#I might not have anything new to post for a longer while...

[deadexclamationpoint]

As promised, thoughts on the old black parade costumes vs the new!

Disclaimer that I don't know anything about costuming, but we're gonna push on anyways! I also am taking a lot of observations from a post I made years ago analyzing the original black parade jackets. It doesn't have a ton of notes but if some phrasing etc seems familiar, that may be why!

Also, keep in mind that when I'm talking about the first set of jackets, I'm talking about the ones seen in the music videos and only occasionally worn on stage. They had a set of jackets that were only worn for performing, but I'm not going to reference those because everyone's looked the same.

Reference picture!

(There are no good group pics from last night and I'm at the 10 picture limit so we're gonna have to make do with this. Just scroll down if you wanna refresh on the new individual looks)

Let's start with the band as a whole: the first thing I noticed last night is that now the jackets are less visually distinct from each other. Gerard and Frank's jackets now have basically the same cut, as do Mikey and Ray's. The first set of jackets varied in cut, ribbons, buttons, construction, ornamentation, etc, and the second set are just not that individualized. I might be imagining it but they also don't look as well made and tailored? The first set of jackets look pretty sharp even in stage candids, and these just don't look as nice imo. The impression I get from this is that DRAAG made them new jackets that were more uniform and shittier, a knock-off of the original looks that better suit their vision but lack what made the originals special.

There's also more of a gold tone to the metallics, which goes nicely with the wheat patterning on Gerard's uniform in particular. It's just less goth, isn't it? It's less morbid than cold silver and black, and looks more befitting of a regime trying to showcase it's granduer. The red plays into this as well, while also somehow bringing us back around to morbid, with red stripes around their necks and wrists. There's something visceral about it.

That being said, let's get into the individual looks:

Gerard

(Sorry, the best reference pics I could find for the old jackets were these posters with the heads cut off)

Gerard's old jacket was a beautiful mix of masc and femme elements, combining with his pixie cut to make something really nicely androgynous. In particular, the ribbons across the front start really wide across the shoulders and get more narrow as they go down the length of his torso, giving him the contrast of broad shoulders to a small waist. And of course, there's the corseted back.

The new jacket gets rid of these more femme elements. Gerard has some signifiers of leadership, with his fancy shoulder tabs and braid and patterned ribbon, but it's no longer a terribly androgynous look :( That had to go because, as @milfygerard said, fascism cannot accept femininity in it's icons (thank you for kicking off this whole discussion with your observations!).

Mikey

Mikey's original look was kind of brilliant. His jacket was the most "military" looking, and it wouldn't surprise me if they started with the idea of the medal and built the rest of the look around it. With how skinny he is, dressing Mikey in something so solidly structured gives him more presence, helping him look more like a soldier and less like a dead Victorian waif.

His current look isn't terribly different, but I do miss the buttons on the cuffs :( The truly egregious thing is the medal - it's much smaller, and on the other side. I don't know if that has any military meaning, but it does mean that it's obscured by his bass or the strap a lot of the time. So disrespectful! Perhaps DRAAG doesn't think much of his sacrifice.

Frank

Frank's original look set him apart as the scrappy punk one - it's the least traditional, the patterning on the ribbons makes them look kind of tarnished in most lighting, and he has no shoulder tabs. That in particular is funny to me, because those are for holding tassels and braids that would signify rank or achievement. Apparently, you couldn't bestow that upon him if you tried. Compared to all that, his new look is so NORMAL. It's just a normal-ass jacket with some stripes on the sleeves. Fewer of them, even. They cleaned him up and put him in line with the others.

Ray

Ray. Ray's jacket. This is a travesty. Ray's original jacket was the pretty and fancy one. It was the least "military," with all those curved lines, and the little loopy details around the buttons. The tailoring was wild, his waist looked tiny and his legs looked really long, helped by how high the jacket was cut. This was honestly also kind of a femme look. And NONE OF THAT is retained in the new jacket!!! It's the same cut as Mikey's now, so neither of them stand out as much in that respect. In fact, considering the sash and belt, it looks like Ray can stand out, but only in a way that suggests rank. He looks like a military officer, like he's Gerard's second-in-command. It's still fancy, but it's not pretty. Heaven forbid they just let him be pretty 🙄.

In conclusion, the new black parade looks suffer for being twisted to fit DRAAG's image of how a national band should present themselves, with a particular emphasis on encouraging conformity. And it sucks.

[ang3l0fde4th4ndd0gs]

So I wrote the first lil oneshot in my 3rd series. As well as the first two chapters of the 4th series.

But the next actual book in Azrael's series is boutta be SO FUCKING LONG.

It's kinda the start of him turning his life around the rest of the way and starting to write a show with his boyfriend.

Man's got too much money anyway so naturally he just kinda pays to get it made for the first season.

But I wanna write the first season out like he's acting in it which is HARD. I have to sit and actually write out the whole tv show. You kinda get a little bit of the ending in the first chapter, honestly because he and Ben are kinda just sitting there talking about how they want it to go.

Which is my favorite cause it's a little cute date. But at the same time-

Why do I do this to myself-

I am gonna write at least the first two chapters, it'll be around 60 chapters in total because I need to actually have a long book in this at some point.

Means I'll definitely reach my goal of each series being longer than the last tho-

Also means Kei's series will be like 200k instead of 100k which is what I was GONNA DO.

I'll post chapter updates on here as I go. But it'll be a very much longer post than it already has been.

So hopefully if anyone's been following along, you might find a little bit of joy in my self torture lmfao.

Cause I have to make each series longer in books as well. The first was 8 works, the second was 13. So this one will probably be about 20. So far it has two of them.

Guess we'll fuckin see how long this one ends up being because godDAMN I'll be writing this a while. This is the 3rd book in this series because it's so fucking long. The first book on it's own was 14k, the second was like 800 words. Now the 3rd is gonna be so damn long I might cry. Cause I want each chapter to be at least 3k words.

Anyway the show is called The Tower. As will the book be. But I have to get through the first chapter first.

Does help that it's more porn-y than even Game Of Thrones so at least I get to write smut too.

I already fear some of this, okay? I've never really written anything from an actor's POV but Azrael is so rooted in acting because of Ben and a few others that'll be mentioned later.

Soooooo.

Now I gotta learn a new writing style. This is gonna be wild at first but bear with me please.

This'll be interesting. See you when I climb out of my enclosure after chapter one.

Doing my best to keep up with writing but legitimately made a deal with my mother that I'd keep trying to make like 600-700 a week to support my own lifestyle while paying rent so it is becoming 100% harder. So if you keep up with my ao3 at all, you might have to expect slower updates because dude, that much is like 15 hours of work a day. Not that I sleep much but STILL.

[batfam1]

Time travel would be almost every single batfamily member's worst nightmare, IMO.

The waking up as your younger self kind.

Bruce: may save his parents if sent back enough, but he'd be in crisis after that. He's too used to being batman and parental love is unfamiliar to him. Also while he can adopt everyone, damian will not be born unless he is batman and trains at the LoA. Which is... how is he going to explain doing a probably dangerous world tour to his parents? Also how would he be able to keep batman secret from them...?

Dick: he couldn't have prevented his parents deaths even if he went far back enough. Nobody would have taken a child seriously. And then what? He could stay with bruce longer, but the teen titans? What happens to them if he's not there to found the group? What if his interference isn't enough to save jason? What if Jason's death is needed for tim to join the family and for Talia to send over damian?

Barbara: honestly idk. I don't know much about her. But joker targeting her father, paralyzing her, then her brother, then Jason dying, we'll, definitely not easy for her either.

Jason: he could end up not stealing Bruce's tires. But he probably would. He's on the streets and desperate enough to steal tires. I don't think he's staying on the streets. But he makes sure to not fall into joker's trap. Maybe he decides to not be robin. Takes up his own vigilante name. But I think the resentment post death Jason had would be bad for overall relationships. I'm not sure what else to write here because I'm not that good with Jason.

Tim: would try to prevent Jason's death, his parent's deaths and many other things, actually the only one I could see somewhat being fine with time travel thing

Damian: might end back up on the LoA any younger than 10, not a fun time. Even is it's at 10, he needs to attempt to gain trust all over again.

Steph: ending up with cluemaster if she's too young. Not good. Then black mask. She could probably avoid it, I haven't read that comic and I don't know what happens there except that her death is faked in some convoluted way to test tim.

Cass: again, ending up with David cain. Having to relearn speaking and sign language. Not well versed with her timeline

Duke:not familiar enough with his character

In general : a lot of denial, stress over fucking the timeline up and making life worse for the others compared to the prev timeline, guilt over seeing them be happy in the new timeline because "was it my fault last time that they were unhappy" and stuff, general trust issues and can't being themselves to tell the other people that they're from the future. People you've known from your perspective reverting back to strangers and your relationship with them will be forever different due to the fact that they will never know you as anything other than what you are currently. Stress over mind reading. What if the info falls into someone else' hands. Like a villan. There's just a lot of stuff.

[olderjustneverwiser]

Burning My Pockets Like a Dying Star (Steve Harrington)

Just a little thing based on 'Moonshine' by Hippo Campus. This really isn't even fanfic, since I don't use any names in this, but it was partially inspired by Steve and the S5 BTS pictures of him beside a pickup truck. It's been a while since I've written, and I'm pretty proud of this, so I figured I'd go ahead and post it anyway.

Friends-to-lovers, anxiety talk, 'you're the only one I feel safe around' type stuff. No real plot just vibes.

<3

“You okay? Comfy?” the voice beside you breaks you from your reverie; as soft and comforting as it's always been. The night air is slightly humid and the droning of crickets is almost too loud, like they're all around you, but your best friend's voice is enough to make you turn your gaze from the night sky and take in the scene around you. Miles and miles of grass and wildflowers surrounding the pickup, a small jar of moonshine catching the barely-there light of the moon, and him in the bed of the truck with you, so close you can smell his shampoo mixed in with the petrichor emanating from the earth. Suddenly the vast sky above you doesn't seem so overwhelming, the hum of insects quiets, and you feel calm. Comfortable. Safe.

Just like you always do with him.

“Yeah, m'good. Thanks” your voice comes out almost like a whisper as your gaze finds the stars again, as if you’re scared to disturb the moment the two of you have created. “You don’t have to fuss over me all the time, y’know.”

You feel him shrug beside you. “I know. I like it, though. And I think you might like it sometimes, too. When you really need it.”

It's true; you did like his attention. All the time, really. But especially during times like this, when the thoughts swirling around in your head get too loud, too suffocating. Settled in your brain too deep to get them out on your own. During times like these, when the world was just too much and the respite of sleep, or some other little form of peace evaded you, you openly welcomed the comfort he gave so freely.

It was his idea to do this tonight. To gather up your softest blankets and a couple of sleeping bags, grab some moonshine from the little store right off of I-70, and head for the first wide open meadow you saw. You were skeptical when he first drove up to your place with a wild idea to take you away from your bed and air conditioning. Neither of you were as young as you both were the last time you fell asleep in a vehicle together; your back ached for a week if you slept the slightest bit funny, and sleeping bags did little to cushion the metal of a pickup truck. Both of you had always had trouble telling the other ‘no’, though, and you couldn’t ignore the little spark in his eye or your desperation to finally get more than a couple hours of sleep, so you indulged him. It was a nice idea, to fall asleep under the stars, but you were doubtful that this outing would do more than give you time with your best friend.

Though, you had to admit. Being here, your back against the rear window of his truck, a shot of cherry moonshine sitting in your belly, and him next to you, his arm barely grazing your shoulder, was making you feel more relaxed than you had in weeks. Almost like he knew somehow that this was what you needed.

It was wild, how a new bout of anxiety and insomnia has been kicking your ass, but only minutes in the bed of your friend’s flatbed pickup made the world seem a little less frightening. The thoughts and worries that had taken up every crevice of your brain were starting to quiet the longer you both looked up into the stars, if only for a little bit. Then again, maybe it was the little bit of alcohol sitting in your near-empty stomach. Or, maybe, it was just your best friend.

I love it, please never stop. I’ll take anything you want to give me. You want to say. Instead, you settle for, “Maybe I do like it. Sometimes.” 

He huffs, seemingly satisfied with your teasing comment before passing the jar back to you. The liquid doesn't burn as much as it should, given the alcohol content, so you're mindful not to swallow too much. 

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks after a beat.

Your breath catches as you shake your head, suddenly self-conscious about the whole reason you're both out here. “Not really. It's just stupid, adult shit. Sometimes I just latch onto ideas, or fears, and they just grow until I can’t smother them anymore.” You consider saying more, being the pathological oversharer that you are, but he knows most of what keeps you up at night, anyway. The two of you have discussed it at length at this point; no need to bring it into this space.

He nods like he knows, because he does, of course, and doesn’t pry. “We don't have to talk about it. We can just sit here and forget it all. Maybe we'll see a shooting star or something.”

“Think we'll get to see one?”

The sound he makes is noncommittal. “No idea. C’mere, get cozy.”

He opens his arm out to you, and once the moonshine is carefully placed near the foot of the bed, you allow yourself to lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder. After another few moments of fixing blankets and checking, once again, that you're comfortable, you feel his arm tighten, causing you to settle against him even more and God, could you even remember the last time you felt this at peace with everything? 

His heartbeat is strong against your cheek, the rhythmic badum badum almost hypnotic, and you swear you can feel it quicken when you wrap an arm around his waist, trying to pull him closer still.

“You're good, you're safe,” his words fall from his mouth in a whisper, barely audible over the drone of crickets. His lips brush your hair and the sensation makes your skin break out in goosebumps. “Don't have to think about any of that shit right now. All you have to do right now is sleep. You’re safe here with me, right?”

You shift to look at him then. For the first time since the two of you made the drive out here, your eyes fall to his face and you feel your own heart start to beat faster, too. 

He's always stunning in the sunlight. During summers spent in swimming pools and riding down back country roads, you've studied him more times than you would like to admit. Counted the little grey strands the sun brings out in his hair, tried to name the colors that appear in his eyes when sunlight shines on them. It's as if he was made for the sun to shine its light on, like it saves its most brilliant rays for him and him only.

Here, you're reminded that he's just as alluring under the glow of a full, round moon. Pale moonlight makes him shine and when he turns to meet your gaze, you swear you see constellations reflected in his deep brown eyes. They're dark, deep pools whose depths seem to mirror the sky above you, and you'd happily drown yourself in them if you could.

Briefly, you wonder if you see something else in them, too. Something you've been dancing around, something you’ve held close for as long as you've felt it yourself. But, you can practically feel the little love hearts in your own eyes, so maybe that's just a reflection, too.

Because that would simply be too unbelievable, right? For him to like someone like you?

You think he can sense it after a moment; what you've been feeling, because his eyes soften in understanding, and his mouth forms the most perfect little ‘o’. Alarm bells ring and you can feel the panic rising, because didn’t you work so hard to keep these thoughts safely tucked away from him? But before you can say anything, explain this away somehow, he smiles. The smile he gives is a wide, true smile; one that tells you everything without saying a single word. It must be a byproduct of this relationship you have formed over the years, you think to yourself. This ability to just know what the other is thinking, what the other needs. How to make them laugh, cry, hurt. Feel so free and safe and loved. Let the other know just how they feel without the need for frivolous words or grand confessions. 

“Yeah?” You ask, because you know, you can tell what he's thinking just by that smile, that look. All that he's leaving unsaid. Still, you have to ask. You want to hear it.

When he gives a resounding ‘yes,’ his smile widens, and God it's radiant even under the cover of night. The million pinpricks above you both could never compare to its shine, right here, in this moment. 

And with just that smile, these thoughts don't feel so overwhelming, and the panic fades, and you feel warm. Relieved. 

Safe.

[maryymaruu]

Something prompted me to draw these two side by side... I know I still did not properly introduce the blue one- her name is Inevitable Relativity, and I am working on her ref sheet and intro trivia ( ´ ▿ ` );

But I think in better circumstances these two could be quite good friends tbh-

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[izzy-b-hands]

If ur waiting on a reply from me (and i know a couple of folks are rn) thank u for ur patience in waiting. I'm working on typing things up but today is just. idk how to put it but i keep winding up grumpy and my replies i feel are suffering for it. Pls know i do wanna chat and exchange ideas, I'm just trying to make sure the Grumpasaurus Rex side of my brain that's v loud today isn't mucking them up before i send them 🫂🫂❤️❤️

[little-eye-guy]

there’s this very bizarre feeling that comes with your health doing better but only because of the temporary medication you’re taking

[sillylilsquid]

it was always you

pairing - hyun-ju x reader summary - After years apart, a surprise dinner brings you and Hyun-ju back into each other’s orbit. Hyun-ju has finished her transition; you never stopped loving her. In the quiet aftermath of slow, devastating intimacy, Hyun-ju learns what it means to be fully seen–and fully wanted. warnings - afab!reader, post-transition!hyun-ju, explicit sexual content, 18 + minors dni!! 4.4k words

You’re halfway through your glass of wine when you hear her laugh. It doesn’t register right away. You’ve been zoning in and out of conversation all night–politely nodding, smiling, pretending to follow the chatter about jobs and breakups and someone’s new dog. You almost don’t notice the person who slides into the empty seat next to you.

Then: that laugh. Low. Warm. A little rasp at the end, like she still doesn’t quite know how to laugh without giving something away.

And then she turns toward you. And your breath catches.

Hyun-ju.

It’s been…god, years? You’re not even sure how long. The last time you saw her, she still wore her hair chopped super short and rarely made eye contact. Now she’s sitting next to you like she owns the space–gold hoops glinting in the restaurant light, her hair almost brushing the tops of her shoulders now, mascara coating her thick lashes.

She looks like a woman who knows exactly who she is.

“Hyun-ju?” you say, voice too soft.

Her eyes flick toward you–and they soften immediately. She tilts her head. “Well, shit,” she murmurs, smiling slow. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You don’t know what to do with your hands. Or your face. You smile, too big, too awkward, and tuck your napkin into your lap like that’s going to help. “I–hi,” you manage. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Min said he was bringing some old friends,” she shrugs. “Didn’t realize you were that old friend.”

You laugh, it comes out breathy. “Yeah. It’s…been a while.”

She hums. Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer than polite. “You look good.”

You blush. Instantly. She notices, of course she does, and leans back just enough to stretch–her arm brushing yours as she moves. She smells like citrus and something woodsy. Expensive and intoxicating.

“You, um–” you swallow. “You look amazing. I mean–like, really. You look…” You trail off. You don’t know how to finish the sentence without sounding unhinged.

She grins, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Thanks, baby. You always were too sweet to lie.”

Oh god. 

You busy yourself with your wine glass. The room keeps talking–Min laughing across the table, two of your other friends arguing about astrology–but it all fades. Hyun-ju’s body is angled toward yours now. Her knees humps yours under the table and stays there.

“You still in the city?” she asks, like it’s just casual conversation. Like her voice isn’t wrecking you from the inside out.

You nod. “Yeah. Moved last year. Teaching now. Nothing glamorous.”

“Doesn’t have to be glamorous. Just has to feel like yours.”

You glance over. Her gaze is steady. It always used to be sharp, skittish, distant. Now it’s soft, patient.

She looks at you like she’s remembering every version of you she ever saw. Every version she might want to know again. “Wanna catch up properly after this?” she asks.

You don’t even think before you say, “Yes.”

The restaurant spills out into the warm hum of evening–street lights buzzing, sidewalk still holding the day’s heat. You’re walking beside Hyun-ju, not quite brushing shoulders, but close enough to feel her there. Solid, present, real.

“Mine’s just around the corner,” she glances down at you. “If you wanna keep talking.”

You nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.” She smiles. Doesn’t say anything else.

Her apartment is quiet, warm-toned, soft in a way you didn’t expect. One wall is lined with plants. The furniture is minimal, clean, cozy. There’s music humming low from a speaker somewhere–just instrumental, ambient, barely there.

You toe off your shoes by the door, trying not to look like you’re too flustered. “Make yourself comfy,” she says as she sets her keys on the counter. “I’ll open us a bottle.”

You nod and sit on the couch, your knees a little too close together, hands folded like you’re in church. The cushions are deep, the kind you can sink into if you let yourself.

She moves confidently around the kitchen. You steal a glance at her–how good she looks in those high waisted jeans, the little tuck of her shirt, the slope of her back. How grounded she seems. Settled.

When she returns with two glasses of wine, she hands you one before sitting beside you–not too close, not too far.

You take a sip. It gives you something to do with your hands. Your nerves are alive and buzzing. “You’ve really changed,” you say quietly, then wince. “Wait, I–I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I just–”

Hyun-ju smiles softly, like she knew what you meant all along. “It’s okay,” she says, setting her glass down. “I finished my transition about nine months ago.”

Your heart lifts into your throat. “Are you happy?” you ask, before you can second guess the question.

She looks at you, and her eyes go warm. “More than ever.”

You smile. It pulls up slowly, genuine and bright. “Good,” you murmur. “You deserve it.”

Something flickers across her face then–something quiet and hard to name. Gratitude, maybe. Or relief. Or maybe just the strange sweetness of being seen.

She leans back into the couch, her glass resting against her thigh. The music plays on. You glance down at her hand–how close it is to yours on the cushion.

She says, “You’re still the same.” You look at her surprised. “I mean that in a good way,” she adds, teasing, her mouth titled in a grin.

You laugh. “God. You always used to say that to get out of trouble.”

She hums. “Worked then. Still works now.” Your knees brush. 

Neither of you move away. You swirl the last of your wine before finishing it in one smooth sip–nerves or habit you’re not sure. Then you lean forward, setting the empty glass on the coffee table a little too gently, like you’re afraid to break the moment by moving too loud.

Hyun-ju’s watching you, glass still in her hand, eyes half lidded and lazy. “Did you finally dump your stupid boyfriend?”

You laugh, a real laugh. “Yeah,” you lean back into the couch. “Like…three months ago, maybe.”

“Finally. He was a loser.” Hyun-ju smirks into her wine.

You laugh. “He wasn’t that bad.”

“He wore toe shoes,” she deadpans.

Your face scrunches. “Okay, yeah, he was that bad.”

She grins, pleased. “And he never deserved you anyway.” That last bit lands differently. Not a joke. Just quiet and soft.

Your breath catches before you can stop it. “You remember that night he picked a fight with me at Min’s party?”

“Of course I do,” her voice dips lower. “I wanted to kill him.” You glance at her. She’s already looking at you. “He made you cry. Then pretended like it was your fault.”

You nod, a little stunned. You hadn’t known she noticed. Let alone remembered.

“I almost followed you out when you left,” she admits, eyes not leaving yours. “But I thought…I didn’t have the right?”

You’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re sitting. The warmth of her body next to yours. The way her knee is angled toward you now, not just brushing by accident. “You could’ve,” your voice is barely above a whisper. “I would’ve wanted you to.”

She looks at you for a long beat. “Yeah?” she asks, like she doesn’t quite believe it–but wants to.

You nod. Her fingers drum lightly on her glass. She sits it down beside yours, the clink of it echoing in the quiet room. Then she shifts–just slightly–turning more toward you. Her thigh touches yours now. Firm and intentional.

“You always looked at me like you wanted to say something. Back then.” She murmurs.

You swallow. “So did you.”

Her gaze drops to your mouth for half a second, then back up. “Maybe. But I wasn’t ready to be seen. Not like that.”

You nod slowly. “And now?”

Her lips twitch, but it’s not a smile. It’s something heavier. “Now I want to be seen by you.”

The silence stretches again. You don’t move. You don’t even breathe. She reaches up, fingers brushing a stray piece of hair from your cheek. Her touch is feather light. Your heart slams against your ribs.

Then her voice, impossibly gentle: “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart skips. Then stutters. Then finally crashes against your ribs as you whisper, “Please.”

Hyun-ju doesn’t hesitate after that. She leans in slowly, giving you every second to pull away–but you don’t. You tilt into her, breath caught in your throat.

And then she kisses you. It’s soft at first–just the press of her mouth against yours, careful and reverent, like she’s memorizing the shape of you. You sigh into it, lips parting as she tilts her head and kisses you deeper, her hand sliding to the side of your face, thumb brushing the hinge of your jaw.

Your whole body warms. Nerves lighting up in places you forgot how to feel. She kisses like someone who’s waited years to be allowed. Someone who’s had this dream over and over and never expected it to be real.

You shift forward on the couch without thinking–closer, closer–until your knees brush hers and your chest is pressed to hers and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Then her hands settle on your waist. Her grip is steady. Grounding. And you let her guide you–up, over, into her lap.

You straddle her, thighs on either side of hers, your skirt bunching up as you settle. She exhales sharply, hands tightening, eyes flicking over your face like she can’t believe you’re really here like this–like this.

“Is this okay?” you murmur, breath warm against her mouth.

She nods, voice low and frayed. “More than okay.”

You kiss her again. Harder now. Sloppier. All the years of restraint unraveling between your mouths. Your hips shift, instinctive and desperate–rolling down against her, slow and uncertain, your breath catching the second your body feels her under you.

Hyun-ju groans. It’s the softest sound–but it punches the air from your lunds.

Her hands slide up your back, one settling between your shoulder blades, the other drifting lower. She’s holding you like she doesn’t want to let go, like she doesn’t quite believe she’s allowed to touch you this way.

And you–God, you can’t stop kissing her. Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging gently. Her lips part with a shiver. You grind down again–needy, dizzy. Her thighs flex beneath you.

She gasps. “Baby–”

You freeze, eyes wide, suddenly remembering everything. “Did I–” you whisper, panic bubbling in your throat. “Did I do something wrong?”

Hyun-ju’s eyes widen, hand tightening on your hips. “No,” she says quickly. “No, sweetheart. Just–” Her voice softened. “Breathe. We can go slow.”

You nod. “I want to…I want to learn what you like. I don’t want to mess this up.”

Her hands slide up to cradle your face again, thumbs stroking gently under your eyes. “You’re not going to mess anything up,” she whispers. “You asking me that? That’s already everything.”

You feel your breath leave your body in a shaky rush. “I want all of you,” you mumble, “I want to touch you right.”

Hyun-ju swallows thickly, eyes bright. Then she leans up and kisses you again. Slower this time. Her hands stay on your cheeks, keeping you close, steady. And underneath you, her body is trembling too.

You don’t remember when the kisses turned desperate again–when you started rocking forward in her lap like you couldn’t help it, your fingers fisting in the fabric of her shirt, her hands steadying your hips like she was trying to slow things down.

You only know the second she pulls away, her lips flushed and parted, her voice low. “Come here,” she murmurs, and then she’s stradlig–effortlessly, your body curled into hers, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist as she lifts you up like you weigh nothing.

You gasp. Laugh a little. “Jesus–”

Hyun-ju’s grinning now, carrying you through the hall like it’s second nature. “That’s what years in the military gets me.”

You cling together, breath hot against her throat. “You were always so strong.”

She huffs a laugh. “Only ever wanted to be strong for the people I cared about.”

That makes your chest squeeze. You don’t know what to say to that. So you kiss her again instead–messy, open mouthed, grateful.

Then you feel the bed beneath you. She drops you onto the mattress with a soft bounce, and your breath hitches as she leans over you, her hands braced beside your shoulders. Her eyes rake over your face, your chest, your parted lips. You feel seen. Not just naked–wanted.

She brushes her thumb across your bottom lip. “You sure?” she whispers. “We don’t have to rush.”

“I’m sure. I want you.”

And then you both start to move. Not rushing, not toward undressing. Just into each other–your bodies tangled in the middle of her bed, mouths locked in slow, hungry kisses.

She’s leaning against the headboard, legs parted just enough for you to settle over her. Your thighs straddle hers, arms braced on either side of her shoulders, and she looks up at you like she’s starving.

You kiss her harder. She groans, low in her throat, pulling you in by the hips, and then her mouth is at your neck–sucking, licking, dragging her teeth just enough to make you gasp. You let her. You let her mark you.

Normally, you’d squirm at the thought of hickies–feeling too visible, too exposed–but not when they’re from her. Not when they come with the press of her body under yours, the sound of her breath catching as you grind down a little harder.

Her hands squeeze your ass, fingers digging in just right, and you moan before you can stop yourself. That earns you a grin–crooked, wicked, half lidded.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, voice rough. “I’ve always wanted your ass in my hands.”

You let out a laugh and then you’re pulling your shirt over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it to the side without a second thought.

She goes quiet. You reach for the hem of her shirt, sliding it up over her stomach slowly. She tenses just a little–but you pause immediately, eyes searching hers. “I–” you start, ready to stop.

But she nods, steady this time. “You can take it off.”

So you do. You ease it up, baring the soft slope of her belly, the delicate line of her ribs, the deep curve of her waist. She helps a little–lifting her arms–and then it’s gone, flung somewhere behind you.

She’s still in her bra. So are you. You stay like that, just looking at each other–half naked, flushed, breathing each other in.

Then her hands come back to your hips. Sliding under the waistband of your pants just slightly. Her thumbs stroke your skin, and you swear your pulse jumps.

God,” she whispers. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You duck your head and kiss her–deep and slow, your chest pressing to hers, the friction making you both sign into each other. “I’ve always wanted this,” you whisper in between kisses. “I’ve wanted you.”

Her mouth finds your jaw, then the shell of your ear. “I used to dream about this,” she breathes. “You, straddling me like this. Moaning in my mouth. Telling me I can have you.”

“You can,” you say. “You have me.”

You kiss her like you’re trying to memorize her mouth. Every curve of her lips, the sound she makes when you nip gently at her bottom lip, the way her breath catches when you roll your hips just right.

Her hands slide up your bare back, warm and sure, until her thumbs brush just beneath the strap of your bra. She doesn’t try to take it off. Not yet. She’s too focused on feeling you.

You lean back slightly, just enough to see her face, and your breath stutters at the sigh of her. Hair mussed. Lips kiss-bitten. Chest rising and falling beneath black lace. She’s radiant.

You lean down again, kissing over the swell of her breasts, your lips trailing reverent, open-mouthed kisses across the edge of her bra. “Fuck,” she whipsers, hands tightening on your hips. “You’re driving me crazy.”

You smile into her skin. “Good.” You shift lower, still straddling her thighs and then her mouth is on you–kissing over your chest, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin just above the cup of your bra.

“You’re unreal. You know that?” she mumbles.

You shake your head, flushed breathless. “I just want to make you feel good.”

“You already are. You’re fucking perfect.”

Her hands slide down again–palming your ass, squeezing, guiding you to roll your hips forward. The friction is enough to make you moan, your hands clutching her shoulders for balance. She watches you like you’re art. Like you’re something she’s only ever dreamed of having.

“Can I take these off you?” she murmurs, fingers bruising the waistband of your pants.

You nod, dazed. “Yeah–please.” You left your hips, and she helps you peel them down, her hands slow, steady, careful not to rush.

The air hits your thighs and you shiver, left in your underwear, your body hot and aching. “God,” she breathes. “Look at you.”

You bite your lip. “Your turn?”

Her mouth twitches into a soft, teasing smile. “You gonna be gentle with me?” You slide your hands down to her waistband, kissing her once more–soft and slow.

“Always.”

You take her pants off the same way she did yours. Careful. Slow. Kissing your way down her body, your hands reverent as you ease the fabric over her hips and thighs, baring more and more of her to your touch.

She’s gorgeous. All of her. When you sit back on your heels you take a second to look at her–both of you in nothing but your bras and underwear now, your bodies flushed and aching, your eyes glassy with want.

“You’re so beautiful, Hyun-ju. You have no idea.”

She reaches up, fingers curling behind your neck to pull you down again. “I think I do. When you look at me like that.”

She kisses you like she’s starving. Hands roaming your bare back, tongue in your mouth, moaning into you as you grind down on her lap. The fabric is soaked now–your underwear clingy and damo, hers stretches tight against the heat of her. Every time you roll your hips, she groans like it’s the first time she's ever been touched. 

You’re both gasping by the time you pull away. “Take this off,” she whispers, slipping her fingers beneath the band of your bra. “Wanna see you. Wanna taste.”

You nod, dizzy. Her hands help you unclasp it, and the second you’re bare, she’s touching–palming your breasts, squeezing gently, brushing her thumbs over your nipples until you whimper.

“So fucking pretty,” she breathes. “I used to jerk off thinking about your tits, you know that?”

You let out a wrecked laugh, squirming. “Fuck.”

She leans forward, dragging her tongue over one nipple, then the other, sucking one into her mouth until you’re gasping, thighs tightening around her hips. Her voice is low and wrecked. “Sound so good, baby. Let me hear you.”

You reach for her bra, hands shaking a little. She sits up to help, her breathing shallow, eyes locked on yours. “You sure?” you whisper.

She nods. “Yeah. I want you to see me.”

You unclasp it slowly, peeling the fabric away. And she’s perfect. You don’t rush. You kiss her collarbones, her chest, her sternum–every inch. Your hands slide up to cup her breasts, brushing your thumb over her nipple and she whimpers.

“Fuck–” her head tips back, neck bared, breath caught. “Touch me. Please”

You shift lower, settling between her thighs, kissing your way down her stomach. You hook your fingers under her underwear and pause, looking up.

She nods, mouth parted. “Take them off.” You do. Slowly. And then she’s fully bare beneath you. Legs parted. Glowing in the low light.

You kiss the inside of her thighs, your voice shaking. “You’re so beautiful, Hyun-ju.”

She groans. “Don’t stop saying that.”

You kiss higher. She gasps when your tongue finally touches her–soft and wet and eager. Her thighs tremble. “Fuck–baby–” her hands tangle in your hair. “Just like that, don’t stop.”

You lick her slowly, firmly, over and over, then slide two fingers inside her–tight and hot and pulsing around you. She moans–deep and loud–and it goes straight to your core.

You fuck her with your fingers, your mouth still on ehr, her hips jerking, her voice breaking. “That’s it,” you whisper. “God, you taste so good. Been thinking about this for years.”

She’s panting now, eyes squeezed shut.

“Gonna come for me?” you ask, curling your fingers just right.

“Yes–fuck–don’t stop, I’m–” And then she shatters.

Her thighs clamp around your head, her voice spilling out in choked, messy sounds, her body shaking as she comes on your tongue, over your fingers, into your mouth.

You don’t stop until she pulls you up–dragging you into her arm, into her kiss. She’s still trembling. Her mouth is hot and open under yours, her hands pulling close. “I wanna make you feel that good,” she whispers. “Wanna ruin you.”

You smile, flushed and wrecked. “Then do it.”

Hyun-ju kisses you hard–possessive now, tasting herself on your lips, her hands roaming hungrily over your body. She rolls you onto your back without effort, settling between your legs, her body warm against yours.

She kisses her way down, slow and greedy. Over your collarbones. Your breasts. Your ribs. “You smell so good,” she groans. “So fucking sweet down here.”

Your underwear is the only thing left between you, soaked through and clinging. She presses her mouth against it, tongue flat and slow, and your whole body arches off the bed. “Oh my God–”

“That’s it,” she says, breath hot against the damp fabric. “Let me hear you.”

You whimper as her fingers slide the fabric aside–just enough to expose your soaked cunt–and she groans when she sees how wet you are.

“All this for me?” she murmurs. “Shit, baby. You’re dripping.”

And then she dives in. Her tongue is steady and deep, licking through your folds, sucking gently on your clit until you’re gasping, your thighs twitching around her head. She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow.

When she slides one finger inside you, you moan so loudly it echoes. “F-fuck, Hyun-ju–”

“God, you’re tight,” she moans, her voice a mess. “Taking me so good. Look at you.”

She curls her finger just right, then adds another, and you’re gone. Eyes rolling back, hips grinding into her mouth, hands clutching the sheets.

“You’re perfect,” she praises. “So wet. So soft. This pussy was made for me.”

You can’t think. Can’t speak. Your thighs are shaking and your stomach’s tightening and she keeps whispering–

“You gonna come for me, sweet girl?”

You nod, crying out.

“Say it,” she demands. “Tell me who’s making you come.”

“You–fuck, you. Hyun-ju, please don’t stop–”

She doesn’t. She fucks you with her fingres, tongue on your clit until your whole body breaks. You come so hard your vision whites out–your legs locked around her shoulders, your voice hoarse from screaming her name.

When you finally collapse, panting, dizzy, she crawls back up to you–kissing your thighs, your stomach, your breasts. Her mouth presses to the corner of your eye, your temple, your cheek.

“Still with me?” she whispers.

You nod weakly. “Barely.”

She grins. “Good.”

You’re both a mess–sweaty, trembling, flushed. She pulls the blanket up around you, still your skin wherever she can reach.

You murmur, half laughing, “I think you actually ruined me.”

Hyun-ju cups your face gently. “Good. I meant every word.”

Later, when your bodies stop trembling and your breathing evens out, you both lie tangled in each other’s arms–bare skin pressed to bare skin beneath the blanket, the room warm with the scent of sweat and sex and something softer underneath.

Hyun-ju’s fingertips trace lazy shapes on your hip, her breath steady against your collarbone. Neither of you speaks for a long time.

Eventually, you whisper, “Do you want to shower?”

She hums. “Only if you come with me.”

You smile, exhausted and warm. “Always.”

The shower is quiet. Gentle. No more teasing–just soft touches, shared shampoo, the warmth of water running down your bodies as you help each other rinse clean.

Afterward, she wraps a towel around your shoulders and leads you back into her bedroom. You both tug on oversized t-shirts–no bras, just underwear–with bare legs and damp hair.

She sits you at the edge of her vanity, flicks on a soft light, and rummages for her micellar water and cotton pads.

“You don’t have to–” you start.

“I want to,” she says. “Let me.”

She stands between your knees, gently wiping away the smudges of makeup still clinging to your eyes, the faded lipstick on your mouth.

When she dabs at your cheek with the last bit of cleanser, her hand falters. Just slightly. You look up. Her eyes are shining.

“I used to dream about this,” she says quietly. “Not just the sex. But this. You. Seeing me like this, and still…staying.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

She flinches at that. Barely–but you feel it in the air. And when she turns to toss the cotton pad away, you catch her hand.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide from me.”

She swallows. “I’m not trying to. It's just–hard. Being bare like this. I never felt…pretty enough. Not really.”

You reach for her, cupping her face in both hands. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her breath catches. Her eyes close. You kiss her, soft and slow, and then pull her into your lap, letting her curl into your arms. And then you say it–bare and trembling: “Don’t leave me again.”

She pulls back, startled. “What?”

“That was too long,” you say, voice thick. “Too hard. I missed you everyday. I didn’t know how to–how to move on from you. I don’t want to do that again.”’

She stares at you, like she's trying to memorize your face. Then she kisses your forehead, voice shaking when she answers. “Never. I’m not going anywhere.”

You hold her tighter. “I’m here,” she whispers. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

taglist - @lesmiix, @shesruinqtion, @diouna, @jeongteen, @natwendigo

[salemlunaa]

SOME RECENT SUCCESSES OF MINE ᥫ᭡ᥫ᭡

for pure consciousness of course

1st LOG | USING THE DARKNESS TO MY ADVANTAGE

This was around last week, i felt super tired in the afternoon and i used that to advantage, i acted like i was taking a nap and focused on affirmations while distracting myself, i let thoughts pass me by and new ones come in and when i was super relaxed I affirmed “I AM”. I imagined my surroundings as black, just back I don’t know how to explain it, but i focused on the darkness behind my eyes and acted like my eyes were open and all i was seeing was black. I imagined that the darkness behind my eyelids was my surroundings, I would see myself in a pool of darkness give myself askfirmations

“why is everything so black”

“hold up am I in the void state?”

then i would breathe heavier than i was, with some more “I AM” and boom, i induced

manifested:

no back pain (maybe tmi but i’ve got large 🍒 with a smaller body frame so my back would KILL sometimes lmfao)

longer hair because why not?

and honestly just was there for a calming experience, and when you induce pure consciousness, you know that there’s this calming, surreal feeling you get, especially when you come back to your 3D.

2nd LOG | PURELY RELAXATION PURPOSES

saturday morning (so two days ago??)

i said this before and i just might make another post about this but going in with the “i’m just inducing to relax” is so beneficial because it really takes the void of that pedestal. And when it’s off that pedestal and all you’re doing is trying to relax it’s easier for you to induce.

I had the intention not to manifest anything but really just to sit and relax, and that weight lifted off my shoulders really helped. I did some normal “I AM” with heavy breathing with the intention that it was just a meditation i was trying to induce. And before I knew i induced the void.

manifested:

better understanding of things (i didn’t really elaborate but i feel a lot better and more articulated when it comes to explaining things for you guys and to myself)

and honestly i was there to just relax, a goal i have in 2025 is to make inducing pure consciousness more natural to me than it already is, I wanna be able to see this shit as a meditation i just do for fun when i want too, i really want to get into the god state this year, well more than i already am

i hope you guys can really understand how simple it is, this is first nature to us.

ᥫ᭡thanks for coming to my TED talk… again

[ms-demeanor]

Hey also you know that post about getting better at cooking and handling meat and stuff?

Meat is really expensive and it goes bad pretty quickly.

If you're a new cook and you're trying to figure out how to pan-fry something so that it tastes good, might I recommend tofu?

I'm not saying "treat tofu like meat and try to replace all your favorite meat dishes with tofu" (though, I mean, if that sounds good - go for it), I'm saying "it's a lot easier to practice heating a pan and flipping objects in a pan for a meal and seasoning objects in a pan when the objects in the pan cost two dollars instead of ten dollars."

Tofu lasts a lot longer in the fridge than meat does, is easy to season, and you can easily learn how to pan-fry it into a tasty snack (or main course) and only requires a little extra prep. You can also pretend that the tofu is raw meat (the texture isn't dissimilar) and start practicing for things like how to take it out of a package or cut it on a sanitizable surface, etc.

My favorite way to cook tofu is to press extra firm tofu for at least half an hour (you can get a cheap tofu press for around ten dollars, or you can put it between two plates with some books on the top plate - this is that extra prep i was talking about - tofu cooks best if you press the excess water out), then slice a 14oz cake of it into 8 slices. I lay these flat and sprinkle cayenne pepper, mushroom powder, and smoked paprika on all of the slices, then I rub it in and flip the slices and season the other side the same way. I cook it in a frying pan with a thin layer of avocado or olive oil over medium heat, flipping every two minutes until the flat sides start to crisp up a little. Just before the last flip I add about a tablespoon of tamari sauce (you can use soy sauce, I've just got allergies) to the pan, sprinkling it over the tofu so that both sides get a little bit of sauce on them.

I have that with steamed vegetables and with jasmine rice (with two teaspoons of rice wine vinegar per 3 cups of dry rice and 4.5 cups of water). I also make a honey-siracha-mayo sauce that I dip the tofu in.

It's really good. And now I end up eating leftover rice and sauce with fried eggs for lunch at least two days a week and that's also really good.

This has become one of my go-to low spoon foods because it's so easy to make, it's filling, it tastes good to me, and it has become extremely easy for me to keep a stock of tofu in the fridge compared to the effort of keeping un-expired meat in the fridge.

I find that a 14oz pack of tofu feeds two adults for one meal, though I can stretch that to three meals if I'm the only one eating.

It makes a very cheap, filling, easy dinner that I can keep the ingredients around for without too much concern for food waste or anything going bad (the tofu that I get lasts about a month in the fridge and these days I just buy three packs every time I'm at aldi and cycle in new stock - it costs $1.50 per pack)

If you're interested in becoming a better cook, rather than worrying about actual high-risk products like raw chicken that can be seriously dangerous and also cost a fair amount, tofu has a pretty low barrier to entry while also being a good way to learn on a new ingredient that has some similar properties to raw meat.

[slasherhaven]

Slashers with a significant other who is a cam girl and wants them to be in one of their videos? 💃

2 posts in 2 days who do I think I am? See ya'll in a year! /j

CW: NSFW

You do Cam Work and Ask the Slashers to be in your Videos:

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas is pretty conservative when it come to sex and such, but he's come around to your cam work, especially since you let him help with the details.

You like when he picks what you were or what scene you might do. You made Thomas feel like a part of it and that made him comfortable with it.

Still, he's very surprised when you ask if he wants to do a video with you. He refuses immediately and you respect that.

You ask again a while later but with more details. Like nobody would know who he was, you would keep his face out of the shot, and the two of you will do whatever he is comfortable with.

Your first video with him is of you riding him. His head isn't in the shot but the rest of his frame is. The size difference goes hard and your audience agrees.

Thomas is a flustered mess when you sit to read with comments with him. Everyone is talking about the new man in your video, gushing about how big he is and how attentive he is. Even with his size it seems your audience could sense his gentle soul, commenting on the chemistry you both have and how they would love to see him again!

Thanks to all the lovely comments, Thomas agrees to do another video even if he doesn't see himself putting his face on camera any time soon.

Michael Myers

Michael honestly does not care that you do cam work.

When you first ask him to be in a video, he pretty much ignores it.

But when you ask again some time later he doesn't see why not.

As long as his face isn't in the video or anything, you can film it, he doesn't really care.

The videos you make with him afterwards are pretty similar to your first video with him.

Usually you bent over while Michael fucks you to tears.

Michael is barely in the shot most of the time. Sometimes it just a close up on you, other times it includes Michael but only ever getting at high as his chest.

Everyone is obsessed with your mystery man. Where did he come from? What was that scar from? Can we see more of him please!!!

Jason Voorhees

We all know that Jason's comfort levels with sex is extremely low and it takes a while for him to become comfortable with physical intimacy. So cam work is certainly going to take some time for him to come around to.

And once he's become more comfortable with that, it's going to take a whole lot longer before he feels comfortable being in a video.

When he does decide to give it a go, he is a real hit!

He refuses to show his face on camera and you do whatever it takes to make sure he is as comfortable as possible.

Before Jason says you can use his name in videos and descriptions, your audience referred to him as 'the gentle giant', which is completely accurate!

No matter your usual content, Jason is nothing but gentle with you when he's in a video.

Brahms Heelshire

Watches your videos over and over again, he loves them. He'll watch you record them and watch them later once you've posted them. He can't get enough.

He's already got his pants off when you ask if he wants to be in one of your videos. You end up fucking even though you're not filming it.

He actually doesn't have much of a problem with having his face on camera. He's still a little insecure about his facial burns but you have alleviated most of that by this point.

And after the first video and he reads all those positive comments. Some are as horny for him as they are for you.

Fully embraces his new pornstar identity. He's insufferable.

He'll be in any video you want and your audience love watching you take care of your needy brat.

Bo Sinclair

Bo is in fully support of your work, it brings some money in and he gets to watch your videos. Even if his possessiveness still often gets the better of him. Whenever he reads comments of people praising you, Bo has an insatiable need to bend you over something just to prove a point.

Gets all cocky and arrogant when you ask if he wants to be in a video.

Needless to say, he agrees to do it.

And he takes to it pretty easily. He knows how to get all of his favourite reactions from you, how to get you pleading and begging for him, and he wants everyone watching to know.

Bo is arrogant and always smirking when the camera is on but it performs well.

He likes to how the camera and film himself entering you. He really does have a terrible ego.

Vincent Sinclair

It gets Vincent flustered, he could admit that, but he appreciates the artistic side of it all. It takes more effort and consideration than one might think!

He likes helping you get ready for a video and taking care of you afterwards.

He's hesitant when you first ask if he wants to be in a video. A part of him wants to do it with you but he's not confident enough in himself.

But he loves making you feel good and at this point he knows he's good at it, so he gives it a try. You can film them without posting them after all, like practise runs.

He may never show his face but he doesn't mind having his body on camera. Sometimes he even just hides his face with his hair instead of keeping his head out of the shot completely.

On Vincent's more self-conscious days, he'll film close ups of him fingering you instead.

He's very good with his hands and your audience agrees. They are very jealous of you.

Lester Sinclair

Lester is pretty neutral on your work, but of course he absolutely loves your videos.

He's mostly just surprised and flustered when you first ask if he wants to be in one of your videos. He thinks you're perfect so he understands why people would want to watch you, but he doesn't really see why people would want to watch him.

But he still agrees to it because he's your biggest supporter!!!

Your audience love the chemistry and intimacy between you both, leaving comments about how real your videos feel.

The videos that perform best are usually the ones where the two of you forgot you were even filming, just giggling together and enjoying each other. Lester gets all nervous and shy when the camera turns on, which is adorable, but forgetting that the camera is there really does help him perform better, the sweetheart.

Your audience love your more thought out and planned videos but appreciate the occasional more relaxed video with your sweet boyfriend.

Bubba Sawyer

Super flustered by your work but he's supportive.

Is super surprised and nervous when you ask if he wants to be in a video.

He agrees to give it a try once you explain that you can always delete it and nobody has to see it if he changes his mind or doesn't like it.

Bubba is just a big sweetie really, and you know just how to turn him into a squirming, blubbering mess.

And your audience love to watch you do it!

In later video's you do, you use the viewers' comments to fluster him even further. Using all the kindest and sweetest comments that say how lovely he is .

Come on, Bubs, they love you, they're being so nice. Why don't you say thank you?

Billy Lenz

Billy loves watching your videos and when you ask if he wants to be in a video with you, he is so excited!

He's completely down to make some home videos but he's a little unsure about putting it online for other people to see.

So you make it so his face isn't visible and let him watch the final edit before uploading it. He thinks it's so hot, he can't say no.

Honestly, you could do really well with just audios alone though. People will go wild for it. Billy unable to keep his mouth shut, all those desperate moans and whines and noises, the sticky wet slapping of skin. Honestly, a video element is just a bonus at this point.

And who gets off to the video the most? Billy obviously!

Asa Emory (The Collector)

Asa monitors your accounts anyway, even if you don't know it. He wants to know what you're posting and how people are responding. Don't want any bullies or trolls, right?

He's probably tried to manipulate you into suggesting it anyway.

He doesn't have much of a problem with your cam work, he's just a possessive bastard and would love to claim you in front of your entire audience.

The mask stays on!

Okay, he designs a new mask to avoid any chance of self criminalisation but whatever.

You two can make it big in BDSM communities.

Ties you up, blindfolds you, gags you. Whatever he feels like, but often seems to focus the camera on your reactions rather than on what he is doing to you. Studying his favourite little specimen.

Your audience already adored you of course, but they also love this new Dom you brought it.

There is no doubt as to who you belong to now.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

Obviously Jesse has no problem with being on camera and he already has a pretty big ego, so he'll probably even wear the Chromeskull mask. It's his signature whether it's for his snuff films or your cam work.

Like Asa, you do absolute numbers in the BDSM community. Everyone is very pleased with his fully suited up, masked Dom that you brought in.

He already has his Chromeskull persona all fleshed out so he just brings that energy to your videos.

He's a sadistic Dom and you might have to upload an Aftercare video at some point just to reassure your more loyal audience that you're alright and always well taken care of afterwards.

Otis Driftwood

Is obviously a fan of your videos and isn't going to stop you from making them. You aren't actually fucking anyone else, so he's cool with it. And if he feels particularly jealous or possessive at some point, he knows he's the only one who can actually pin you down and have his way with you.

Oh yeah, he's down to make a few videos with you. He's probably got some old tapes of his own somewhere, long forgotten. He's not shy.

Says the filthiest shit, it kinda becomes his think on your platform.

Otis can be absolutely disgusting but, fortunately, there is an audience for that and they flood to your videos.

Calls you all sorts of names, asks you if you get off on knowing everyone is going to watch him fuck you. That everyone is going to see all the things you let him do to you.

Baby Firefly

Baby loves that you do cam work, she loves performing. She happily does your hair and makeup, she helps you pick out costumes and which toys you'll use in that video.

Hell, she's even filmed a video or two for you!

She's your number one supporter so of course she jumps on camera as soon as you ask if she wants to be in a video.

The two of you are all dolled up and she's magnetic, the audience love her as much as they love you.

The two of you are absolute menaces if you decide to do a livestream, pulling in huge donations because Baby is going to pout and taunt. Why should the two of you put on a show if they're not showing their appreciation properly?

Baby is the type to respond to very low donations with "it's alright, you can just say you're poor". She never promised to play nice and she just thinks you're worth more than that!!!

You end up apologising for her.

People are into it though.

Yautja (Predator)

Your mate doesn't quite get it but he's cool with it.

Is hard as soon as you ask if he wants to be in a video. Yautja's aren't very conservative or prudish when it comes to sex and nudity, so you weren't too surprised.

He loves the thought of taking you, of claiming you, and everyone knowing that you're his mate. That he's a worthy mate for you.

Even when he's a regular feature in your videos, he doesn't completely understand it, he just knows he's into it.

Everyone loves to watch you try to take him fully, the struggle, the determination, the satisfaction when you manage it.

You have cornered the Monster Fucker market. They don't know if it's real, if it's a very elaborate costume, or very realistic animation, either way they are eating it up.

All the other performers who use alien dildos and such are super jealous, obviously.

[mercy-burning]

Exposure

AKA: a gentle rewrite/edit of Part 1, plus the rest of the story.

Pairing: therapist!Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After a year of self-inflicted social isolation, a rather intimate suggestion from your therapist turns your life on its head and opens up a whole new world of cliche, sexy possibilities... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Themes and discussions of sexual trauma surrounding a painful sexual encounter, power dynamics, masturbation, dubious consent, voyeurism (unbeknownst to reader), Spencer is a perv, fingering, oral sex (fem. receiving), dry humping. Word Count: 9.6k (I had to cut her down, y'all, it was getting ridiculous and I'm sorry flsjdlksdk)

MASTERLIST

It is finally here. I have finally tackled the beast and finished Exposure the way the fanfic gods intended. I initially wanted this story to be what is is now and what you're about to read, but back when I wrote it the first time, I had ZERO self control and decided to just post what I had without finishing the rest, and I split the story into two parts... And then part two never saw the light of day. I have felt so bad ever since for abandoning the story and leaving you without a conclusion. I hope you'll forgive me and that it hasn't been too long for you to still care and read this now. And if you weren't around to read the original first part of Exposure, I hope you enjoy this brand new story that totally didn't exist before just now... ;)

———

ACT I: Homework

"And what about your sexual relationships?"

You freeze like a deer in headlights, unwilling to budge no matter how loudly his horn is blaring. Even as he asks again, your name a gentle coax on the surface of his tongue, you remain perfectly still.

"Did I strike a nerve?" he asks sweetly with a tilt of his head.

"U—Um... I..."

"It's important that you're up-front about these things with me... It's more than acceptable and valid if you don't feel like telling me everything right away. But if there's something wrong, I'd like to know. That way we can at least find somewhere to start. Does that sound alright?"

"Um... Y—Yeah, I guess so..."

He asks again, and you find it extremely difficult to look him in the eye.

Or to look at him in general.

You knew eventually you'd have to talk about your sex life, but in all honesty it had been forced deep into the back of your mind during the other sessions— You know, when you were laser-focused on literally anything else while trying not to think about how attractive you found your therapist and how fucked up that was.

Doctor Reid always makes sure to speak slow and concisely, which, when combined with its smooth tone and the way he looks at you with his pensive, hypnotizing eyes, tends to be absolutely fucking deadly. And his hands— the way they glide beautifully across the notepad he writes in, or how they flex and tap on his knee or on his chin from time to time, his focus trained solely on you...

He'd been dangerously distracting from the get-go, but now, on the topic of your sex life? You can't even entertain looking in his general direction.

So, with your eyes glued on your lap, you mindlessly count the number of tiny flowers printed on your skirt and answer the best you can. "I don't... I don't have frequent sexual relationships."

You wonder if he'll ask you to speak up, but he doesn't. Instead, he asks, "How frequent would you say they are?"

"Um... Well... I've only ever had sex once," you continue quietly, still training your eyes on your skirt.

"Are you... embarrassed about that?"

"No," you offer more firmly. Defensively.

He pauses. "That's good. There's no reason to be." And after you don't say anything in response, counting seven excruciatingly long seconds, you hear him continue. "How long ago was the encounter?"

You hesitate a little longer, but he doesn't push it. Eventually, intimidated by the silence, you sigh and quickly blurt, "About a year ago."

There's another pause, and you would assume he might be writing something down, but the room is too silent. Not even the soft scratch of pen to page dares to interrupt the tension you're feeling.

"And how did you find your experience?" he asks then, your eyes jumping to his face as if to make sure this is actually real and he's actually in front of you right now, asking you what you think you just heard. Your heart speeds up and your hands start to sweat.

"I—I'm sorry?"

He clears his throat, and yours contracts in a gulp. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I... I don't... Why is that relevant?"

"You're coming to me once a week for counseling because you said you've found yourself shying away from other people, where a year ago you were a normal adult with normal interests in socializing and being around others. And you're unsure of what steps to take to get back to a normal routine. Correct?"

"Yes..."

"Every session so far, we've gone through your upbringing, your family life, school, friends, your first jobs... All up until now. Everything is perfectly fine, and yet we still can't seem to figure out why you've strayed from your habits. The only topic we haven't discussed is your sexual and romantic relationships."

You remain silent, eyes having dropped back down as he spoke, the flower pattern on your skirt suddenly becoming more like a dizzying optical illusion by the second.

Doctor Reid continues. "And judging your body language, I see that you haven't looked me in the eye once since I brought up sex. My guess is that something happened during your first time that—"

"Look, honestly I don't think that's relevant to my situation, I haven't had sex since then because I don't want to, it has nothing to do with this."

"It's okay if it does," Doctor Reid encourages. He is gentle as always, though if you hadn't known any better, you would think he sounds amused. "That's what I'm here for."

You glance up at him briefly, seeing a soft smile lighting the air between you. It briefly filters some of the embarrassment you're feeling, and with a sigh, you adjust in the chair and look off to the side.

"No. I didn't enjoy myself."

"Do... you want to tell me why you didn't enjoy yourself?"

You blink, feeling your chest tighten and your stomach churn at the memory. "It's stupid."

He calls your name gently, sympathetically... "I promise you it isn't... We don't have to discuss it now if you don't want to, but it's not stupid."

Thankfully he lets you mull it over in the silence for a while, giving you time to gather your emotions and thoughts. And eventually, without looking directly at him, you begin to open up.

"He hurt me... I—It wasn't... bad or anything, like he didn't do anything I didn't want to... I just... I—It hurt. Really bad. Like, I don't think I'd ever felt that kind of pain before."

"Did he, um... Go too hard? Do you think maybe that's why it hurt you?"

You let out the loudest breath of air, embarrassment and exasperation filling your lungs with every breath you take. "Yeah, that was part of it, but like... He was also kind of big, and it didn't feel good going in at all... And I know it's supposed to not feel great at first, and I thought it would get better, but... I—It just got worse, and worse, and I felt like I was getting torn apart from the inside out, I..."

Tears are steadily streaming down your face now, your throat incredibly tight and ears pounding as you try to find the strength to speak.

"I... I never want to do that again."

A box of tissues is dropped into your lap after you take the time to gather yourself a bit, and you mumble a small 'thank you' as you wipe your face. Doctor Reid is more than willing to let you take your time, and you couldn't be more thankful.

It's also great to know that it doesn't seem like he had been embarrassed for you or ready to laugh. In fact, his tone is still as smooth as ever, and incredibly warm as he speaks to you, aiming to help you work through this confidently and logically. It's an effort that comforts you more than you'd ever be able to express.

"Do you think that experience had an effect on the way you socialize somehow?"

"I... Maybe. Sure, I mean... I'm at that age where the people I hang out with all want to hook up, and if we're not trying to go home with someone, then we're not having a good time. It's... It's a lot of pressure, especially when I think about the fact that people like sex... I mean, like... That was awful, and people act like it's the end-all-be-all to enjoyment, I... I don't know..."

"Sure... You had a bad experience, and it's normal to retreat after experiencing that kind of pain... But it was only one time. You never know, maybe your partner just wasn't the right partner for you."

You shake your head intently. "No. No, that's not..."

There's a decent pause before Doctor Reid speaks again. "I want to ask you something... And this might be a bit personal, so I apologize if I push any boundaries..."

He waits for you to object, but you don't, silently giving him the go-ahead and wondering what else he could possibly ask you that hadn't already been beyond the boundaries of a deeply intimate and personal conversation.

"Have you ever masturbated before?"

Dear God, you suddenly feel like you have to throw up. "What?"

"Well, before you had sex... Did you ever... Explore what you like on your own?"

"Um... Y—Yeah, I guess so..."

"You guess so?"

You sigh, trying not to roll your eyes for fear of crying at any sudden movement. "Yes."

"Okay... In your exploration, did you ever try anything penetrative?"

"Do I actually have to answer that?"

"Of course you don't. If you're uncomfortable we can move on, but... I really do think this is going to help..."

You sigh again, then swallow hard as you look at his face once more, only to see him as he always has been— sincere and pensive and understanding. And then, as if that look is designed solely to pull information out of you, you can't help but continue.

"No... I've... only ever done clitoral stimulation."

"And what about after your first time? Have you masturbated since then?"

You pause, throat dry. The word comes out of you with resistance, its fear and indignity rising to the surface of your tongue like sandpaper. "No."

Then he pauses. And as you glance up at the clock to see your time is nearly up, you're pretty sure you know exactly what he's going to tell you, that sinking feeling returning to the pit of your stomach. Each breath feels like a stab to the chest.

Sure enough, he speaks and you close your eyes like shielding yourself from his words will prevent them from taking any meaning. You can hear the sympathy in them anyway, and you feel foolish for even attempting to hide.

"Before I see you next week, I suggest you try masturbating again. Maybe watch some pornography or read some erotica... Whatever you think will get you more comfortable with your body and your sexuality... And we'll see where you end up."

The whole situation is so ridiculous, you can't help but laugh, though there's not an ounce of humor lacing the sound. "Do you really think this is going to help me get over my... fear of sex, or whatever this is?"

He smiles softly at you, and despite the poor relationship you've been having with sex, it brings a low simmer to the pit of your stomach that scares more than excites you. "It's a good start."

It's a good start...

"It's a good start," you whispered when you got home that night, right before getting under the covers and letting your hand wander...

It worked, too.

You'd expected it to take way longer than a week to get back any sliver of libido. And it was definitely hard at first, but by the time your next session with Doctor Reid came around, you'd been masturbating regularly every day.

Though, it seems his instruction may have worked a little too well.

Once you were more comfortable with your own body again, you couldn't stop the images of his face as they danced in beautiful flashes behind your eyelids. Scenarios were acted out in your dreams, his presence melding with yours and replacing those you'd watched and read, and it created a new sense of anxiety once you realized that you'd have to see him again in a few days...

And now that you're here, only seconds away from the moment he'd walk through the door, your stomach twists and your heart leaps.

You almost think maybe running out the door is a good option, but then he's waltzing through it with that seasoned swiftness that only adds to his charm and intimidates you further.

"Good afternoon," he greets with a warm smile, taking the seat in front of you.

"Hi, Doctor."

"How was your week?"

You clear your throat, obviously not very good at hiding anything. "Fine."

"Just fine?"

"Yep."

He only waits for you to continue. You hate when he does that...

Because it works, getting you to talk every damn time. "Still not inclined to do anything out of my normal social routine, but I'm... better."

"How so?"

Feeling his gaze on you makes your heart lurch. "Um... I'm more... comfortable... with my body, I guess..."

"So you took my suggestion, then?"

You can only muster a nod, words dying in the back of your throat and evaporating into nothing. You're still not looking at him—not directly, anyway.

"You still seem... reserved."

"Well, I'm talking to my therapist about my masturbation habits..."

Thankfully he seems to understand, nodding with a small laugh that aims to lighten the mood and make you more comfortable around the whole situation. After all, it is only the start of your session this week, and a whole hour and a half of awkwardness wouldn't suffice.

Even still, what he says next doesn't ease your mind much at all.

"Do you mind elaborating a little?"

"I don't know how much more elaboration you need," you half-scoff, clearly defensive over your privacy— And with every right to be so, considering most of your thoughts had been about him.

"Well, let's start with how frequent you've been with it."

That you could do. "Um... about every day for the past week?" And right before I left the house...

"Good. How many times a day?"

"Once." Twice, sometimes three...

"Okay..." He writes things down, and then pauses before asking his next question. "Have you tried any new techniques?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I mean other than clitoral stimulation."

"No."

He must have sensed the unease in your punctuation, because he leans forward. "Let me be clear. My questions on the topic are thorough and perhaps a bit boundless, but I am not expecting you to be ready to have sex right away. You should always be allowed to go at your own pace, and I will always encourage you to do so, I hope you understand that."

"Right..." There's an awkward pause, but you want things to keep moving, so just to keep him talking, you clear your throat and continue, "So, um... What's the next step then?"

By the look in his eyes, you realize it had probably been the wrong question—and way—to ask. Even after just explaining that you could go at your own pace, the way you spoke to him could have easily been interpreted as a newfound confidence to push forward.

Currently, under his watchful gleaming eye, you find yourself feeling anything but confident. In the past week, unfortunately, that much hasn't changed. Especially after he tells you, "We're going to make sure you've actually been doing your homework. Come with me."

———

There's just something about you that Spencer can't seem to understand. It's something beautiful and alluring, and more than anything it's incredibly wrong. Because he surely shouldn't be taking you to a separate room in the building where they interview mental patients while others watch from behind one-way glass and take notes.

But here he is anyway, leading you into the room and trying desperately not to kiss or touch you in the meantime...

"W—What do you want me to do, exactly?" you ask in that timid way of yours. It's almost innocent, like you truly don't understand why he's brought you here rather than confirming your suspicions. And somehow that only makes him want you more.

"I would like for you to watch yourself masturbate in front of this mirror here." He opens the door and urges you inside as he follows. You survey the space as your hands fumble nervously, and he continues. "It's a form of exposure therapy. My hope is to get you not only to feel your pleasure, but to see it... The act of seeing yourself that way is a good effort to boost confidence and embrace sexuality. The room is soundproof, it's camera-free... Whatever you do in here will be completely private."

"I—Isn't this like... This... I..."

Spencer reaches out and touches your shoulder, and when you look at him like a lost puppy, he nearly caves. "I understand your reservations, and you are more than welcome to decline... But I really do think this will help you. You're completely safe here, it's important for you to know that."

He's speaking to you in that slow, collected way that always gets you to open up to him, and it proves itself useful once again when you finally nod and agree to do his assignment. He smiles tamely, though the images that grace his brain of what might transpire soon are anything but. The pit of his gut is a raging wildfire, and you, though deeply unaware just yet, are the fuel that feeds and flourishes it.

"What do I do when I'm done?" you ask.

He reaches into his pocket and gives you a pager. "You can page me with this. I'll be in my office, so by the time I get to you, you should have enough time to get yourself situated. Is that okay?"

"You're... Leaving me alone?"

The question almost knocks the wind out of him. To play it off though, he offers a small, breathy laugh. "Did you want me to watch?"

"That's not what I meant! I... I just mean... Anyone could..."

"Like I said, this room is completely safe and soundproof. I've booked it for your session today, so no one will be here to use it..." He thinks for a moment, suppressing a grin to the best of his ability when the words come tumbling out. "There is a room right next door if you'd prefer I stay closer though, just in case."

"Y—Yes, please..."

Spencer smiles and hands you the pager, trying not to linger too long when his knuckles brush the inside of your palm. "Okay. Page me when you're done, and I'll give you a few minutes to collect yourself. Okay?"

"Okay," you offer with a nod and a small smile. Your nerves have calmed, and maybe this helps Spencer feel better about what he's about to do, but regardless of his ulterior motives, he truly is glad you're making progress.

He leaves and shuts the door, locking it and making quick work of sliding into the small door next to it. After locking that one as well, he switches on the light and settles in, seeing that you've only just sat down on the small couch in the middle of the room.

You both lean back at about the same time, you into the couch cushions and Spencer in the spinning desk chair. It doesn't take but a single movement of your hand down to the button of your jeans to make him hard, and the sight has him even more determined to make you feel the same way about him that he does you.

It's set in stone the moment you slide the denim down your legs and spread them wide, right in front of him. He watches as you take a deep breath and rub yourself through your panties, little pieces of your hesitation crumbling away by the second, and he just knows he's going to fuck you properly.

When, he doesn't know. But it will happen, that much he's sure of.

In the meantime, he settles for fantasy. Spencer opens up his own pants and just loosens them enough to get his dick out, and all the while his eyes are trained solely on you.

He doesn't start moving his hand until you slide your panties down as well, fluttering your eyes closed the moment your finger makes contact with your bare clit. In that moment, Spencer is glad for the soundproofing, because if you'd actually heard the way he groaned out just then, he would have been doomed. He spits on his hand and starts to glide it softly over himself, matching the speed of your own as it languidly explores your body.

All he can think about is how beautiful you are... He should be thinking about how wrong this is, or how you probably don't feel the same attraction to him that he so obviously feels about you, and doing this is only making his crush worse...

But damn it, you're just so captivating, and he can't stop.

And he doesn't.

No, Spencer doesn't even give a second thought to sighing out your name and imagining you in front of him—closer than you are now—with your head tilted up and your pretty eyes batting up at him while he fucks your throat. He mindlessly whispers praises in between low whines as his speed and pressure increases, and he's so close to coming.

He can hold out, though. He can wait for you. He wants to wait for you. He wants to watch you come undone before he even thinks about getting there himself.

But of course, as they say, you don't always get what you want.

It's not like it's his fault, though. You're the one who's losing yourself in a fantasy, using his name on your lips as a plea to aid you in the most intimate form of pleasure...

"Doctor Reid," he can hear you whine as you squirm and bring yourself closer to bliss.

He can't help it, then. His name desperately falling off your tongue sets off the explosion that ripples through his insides. His hand falters, and he releases the most pathetic sound he's ever made right as he comes all over his hand. You're calling his name again, in broken chants getting higher and higher in pitch until you're incoherent, and he's just a sticky, flustered mess.

He sits there and watches you reach your climax, still gently stroking his cock with a lip between his teeth. Your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth hangs open, and your legs, while still wide, are wavering and tensing. His eyes travel down to your hand as it strokes and circles, and he wishes more than anything that it was his.

In fact, the thought gives him an idea for another session...

ACT II: Awakening

The amount of time you've spent the last month watching porn is extremely embarrassing. It's not even just to get off anymore, either, though the relief is nice. Still, the act itself doesn't embarrass you so much as where your mind goes when you do it. You're purposely watching videos where the men have slim builds and curly hair so you can squint and imagine who you really wish you were watching...

It's wrong and dangerous and probably illegal somehow, and still, it's a better place than you were in months ago... So you can't really complain, can you?

Yes, really, you can; You still have to see your therapist while regularly having sexual fantasies about him. Which would be fine if you didn't have to talk to him about your sexual habits every session...

You almost think about cancelling today, but despite the overwhelming amount of time spent thinking about sex and how much you actually want it, you figure that means this therapy is helping. Yourself a month ago would be absolutely petrified at the idea of watching some girl get railed on screen repeatedly, vivid flashbacks of your first and final experience of sex surely to barge in and render the porn and its purpose useless.

So, despite the potential awkwardness, you end up in his office right on time.

Doctor Reid is already there, standing next to a small fold-out bed in the middle of the room with the rest of the furniture moved out of the way. It almost looks like a completely different place.

"Oh, am... Did I get the wrong time?"

He calls your name brightly, turning to see you. "You're right on time, actually. Come on in. I want to talk about your next step... I assume you've been keeping up with your homework?"

You swear then that you must still be in your bedroom, watching porn on a loop, weary and orgasmed out, because you can instantly feel the setup here; It wouldn't be hard to put the pieces together. The cliche nature of it all makes you think you might just be blurring reality and fantasy, your legs weak as you make your way over to him.

"Yes, I have..." you confirm cautiously, though the back of your mind is already battling over whether or not to be excited or scared, or both, at the prospect of this 'next step'. Is it something you're really willing to do? Is it in the realm of comfortable possibility?

Doctor Reid smiles at you, and, Yes, you think finally, it is.

"Well, you've done really well lately, and I'm proud of you for taking this journey in rediscovering your sexuality. It isn't an easy feat after going through what you did, and your progress is something you should be very proud of."

Admittedly, the praise is nice. It's comforting. Genuine. You really have progressed in embracing your sexual desires, though the thought of trusting someone enough to respect your boundaries and understand your reservations to the act itself is nearly sickening.

Unless, of course, that person is your therapist. Then it's not so hard to imagine.

Your body warms at the implications, and suddenly you're nervous all over again, your eyes trying not to eye the bed in the middle of the room. Through a deep breath, you tell him, "Thank you. What's on the agenda today?"

The small laugh that escapes him has you weak in the knees again. "Eager, are we?"

Oh, there's no way he's not flirting...

Right?

You shrug and offer a smile. "You did renovate your office rather... drastically... Excuse a girl for being curious, Doctor."

"Touché," he replies. His syllables are slow and smooth, and when his eyes bare into yours, reality and fantasy have moved past the point of blurring— they've full-on collided, creating this new atmosphere of thick, palpable debauchery that promises to alter the course of your life forever.

You want to jump his bones now, before something changes your mind, but you can't move. The possibility of misreading the situation is far too humiliating to make any sudden movements or declarations of desire.

"Please, sit," Doctor Reid invites, and you calm a little. Your limbs are still on fire with each muscle that moves, until you're seated on the bed, looking up at him and trying not to give yourself away.

Just in case.

If he can tell what's going on in your brain, he doesn't let on. Still, there's something that lives in his gaze, something knowing and all-consuming that calms your nerves like a weighted blanket as his voice plunges you further into this fantastical reality you've created together.

"Like I said, it seems that you've been succeeding at rediscovering and maintaining a healthy sexual appetite. How does that make you feel?"

"Um... Really good, actually. I think I've come a long way, and it's all because of you."

It hadn't been intentional to phrase it that way, but as soon as the words leave your mouth and his lips quirk into a gentle smirk, you avert your gaze, clutching the edge of the bed. "I mean, your suggestions and your kindness have been extremely helpful..."

"That's what I'm here for," he says, amusement lacing his tone, but disappearing quickly as he continues. "Now, I know it's only been just over a month, and it's still absolutely imperative that you do this at your own pace. So if you find yourself feeling like you're not ready to move forward when I ask you this, you are not obligated to agree. Is that understood?"

Your heart is beating wildly within the confines of your chest, daring to and desperate for escape. "Yes, Doctor."

His tongue darts out over his bottom lip as the honorific trickles sweetly off of yours, and then he clears his throat, taking a step closer to you. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." There isn't a single ounce of hesitation in the meaning of the word or the speed at which it leaves your mouth. It's not even a second thought.

"My hope for today's session is to get you to a place where you're comfortable with trying different techniques. And if you don't mind, I'd like to assist—to show you some new pleasure points and help you discover what you like. Is that something you're willing to do?"

You nod slowly, words feeling impossible, which brings a small smile to his face.

"Okay, a few rules. This is a very vulnerable thing. So you need to use your words. I'm not comfortable moving forward unless you explicitly say so, so I ask you again; Do you give me permission to help you experiment?"

"Yes."

Firm. Some might even say confident. The word rings sharply in the air for a few moments before Doctor Reid nods and responds quietly, "Good."

He walks over to you, slowly until his knees are barely touching yours. You feel yourself becoming a living current of electricity at the sheer closeness of him, never mind that he hasn't even touched you. You can only imagine what it will feel like when he does, the thought making you fight the urge to clamp your thighs together.

"Do I have your permission to touch you?"

Touch me how? you want to ask, but you realize it wouldn't matter; You'd let him touch you in any way he pleased. So instead, you tell him, "Please."

His eyes rake slowly over your figure then, possibly considering his next move, but then he simply nudges your knee with his leg, the most brief form of touch but still electrifying all the same. "Will you hold your right leg out for me?"

Not quite what you would have expected, but you do as he says, extending your leg as he rests his palm under your ankle.

"Are you familiar with erogenous zones?"

Your heart leaps. "Yes. I know the concept."

He considers this before slightly swiping his thumb along the side of your ankle. "Are you familiar with your erogenous zones?"

"I can't say I've ever thought about it, so... Probably not, no."

"Hmmm."

Honestly, you figure it wouldn't even matter where he touched you; The fact that he's taken an interest in your sexual desires and putting them to the test with an attentive, hands-on approach is more than enough to get you hot and bothered. The sheer presence of him alone makes your whole body pulse with writhing need.

Still, you let him explore, trying not to prove impatient. It's incredibly difficult when the denim of your jeans slowly becomes nothing more than a claustrophobic obstacle to his attention. Everywhere his fingers brush, heat radiates, but you know it could be stronger. You try your hardest to focus on his questions and less on the signals your body is sending you, violently and utterly whorish. You'd never been this way before, not even by yourself, and you're becoming less and less patient by the minute

Doctor Reid seems to notice this as his knuckles brush the inside of your palm, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Are you relaxed?" he asks quietly, keeping his head low but lifting his eyes to meet yours. Something about the sight stirs in your stomach.

"Yes."

"You don't sound very convinced."

You can't help but succumb to the bout of nervous laughter that's been dancing in its cage in the back of your throat the whole session. His fingers halt their gentle discovery of your body but remain rested in your palm, every nerve ending threatening to explode. "Well, I don't know if relaxed is really the right word, but... I'm... Good."

He hums pensively, pausing to tilt his head. "You've been responding rather enthusiastically to just about every touch..." If he's amused by this, you can't tell, but the words feel like a prideful observation regardless. "I suppose that means we can move this along..."

When his eyes meet yours again, you nearly whimper.

"May I kiss you?" he asks.

His knuckles start moving slowly against your palm, and your entire arm lights up with excitement at the contact, as does your heart. Suddenly the room feels cold yet hot at the same time, a deep chill crashing through your body like a tidal wave. Your nipples are painfully hard against the fabric of your bra, and you feel it in your bones.

You've never been so turned on in your life.

You nod, then stop yourself, remembering his rules. The word sounds utterly wanton as it gently squeaks past your lips, but it's the best you can do to give him permission short of reaching up and pulling him down to kiss him yourself.

"Please..."

He surprises you again by stepping forward and lifting your arm to his mouth. Sticky honey eyes trap you in their gaze as his lips replace his knuckles on the inside of your palm, soft and warm in every aspect. He takes his time, grazing his nose along your fingers and then your wrist as he drops the gentle pressure of a kiss along every centimeter of skin he explores. It's thorough and attentive and gentle, and you're mesmerized.

Eventually he's kissed his way up your whole arm, and it feels like you've been in this bed for hours, something slowly awakening inside you at his every touch. The excitement bubbling in your bloodstream starts to boil over when he reaches your collarbone, using his hand to slip under the strap of your tank top so he can kiss you there.

Responding to his touch has become second nature at this point, so your head leans away and gives him room to start kissing your neck, to which he does happily.

Where Doctor Reid's kisses had been kind and curious in their pursuit, they've now grown indulgent. His lips part, lavishing the skin at the side of your neck with a warm, wet caress that makes your toes curl and your fists clench. His hand comes up to drag the pad of his middle finger down your throat as his tongue darts out and laps at your skin, and you moan.

Your hips grind and your thighs clench, a disastrous wave of heat flooding through you, and he sucks gently on your skin for a second before sighing.

"There it is..."

You pout when he pulls away, but he strokes your hairline and doesn't go far. "How are you feeling?"

"Really good," you breathe through a nervous smile.

"Are you turned on?"

Obviously, you want to exclaim, but given his thorough and affirmative nature, it makes sense. You also force yourself to remember that he's your therapist and not a guy you've taken home for the night. He's a professional, despite how unprofessional in nature this particular situation is on paper; He's not going to move the process along based on an assumption, no matter how obvious your reactions might be.

"Very," you tell him confidently, a proud gleam in your eye as you look up at him. The twitch of his grin does more than excite you— it urges you. "You turn me on, Doctor Reid..."

"Is that so?"

"Mhmmm."

He leans and his breath is hot in your ear. His voice comes in low and seductive. Curious. Careful.

"Then I'd like you to show me. Will you touch yourself for me, love?"

The pet name makes you clench around nothing, and you whimper at the way it stings. At this point it's physically painful to keep lying there at his mercy without any sort of stimulation, so despite how embarrassing and desperate it might be, your hand is slipping under the band of your sweatpants with ease as you sigh out. "I'll do anything..."

The back of his knuckles tease your neck as you slowly circle your clit with your middle finger, and you don't have to do much wandering to gather your wetness either. Everything is warm and wet and ready for release, which doesn't go unnoticed by Doctor Reid.

"I can hear how wet you are," he muses brightly, his throat caught in a groan as his lips hover over your neck. "That's good."

"Uh-huh?" you whine out, his praises bringing you closer to nirvana.

"That's really good... Are you close already, baby?"

You can't help but moan at the name, a white-hot pool of pleasure filling up in your gut as his lips attach to your pulse-point. "Yes, Doctor..."

"Mmm," he hums into your skin, continuing to kiss you. His hand strokes your forehead as your own makes quick work of your clit. It won't be but a matter of seconds before you're coming undone. "How long can you go between orgasms? Do you know?"

"I... usually wait... ten minutes at least..."

Doctor Reid licks softly at your neck before he asks, "Have you used a vibrator or a toy?"

You laugh involuntarily, clenching your legs as your orgasm approaches and wishing you had your vibrator right now. You bought it after your third session. "A vibrator. A cheap one... But it works."

"Nothing wrong with that," he mumbles amusedly into your skin, trailing his kisses up to your jaw. It takes everything you have not to turn your head and take his lips with your own, just to taste his warmth as you come undone—to whimper and whine into his mouth with every wave of pleasure that crashes through you, and—

God, that's exactly what's happening...

Your body shudders blissfully as Spencer kisses you, and the moment doesn't even feel real. His mouth is gentle but coaxing, helping you through your orgasm with a sense of accomplishment, like his kisses are a reward. At least, it certainly feels that way. It doesn't help that when you finally come down, slowing your breathing and removing your hand from your pants, he rests his forehead to yours with a final gentle peck on the mouth and an affirming, "Very good, sweetheart."

You can't help but feel like he takes note of the way you flutter your eyes closed at the nickname; there's a pause in his movements before he returns to them, lightly trailing his knuckles over your neck until his touch disappears completely.

Even though you just came moments before, his next sentence nearly gives you a second wind, your eyes snapping open and your cunt throbbing with want.

"Has anyone ever eaten you out before?"

"No," you tell him truthfully, and he studies you with a look in his eyes that tells you he isn't surprised to hear the unfortunate news. Embarrassed suddenly at his pity, you try to shrug it off. "Men seem to be pretty notorious for being bad at it though, so I didn't hold it against him... My ex, I mean..." You huff a nervous laugh, seeing Doctor Reid stare at you blankly. "I figured it would save us both the trouble."

"There's nothing troubling about it," he mumbles, more to himself. But then he straightens and inhales, back to business as his gaze cements into yours once again. "Would you be willing to let me do it?"

Even more embarrassing than the fact that it hasn't been done before is the speed at which you respond, "Yes." The word is sharp and desperate, loud and true, and you swear you see Spencer's eyes glow. "Please..."

It's hard to tell what he's thinking exactly—ever the professional he is—but aside from lack of a smile or any other indicator of eagerness, his eyes give his emotions away on a grander scale. They're practically fucking you already as he saunters around the bed, their intensity settling deep in the pit of your stomach. Suddenly you're convinced you could come just by his stare alone.

"May I?" he questions, gently tugging at the ankle of your leggings.

"Yes."

"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart."

After a sentence like that, you aren't sure how you have the strength to do it, but you manage, hot flashes coursing through your entire body as his nimble fingers grip the waistband of your leggings and slide them over your hips, then your thighs. His skin is hot against yours, even with as little contact as there is; a simple brush of the knuckle over your knee might as well be a branding iron, claiming you as his own.

He doesn't even have to instruct you, your legs falling wide open once they're free from their fabric confines.

At this point you aren't even embarrassed anymore. You might even be proud of it— how badly you want him to touch you and taste you and show you just how good another person could make you feel. In an odd way it makes you feel important. Cared for.

Your cunt throbs at the intensity of all these emotions and feelings.

It doesn't help when Doctor Reid settles between your legs, making himself comfortable and looking up at you through his eyelashes. The sight is just as overwhelming as everything else.

"You're absolutely sure you want this?" he inquires softly, almost like a plea.

Your vocal cords feel like they're made of rope, the words climbing out of you with burning calluses and a determination to see it through to the end. You've never wanted anything so badly, and you tell him precisely that.

The confirmation seems to please him, a beautiful lilted sigh escaping him as his nose comes in contact with your underwear. It rests just above your clit, his breath hot against you.

His hands come up from under you then, gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed cunt. The gentle pressure makes you moan and squirm, his fingers gripping your thighs even tighter, and you sigh his name.

He keeps going, taking his sweet time to explore what areas get reactions from you, though he's quick to learn that every touch, every kiss, every gentle probe of the tongue... all of it is slowly undoing you to the point of madness.

With a hooked finger pulling your panties aside, Doctor Reid sighs into your thigh.

"Are you ready for it, pretty girl?"

All you can manage is the most whiny, whorish "Uh-huh," to the air. It echoes brightly and rings in your ears long after the moment, time seeming to stop right as his tongue comes in contact with your dripping heat.

The sensation is hot and sharp, and never ending. After what seems like forever, the tip of his tongue finally comes up and swiftly flicks your clit before he repeats the entire motion, like a wave crashing over the shore, and that's when your body finally releases all its tension.

You hadn't even realized you were so tense. Your fingers release their grip on the thin sheet beneath you and your chest sighs of relief, and that's when you feel yourself finally start to breathe. Head spinning, the sensations happening below you are coming into sharp clarity.

Spencer's tongue is relentless, leaving no crevice untouched by pleasureful curiosity. But you barely even have time to wonder if he might be enjoying himself more than you are, because all thought at all completely disappears the very moment his lips gather around your clit, sucking softly as he groans.

"Ohhhh my god..."

You're unable to keep your hips from grinding into his mouth. Still, he persists, cycling between sucking and licking and kissing, and it takes everything you have not to reach down and thread your fingers through his hair.

"You taste so fucking good," he sighs, coming up for air for a second. Then he kisses you again and repeats himself. "You're so good..."

This time you do reach down for his head, brushing the stray strands away from his forehead as he looks up at you. He pauses his ministrations, and his tongue's absence is sorely missed in feeling but a pleasure to the eyes as he runs it over his bottom lip in a slow, almost predatory nature.

"I'm going to slowly add a finger, is that okay?"

The thought admittedly panics you, flashbacks of pain and disappointment and embarrassment barging in and nearly ruining the moment. But Spencer can tell, his head tilting into your thigh again until it makes contact. His hair tickles and sends a shiver over your limb as he uses his hands to rub gentle, reassuring circles into your skin.

"We don't have to. I can keep doing it just like this if you prefer. Whatever you want, sweetheart."

The words shoot straight to your core, which sparks the realization that your previous encounter with sex was nothing like this at all. Not only in situation, obviously, but in feeling as well. You were excited to do it the first time, sure, but the build-up was pretty much non-existent. And now here you've been, pining away at this man for weeks, reawakening your libido and engaging in the longest game of foreplay known to man.

You have this very moment to show for it, your entire body humming with want and your worries slowly melting away under Doctor Reid's careful yet eager exploration.

Where there had once been an absence of communication and genuine care, now rests a bright and blossoming excess of it, in every touch and every pull of his eyes. It burns through you like a shot of whiskey, growing in sizzling warmth as it reaches every limb.

It's this new, odd and exciting comfort that urges you to tell him, "It's okay. You can do it."

You expect him to sigh in relief, grateful for your permission, but if he feels it he doesn't show it. Gentle hands continue caressing the underside of your thighs and he looks up at you. "You're sure?"

"Yes. I want it. I want your fingers inside of me, please."

Between the desperate emphasis in your nodding and the way your eyes are practically begging him, you've sealed your fate, a soft gasp reaching your throat when his middle finger slides through your opening and sends a rush of excitement over every plane of your body.

He doesn't enter you, but simply glides, up and down, like he's trying to soothe you.

"Tell me if it's too much, okay?"

"O-kay..."

Your breath shakes on the last syllable, his fingertip slowly disappearing inside you. He takes his sweet time, one knuckle, then two, and then he's fully inside you, and it's not nearly as painful as the last time somebody had been there.

"Fuck, you're so warm..." His eyes search yours for a moment before he sighs and lowers his head. "So beautiful..." And then his mouth is on you again, his compliment muffled by the essence of your pleasure, and your head is thrown back in an instant.

As his finger kindly allows you to adjust to its residence, experimentally moving in and out, his tongue continues to lap at your clit, and both sensations together are a bit odd but not unwelcome. You're slowly getting used to the fullness, yet something in you aches for more...

Maybe it's in your sighs, or the way your hands claw at the sheets, or perhaps he simply just knows you that well, but either way, Spencer knows.

He adds another finger, slowly and without an ounce of resistance from your body, and when you sigh out this time, it's of relief. You smile through it, allowing yourself to revel in the feeling of something new and erotic and exciting. Every whimper that falls from your lips is prideful and maybe even a bit exaggerated, but it's entirely worth it if only for the encouragement it seems to give Doctor Reid to keep going.

After a while of letting you get used to the feeling, he pulls back and twists his palm up before he enters you again, slowly as he says, "You're taking them so well... I'm proud of you, love..."

His fingers are in as far as they can go, and then they curve up just right, and you gasp.

"That feel good?"

"Uh-huh..."

"Yeah?" he coos proudly, starting a rhythm with his fingers that has you crying out in unbelievable pleasure. You're quickly reaching a peak again, every sensation from the fullness of his fingers and the way they twist and curl inside you to the sounds he makes as he kisses and sucks at your clit sending you into overdrive.

Dizziness starts to swarm you and your body can't handle it. Rather than fight this tight, new feeling brewing at each stroke of his fingers, you embrace it with deep breaths and cries out into the air, and then it snaps inside you.

Doctor Reid manages to keep your legs open as he works you through it, though you're not sure how you haven't crushed him yet. Everything feels tight and sharp and blindingly good—it feels like something that would take an army to keep from closing in.

Still, he does it, holding you open and groaning his way through your orgasm. Your hands instinctively reach out to keep him there, clutching at his hair and holding on for dear life while you tremble and clench around him.

Galaxies dance vividly behind your eyelids for what feels like eons as the pleasure bursts through you like a display of shooting stars, until eventually it subsides and your body feels extremely tired.

"Mmm, see? No trouble at all." He removes his fingers and continues to lazily make out with your cunt through small aftershocks of overstimulation, and then he's gone.

He gives you a few moments to collect yourself before he asks, "How do you feel?"

"Tired," you sigh with a smile, relaxing back with your eyes closed. You feel like you could take a nap. "But good. Very good."

His momentary silence intrigues you, so you flutter your eyes open and see that the heat in them hasn't subsided. In fact, it burns through him brightly as he prowls up the bed and climbs over your body until you're face-to-face. Something hard and hot and familiar rests firmly against your thigh and you choke on a whimper.

"Have you ever tasted yourself before?" he inquires, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallow and prepare yourself. "No."

"Would you like to?"

And then without a second thought, your hands bring his face down to yours, and you embrace the subtle tang of your pleasure on his lips. He groans into your mouth, low and warm as his hips rut into your thigh.

The action sends you into overdrive, and suddenly you want to ask if you can return the favor, but Doctor Reid seems to have other ideas.

A finger delicately makes its way past your lips, seamlessly replacing his tongue, and you open your eyes again, nearly falling apart at the sight of him. The man is wild, eyes desperate for release as you suck on his finger, and then he adds another.

You clean him of your essence, sensual and enthusiastic in your maneuvers in a newfound confidence that wouldn't even exist now if not for him. So you treat this act as a reward to him, an act of gratitude, regardless of whether or not this session is technically all about discovering your likes and dislikes. If anything, you've learned that you like pleasing him. And so—if the constant friction between his bulge and your thigh is any indication—you'd have to say that his goal for today's session has been achieved tenfold.

"God, you're perfect," he huffs as his movements stutter and his hips still. You moan around his fingers, gliding your tongue in the space between them, and when he finally comes, he's choking out your name.

His weight gradually comes down on top of you, his fingers sliding out of your mouth and resting on your chest as he finds his composure. And then he's kissing your neck and your jaw, and each hot caress of his mouth at your pulse point feels like a reward of its own, an intimate form of affection made specifically for you.

Your name sighing past his lips and into your skin is proof enough of that; the lust is still there, sure, but it's laced with something else. Something softer.

As the breathing between the two of you slows, you comb through his hair with your fingers and sigh. An odd, pleasant feeling swirls around in your gut.

"Thank you, Doctor Reid."

"Mmm, you're very welcome," he murmurs into your skin, still nestled into the crook of your neck.

"For everything," you clarify. "A month ago, doing something like that would have felt impossible to even imagine, but... You make me feel safe, and cared for. And more importantly, you don't make me feel like I should be ashamed. Like there isn't actually something wrong with me. I don't know how to thank you enough for that."

When he pulls away, you almost think you might have scared him off, but the look in his eyes is anything but fearful. In fact, they practically shine like a glimmering lively lake as they search your own.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You're beautiful, and bright, and curious... And as long as you remember that, and you hold onto it, you will be just fine—no matter where you go, or... who you go to."

You shake your head, that feeling in your gut growing exponentially and the words flying out before you can stop them. "I don't want to go to anyone else. I only want you."

The look in his eyes deepens, almost a little melancholic in their intensity, close enough to that fear you were worried about earlier to make your heart beat faster.

"You don't mean that," he says, and you want to cry. Hell, you might, if that feeling in your stomach is speaking for something.

"Like hell I don't," you counter, cradling his head in your hands. "You're the first person I've actually wanted to be around in so long, and... Maybe it's twisted, maybe it's not right, but if there is anyone that I need, it's you. I won't even be your patient anymore if that makes up for it, I just want to see you. I trust you. More than I would trust any stranger."

When your name exits his lips, this time it's a gentle warning. Authoritative. But still sweet. Maybe even a little disappointed. "The purpose of these more... interactive sessions was to get you comfortable with trusting people with your body as much as you do... Seeing me and no one else would, in the end, defeat that purpose."

All feeling in your bloodstream curdles and starts to wither away with rejection. Embarrassment fizzles behind your eyelids as you close them, forming into tears that you try and will away until you're out of his sight. "You don't... actually want me..."

He tenses at your exclamation, and sighs. "That is absolutely not what I said. Look at me."

"Then... what?"

Spencer remains professional, but there's something hiding behind his eyes that longs to get out, you can see that. You can feel it too, as prominently as you feel your heart beating in your chest.

"As your therapist, it is in both of our best interests that I recommend you to try a night out. You don't have to sleep with anyone or do anything you're uncomfortable with, obviously, but... Based on what we've accomplished today, it is my professional opinion that you're ready for the next step."

So you're kicking me out, you cry dramatically in your head, even though you know it isn't true. Still, there's something inside you that doesn't want to let go— that can't. This connection you have with him is something strong and beautiful, something valuable. Something profound. You're not going down without a fight, until he is kicking you out of his office.

Your fingers glide down the side of his face and your eyes sharpen, studying his face with lustful reverence.

"And what are your thoughts as a man... and not my therapist?"

While you'd intended it more as a plea, your words seem to challenge him. Gone is the liberal professionalism, replaced with a familiar sly desire that ignites your heart and fills you with hope.

"As a man... it's impossible even trying to deny you..."

The words excite and warm you all over. You hum, nudging your nose to his and thinking aloud. "Mmm. After my hour is up and the day is long over... Maybe I should wander back to the parking lot and let a man take me home... As my therapist, d'you think that would count as a night out?"

You're relentlessly teasing him now, but he seems  alright with it, laughing dryly above you as his hands clutch your shirt and his hips shift firmly into your thigh again. "Haven't you gotten bold," he muses lowly, his mouth inching closer to yours.

"What can I say... You're very good at your job, Doctor."

"Mmm, you make it easy, love."

His lips are on yours soon after that, and with each tick of the clock your kisses grow hungrier.

Nothing escalates, but for the next fifteen-or-so minutes, your body remains buzzing with the ever-present energy of him, the knowledge that his presence has altered the course of your life forever, and the hope that the feeling is mutual.

Though, if the way he holds you and kisses you means anything, there is nothing to worry about in the slightest.

You leave his office that day feeling lighter, and while you're a far cry from where you were when you started seeing Doctor Reid, you're certain that by tomorrow you'll be a completely different woman.

[frownyalfred]

Arkham Prince - Masterlist of Posts

I've linked the major asks below with a preview (edited for length) below, grouped by subject/theme and rough chronological order of how I received them. Additional shorter asks/clarifying questions, as well as shorter bits of commentary are at the very bottom.

The very first post:

I have been thinking about the idea of Bruce going insane without being Batman, about Batman being his coping mechanism, and that reblog that was like "he would definitely have ended up in Arkham if he didnt make Batman." Now I'm thinking of an AU where that is exactly the case, and maybe Clark expands his interest towards Gotham a bit, as much as he doesnt like heroing there, because it is the neighbor city of Metropolis. It's like his backyard. And maybe he wants to understand the problem of Gotham at the root, so he goes as Clark Kent, reporter, to interview the patients at Arkham, and there meets Bruce Wayne. Maybe falls in love. Maybe its angsty as fuck because this Bruce is 10 times less adjusted than the Bruce we're used to, but of course, equally as brilliant. (Maybe he could escape any time he wanted but thinks he would murder people if so. Maybe he doesnt trust his anger.)

Expanding Asks:

the idea of arkham patient bruce wayne has burrowed into the depths of my mind. this is SUCH a fascinating thought and changes so many things…how does the justice league fare without batman? how does alfred? i’d assume alfred is given bruce’s guardianship when he’s institutionalized, and i could even see him taking in the robins – finding and helping these children who remind him so much of his own boy, trying not to fail them as he failed bruce. how bruce himself does in arkham is so interesting to consider…is he kept on the same level of security as the real supervillains? is he moved there after Events?

Clark, realizing the League has a problem, a trap from someone like Lex they don't know how to unknot, something which requires finesse and strategy which is a little beyond them... taking that stroll (flight) down to Gotham, feeling insane himself for seeking advise here of all places... but the Arkham Prince delivers. Clark explains the situation, answers questions that he had no idea related to the issue, and Bruce hands him the solution in the span of 10 minutes, while the League had been brainstorming and going in circles over this for days...

Clark Kent and the Arkham Prince Finding Common Ground:

clark’s first attempt to interview the prince of arkham go about as well as you might expect, given that he’s a reporter with sunshine all but seeping out of his pores. the first time bruce doesn’t even talk to him, too furious at the gall of this metropolitan newshound to interrogate him for the sake of some gruesome, sensationalist op-ed obviously about the tragedy of the family wayne and the irredeemable mire of gotham to do anything more than death-glare at him for the entire length of the meeting. but clark, unsatisfyingly, doesn’t give up after that. if bruce doesn’t talk to him, he sure talks to bruce, and with each subsequent interview the questions…change. no longer trying to establish facts about bruce’s life or his crimes, not asking about his experience in arkham, not even going for the low-hanging fruit of why’d you train for years to kill those people, but seemingly random and unrelated things. he wants bruce’s opinions on emissions policies (need to be stricter and more tightly enforced, especially in gotham, jesus, there’s a reason lung cancer and asthma rates are through the roof) and lex luthor’s keynote speeches (unprintable, wiped from clark’s tape recorder in case luthor somehow finds out) and whether or not clark should buy a new suit (why bother, it won’t be any less tragic than every other polyester abomination he cruelly forces bruce to look at every time he stops by). clark slowly and stubbornly makes himself as much a part of bruce’s routine as visits with alfred and lucius and the doctors, and all the while superman is playing a high-stakes game of mental chess with the sinking suspicion that bruce wayne has already won in more ways than one bruce figures out kent is superman about three hours after the first time big blue gets namedropped during an interview. he commences with a plan that is part honeypot, part campaign of psychological warfare, and part genuine bid to get this midwestern alien who holds the safety of his city in his hands to try and give a damn like a proper gothamite would, like no one but bruce ever seems to.

Clark, whose one of his grestest fears is being constrained, treated as a threat, dissected, studied, as the alien specimen he is. He has to pretend. He had to be so careful. Every day or he won't have a life to live.

Clark asking the Arkham Prince to Consult for the JL:

i would kill to have clark-as-supes get some kind of special dispensation to bring arkham prince bruce to the jl hideout (the watchtower doesn’t to be without batman’s engineering/logistics knowhow and WE funding, at least not until bruce is more formally considered a consultant) for help on one of lex’s more convoluted and immediate threats. it’s just not possible for bruce to solve the problem in isolation without the league’s resources, so instead of bringing league missions to bruce superman has to bring bruce to the league mission. i started imagining the team’s reaction to their unwitting reliance on criminally insane mass murderer bruce wayne and then i remembered oliver exists and now i feel only sadness thinking about that particular reunion

Just wondering how regular JL universe would react to meeting this au, meeting Batman and seeing Bruce Wayne's potential Would they realize that their Bruce is limited by what he can do inside Arkham, but that this Batman is also limited by his own rules and codes. Would Ollie be crushed at what his former friend could have been, thinking maybe if he had stepped up and been a "better friend" Bruce wouldn't be in Arkham, he could of been working beside him instead. Can imagine Batman saying "I don't kill" and Bruce just smiling in what should have been the brucie smile and replying "but I do"

The crossover is so funny in regards to Supes. Like here's Arkham Prince AU Clark, terribly in love with a version of Bruce who is so unavailable to him on so many levels, aching with it every time he dares think about it, staring at Regular Universe Clark in complete and utter disbelief. (expansion of "regular JL universe" ask above)

Your take on Prince of Arkham's level of influence on JL members, at the top being of course Clark. And also: first time he is taken into the JL base, does he hack into their systems?

OMG arkham bruce and clark have gotten closer and maybe clark makes bruce promise not to kill again after bruce gets out of arkham so he can join the jl but then someone is killed and theres evidence it was bruce but bruce swears it wasnt him ( bc it wasn’t him ) but theres so much evidence that even clark is starting to doubt bruces innocence and the jl has to kick him out and hes taken back to Arkham or for interrogation and then ANGST BRUCE BEING TORTURED FOR CONFESSION BUT HE STILL SWEARS HE DIDNT DO IT until its proven that he didnt do it

@bat-chik's Harvey Dent Visits Bruce in Arkham

"We can't even claim self defense," Harvey continued. "You-" "He has cancer." Harvey blinked at the non-sequitur, "What?" Finally, the orphaned Wayne turned and faced him, face blank, unconcerned about how much more this action would add to his sentencing. Unconcerned except for the steel eyes seething yet holding back so much hurt. Harvey remembered once again, with a small pang, why he had gotten a crush on Bruce in their college days. "Nygma. He has cancer. The only way to get medical care in Arkham is by ending up in the hospital wing." Bruce moved with all the weight of the world on his shoulders and sat in the bolted chair across from his lawyer, and life long friend.

Where are the Batkids in This?

pls consider. a dick greyson who gets tossed in arkham after tracking down and torturing then killing killing his parent's murderer. tiny and lost now that what was driving him is done. a bruce wayne who hasnt been in That long yet, not long enough for people to see him as a threat rather than just an oddity, who takes one look at that angry little kid and says "oh. oh that ones mine" and spends as much time with the kid as he can. and bruce Loves gotham, thats his whole drive. but to dick, gotham is nothing but the place his world crumbled. and i think this bruce never sat with his feelings of grief either. i think he always needed a cause. and i think he saw dick having lost his cause and tries to help him find another (id like to put forth escaping as a hobby, managing to get into Any part of arkham that he pleases especially with his athleticism and small size)

It would be funny if in the Arkham Prince AU, since all the kids are in there for being um - gremlins and down with murder - that Jason in this was the pacifist?

Re: Jason being the pacifist: "I will follow you forever because you killed him." Endlessly devoted Jason my beloved. If you give him one (1) positive attention he will light himself on fire to keep you warm. I love him so much. Self destructive king.

Tim committing a crime just to end up in Arkham and study the famed insane Bruce Wayne is actually startlingly in character for him...

Clarifying Asks:

when do you see him as getting committed? was he already batman? did he already have any of his kids? if not, what *happened* to those kids who never had bruce to fight for them?

Okay, but since Bruce is the Prince of Arkham, whats stopping his kids from being in there with him?

Oh I am sooooooooo curious about what Clark thinks about Arkham Bruce having a gaggle of prison murder children.…you ever think he’s asked Dick to give Clark flowers during one of his escapes????? Or is that too corny for them.

I've seen some Arkham Prince asks and responses referring to Bruce still being rich, but would he still be?

Additional Thoughts:

i am torn between the other Inmates Hating bruce (hes the picture of those who hurt them. a rich man who is just like them but gets Way less pain for it) and adoring him

Picture this, Alfred goes to see Haly's, sees another black haired blue eyed child losing his parents at just about the same age. Another feral child with murder in his eyes.

it’s extremely important to me to consider arkham prince bruce with longer, shaggy hair and a perpetual three-day beard

The smut in the Arkham Prince AU would be INSANE.

This Arkham Prince AU has folks in a choke hold but ya'll forget one thing. The Joker and Harley Quinn.

god i am just exploding thinking about bruce and sex in the arkham prince au. there is absolutely no way he’s not accustomed to exchanging sex for favors, information, anything he wants or needs. (additional thoughts on how Clark fits into this/Superbat)

Okay hi so my main source of Arkham knowledge is the Penguin show so I’m gonna ramble a bit about factions and divides and stuff. (Sofia Falcone expansion)

continuing my thoughts on Sofia Falcone coming off your great opinions to my last ask.

There is a parallel thread between Bruce and Sofia

[amnxp]

Hold me, please

Pairing: Joaquin x semi!avenger!reader (not really an avenger but reader does fight and is in a fight scene here)

Warnings: a looooooot of angst, brief fight scenes, some fluff, at the begining, open ending (bc i might make a part 2 if someone is interested), brutal injuries, gore, and also reader is not doing well mentally with Joaquins last mission

Word count: 2k

Summary: You get hurt on a mission that was supposed to be Joaquin‘s. Arguments start, words are said that cannot be taken back. What ever to do now?

A/N: I think my next few posts will be joaquin based but i will def throw in some jason todd fics! Also thank you so much for all the love Forget me Not got! All likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated and i have seen all!:)) As a thank you have a waaaaayyy longer Joaquin Fanfic. I hope you enjoy it<3

Pt.2

You feel him long before you see him.

A small smile grows onto your face as his goatee scratches and tickles your neck while he places kisses along your jaw. You had forced Joaquin a few weeks ago to let his beard grow in because you found him more attractive with it, and although he was reluctant at first—because he didn’t want Sam making fun of him—he very quickly learned that it indeed made you way more attracted to him. You open your eyes and turn around in his arms so that your face is pressed against his chest, one of your hands cradling the back of his neck.

"You smell really good, Joaquin," you murmur, placing a kiss on his Adam’s apple. You feel him shudder around you. “I was wearing that new cologne you got me yesterday,” he replies, his voice still thick with sleep. “Seems like it stuck.“

A low hum leaves you as you feel yourself slipping back into sleep.

"No, baby. We need to get up. It's late, and I gotta go meet Sam and Bucky." "Do you have a new mission? You just got out of the hospital, Joaquin. I don’t want you out there for at least two more weeks.". You sit up in bed, your back meeting the headboard. Joaquin leans on his side, propping himself up with one hand as he looks up at you with a goofy, shit-eating grin, chuckling.

"No, not a mission. Just a quick debrief of their last mission, and they wanted me to surveil an attack. I won’t engage at all, and I will be far, far, far away from any danger. I promise.". Every "far" is followed by a soft kiss on your chest, just above your heart.

You let out a sharp sigh and look away. Ever since his brush with death, you’ve been anxious, doting on him, taking care of him—you don’t want him out there anymore. You knew who he was, and you knew all the dangers that came with his job. You yourself would help them out here and there on their missions, but you would never call yourself an Avenger, a hero, or anything of the sort. And you certainly had never experienced such grave injuries before.

They had to restart his heart. He was gone. His heart—the one that holds so much love and so much joy—had stopped, and—

"Stop that." "I'm not doing anything." "You’re thinking too much about this. I won’t be near any danger, and after this, I won’t be asked to do anything for a month." He pulls himself from under the covers and makes his way to the bathroom, leaving you no room to start an argument.

As you stand up to get yourself something to eat, your phone begins to ring. It’s Sam. You pick up on the third ring.

"Hey, Sam." "Where are you? Is Joaquin with you?" You furrow your brows in worry at his tone. "No, he's in the bathroom. It's just me. What happened, Sam?" "We need you for a mission, but Joaquin can’t know." "Is it the mission that he’s surveilling? How exactly do you want him not to know, Sam?" "It’s a ruse." "A ruse? Am I your jack-in-the-box? Sam, just because Joaquin is on a break doesn’t mean you can go searching for others to just throw themselves headfirst into—" "I’m not asking."

"…Excuse me?"

"It is either you or Joaquin. And I wouldn’t have asked if this wasn’t absolutely necessary. Figure it out." Before you can even formulate a sentence in your head, he has already hung up.

A minute later, you receive a text from Sam—coordinates, most likely where the mission is supposed to take place.

You exhale deeply through your nose before moving to the kitchen. Breakfast is bland, unsatisfying. A little while later, Joaquin steps out of the shower, fresh and clean, already dressed. He grabs some fruit, kisses the top of your head, and bids you goodbye.

For a few minutes after Joaquin‘s departure, you stare at the kitchen wall. No sound, no movement, just the weight of your own heavy breathing. The more you think about Sam and his mission, the more you feel yourself stress. Your left ear starts ringing heavily as your head starta to sway. The harsh ringing of your phone yanks you out, and you quickly pick it up.

"I’ll be there in ten, Sam."

"Does Joaquin know? He just arrived and seems a bit skittish."

"No, I didn’t tell him anything, Sam. Can you keep an eye on him? At least until I’m in?"

"You got it. And thank you, for doing this."

———

It was supposed to be quick.

In and out. Grab the damn papers, throw anybody down who tried to get them, and get out before you get caught. And don’t kill anybody. That was what Sam and Bucky had told you.

Sam had even given you a headset to stay connected to Bucky as he stayed behind with Joaquin to surveil you and keep him off the radar. About five minutes in, your headset was crushed when one of the workers in the facility tried to bash your head into the wall. Small shards and sharp pieces of the headset pierced the side of your head, leaving behind a deep cut just beneath your eye. Your ear was ringing again, and you could practically feel Sam start to panic.

It took you two elongated hours before you finally saw the front door cleared. You had been stabbed in your abdomen, and your hand—although pierced to bits as well—pressed onto your wound as best as you could. The other hand grasped the papers tightly in case anybody tried to rip them out again.

But as you made your way to the door, your legs gave out from just beneath you and— Damn it.

Everything went black.

Damn Sam and this stupid superhero bullshit.

…

You hear frantic voices, someone yelling for help. Two warm hands cradle your face, thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles against your cheeks. "Mi cielo my sky, don’t do this here. Please, please, please. I’m sorry. I know it hurts. Baby, don’t you love me? You can’t leave me alone, please, baby."

That was all you had gotten before your body blacked out again.

---

The next time your body wakes again, your eyes open first. A bright, strong white light almost blinds you with its intensity, and it does nothing to help the blaring headache pounding away at your skull. As you move your head to the side, you spot Joaquin. He looks tired—eyebags under his eyes more prominent, his beard unkempt and grown thicker than the last time you saw him. His hand holds tightly onto yours. You try to speak, to move, to give him any sign that you’re awake, but you’re far too exhausted. Instead, you just hope he realizes it on his own.

The door swings open, and Sam and Bucky enter. Sam holds a large bouquet of flowers in his hands, while Bucky—who doesn’t look much better than you imagine you do—just stands idly by.

"How ya doin’, kid?" Sam places the flowers on the nightstand next to your bed. You let out a sigh and open your mouth to try and speak, but before you get the chance, Joaquin already startled awake.

"How long has she been awake? Why didn’t you wake me? Do you need the doctor? Hold on, let me—". He moves to press the call button, but Sam is quicker.

No one says anything after that. Joaquin simply sits to the side as the doctor checks on you, glaring between you and Sam. You already know—once the doctor, Sam, and Bucky leave—you’re in for a long argument. And it's ironic, considering you had just been in his position less than a week ago. It takes an excruciating hour before Sam and Bucky finally decide to leave.

All the while, Joaquin hasn’t muttered a single word. Sam apologizes, and Bucky tries to start a conversation, but he doesn’t get far once he realizes that nobody is responding to him.

In all honesty, you don’t want them to leave. You don’t want to start an argument with Joaquin when your body is still half-alive, still clawing its way out of the grasp of death. However, much to your surprise, five minutes after Sam and Bucky leave, Joaquin stands up as well.

"Where are you going?" Your voice comes out dull and scratchy from disuse.

"I’m going home. I’ll come back tomorrow."

"Joaquin—". He leaves.

You exhale a deep sigh, turning your head to stare at the wall beside you.

——

It takes you two weeks to be cleared to return home. And in those fourteen days, Joaquin comes to visit you only four times—each visit shorter than the last. You try to talk to him, try to get him to explain why he’s this upset when he himself does this nearly every day, but the only responses you get are a sigh, a roll of his eyes, or a very short, "I have to go." You quickly learn to leave it be. When the time comes, he does come to pick you up, driving you both home in complete silence.

The second you step through your front door, his entire demeanor shifts.

"Was this what you wanted from the start?" His voice is sharp and rough as he whips around to face you. His narrowed eyes glare at you with a pointed stare, his breath coming out heavy.

"What? Joaquin, what are you—"

"Did you want this to happen? Go on a mission, get yourself hurt, just to teach me a lesson? I just got out of the fucking hospital, and not even a week later, you’re in there. Are you out of your mind? Taking on a mission like that all on your own? No backup, nothing, and I wasn’t even informed that you were there! You all lied to me. You can’t even fucking fight. You’re not even a fucking Avenger. What the fuck is wrong with you?", his voice grows significantly louder with every word that tumbles out of his mouth, but all you can focus on is the last sentence.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Is.

Wrong.

With.

You?

"Are you out of your fucking mind, Joaquin? I took care of you for four fucking weeks—day in and day out! I got you food, I got you everything you wanted, and this is what I fucking get? I took the fucking mission so you wouldn’t have gotten hurt again, and you can’t even look at me. Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, you don’t get to—".

You don’t let him finish.

You turn around, storming toward the door, and slam it shut behind you.

[selunefae]

i would really love to if you could write smut reiner as the reader's husband about him after holding back for a few months after his wife gives birth. with a lil bit lactation kink maybe?

Is it that sweet? I guess so (+18) - Reiner Braun

After months of holding back, your husband Reiner can't stay away from you any longer. You're restless and aching, and he plans to help you out.

masterlist | rules

rating: +18, MDNI

word count: 2,272

tags: reiner braun x reader, smut, fem!reader, afab!reader, domestic fluff, dad!reiner

cw: shameless smut, fingering (female receiving), nipple paly and sucking (female receiving), PinV sex, lactation kink, big boobs, size kink if you squint

notes: I had to do a little bit of investigation for this one – I'm a 20yo woman who has never been pregnant. I hope it's accurate enough. I'm aware that first-time sex after giving birth can be painful and uncomfortable, but this is fiction and we all want to feel good, so sorry if it is a little bit unrealistic. I've never read or written any lactation kink fic, but I understand the appeal and I think that maybe I did too much... VERY messy sex is described. I write it with post-canon in mind, but I tried to make it vague enough that the setting can be anything you like. Anyways, hope you enjoy it! (English is not my first language, not beta reader, not proofread)

You roll under the weight of the blankets, arms tightening around your chest as you wince into the pillow. Your breasts ache. The baby had a weird schedule today. She refused the afternoon feeding and fell asleep earlier than usual. Your body had been ready to feed her, but after seeing her sleepy face dozing off, you hadn’t had the heart to wake her up. You shift again, legs tangled in the sheets, trying to distract yourself from the discomfort. But no matter how much you turn, no position eases the dull throb of your full, swollen breasts.

“Mm… you okay?” a deep, groggy voice murmurs beside you. 

It’s your husband, Reiner. You must have woken him up from your stupid struggle.

You sigh and nod your head before remembering it’s too dark for him to see. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you whisper. “Don’t worry, go back to sleep.”

He hums, but doesn’t do as you say. Instead, he pulls you closer, one arm sliding around your waist while the other strokes your belly. “Feels like something is wrong.”

You bite your lip. 

“It’s nothing, just… I’m a little bit sore,” you admit, brushing a hand over your chest in a helpless gesture. Your shirt is clinging a little too tightly, and the ache manifests again. “She… didn’t eat before bed, and now… I’m kinda… full.” 

Reiner goes quiet for a second, his chest still pressed to your back, but his hand doesn't move. He shifts closer, nose deepening between your shoulder blades. When he speaks again, there’s a different edge to his voice. “I can help you.”

Your eyes flick open to the dark ceiling. “Help?”

He nuzzles into the curve of your neck, lips brushing there in a soft kiss. “Yes, let me help you,” he explains as he moves his mouth to the back of your ear. “I haven’t touched you in months. I’ve been trying to be good. I know you needed time to rest. But – fuck – I miss you.”

You stiffen.

It’s not that you don’t want him. You miss his touch, too – but your body doesn’t feel like it used to. There are new lines and softness you’re still learning to live with. Your breasts are heavier, your hips fuller. Maybe he doesn’t like the way that you look anymore.

“I…”

Despite your hesitation, he doesn’t pull away. His hands travel up, cupping you over the thin cotton of your sleep shirt. “C’mon, love. I’ll make it feel good…”

“Reiner…” you start, your voice smaller than ever.  “It’s just that…” 

You struggle to get the words out. Even if you’ve already accepted the idea that he might not be as attracted to you as he once was, saying it aloud feels like pressing a newly made bruise.

“What if you don’t like me anymore?”

…

Silence.

His hand drops from your chest. A heartbeat later, he pushes himself up on one elbow, and then the mattress dips as he sits fully, knees bent and body half-turned towards you.

“What?” he says, voice tight.

You keep your gaze on the sheets. You’re unable to see his face, but you don’t need to. You already know what kind of expression he has on right now: stern and serious. You feel ridiculous. Fragile. Like if you say one more word, you’ll shatter.

“Hey–hey, look at me,” his hand finds your cheek, and you flinch at the contact. “Babe, no. Don’t say that ever again. You’re beautiful. Of course I still want you. How could I not- ?”

You suck in a breath that burns in your chest. You feel the tears pickling at your eyes. The turmoil of emotions that’s been lingering for weeks finally spills out of your throat:

“You don’t even know that!” You snap, louder than you mean to. “You’re not even seeing me right now!”

He doesn’t say anything, and for a moment, you’re scared you might have done something wrong, shouting at him like that. The tears start pooling in your eyes. With a quiet shift of fabric, Reiner leans across the bed until he can touch the nightstand. You hear him moving until a warm light spills into the room. 

Your breath catches.

He’s looking at you.

Really looking at you

His eyes trail up and down, from the strands of your hair fanned out on the pillow to the tip of your toes under the blanket. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. The light reveals everything: the soft curve of your waist, the stretch marks along your hips and thighs, the milk-damp fabric clinging to your breasts…You cross your arms on instinct, shielding yourself from his intense gaze.

He smirks. Not in the sharp, cocky way he used to in his youth – this one is softer. A little arrogant still, but in the way that comes from knowing exactly what he wants.

“I see my very beautiful wife lying in my bed,” he says, eyes drifting down your body again. “And she just so happens to be in a very sexy state right now.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel nice,” you mumble, trying to hide your shaky voice.

He leans down. One of his large hands wraps gently around your wrists, pulling them away from your chest. The other wipes away a tear that’s slipped down your cheek. He pins your hands softly to the bed, one on each side of your head. His breath is warm against your skin as he dips his head, lips finding the space just behind your ear. “You’ve never been more beautiful,” he whispers. “All this time, and I still can’t believe how I got you to fall in love with me.” 

You exhale at that, words caught somewhere between your ribs and throat. Reiner starts pressing kisses from your ear down to your neck, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. His hands move down, tracing the curves of your body through your shirt.

“I’ll make you feel good, okay?”

You nod lazily, and he doesn't waste another second. 

His hands slip under your shirt, cupping your breasts fully. They’re heavy, full of milk and a little firm, but that doesn’t stop him from squeezing them with appreciation, his large hands almost big enough to cover them completely. You gasp. Your body is more sensitive than ever, and even the minimal pressure pulls sounds out of you. His fingers glide upward, feeling the few drops of warm liquid already dampening your areolas. He tweaks your nipples, and milk spurts out in response.

You feel something hard against your thigh.

“R-Reiner –”

“I’m sorry, love.” He grabs the hem of your shirt and tugs it off, eyes hungry as he finally sees everything he’s been aching for. “I’ve been wanting to do this for months.”

He takes one of your nipples into his mouth and starts sucking. His other hand continues giving attention to the other breast, kneading it. He groans when the warm milk touches his tongue and instinctively begins to grind his hips against your leg. You're a moaning mess beneath him, arousal burning hot between your thighs, spreading in slow waves from your core. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling tightly, holding him there. This is the relief you needed.

“Mm…” he moans, sucking once more before pulling back for air.

His eyes are hazy, cheeks flushed, and there’s a drop of milk slipping from the corner of his mouth; one he quickly licks away with his tongue. Then your mouths crash together. You can taste the sweet, warm liquid on his tongue as he kisses with hunger, tongues fighting for dominance and fluids mixing together. With one swift motion, he pulls down his underwear, cock springing free as the tip hits your thigh from the sudden force. He’s desperate to be inside you, but no matter how many times you’ve done this, you still need a little more prep to take him. His hand moves between your legs, cupping your cunt before he trails your lips with his middle and trigger fingers. His thumb moves to start rubbing circles over your clit, and then he presses two fingers inside of you.

“AH!” You yelp. They slide in easily, but the sensation it’s still intense, your body still getting used to the new way things feel.

He smiles against your lips and starts to move them, slow at first and faster with each passing second. Your breasts press to his chest, nipples grazing skin, adding friction to the rising pleasure. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close, needing more of everything.

“Relax, baby…” he says between kisses, fingers working in and out, in and out, in a hypnotic pace. “I’ll make you come.”

His lips leave your and return to your chest, switching to your still full tit. His mouth latches on, sucking firmly, milking you as his fingers drive into you faster and deeper. “You taste so good…”

He starts sucking with more enthusiasm when he feels your walls clench, and with one flick of your clit, you come.

You let out a loud moan, back arching as your pussy spasms around him. A clear, wet gush coats his hand and wrist, dripping down your thighs. Your nails dig into his back. At the same time, milk spills freely from your nipples, streaking down your chest and spattering Reiner’s face. You look up at him and –

God, he looks wrecked.

His body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, your release glistening down his arms, and drops of white sizzling down his lips and chin. You’ve never imagined he could look this hot all soaked between your fluids. 

The sigh somehow, even though you just came, makes you feel heated up again. You reach for him and start to lick and kiss him all over his face, the mix of his salty sweat and your sweet milk a delicious combination. Your hands find his heavy cock and you start stroking,

“Eager, are we?” he teases, voice hoarse and smiling against your temple.

You’re not in the mood to pout and play, so without a word, you guide his length to your entrance, still slick and sensitive. Then, he sinks into you in one smooth, desperate thrust.

Your eyes roll back at the sudden pressure.

You can feel everything – every thich inch, every throb of his cock. He’s filling you to the brim, the swollen head prodding your cervix. Your body trembles from the stretch, from how perfectly full you feel.

“Fuck, you’re so hot… so beautiful,” he murmurs, hands sliding all over your body. He caresses your waist, your hips, the back of your thighs. He touches you like he’s rediscovering you, like every inch of your body is something worth worship. You whine softly, hips twitching, impatient.

He’s not moving.

You meet his eyes, wide and pleading, the kind of look you know he can’t resist. “Please…”

“Please what?” he growls, lowering his hands to your ass and giving a firm squeeze. He wants to hear you say it.

“Please… fuck me.”

And that’s all he needs.

With a deep groan, he grabs your ass with both hands, lifting your hips slightly and angling them just right, and then starts moving.

The first few thrusts are slow and careful. He’s trying to be gentle, trying to give you time after all these months. But with the way your eyes roll back, your tongue slips past your lips, and the sounds that escape your throat, he can’t hold back for long. Before you know it, he’s fucking you deep and hard, each thrust powerful and hungry, dragging moans from both of you. The headboard bumps faintly with his rhythm, and the room soon fills with the sounds of skin meeting skin.

“God, baby – fuck – I love you,” he groans, burying his face in your neck. “I love every inch of you. I love your pretty face, the sound of your voice… and how this sweet cunt feels around me.”

You moan loudly at his words, arousal spiking even higher. Your fingers clutch the sheets, trying to ground yourself in something real, but it’s all too much. The sight of his body above you, the scent of his skin, the stretch of his cock inside you, it drowns every thought on your mind.

All your previous worries fade away.

“R-Reiner, I’m gonna –” you gasp, the pressure building again, much more intense this time.

He kisses you, muffling your cries, and one of his hands slips between your bodies. He starts rubbing your clit, syncing his rhythm to every thrust.

“That’s it, angel,” he pants, “come for me.”

!!!

Your orgasm crushes into you in violent waves. Your whole body shakes as your walls clamp down around him. You moan into his mouth, thighs trembling, nipples sensitive and tingling. Reiner groans and pulls out just in time, stroking himself with one hand while the other keeps playing with your clit. He finishes over your stomach, thick ropes of cum spilling across your skin. 

You both stay like that for a moment. Sweaty, messy, and spent. You’ve never felt more release in months, and your body hums with contentment. Your eyes flutter closed on their own, and you have to fight to keep them open.

“I’ll clean you up,” you hear Reiner say. He strokes your cheek with one of his hands. “You rest.”

You barely notice the mattress shift as he slips out of bed. Your body sinks into a deep slumber, and you can finally rest.

Satisfied and with no aches.