thin air, as if he had evaporated from the earth.

Even after two days had passed, Simon was still haunted by the incidents of that evening. Did he do something wrong, did he forget to bring you the souvenir he promised or did he buy you the flowers you didn’t want? Or did you just…..want to forget him? Negative thoughts continued to torment the blond, making it impossible for him to concentrate on his duties, which explains why Captain Price disciplined him with 200 push-ups and cleaning the training area.

Yet Simon couldn't help but think of you. He longed to see and to speak with you, words couldn't describe how much he missed you. He wished to convey to you his true feelings for you. But you're so cold, so distant, is it because you didn't feel as close to him as he did to you?

As if recognizing that he would never be able to answer these questions for himself, Simon made the decision to investigate the reason behind this. The man began by going over the fire station reports and surprisingly found that there had been a gas explosion in your apartment complex.

Your sister was on her way home from her friend's house that evening when she unexpectedly received a call from an unknown number asking her to come to your building and pick you up. The cop cars and fire trucks were so many that their blue and red lights were flashing all over the place as soon as she went onto the street where your flat was located, hurting her eyes. Narrowing her eyes, your sister stared up at the destroyed building and the horrible smoke rising from the fire that was being put out. When she regained consciousness, she looked about for you. She rushed to the area labeled with caution warning tape and saw you on a stretcher being taken into the ambulance as your cat remained by your side. The process of getting to ride in the ambulance with you to the hospital as your acquaintance was lengthy, even had to show her ID for proof.

It took your sister a long time to win you over to the idea that you could trust her when you woke up. She had given you her phone to see how she saved you in the contact and pictures of the two of you. Fortunately, the cat was nearby, so you assumed that it was also your pet because animals never lie. That day, she also had to help you remember that you owned a café, your exceptional baking and cooking skills, and pretty much everything else that matters.

All of your personal stuff was burned so you had to stay with your sister. The girl was so terrified and worried about you at the time that she only remembered what was immediately relevant and neglected Simon due to his lack of presence for such a long time.

Simon, after learning everything, was just as astonished. Stumbling into his truck and making his way to the address of your flat, which was mentioned in the report. Simon flashed his badge to get on the scene and discovered your notebook on the rotting wooden floor, with a corner burned.

Flipping through the pages, afraid they might crumble, he read your handwriting. The notebook was mostly filled with recipes and reminders, and there are a few pages dedicated to regular visitors. And there’s Simon, with his stolen side profile that was taken by you probably, and dozens of pages about him. The more he read, the more the blond felt like you’re keeping a diary with him as the subject. On how sweet his tea should be, what desserts he loves, and oh, how you describe his smile.

And then a tear, two, until the man's vision blurred. He realized how much you loved him too.

Gently tucking your notebook inside his thick coat, Simon walked out of the apartment building and straight to his car. He needed to see you now, you needed his help, he knew that for sure.

The café is quieter than normal today, which you had a lot of time walking about behind the cashier counter. Occasionally, you'd catch a glimpse of someone passing by the glass door, but they didn't stop by. You let out a sigh and bent down to clean the tabletop for the zillionth time before throwing the towel over your shoulder.

The engine of the car heavily stops at the curb opposite your shop. You narrowed your eyes to get a better look and oh, it's the same man who handed you the bouquet the last time and well, vanished. He still has the same good looks as the notes you wrote in your brand new note.

The man entered, his gaze falling on you right away. You didn't know why, but you instantly froze and flushed. He came over to where you were standing in an instant, grabbed your face in his hands, and gave you a passionate kiss. Alright, that was a bit too much. Despite your best efforts, the man in front of you continued to kiss you while holding you so closely that it was difficult for you to breathe.

“Gosh, get a room you two” Your sister made the disgusted face towards both of you.

"What do you think you're doing?" With a mixture of embarrassment and anger, you asked.

There was no response from the man, just an embrace that took away your ability to chastise him. You saw that his shoulders were trembling a little and that your shirt was damp, which made you anxious because you couldn't figure out why he was sobbing.

With shaking hands, the blond man pulled out your charred notepad and gave it to you, saying, "I'm really sorry"

You took it in surprise, flipping through the slightly burned pages, then the beautiful smile of the man in front of you appeared through the polaroid on the page with the notes written by you. Your eyes were also filled with tears, reading back the memories you had for him.

Then you looked up at him, to see his warm eyes still following your every move. Your small hand tightly grasped the man's jacket, your lips pressed tightly together even though there were so many words that wanted to be said.

“Hush, don’t cry, luv” He cooed, kissed your forehead “Let’s start again….”

“Simon” You cried into his chest.

“Yes, it’s me, your Simon”

Taglist: @shadowlali , @ghostlythots , @brickwall035

[midnightsun-if]

Seeing the last ask and Scarlett's reaction, I'm curious how a therapist who is more or less the only Sane One would deal with each ro, and vise versa. Like that edge of complete sanity and rationality against the moods and opinions of each ro.

Like clearing their throat, and very calmly explaining to Scarlett that feeling "a bubble of happiness" at her beloved presenting a heart of an assassin of her to her that she killed in "cruel and unusual" ways is not a healthy reaction, no.

Therapy would be a good solution for a couple of them, you're right. Though, it's very likely that, by the end of the various sessions, the therapist would need to get their own in return.

Koda: He'd be dream patient, let's be real. Would answer all of the therapist's questions as honestly as possible, wouldn't put up a fuss about revealing things, he'd just be overall earnest about trying to cooperate with the person that's trying to help him get better. Even if he doesn't exactly understand why he's seeing a therapist to begin with: "I don't want to seem ungrateful, but I was wondering if you know why I'm here? I've been trying to figure it out." That'd probably put the therapist into a bit of a tailspin, but Koda's genuine curiosity would help exceptionally.

Scarlett: Would either be completely dismissive of the therapist: "I'm curious as to why you think I'd value your insight. Me being here isn't based upon anything you may have, or may have not, accomplished. Frankly, I don't care who you are, nor do I think I'll remember you the moment this session is over. You may prattle on with your inane opinions, of course, but do not expect me to give them any credence." Or she'd be her classic cunning self and be ready to send barbs the therapists way: "It's quite baffling that you believe I'd feel anything but exuberance towards the death of the very person that wished to have me killed. Do you not wish for the same thing when you're watching thrillers or horror movies? Or do you find the humanity within those that wish to kill what has not harmed them? If anything, that says more about you than it does I.'

Cyrus/Cyra: They'd be completely flustered about being there in the first place, but they'd also try to be as accommodating as they possibly could -- good manners aren't something they shirk, even if they're not exactly happy with their current situation. The room probably heating up a bit due to said agitation: "I'm aware that things have been less than stellar for me as of late, but I don't believe it's warranted anything like this. I do apologize if you think I'm calling into question your capabilities, I just don't believe they're needed here."

Quinn: This scenario would definitely be a time where they'd be totally tense, simply watching the therapist watch them in return, causing their wolf to prickle in response to a potential opponent. They're not the happiest camper in the world, but they'd try to remain calm and collected, even if their hand keeps clenching and their teeth are slightly sharper than usual: "What would you like to know? I'm pretty much an open book." However, the moment the therapist tried to move onto the familial territory, Quinn would snarl back in response: "I suggest moving on from this topic immediately. It's a direction that I don't think you'd enjoy reaching the end of."

Caden: The poor therapist wouldn't even know where to begin with Caden.... Caden doesn't know what to do with Caden at times. Compounded by the fact that Caden would, more than likely, be invisible. So, if anyone walked in, they'd think the therapist is crazy because they're seemingly holding a session with no one in the room. If, and I do mean if, Caden would be able to get ahold of themself, and relax enough to become visible again, I could see them sharing bits and pieces from their past, but it'd be completely obvious that they're leaving things out, refusing to elaborate further: "I have a long history, I've seen a lot things, and have done quite a bit too. I-I don't understand why you want to know all of this. I'm nothing special."

Sloane: Wouldn't say a damn thing. They'd simply slouch back, probably flicking their lighter open and close, and glare stare at the therapist without letting a single thing show; the ticking of the clock being the only sound in the room. Probably would even stay a little bit longer after the session ended to truly send the point home that the therapist would not want them to return. But, as they'd stand up to leave, they'd finally say something: "It's been fun, doc. We should try this again sometime."

Blake: Is definitely the kind of person to give absolutely absurd/horrifying answers to Rorschach Test and wouldn't have any qualms about doing so; would find it quite funny, in fact: "Will you stop showing me pictures of that? It's quite sickening." (Would not elaborate on what's so sickening about said image.) Or they'd just make up random stories/answers to appease the therapist and hopefully move on with their life: "You see, doc, I grew up on a little farm just outside of a little down. Ma and Pa did the best they could, but there were too many mouths to feed, I was the oldest of eight after all, so I don't blame them for putting me to work as soon as I reached knee height."

Reginald/Regina: Would flop down onto the couch and go on a complete tangent about various things, probably spiraling into subjects that have nothing to do with why they're there in the first place: "I'm not saying I support kidnapping, of course I don't, I'm just aware that if someone decided to do that to Grogu, I'd understand." Might have their therapist checking their watch actually -- while being completely oblivious -- as they try to reign the human gremlin back in as they'd probably start going on a tangent about Star Trek next.