#the First dave he met...

[insufferablemod]

thinking about john n davesprite n dave what happens when he finds out its not just a bird dave thing but a dave thing..... the idea hes built up of The Real Dave comes crashing down

like things were def made worse by being stuck together for 3 years with noone else n all of the extra issues davesprite has On top of all the normal dave bs but like, fuuuckkkkkkk

[6feetunderthestarz]

I have so many thoughts about Pantheon and the ending that I need to be put down like a rabid animal.

Why does Caspian assume that after SafeSurf leaves, Maddie will wipe his memory and “throw” him back into one of the simulations? He sounds so empty and defeated when he says it, as if he’s already accepted his fate. As if he believes there is no way to either permanently exist outside the simulation or that this older Maddie even wants him around. Both options are fucking heartbreaking.

I am unsure if Caspian understands she became a god because of her feelings for him, or maybe he does understand and believes she resents him for his hand in her deification.

There is also the option that Caspian does not believe he can permanently exist outside the simulation, which makes sense since the entire situation, including but not limited to being a literal clone, first death via uploading, second death via Holstrom, third death via virus, final resurrection?, and your girlfriend becoming god - must make your brain ache so hard that smashing it against a brick wall sounds almost therapeutic. However, head trauma aside, I cannot see Maddie Kim, creator of a literal Dyson sphere, as being willing to accept anything less than Caspian being able to fully integrate into her world outside the simulation. Reality and scientific laws be damned.

[matt-w-blogging]

Every now and then I think about how we never got to see Quackity and Techno interact while knowing both their nicknames were Alex. I feel like there could've been something there. Some bit, or 'who's the best Alex' competition, or scheming. I wonder, if upon learning Quackity's name (assuming he ever did), Techno thought about whether he'd rather keep the Dave bit going or start a new bit.

Of course, I'm not saying Techno should have revealed his name back then; it's his own choice, and I respect his decisions. Most of the MCYT folk didn't use their irl names online, anyway. It's just interesting to look back on their interactions knowing that only one of them knew both their names were Alex. I think I would have a hard time not saying anything about it, if it were me.

[shina-moon-art]

It’s hard liking Dave for how multifaceted he is and then turning around and seeing him look like the saddest wet cat left out in the rain. Like,,, he is my little meow meow

[imagionary]

So since Dave and Prester are both eldritch creatures, do they know about each other?

Eldrich creatures? What ever do you mean? They're both totally normal cogs uwu

In all seriousness, though, I think the both of them didn't know each other until they met; and when they locked eyes, they learned everything about each other. To make sure they both keep quiet about their secret, they've become pals over the years, me thinks; but they only talk or do anything together in private. They've found it to be kinda fun using their eldrich abilities to do things in secret.

(Pics are better quality if you click them)

[ritzrawt]

I remember when I was really young, I used to ship Three and Four from Numberjacks. I genuinely do not know why I did this. After that, I never shipped any characters for the rest of my life besides that one period of my life where I read a 70+ chapter fanfic that was Thwok x Bona.

[the-acid-pear]

Honestly I wonder where the Freddy's need to not let any single fucking employee ever leave even comes from. I mean with the Phoneys I understand it they're making those guys to work (although a lot of the time they're barely doing their job at all like I'm juuust saying Bono was kinda slacking as a boss) but fuck are you gonna gain for tying an employee to the brand eternally? Is it a matter of "you're going down with the ship" because if they're complicit in the crimes they can't call them out? Is it just overall hate towards any living form? Like when they're evidently throwing up searches to find rogue employees it's like. Call me crazy but I feel this is a bigger lost of revenue than it is a gain. But I guess when you see them as objects instead of people this behavior is only natural because if my bridge just up and left I'd be like no sir I'm getting that cunt back.

[kath-artic]

i think i changed someone's life today

[futureseaempress]

i simply cannot pick between “find each other in every universe” and “transcends the quadrants”

Tumblr Top Ships Bracket - Round 2 Side 2

This poll is a celebration of fandom and fandom history; we're aware that there are certain issues with many of the listed pairings and sources, but they are a part of that history. Please do not take this as an endorsement, and refrain from harassment.

[ssahotchnerr]

okay I don’t know how to make this idea I have in my head make sense but here it goes: imagine reader spending time with the team and knowing that Aaron has kind of a stoic image when it comes to the team but then he’s a cinnamon roll at home and the reader tries not to embarrass him with the team and Aaron ends up thinking that the reader is mad or upset because she’s not being as touchy or flirty with him as she normally is but really she’s just trying not to ruin his image??? Did that make sense? I hope that made sense

let loose

it makes perfect sense cw; fem non bau!reader, established relationship, touch starved aaron <3, angst if you squint, fluff and some ending spice ❤️‍🔥 wc; 1k

This was the second time you'd met Aaron's team.

The first was a few weeks ago; you'd brought Aaron a case file he'd forgotten at home. Multiple pairs of eyes latched onto you as you stepped into the bullpen, looking a bit lost until Aaron departed his office to greet you.

When he’d introduced you, only the briefest of pleasantries had been exchanged. Tonight - a small party at David Rossi's - proper acquaintances were finally made.

Your initial shyness was to be expected; getting used to their dynamics, their quirks, fearing you were invading the 'family' they had created.

Aaron's done what he thought would make you more comfortable; staying in close proximity, offering subtle reassurances - a hand on your knee, silent check-ins - and involving you in conversation. He had no doubts the team would make every effort to be welcoming, but he was also well aware that they could come off as intimidating without meaning to be.

But as the night went on, your reservation was directed more at him.

You strayed away from his touch, meeting his eyes with uncertainty, clasping your own hands together instead of intertwining with his. Such detachment was in complete contrast to your typical behavior; normally, you were wrapped around him any chance you got.

Not to mention, you had been all over him back at home. Prolonging your departure by having him pressed against the door, kissing him senseless. You’d almost been late to the time Dave had stated dinner would begin. 

And now, Aaron was left wondering what he could've done wrong in such a short amount of time.

"Are you enjoying yourself, sweetheart?" He asked when a private moment between the two of you finally presented itself, finding you in the kitchen. The others had filtered out to Dave’s patio.

"Yeah, your team is great." You flashed him a quick smile as he neared, busying yourself with the charcuterie board JJ had brought. "You never told me how fun they are."

"They have their moments," his hand found your back, pressing a kiss behind your ear. His actions caused you to tense, only proving his suspicions further. Something was wrong.

"Honey?"

"Hm?" You glanced towards the doorway before looking up at him, your cheeks flushed. You took a small side step away, creating some distance. Anxiety bubbled in his chest.

"Did I do something wrong? You've barely touched me all night. If I upset you somehow, I’m sorry."

"No, no you haven't done anything. I just..." You turned your head away again, timidly and quietly admitting, "didn't know if you wanted me to."

His eyebrows quirked in confusion, you continued.

"This is your team. I know you have an image you want to maintain, and I respect that, so I didn't want to do anything that could potentially embarrass you, with me being as touchy as I am. I panicked, I didn't want to cross a line without knowing."

Oh. His eyes softened in understanding, as yours displayed inner conflict, your heart and head being pulled in different directions.

"Well, I do want you to. Please do."

"Are you sure?"

"Within reason." He offered you a sly smile, not insinuating he wanted hot and heavy actions in front of his colleagues. "But I want you on my arm. Holding my hand. Being your affectionate and loving self. It's what I love about you, and it's meant to be shared."

In fact, it was the one thing he was looking forward to about tonight. He felt more possessive than usual, a state that might have concerned him if not for the pride that came with it. You were his, and he wanted everyone to know how lucky he was.

And selfishly, he wanted the others to know he was worthy of love, (given, he was still trying to believe the same). That there was more to him than Aaron Hotchner, the BAU Unit Chief. He was needed, and not in the professional way he was used to, where his value was measured in results and responsibilities. But rather, being a doting and deeply loving partner.

A smile slowly made its way onto your face, grabbing his hands and lacing your fingers with his before guiding them to your waist, wrapping both his arms around you yourself.

"This may sound pathetic, but within the two hours we've been here, I've missed you."

You laughed gently at his whining, clinging onto his arms. "It's not pathetic at all. If you think you were having a rough time... I had no idea how hard it is to keep my hands off you."

"Good thing there's an easy solution for that. Don't restrain yourself."

"In that case," this time, you didn't glance towards the door, in fear of being caught by one of Aaron's team members. You grabbed his face, your lips meeting his in a kiss.

He immediately reciprocated, a breath of relief escaping him as well; needing this, needing you, the lack of contact throughout the night excruciating. His mouth moved on yours with seamless urgency, as though instinct guided every touch.

The kiss quickly grew heated and messy. Aaron's arms tightened around your waist, backing and picking you up onto the counter, stepping in between your legs. His hands pulled at your hips in desperation of getting you closer. Your breath heavily picked up, assisting him by pressing your chest into his.

Aaron couldn't help but smile against your lips - for a number of reasons. The all-consuming love he had for you, being with you - being close to you - with the team just steps away. Feeling much the same, a giddy giggle escaped you.

"You know..." you mumbled between kisses, your fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt. "You look sexy tonight. Absolutely irresistible."

A breathless chuckle shook through his chest. "We should head out. They'll come looking for us," he teased back, his fingers digging into your hips - a silent cue that he had no intention of actually joining them.

You hummed softly in response, undoing his top button. You stopped there; as it was, you’d only undone the button to get a reaction out of Aaron. It worked, a heavy, trembling breath leaving him. "Let them."

[pathologicalreid]

gemini | S.R.

two emotionally wrought people collide at a wedding, and a sexual escapade ensues.

part two

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: softdom!spencer, use of the term "good girl" (i couldn't help myself), unprotected sex, reader on bc, alcohol, spoilers for 14x15 truth or dare, lowkey idiots in love, fucking against a wall?, fingering, heavy petting, r has an oral fixation, r is wearing a dress and makeup, explicit consent (hot), public sex, i think that's all word count: 3.42k a/n: this is a little self-indulgent and i don't care! based on literally just the first line of the song gemini by del water gap. probably not ever gonna get a part two. i've never done angsty smut (smangst?) before, so this was fun.

so, here's the setting, we met fucked up at a wedding

Swirling the drink you held in your hand, you watched your friends as they chatted. The pink liquid in the cup, concocted by Penelope Garcia, was far too sweet for your taste, but you needed the liquid courage to make it through the wedding.

It wasn’t that you weren’t happy for Krystall and Dave. It was that weddings oftentimes left a bitter taste in your mouth – one so bitter that not even Penelope’s drink could offset it.

In your periphery, you saw a blur of purple in the corner, looking up to see Spencer. His hand still bandaged from his most recent brush with death, he used his free one to grip a glass of water. Raising your eyebrows, you gave him your best attempt at a smile before you greeted him, “You look good, Dr. Reid.”

He was fully donned in his favorite color, and you tried to pretend that you didn’t notice that your dress matched the purple hue of his suit. “Thanks,” he said shortly, not quite meeting your eyes.

Noting the way he was looking past you, you demurely leaned your head down, glancing over your shoulder so that you could see what he was looking at, only to see JJ. She looked gorgeous in her red dress, laughing at something her husband said before her eyes caught something.

She was staring back at Spencer, and not for the first time, you found yourself wondering what happened in that pawn shop. Bringing your eyes back up to Reid, you watched the confused look in his eyes bloom as he peeled his eyes away from JJ.

Sick of it, you spoke up, “Alright, I had dibs on being the mopey one tonight. What’s wrong?” You had wanted to brush it off as long-lasting nerves from the hostage situation, but he was acting strange.

You knew you weren’t his best friend, that was a title that JJ had been the reigning champion of since the beginning of time. Yet, you still noticed the rigidity in Spencer’s shoulders as he displayed a clear discomfort with his surroundings. You tried to think of something to say to him. How could you ask him if he wanted to get out of here without it sounding like a sexual proposition?

“JJ told me she loved me,” he said, his voice so low you weren’t even sure you had heard him correctly.

Your head snapped up, “Oh.” Swallowing thickly, you tilted your head curiously, letting loose hair tumble to the side. “Do you love her?” Likely not the right conversation for the wedding of everyone’s favorite right-person-wrong-time couple, but you were desperate for a rope to pull yourself out of your wallowing.

He took a sip of his water before setting the empty glass on the bar counter, “I did.” The admission hit you like a ton of bricks, until her continued, “but now…”

Filling in the blanks, you shrugged, “She’s married. They have kids.” Spencer was always doing the right thing, so pushing his feelings aside for the sake of JJ’s family made the most sense.

Furrowing his brows, he pondered this for a moment before speaking, “It’s not just that. I have feelings for someone else.”

“Oh,” you repeated, and somehow the thought of him being in love with an unfamiliar figure hurt more than him being in love with your mutual friend.

The both of you let the conversation lag, watching as Penelope came back up to the bar and poured more drinks. After she accused you of being boring for not wanting another drink, everyone returned to the tables. “Have you dated anyone since him?”

You choked on your newly acquired water, cupping your hand underneath your jaw in an attempt to stop water from getting on your dress. “Uh, no. I’ve kind of sworn off dating ever since,” you replied, shaking your hand out and letting water droplets fall to the floor.

Sighing, you slouched in your seat, remembering that all you’d ever be was a jaded bride. Left by your fiancé on the day of your wedding, doomed to never love again. Until you met Spencer Reid.

“For everyone?” Spencer asked, and you cursed his natural curiosity.

His question caught you off guard. Despite yourself, you shook your head, “I have like… one person who, if they asked me, I’d say yes.” Your skin started to feel warm, and you weren’t sure if it was your proximity to him or Penelope’s drink coming back with a vengeance.

Spencer stepped a little closer to you, leaning casually on the counter as if he wasn’t affecting your ability to focus. “Who’s your person?” The question was innocent enough that it made your heart ache.

“It doesn’t matter, he’s into someone else,” you told him, reaching behind your neck to pull your hair up, haphazardly twisting it. You didn’t have a hair tie, so you let the locks fall once you felt some semblance of relief.

This statement seemingly bothered Spencer because he looked into his glass, “Did he tell you that?”

Nodding, you chewed on the inside of your lip. “Yeah,” maybe not in so many words, Spencer was rarely crass enough to say he was into someone, but you understood well enough.

The conversation lagged between the two of you once again, your own private thoughts were only interrupted when the music changed. It was a slow song, one for the couples of the night to dance to.

You took a chance, “Do you want to go explore the building with me? It’s getting stuffy in here,” you said, taking one final swig of your water before jumping up from your stool.

He looked back at JJ, who was there with Will, and then forward to the girl who was asking to take him away, “Yes.”

David Rossi had spared no expense for his second wedding to his third wife, and the manor that you found yourself meandering within felt never-ending. Something about following Spencer as he led the way and told you facts about the history of the building felt so normal, and you wondered if it would hurt when the night was over. Maybe this would just end as another memory to loathe about weddings.

Trailing him into another room, you stumbled into his back. Quickly, Spencer spun back and caught you before you could fall to the ground.

Steadying yourself, your heart thrummed at the way he was touching you, tightly holding your waist so that you wouldn’t trip. Once you were no longer wobbling, Spencer reached up and gingerly lifted the fallen spaghetti strap of your dress back over your shoulder. Before you had fully thought out your actions, you leaned up on your tip toes and kissed him.

It was hesitant and gentle, but once you registered that you were kissing him you soon realized that he was kissing you back. What started out as a small peck on the lips quickly morphed into full, open-mouthed kisses.

You thought Spencer might eat you alive, and for a moment, you thought you might let him.

Without separating your lips, he herded you over to the wall, pinning your hips to the wall as you felt heat grow between your legs.

Pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth, Spencer pulled away ever so slightly, your faces just inches apart. “Is this okay?” He asked you, his eyes flickering down to your lips like he was holding himself back from kissing you again.

There was fear. A fear that if you moved forward tonight, nothing would ever be the same, but you took a chance  and nodded quickly, “Yes.”

Your answer acted as a release as Spencer dropped his head back down and the two of you reattached your lips. Despite your attempts to ignore it, you felt his hardened length pressing into you through several layers of clothes.

Twisting your head away, you gasped as Spencer took the opportunity to place his lips on your neck, gently suckling on the tender skin as you tried to catch your breath. “Are you sure about this?” You breathed, running your hands underneath his suit jacket, wanting nothing more than to push it off of him.

“Yes,” he answered, giving you the same consent that you had already given him, and it was enough for you to reach for his belt buckle. No matter how badly you wanted to see him entirely bare in front of you, this just wasn’t the place for it.

Gently, you slid your hand down his front, savoring the way his breath hitched against your neck as your fingertips precariously lifted the waistband of his boxers. He gently nipped at your earlobe as you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock.

You let your head fall backward, allowing him better access to your neck as you moved your hand. Moving your hand up so that you could swipe your thumb over the tip.

You dragged your other hand down, pulling his boxers down so that you could get a good look at what you were working with, and biting your lip at the sight of it. Slowly, you started to pump his impressive length, noting how his breathing patterns changed with your movements.

Dragging a knuckle up the underside of him, he dropped his head to your shoulder as you collected his pre-cum on your index finger on your way up, bringing your hand up to your mouth and licking the droplet off, peering up at him.

“You’re so good at that, baby,” he told you, sighing as he reached up and placed his hand on the side of your neck, skimming his thumb over your jawline as his free hand started to make its way up your dress, pausing when he only met bare skin. “No underwear?” He questioned, furrowing his brow at you as you bit your lip, trying to refrain from pressing into his hand.

Whimpering almost indiscriminately, you shook your head, “Couldn’t, panty lines would show under the dress.”

Spencer hummed in recognition, moving his hand up to cup your sex so that you could feel your own wetness on his hand. A pathetic whine escaped your throat as your walls clenched with need, still stopping yourself from grinding on his hand. “What do you need?” He asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, “Come on, you can tell me.”

“You, please,” you answered, your voice dangerously bordering on pleading. “Your hands, anything,” you squeaked out, breathing heavily as you awaited his next move.

Gently, he slipped a finger inside your wet hole, causing you to release a satisfied sigh. “You’re so wet,” he whispered in your ear as you tilted your head back and pressed your lips to his.

As his hand picked up in pace, so did your breathing. With each movement of his hand, you struggled to keep your volume at a respectable level, small whimpers continued escaping you even as you bit down on the inside of your lip. “Spence,” you whined, moaning aloud as he slipped a second finger into you, “Oh, god.”

The silence of the room around you only exacerbated the wet sounds that were emanating from your sex, and if it didn’t feel so good, you might’ve been embarrassed. In fact, as you felt a familiar coil winding in your abdomen, you found that you didn’t have the capacity to feel anything other than pleasure.

Crying out, you nodded as Spencer continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, “Fuck,” you said, caring less about your volume levels. Even less so when he responded by pressing the heel of his hand against your clit, the pressure proving to be enough to send you over the edge.

“It’s okay,” Spencer whispered in your ear, “Let it go for me, baby.” His words continued as you felt your walls spasming around his fingers, his ministrations had slowed, but he worked you through your orgasm before withdrawing his fingers and lifting them up to your mouth.

Accepting the invitation, you leaned forward and sucked the sweet juices off of his hand, slipping your tongue between his two fingers as you looked up at him. You half expected him to be watching you with lust-blown eyes, but he was watching you just as attentively as he had when you started this escapade.

He retrieved his fingers from your mouth with a satisfying pop and reached down to ruche the fabric of your dress up around your waist. “Wait,” he said suddenly, gripping the silky cloth, “I don’t have a condom.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head, “I don’t mind.” Still breathing heavy from your previous orgasm, you shook your head again, “I mean. I’m on birth control – and I’m good at it. I mean I keep up with it.” Now babbling, you hoped he’d say something. “I’m clean. I trust you.”

Nodding in understanding, he placed a hand on the side of your neck and looked at you intently. “I’m not going to do anything until you catch your breath,” he told you, taking up an authoritative tone.

Blinking rapidly, you evened out your breathing as he ran his hand up and down your torso, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, taking another deep breath as you looked up at him.

Spencer shook his head, “Don’t be sorry.” He leaned his head down, pressing soft kisses down the side of your neck as you finally pushed his jacket off of his shoulders. “You’re so pretty,” he murmured, leaning down to grip the backs of your thighs.

“It’s okay if you can’t lift me,” you rambled quickly, getting his attention as you aired your concern.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, pressing his hips into yours and lifting your feet off of the ground. The leverage that he had, along with the support of the wall behind him, allowed him to get both of your feet off of the ground. You would’ve spent more time being impressed by this feat if you weren’t so distracted by his painfully hard cock that had now slipped between your folds.

Leaning down, you desperately kissed his lips, wanting him to give you those open-mouthed kisses that you had started out with. Instead, you cried out when, without warning, his full length slipped into you.

Placing gentle kisses on your collarbone, Spencer murmured, “Are you okay?” He whispered, seeming like he was using all of his self-control to just stay still.

You nodded, feeling his cock throbbing so deep in you that you were almost afraid you’d come from just that pressure alone. “Been a while,” you murmured, taking a deep, shaky breath.

He hummed in understanding, “I’ve got you, take your time.”

His words filled your stomach with butterflies, and it wasn’t just because he was fully sheathed in you. “Spence,” you whimpered, “Move.”

On your cue, Spencer gave a tentative thrust, permitting your resulting moan to mix with his grunt. “Fuck, baby,” he said, continuing to thrust in and out of your cunt, filling the room with the crude squelching of your actions. “I’m not going to last long,” he informed you.

Throwing your head back in ecstasy, you moaned helplessly when Spencer dropped one of your legs to the ground, hooking his arm underneath your other knee, providing a new, deeper angle. You swore as the sensations started to feel overwhelming.

The new angle gave him more control over his movements, enabling him to use his free hand to pull at your breast through the fabric of your dress. As you tugged gently at his hair, you tilted your head back, “Spence, I- shit,” you cursed, recognizing the tell-tale signs of your second orgasm approaching.

If it weren’t for his words of encouragement, you would’ve been embarrassed by coming too quickly, and if anything, the words only spurred you closer to the finish line. “Come for me,” he said, thrusting harder into you as he tried to reach the same point. “Let me know how good I make you feel,” he said, continuing his thrusts until his hips stuttered.

“Coming,” you whimpered, dropping your head forward onto his shoulder as you felt your walls tightening around his hard length. Crying out as he continued to pound into you, you buried your face into his neck and nipped at the skin to muffle your sounds.

Now he was solely working toward his own orgasm, having given you two of your own. “You’re such a good girl,” he panted.

Suckling gently at the skin on his neck – not hard enough to leave a mark, you littered kisses on his sensitive skin. “Come in me, baby,” you murmured, trying to spur him on.

Your success was apparent as his movements faltered and his cock started throbbing, feeling the pulses of his cum as it filled you, your eyes rolled back at the feeling while Spencer slowed to a halt, waiting for a beat before he pulled out of you entirely.

Shuddering at the emptiness you now felt, you leaned against the wall once both of your feet were on the ground. As your legs trembled, you watched as Spencer crouched to fish something out of his jacket, leaving you with your mixture of fluids running down your legs.

As he grabbed the handkerchief from his breast pocket, you gasped slightly as you realized his intentions. “Spence, you’ll ruin it,” you insisted.

“Would you rather go back out there with my cum dripping down your thighs?” He asked, knelt in front of you with his brows raised in mock innocence.

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head, “Jesus.”

He chuckled, using the handkerchief to wipe up the mess the two of you had made on your legs before carelessly tossing it into a nearby trashcan. Noting the way your legs were still shaking, he lifted your chin ever so slightly, “Are you alright?”

Nodding, you offered him a tired, but genuine smile. “I’m great,” you told him, wiping underneath your eyes where you were sure there was a mess of mascara.

Taking your hand in his, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, Spencer led to toward the French doors that led to the balcony, taking you out into the fresh air.

As you leaned up against the railing, Spencer shook out his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, doing his best to keep you comfortable. “Hey,” you whispered, “I really am fine. Are you? How’s your hand?” In all of the hormones, you had forgotten about his injury.

Spencer nodded, looking over the property that Rossi had rented. “I’m good, Y/N. I feel good.” You wished he’d call you baby again, but maybe that was too much to ask for. His eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked him, recognizing the look from years of working together.

He hummed, reaching up and sweeping a strand of hair off of your forehead. “That guy? The one who told you he’s into someone else? I can confidently say he’s an idiot.”

Flushing, you smiled to yourself at the fact that Spencer was calling himself an idiot, especially when he was anything but. Shrugging, you waved him off anyway, “Nobody’s perfect, Spence.”

“No, I suppose not, but even so…” he told you, allowing his voice to trail off like he wasn’t totally sure what he wanted to say to you. “If he can’t see what’s right in front of him, then maybe you need to turn your attention elsewhere.”

Sighing, you leaned your chin in your hand, “Thanks, but I don’t know. Maybe there is better out there, and I’m just not worth it.” No, after tonight, you’d likely never get over him. It might’ve started as a workplace crush, but you felt in your heart that it was now something deeper.

Spencer shook his head, “Now, that’s where we disagree.”

“Spencer, I can’t-“ Your voice is cut off when you hear someone calling your name from inside the building, smoothing out the front of your dress one more time, you step back into the room, coming face to face with JJ.

She smiles in recognition of you, but the grin immediately fades from her face when Spencer walks out behind you, “Hey, we’ve been looking for you guys,” she said flatly. “They’re about to cut the cake.”

Nodding, you took another quick look at Spencer before following the blonde out of the room, leaving your secret in the room behind you.

part two

[neoanedotheart]

Lazy thing i wanted to do!!! they're just silly :3

I think dave is a pretty princess and John is awkward

I'll be yapping below

I believe that Dave texts John right after he gets his ass handed to him DAILY. It usually plays out like this where they banter and Dave never really goes through the extent of explaining what thoroughly happens to him so John lives in forever ignorant bliss. And this leads Dave to feel like there's more of disconnect because he first of all doesn't really know how to articulate his feelings and second abuse doesn't seem like abuse to the victim. So he goes about everyday unknowingly yearning to be saved by someone greater than him, which is why I put the snow white reference at the end hehe.

Snow white as a fairy tale is extremely cliche, you got the prince in shining armor showing up conveniently on a horse and saving the girl. There's always this hierarchy placed upon the story where the damsel in distress is saved by a man, that man being portrayed as a greater being.

And with John taking place as the prince in this context paints him as this greater being. And I feel like a part of Dave envies and despises John for being this way, for being "perfect" or in a way. Greater than him.

The thing is in the original snow white story she's unconscious, that's undesirable. But it adds to the desperation of wanting to be saved, shining a better looking light on a person who isn't really there for reasons you want them to be. However John is a sincere person, it's more so the lack of communication or true understanding of one another that leads to this rift, this belief that John isn't there for Dave because he loves him, but because he's his friend and it's John's duty as a friend to save him. Which also brings me to the last line where Dave never corrects himself, and how he insinuates that he'll be unconscious due to being placed in a glass coffin much like snow white was when she was poisoned. He's at this stage where he doesn't want to be saved by an outer source, a greater person than him. He wants to be saved by himself he wants to prove worthy, but then conflicting within his mind is also this idea he isn't good enough to. We all know that Dave believes he isn't a hero and explicitly states John is the hero multiple times throughout homestuck. So he stays waiting.

John however, refers to Dave as Cinderella, Cinderella gets abused and put through plenty of torture from her step sisters and is saved through marriage of some person she just met. There's still this base line of being saved by man however there's this more mutual understanding of what they're getting into, a similar yearn for one another. Though he never caught her name he was still willing to find her, the real her. Which is John in this case, he probably understands he's missing something in the big picture but can never find out what and the best he can do is hope that the other half still held on to what they once were and was willing to share.

This is a pre-sburb interaction btw they're just unknowingly foreshadowing a shit ton.

Sorry if there's like bad shitty writing in here, I'm rambling and it's like almost midnight hehe

[muzaktomyears]

There had been bad blood between the Kinks and the Beatles since they played together on the same bill in 1964. John upset Davies backstage by saying, “We’ve lost our set-list, lads. Can we borrow yours?” implying that the Kinks, who had only released two singles at that point, were mere imitators. Paul was more respectful. When the Kinks released “See My Friends” in 1965, a track now widely regarded as one of the first pop songs to use Eastern scales, Paul played it over and over at the apartment of John Dunbar and Marianne Faithfull, and when he saw Ray’s brother Dave at the Scotch, he reputedly joked, “That ‘See My Friend.’ I really like that. I should have written it,” to which Dave retorted, “Well, you didn’t. You can’t do everything.” Ray Davies later commented, “Paul McCartney was one of the most competitive people I’ve ever met. Lennon wasn’t. He just thought everyone else was shit."

Beatles '66: The Revolutionary Year, Steve Turner (2016)

[auroralwriting]

the gun

spencer reid x genius!bau!reader

oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, they both reached for the gun, the gun, the gun…

"you just needed to prove to Spencer, once and for all, that you had all the skills to be the best agent, the best genius."

word count: 2.3k

warnings: cm violence, blood, enemies to lovers, kinda rushed im sorryyyy, fem reader slightly mentioned

a continuation of this story can be found here

Spencer and you always competed. He had an eidetic memory, you had a photographic.

The difference between you two was anything you ever saw, read, you held in long-term memory. Spencer’s, though, resided in short term. However, Spencer was also an autodidact, meaning he could teach himself anything. You also had a vast emotional intelligence. You had such strong empathy, you could detect any micro-detail anyone displayed, making you the perfect lie-detector one that even Hotch couldn’t evade.

Spencer was Jason Gideon’s special boy. Gideon helped Spencer make his way in the BAU. You were David Rossi’s special girl, him noticing your skills from a young age when he met you during a case. He guided you to make all the best choices, leading you to the BAU as well. It took a few years, timing and all, but you got there.

When Dave transferred to Quantico’s BAU, he requested your transfer as well. He thought you would mesh well with the team. More specifically, he assumed you and Spencer would become a genius duo; totally unstoppable.

Oh, how wrong he was. It was from the moment you’d corrected Spencer on some statistic he spewed, you both became enemies forced to co-exist on the same team. There was never a civil moment, always some fight. It was sad, too. You remembered the first time you saw him, you were struck by how cute he was. Too bad he decided to hate you before you got a chance.

Vividly, you remembered the most intense fight you both had.

“So someone with a medical degree,” Hotch muttered. “That’s got to be impossible.”

“It’s more likely that have a nursing degree.” Spencer replied. “We’d be looking at around one hundred eighty thousand people a year. If our unsub is a new graduate, that’s the numbers we’d be looking through.”

You shook your head, “It’s actually one hundred fifty seven thousand. Also, narrow it down to nursing degrees in New York, and you get around eight thousand. Eleven percent were men, so around six hundred. Lower it even more to those who don’t have any family members, most likely from group homes, you can get maybe seventy?”

oh, yes

Garcia clacked away at her keyboard, “My baby’s got it! Seventy two people. If we’re looking at NYU specifically, thirteen.”

Pride filled your system. It was fulfilling when you were able to get things right. Spencer, on the other hand, wasn’t too happy about that.

“You know, nobody asked your opinion.” He scoffed.

“It isn’t opinion, Reid. It’s purely fact, ones you should probably get right.” Your reply had Spencer clenching his fists.

How dare you insult his intelligence? His IQ was much larger than yours, you weren’t one to speak on that. “Maybe you should focus on the case instead of trying to be a people pleaser,” Spencer sneered your way.

His reply made you roll your eyes, “At least I can tell what people want. You’re oblivious, Reid.”

oh, yes

Slowly, the two of you began to go back and forth, your voices raising. Before the situation blew up, Hotch stepped in, trying to mediate. However, Spencer mumbled something under his breath, something you couldn’t just let go. It hurt, stung like a bee, and you weren’t going to let him walk away feeling victorious.

“At least my mentor didn’t up and leave me.” you snapped. “He’s still with me, he didn’t just vanish with a stupid little note as a dingy goodbye.”

Spencer had paused, face dropping. You read him like a book, you’d gone too far. He showed minuscule signs of distress, grief, sadness. The room was silent, no one quite knew what to say.

oh, yes

“Reid, I-”

“Save it.”

Spencer had walked away, leaving you to feel shameful of your words. Rossi just squeezed your shoulder. The man knew you didn’t mean it.

they both

Since then, it was like the two of you were on each other’s cases, constantly bickering and arguing. Now, you were almost subconsciously battling each other for the genius role of the team. Was there any need to? No, not at all, but your fights had become not a battle, but a war.

You stood outside the bank with your team. “They have hostages,” You identified, attempting to peer inside. “There’s no way we can go in. It’s a suicide-murder mission.”

oh, yes

“There’s gotta be a way,” JJ shook her head. “Maybe there’s another way in.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” Derek sighed.

After a few hours, Will made the decision to go inside. You had to help hold back JJ as he walked in. Hearing the bullets made you sick. You physically had to double over, holding back the tears. It suddenly hit you how dire the situation was. You went back to the van with the team. No one really knew what to say.

"Did you see where he was shot?" JJ asked. "Is he alive or dead, Garcia?"

Penelope's breath was shaky, "I don't know."

"He was wearing a vest." Emily reasoned. "He might be okay."

JJ gave a smile, but it was one of disbelief. "Might be," She muttered, shaking her head in reply.

It was then that the team decided to go in. You shoved your gun in your holster, "I'll take first point," You offered. "Check and see if Will's okay. I'll try and manipulate them into letting me go to him." Hotch nodded. With your knowledge of psychology and your emotional intelligence, Hotch knew you could do it.

they both

"L/n, it's too dangerous." You heard Spencer say over the phone. "Just wait for me to tell you where to go in."

You rolled your eyes, "Reid, I'm not stupid. I've handled multiple hostage situations."

Spencer didn't reply. You liked that. This was the first time you'd be able to prove yourself without Spencer's help. This was honestly just a way for you to prove you were the better of the two. Your actions were motivated by the desire to be the best; a classic narcissistic move. You weren't a narcissist, though. You just needed to prove to Spencer, once and for all, that you had all the skills to be the best agent, the best genius.

Oddly enough, hostages flooded out of the bank as you made your way back outside. Maybe Will was alive and managed to get them all out. Once none more came out, you and two other cops began to make your way inside stealthily.

Right as you got in the middle of the bank, you heard Rossi's panicked voice over your comms, "Abort, abort!"

oh, yes

There was no time to reply. It all happened so suddenly. You heard the explosion before you felt it. It was hard to breathe. You couldn't see, hear. It slowly registered that there was a bomb, and it went off.

they both reached for

You had no clue where you had been thrown to. Everything felt cold, really cold. A loud ringing filled your ears as you slowly sat up. You touched your head, pulling back to feel stickiness on your fingers. Your vision was blurry, but you knew it was blood. You had to get out of the building. You needed help, medics, your team. Was anyone else in your team inside yet?

they both reached for the gun

A grunt left your lips as you stood up. You felt your legs give out under you, and you went down again. The desire to live was stronger than your physical weakness, and you stood up again. It was so dusty and hazy that you couldn't see. You leaned on the nearest wall for support, slowly using it to try and find your way out of the building. All that you heard in your head was get out, survive, get out, survive.

After what felt like ages, you felt a breeze against your skin. You followed it, hoping it would lead out, and it did. The light was harsh on your eyes as you tried to scan the area. It was then you saw Spencer and Hotch-- what was Spencer doing here? He was still at the BAU last you'd checked. Maybe the blast knocked you out cold.

Trudging your way over, you weakly called out. "Aaron, Spencer,"

the gun

Spencer knew he heard his name. He looked up from the blueprints of the building to see you, blood covering different parts of your body, your skin covered in debris and dust. You had limp, and your eyes were blown out. "Oh my god," he muttered, running over to you.

the gun

The genius took your in his arms as you fell into him, "How'd you get here?" you asked. "What's for dinner?"

Spencer took notice of your confusion as he allowed you to lean on him. He took your face in his hands, "Y/n, look at me. Focus on me,"

the gun

You couldn't directly look at him. Your eyes darted all over the place. "Where's Rossi? Did he go in?"

"No, Rossi's okay." Spencer leaned over his shoulder, "We need a medic!" He yelled, quickly turning his attention back to you. "It's okay, you're okay."

oh, yes

"I can't feel anything," you breathed out, "That can't be normal. Is that normal? Spencer, am I dying?"

oh, yes

Spencer shook his head, "You're okay, it's okay."

"I can't die," You softly whimpered. "I'm sorry, Spencer. 'M so mean to you, I don't mean to be."

Deep down, Spencer knew you meant what you were saying. The fear of dying without getting your true feelings out always lead to admissions of the truth. "I know, I know," Spencer smoothed your hair. "I don't hate you, I don't. You're going to be okay." Spencer slowly became anxious as he noticed the amount of blood seeping from your head. "Look at me, please, keep talking to me."

"'M sorry," You muttered, feeling your eyes grow heavy. Spencer's face began to fade as you collapsed in his arms.

Spencer felt his breathing grow heavy as he held you tightly. "Medic! She's-- oh, god, Help!"

they both reached for the gun.

A steady beeping was the first thing you heard as you woke up. The light was a blinding white, and you let out a groan at it. Your body hurt like hell, and your head was pounding.

"Shh, shh. It's okay, here, let me just--"

The white lights went out and all that was left was the stream of daylight coming through the windows, along with a lamp that was a warmer light. It was much more comfortable that way. You quickly guessed you were in a hospital. The beeping, white lights, smell of rubbing alcohol that you just identified.

"How do you feel?"

Spencer. You turned your head to look at him. His face held deep concern. He was holding your hand. "I--" You paused, considering his question. "I feel like shit."

He let out a soft chuckle, "Yeah. You kind of got exploded." That's right, the bomb.

"Oh, Will, the team, are they okay?" You softly asked.

Spencer nodded, "Everyone's okay, we got the unsubs. It's all okay now."

You remembered Spencer's words. You should have waited to go in. If you had waited, maybe you wouldn't be in this situation right now. "I should've listened to you." You stated weakly. "You were right. I was being stupid."

"Hey, no," Spencer quickly interrupted. "You were doing your job."

"I wasn't," you shook your head. "I wanted to prove myself. I-I wanted.. to show that I didn't just do victimology and simple hostage relief situations. I wanted to prove myself like you have." You stopped, sucking in a pained breath. You felt your eyes become glassy. "I wanted to prove to everyone I was just as good as you."

Spencer felt his heart break at your words. You both knew overall, he was smarter. It never occurred to him that your constant bickering was to prove yourself, and not to prove him wrong. "You're better." Spencer decided to say. "I mean, I can't relate to our victims, hell, our unsubs the way you can."

"Spencer,"

"I'm serious." He continued. "You're so important to this team. You-you push us to be better." Spencer cleared his throat, "You push me to be better."

You stared at Spencer blankly for a moment, "I never told you that I like this haircut."

Spencer gave you a slightly surprised look. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," You hummed. "It makes you look, I don't know, less like Einstein and more like, uh, a really smart James Dean."

"James Dean," Spencer repeated, "I've never gotten that one before. Are those meds talking right now?"

You shook your head slowly, "Probably the clearest I've thought in a while." You replied, causing Spencer to smile. "Why did you stay with me?"

Spencer paused for a moment, "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know we bicker a lot. Well, more than a lot. Probably several times a day, but I still care about you. I-I was.. really scared for you. I don't think I could forgive myself if I let you walk in there and you'd died."

"It wouldn't have been your fault," You tried. Spencer just shook his head.

"It would have been. I should've rationalized it with you. When I saw you, I just thought, 'What have I been doing this whole time? Have I really been wasting my breath arguing with you when we could've made the best team'? I remember when Rossi first introduced you, I was like, 'No way someone this pretty is doing this', when you should've been some model or something." Spencer rambled. He did that, paired with hand fidgeting, when he was nervous. He rambled as he played with your fingers.

You took a breath in, hoping for the best. "Hey, maybe we could, uh, go to one of those team based trivia nights at O'Keefe's?"

"Are-are you asking me out?" Spencer asked.

"Only if you're saying yes." You responded. "I, uh, maybe thought we could start over."

Spencer gave a chuckle, "Yeah, trivia night sounds good. I'd like a retry at this. Maybe we're, uh, meant to be more than just a team."

You smiled at him, knowing that a simple friendship wouldn't be highest point of your new relationship with the genius.

[rcvcgers]

hello!! i really like your writng! i was hoping if i can request a one shot with sylus or zayne with a non!mc reader where she’s kinda mean and purposefully makes herself look intimidating to scare others off bc it’s a defense mechanism they developed but really the reader is actually sensitive and a bit of a crybaby and just needs someone to lean on

have a nice day!!

thank you so much for this request! i went with zayne if that's okay! i'll most likely post one for sylus within the next week or so! :)

Guarded Heart

pairing: zayne x non!mc reader

synopsis: zayne meets an icy anesthesiologist with a tough exterior

word count: 3.8k words

author's note: wrote this in one sitting so...i do apologize if it's lame and not good at all haha

content warning: brief mentions of bullying & death, slight medical descriptions, slight self deprecating thoughts

ao3 link here!

It is a sunny day in Linkon. Birds are singing, the breeze is perfectly chilled to combat the scorching heat of the sun, and the air smells crisp instead of like smog. A ladybug flies onto your shoulder, resting on the hot leather as you rush towards the hospital doors.

Once glance at your chunky black watch reminds you just how late you are to prepare for your first on-call shift at Akso Hospital.

You weave through the group of people who stand in front of the hospital doors. They stand and take pictures, balloons and signs in their hands. A sign flies in your face! You jump to the side, barely missing a man who steps away from the group. Spinning on your heels, a gasp flies from your lips, a taller and much more muscular man colliding into you.

Warmth spreads across your chest, the smell of rich, velvety chocolate filling your nostrils. Your t-shirt and leather jacket stick to your skin. The group to the side gasps, muffled laughter clouding you and the man.

“I am very sorry,” his voice is calm and steady, a little too steady for your taste. If anything, it makes you even more irritated.

“It’s fine,” you feel him wipe covered first along your chest. You push his hands away, stepping around him. He turns and grabs your wrist.

“May I get your number? Allow me to pay for the dry cleaning of the clothes,”  he continues. You turn and look up at him, ripping your hand away. His eyes are remarkable; hazel hues burn into your own. You gulp and push some hair behind your ear, taking hurried steps backwards.

“No, it’s fine,” your tone is sharper than you intended it to be.

Then again, you have never been known to be the kindest person out of the bunch.

You walk inside the hospital, catching your breath. You rip your leather jacket off of your body, your shirt stuck to your skin, leaving you feeling sticky and uncomfortable. As you walk down the halls, people avoid you and your icy glare, a snarl curled on your face. They part and hug the walls, your shoes sticking to the floor with every step you take. It only irritates you more. Your nostrils flare and you puff out steam through your nose.

You head up the stairs, not wanting to be stuck in an elevator with people looking at you as if you’re the problem, and go up the three flights of stairs with ease. As soon as you step into the small locker room for anesthesiologists, you’re met with a disapproving look.

“You’re late.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“You know you’re on call, right?”

“I was just on my lunch break, Dave,” you shoot a glare at the oversized man, shoving your belongings into your metal locker. You pull out your navy blue scrubs, eyeing the bathroom that Dave stands in front of.

“You’re lucky there wasn’t an emergency,” he slowly chews his potato chips. The crunch sends uncomfortable shivers down your spine, making your skin crawl.

“Yep. I know,” you push him out of the way, slamming the bathroom door shut behind you. You begin to chance when Dave’s voice makes you pause.

“A bitch as always.”

Your eyes close, shoulders slumping. Has your reputation come to this? Are you only known as a bitch to your peers? You’re here to do a job. So what if you don’t smile or stay in the cafeteria for lunch! They’re just your co-workers, not your friends.

The pager on your hip sounds off. You look down, sliding your feet into your designated work sneakers. The code tells you that it’s a patient coming in from an ambulance needing emergency surgery. A sigh fills the bathroom before you leave, slipping out before Dave can get in another jab.

Nurses and doctors stare at you as you pass. You push your messy hair behind your ear, the lingering smell of sugar and chocolate giving you a slight headache as you push through the emergency surgical bay doors on the first floor. You nod your head at the nurses who quickly scrub in and pluck a mask from a nearby box, placing it over your face.

The doors open once again and a tall man with dark hair steps through. The nurses’ eyes move to him; their shoulders connect as they giggle behind hushed whispers and quiet voices. You raise an eyebrow, cracking your fingers when you finally stare at the man. He’s tall and his muscles flex underneath his lab coat. He turns directly to the sinks and begins his sterilization process.

The realization hits you when you’re finally able to place his face.

He’s the man who spilled hot chocolate on you, making you late for the second half of your shift. You quickly step inside the empty surgical room, waiting for the trauma patient to be wheeled in.

A few minutes later, just as the tall man steps inside, wearing a teal surgical gown matched with light blue gloves and a mask over his face. His eyes flicker to yours while you stand by your equipment. You narrow your eyes at him, heat flooding your cheeks, the need to protect yourself rising in your chest.

Neither of you say a thing, not like you want to, and the tension filled stare is broken just as the patient is wheeled inside the room. The two of you jump into action, 

The surgery takes an hour and forty seven minutes to complete. It’s twelve minutes over Zayne’s personal best, but that’s because of the new recruits continually asking him questions while ignoring the blood that floods chest cavity.

You, on the other hand, were phenomenal. When he was able to look away, which was barely ever, he stole glances at you while you monitored the patient’s vitals. Every so often, he would ask you about the patient’s vitals and you immediately responded with the information he wanted to know. You even adjusted the anesthesia when he voiced what he was going to do next. You were able to slow the heart just right so he can focus and see where the knife sliced into the left chamber. The slow heartbeats helped him slip the near-microscopic needle in and out of the organ while he stitched it up.

It was because of you that Zayne was able to relax after the surgery knowing that his stitches were perfect and that the patient will have an easy, yet slow and meticulous, recovery.

Zayne pokes his head around the hospital trying to find you. You weren’t with the other anesthesiologists nor were you in the cafeteria or break rooms that are scattered throughout the hospital. When one of the nurses who was in the operating room with you noticed his frustration, he finally asked who you were.

“Oh her? She’s…off-putting to say the least,” she begins with an eye roll. “Nobody really likes her but she gets the job done so I guess she’s sticking round because of it.”

“Do you know where I can find her?” Zayne asks with a slight head tilt. The nurse’s eyes open wide.

“I…I don’t know, Dr. Zayne. She’s a loner and doesn’t really talk to anyone.”

Zayne frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. The nurse goes quiet, scratching the back of her neck before eventually walking away, shame written all over her face.

Why were people so cruel to you? If you were good at your job, which you are, why do they say cruel and nasty things about you? It confuses him. A person should be judged on their merit, not because of how introverted you are or if you have one bad day.

Little did he know that you pushed people away on purpose. It’s not like you wanted to. You just couldn’t bring yourself to be openly happy and carefree as others are.

You have gone through so much drama and have been through so many scandals that it has put you off from letting people in entirely. Your teenage years were cruel to you; bullies were relentless and their words and actions beat you down into nothing. It didn’t get better when you went off to university where your roommate purposefully locked you out of the dorm when you went to go take a shower.

People are cruel. You don’t need them and you certainly don’t need anyone else that’s new. The risk is too great to take on. You don’t even think you can go through another heartbreak or cruel friendship.

You always found yourself in the solitude of the hospital’s extra courtyard. It sits behind the tall building, covered in the building’s shadows when the sun moved to the other side of the sky. You liked looking at the flowers and watching the butterflies flutter past. It was also nice that nobody else really came into the courtyard. You were able to sit in solitude during your breaks or after a tension filled surgery like the one just half an hour ago.

“You’re a hard woman to find.”

You jump in the metal bench, which has been designed to look like a pair of roses that sit next to each other, and turn around to see the tall surgeon from before. He wears glasses with thin metal rims and his scrubs are covered with a new lab coat, one that isn’t covered with the remnants of his drink that morning.

“I don’t want to be found,” you respond, turning back around on the bench. You pick at the skin around your fingernails, needing to give your body to do something to distract yourself from the handsome man.

Zayne circles around and stands in front of you. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets, a habit he picked up from other surgeons to protect his hands, and sighs. He sits down on a chair across from you, only a few feet away. You avoid his hazel eyes at all costs, slowly inhaling the hot summer breeze.

“My name is—”

“Dr. Zayne,” you finish his sentence for him. He slowly nods. His eyes remain on you. “I know. You have an impressive résumé.”

“Do I?” A faint smile spreads across his lips. You finally look at him, catching the tail end of his grin before it disappears. “This is my first time here. It’s nice. Are you in here often?”

“Yes,” a part of you doesn’t know why you responded to him, “nobody knows about it. It’s...nice.” You turn your body to fully face him now. He matches your movement, one eyebrow slightly quirking up, gently urging you to continue.

But you don’t.

Bugs and insects fly around you. Butterflies flap their wings and hummingbirds stop at the feeders with the sugary pink water. Zayne observes the courtyard, wondering how he has never noticed it before. It’s all thanks to you that he is able to find solitude in such a chaotic environment.

You and Zayne sit in a comfortable silence. It’s something you aren’t used to but it feels nice. You don’t know whether his intentions are pure or not. You don’t seem to mind the company though.

“May I join you for lunch here tomorrow?” Zayne requests.

“Yes,” the answer leaves your lips before you can stop it. Zayne nods, a slight smile spreading across his lips, and he stands up.

“Wonderful. I will see you tomorrow.”

The next day, Zayne is early with his lunch, even having bought you a bottle of water just in case you didn’t have one. Hydration is key, after all! You rolled your eyes and sat next to him on the bench. You finally have him your name and filled in him in on how long you’ve been working at Akso.

“How have I never seen you before?” he asked with pure and genuine curiosity in his voice.

“I don’t know. I usually work with obstetrics,” you shrug. Zayne hides a smile on his face. He likes that you help bring new life into the world. He’ll have to swing by during some downtime to see you in action.

Zayne shows up the next day even earlier just to see you. You walk out with headphones on, a small scowl on your face while you swipe through your phone. He watches you closely; he watches as a bee flies past your face and you don’t swat at it, instead smiling and waiting for it to pass before moving on.

You find out that Zayne asked around about you. You hid the blush on your face as Dave throws a note Zayne wrote at you. His kind words, and typical doctor handwriting, makes you swoon. Your icy heart melts ever so slightly.

Not even a week later, you get the request from your supervisor to be temporarily switched over to the Cardiac department. As soon as you arrive, Zayne is the first one to welcome you. While everyone else avoids you due to your bitchy reputation, Zayne is quick to show you around and introduce you to everyone despite there being no smile on your face.

Three months later Zayne asks you to be his girlfriend.

He asked you after a particularly stressful shift. He showed up to your apartment, which was surprisingly close to his place, still in his scrubs, and knocked on your door until you answered. Your hair was a mess from the deep sleep you were in matched with dark purple bags under your eyes. A yawn barely left your lips when Zayne broke the silence.

“I lost a patient today.”

“Oh…I’m so sorry, Zayne. That must have been really hard.”

“It was,” he nods and looks down at you, out of breath from running up the stairs to your door, “it made me think.”

“Yes? About what?” you raise an eyebrow and step through the door. He takes your hand and places it over his heart. His touch wakes you up, energy flushing through your body. Your eyes widen. His heart pounds inside his chest.

“Be my girlfriend.”

“What?”

“Will you please be my girlfriend?” Zayne’s voice is breathy yet steady. A small smile spreads across your face. You slowly nod.

“Yes. I would love to be your girlfriend.”

Maybe people aren’t so bad after all.

The two of you have fallen into a unique rhythm. It was convenient that the two of you worked at the hospital. Zayne even pulled a few strings for your shifts to line up, even going as far as to claim you as the Cardiac Unit’s main anesthesiologist.

Zayne slowly pushes through your icy interior, learning that you are one of the most caring and loving people he has ever met. You love your job as much as he does and also found out that you hate carrots, alongside eggplants and people who use the word ‘moist’. 

As the weeks pass, you notice that people still talk about you behind your back despite being much nicer to your face. Dave and the other anesthesiologists whisper about you when you leave the room and the nurses that work alongside Zayne always look at you like you are on the scum on the bottom of their shoes. It doesn’t bother you.

Or, at least you thought it didn’t.

You always pretended like their comments don’t mean anything to you. Zayne always moved to say something but you stopped him every time, telling him that it isn’t worth it. He always frowned when you said this but respected your choice, whisking you away to your secret place in the courtyard.

The nights you spend alone and away from him are the nights you cry yourself to sleep, the aching pain of their comments slicing into your skin, breaking the armor you built for yourself. You stayed up late those nights, staring at yourself in the mirror as the thoughts of self deprecation and sadness creeped throughout your body.

You sit in Zayne’s comfortable office, looking outside the window. A bird flies by while singing its song and chases after another, escaping your line of sight. His door is cracked open, having just steppe out for a moment. You click on your app, trying to clear the stage in the grocery store app Zayne installed for you. Your brows furrow together. The small carrot icons mock you, the third one nowhere to be found.

“Fuck you, carrots,” you murmur.

“Can you believe her?” a nurse by the name of Tabitha says outside Zayne’s door. Your ears perk up, head tilting in their direction.

“I know! How can he be with someone like her?”

Your heart sinks in your chest. Slowly pushing out of the chair, you inch towards the door. their voices grow louder. They are completely unaware of your presence lurking behind the wooden door. The more they speak, the more apparent it becomes that nobody in the hospital likes you. Everyone finds you weird, off-putting, crass, and obnoxious.

“She’s so weird! She’s probably blackmailing him to date her! How can a man like him ever go for a cold bitch like her?”

“I don’t know! Maybe she baby trapped him!”

“Cause that’s just what we need! Another version of her running around here!”

You sink away from the door, dissociating as you grab your purse. Another voice, male, comes into the mix. You don’t pay attention to it, though, and slip your phone and hospital I.D. into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. Zayne’s office door creaks open and he kicks it closed behind him, a cup of coffee and hot chocolate in his hands.

“Sorry I’m late, my love, an intern needed help with a few questions,” Zayne’s calm voice makes your eyes sting. You keep your back to him, ashamed to even look at the man you love.

Is he aware of how the people in the hospital think of you? Does he even care that they wish nothing but the worst for you?

No…Zayne probably doesn’t know. After all, you’re just a woman who doesn’t care about what other people think, right? You’re an ice cold bitch who doesn’t have feelings so why should it even matter?

When you turn around, a pained expression on your face, Zayne pauses. You avoid his gaze, opting to look at the ground instead of him. He places the cups on the side table next to the door and immediately walks up to you. He takes the purse and places it on the chair, grabbing your hands, lacing your fingers together.

“What’s wrong, my love? Is everything okay?” Zayne asks despite the creeping suspicion that it has something to do with Tabitha and Tiffany on the other side of the door.

He was quick to put them in their place, yes, and reminded them of just how valuable and important you are to the team at Akso, but he didn’t think that you were paying attention to their words.

“I’m fine,” you groan. You try to peel your hands away from his but his grip remains firm. “Zayne, please, I need to go—”

“No, you don’t,” he retorts in a calm tone. “You offered to stay with me while I finished paperwork.”

Tears sting your eyes, threatening to fall. Shallow breaths leave your chest. Zayne pulls you to him, tucking your hair behind your ear. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

The kiss soothes you, helping calm some of your anxiety, but it’s not enough to pull the knife that was lodged into your back. You close your eyes and press your forehead against his chest. You tremble in his arms. Zayne places his hand on the back of your head, smoothing down your hair. You listen to his heartbeat. Every beat urges your tears forward and eventually you begin to cry, the weight of everyone’s dislike towards you finally causing you to crumble.

“It’s alright, honey, I got you, let it all out,” Zayne coos. You shudder into his chest, hands weakly wrapping around him. You grab a fistful of his shirt and loosen it from its tight tuck into his pants.

“I don’t know why they hate me so much,” you cry out. Your tears dampen his shirt. He rubs circles into your back, a frown overtaking his face. “I mind my own business! I say good morning and wave! I even brought donuts one day like you suggested!”

“I know, dear, I know,” Zayne sighs. He places his cheek onto the top of your head, pulling you closer into his body.

After knowing you for the past few months, Zayne has fallen in love with every side of you. He adores the hard glare you give him when he wakes you up from your morning shift. He loves the small smiles whenever he surprises you with a sweet treat after a long night shift. He loves the way you melt into his embrace when you’re in bed at night ready to go to sleep.

And most of all, Zayne loves the sweet, sensitive girl that you hide away. The one that cares about everyone and wants to save the world. That is the woman he fell in love with, not the reputation that others thrust onto you.

“You don’t need them,” Zayne sighs into your hair. Your sniffle against his chest, not daring to move. “They clearly cannot see the amazing woman that you are, but they will soon. It takes time.”

“Why are you so nice to me?” you cry even more, hugging him ever closer to you. Zayne sighs and gives you a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t deserve you.”

You believed it, too. Zayne has always been so patient with you. He’s stuck by your side through thick and thin, waiting for you to let him in. It took awhile, yes, but he got there, finally penetrating the high walls you have built around yourself. He has been so kind and gentle with you, even reassuring you that he loves and cares for you when you silently needed it the most.

“You deserve me because I love you. I want nothing but the best for best for you, even if it means I have to give a stern lecture to those who hurt you,” Zayne’s tone is unusually light. It makes you laugh through your cries. He smiles and kisses the top of your head. You slowly pull away from him and he wipes away the tears from your face.

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes. I will talk to them if you want me to.”

“No, Zayne, I meant about you…loving me.”

“Oh,” Zayne smiles down at you. He nods. “Yes. I do love you. More than you can even imagine.”

“I love you too,” you smile. You stare into those beautiful hazel eyes of his and remember why he has been the only person to melt your icy exterior. “Thank you for being so patient with me. I’m…I’m trying.”

“I know, my love, and I will wait for you no matter how long it takes.”

please drop a like, reblog, & comment!! i love see what you all have to say <3

masterlist of works

[ticifics]

All I've Ever Want

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: Dave and you finally give in to your bottled-up feelings

Warning: a lot of kisses, sexual tension, suggestive situations, a little smut, no use of y/n

It was late, the veil of night already draping over the sky, and for a moment, you completely forgot where you were. That was until you felt a puff of warm air tickling the back of your neck. The realization of your surroundings made your cheeks flush crimson.

You remained still, analyzing the familiar interior of the room. The only source of light was the television, long forgotten, where the DVD logo lazily bounced around the screen, barely illuminating the lilac walls of the attic. To your right was an empty pizza box and soda cans, along with a stack of books and your precious pom-pom pens. The bedroom door was shut, but even so, you wondered if Mr. Lizewski had seen you with Dave on the bed.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, but it was no less embarrassing.

When you and your aunt moved into the house across the street, it was only a matter of time before you befriended Dave, your adorable and kind neighbor. You remembered the day you met him: Dave was all dark curls and bright blue eyes, smiling shyly beside his mother. While the adults droned on about boring things, you two hit it off, animatedly debating who was the strongest superhero in DC. After that, you became inseparable. His house became an extension of your own, and there were countless times your aunt had to carry you, half-asleep, back across the street to your bed.

Dave was as familiar as the back of your hand. For the longest time, you considered him the highlight of your days. He always knew the perfect jokes to draw out your smiles, and he was so kind, incredibly kind—though a bit of an idiot sometimes, but what could you expect from boys?

He had held you after an especially low physics grade, rubbing your back while you could do nothing but sob uncontrollably, whispering that no one cared about Torricelli and his damn equations. He kept you wrapped in his arms until you calmed down, tracing soothing circles on your back and brushing his lips affectionately against your forehead.

It was during that time you realized he wasn’t just a lanky teenager anymore. There were muscles under those clothes—and he had grown taller, with broader shoulders.

Your perception of him shifted. And before you knew it, your heart would nearly leap out of your chest whenever he got closer. Suddenly, you became very aware of him.

Damn hormones.

Of course, you refused to admit your feelings for a while. Dave was your friend and nothing more. But with every brush of his fingers, every lingering touch of his hands on you, and every conspiratorial smile, the butterflies in your stomach spun furiously.

Fuck.

You were in love.

Not that you ever confessed your erratic feelings. Absolutely not. Your friendship with Dave was too important to risk ruining it with sappy confessions. So you buried any romantic thoughts about him deep in your mind and pretended everything was normal.

Most days it was easy. With Marty and Todd acting as buffers, it was easy to forget the closeness with Dave. Even when your shoulders were pressed together in the comic book store booth and all you could think about was his scent filling your lungs. And when you stood on your tiptoes to whisper something in his ear, you certainly didn't daydream about being so close that your lips were mere millimeters from his skin. And no, you didn’t waste your precious time admiring his hands. God, you were a loser.

Your crush on Dave was in the past.

That was the lie you told yourself every day. Hoping one day it would become true.

Earlier, you had planned an afternoon of studying, a chemistry test was scheduled for next Thursday and it would be good to review organic functions. However, you and Dave quickly forgot about any problems involving ketones or methyls, snuggling on his bed with greasy slices of pizza. You had brought the Dirty Dancing CD in your bag and convinced him—forced him—to watch the movie. But apparently, you had both fallen asleep while Baby was taking her private dance lessons.

You blinked a few times, spotting the digital clock by the bed. The red numbers glowed; it was already 9:13 PM. Damn. You should be home.

Slowly, you tried to get up, only for his arms to tighten around you, holding you against his chest. Your body tensed as you realized where his hands were; the left rested on the soft curve of your waist, the right... — you swallowed —, the right hand was near your chest. Though his fingers weren’t curled around your breasts, their presence in the area was undeniable; firm and warm.

“Dave?” you whispered weakly, noticing from his lack of response that he was still deeply asleep.

With a shaky sigh, you thought about the situation you were in. It wasn’t the first time you had shared a bed or slept together; that had become a habit years ago when you were nothing more than kids addicted to movies. But now things were different. Dave was no longer a little boy. With him behind you, his body pressed perfectly against yours, it was impossible to stop your mind from wandering down sinful paths. You could feel his chest rising and falling with each slow breath, as well as his long legs tangled with yours.

It was fine, it meant absolutely nothing. All you needed to do was slide out of bed and run back home.

As you tried to move again, Dave held you tighter in his iron grip, making you gasp in surprise. When had he become so strong? You hadn’t managed to move an inch!

You shrank as he pressed his nose against your neck, inhaling deeply, sending shivers down your spine. “Dave…?” you tried again, your voice slightly firmer. “I need to…”

“Stay.” He interrupted you, his voice sleepy and raspy. So close that the blend of syllables and consonants vibrated against your skin.

When had he woken up? The realization that he was holding you of his own volition, so close to him, sent unwanted butterflies to your stomach. For a foolish moment, you wondered what would happen if your feelings were reciprocated, but you quickly pushed those thoughts away.

You turned your head, catching a glimpse of his face. The curls fell over his face, giving him an angelic look, and the closed eyelids kept you from seeing those bright irises. A relaxed, even satisfied, expression crossed his sleepy face. His soft, pink lips were slightly parted. Painfully beautiful. The sight made an involuntary smile spread across your face.

“I need to go home,” you whispered, the words shaped by a smile.

“Why?” He didn’t open his eyes, his voice still sleepy enough for you to question whether he was truly awake or caught between consciousness and the land of dreams.

“It’s late and…” With furrowed brows, you asked, “Dave, are you awake?”

“Yes—I mean, no. What difference does it make? Just stay a little longer, I can take you home after.”

Even though you lived, quite literally, across the street, Dave insisted on walking you to your front door every time. No exceptions, it was sweet. He’d cross the street with his arm around your shoulders or holding your hand casually, and then say goodbye with an adorable smile.

But you had to go home. Put some healthy distance between you and bury any depraved thoughts about him deep in your mind. And take an especially cold shower.

“I’ve stayed too long, I need to go. So be a good boy and let me go.” When he made no effort to release you, you huffed impatiently, twisting in an attempt to break free from his grip.

“It’s not enough.” He murmured, holding you so tightly that your ribs complained. You hated that a small part of you loved this little show of strength. That was it, you had serious problems.

“Dave!” You grunted, without success.

Out of breath, you sucked in air between your teeth. You could have kicked him, but his frayed nerves would hardly let him feel pain. The only alternative was to keep fighting for your freedom, and that’s what you did. Grabbing his forearms in an attempt to force him to loosen his hold, you lifted your legs off the bed and twisted desperately.

A squeak escaped your lips as he huffed in annoyance, his large hands easily spinning you on the bed, as if you were a damn rag doll, pushing your back into the mattress and quickly collapsing over your body. Trapping you definitively between his arms and legs. The bed frame creaked under the force of the impact. “Quiet.” He said, the word seeming to scrape his throat.

You froze for a moment, assessing the compromising position you were in. With Dave on top of you, between your legs, his weight fully pressing down on you, making it difficult to breathe. You wondered if he could feel your heart pounding furiously against his chest. With his head pressed against your chest, his curls tickled your chin, and they smelled so good… You quickly pushed that thought away. Your face burned with embarrassment, feeling warm breaths brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck.

Grabbing his broad shoulders, you tried to push away, taking in air noisily. As with the other times, it was pointless. “D-Dave! I can’t breathe!”

His laugh irritated you, but when he lifted his head and looked at you with those big, bright eyes, you knew it was pointless to try to seem annoyed. “So dramatic.” He teased, though you suspected a slight blush stained his cheeks. Dave might have been acting tough now, but he was still shy and—sometimes—awkward.

You took a theatrical breath, hands still on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. “You’re heavy, you idiot!” You scolded, false irritation coloring your words.

He flinched, looking embarrassed for a few seconds. The dim light from the TV cast shadows across his face, only highlighting the edges of his features. “I wouldn’t have done that if you were a good girl and stayed quiet.”

The indulgent choice of his words made your cheeks burn. It was far too easy to imagine them in a different context, amid sighs and moans of pleasure. Damn. What was your fucking problem?

Embarrassed, you bit your lip between your teeth. “I-I... hm, I n-need to go.” You repeated, unable to meet his gaze.

“Why?” He questioned again, his voice an octave lower. His blue eyes scanned your face, daring not to move a single millimeter.

It was hard to think clearly and rationally with him so close, deliciously pressed against you. But you made an effort, looking up at the ceiling in an attempt to clear your mind.

“Dave!” You laughed, shifting uncomfortably, trying to find a better position for your legs. “We’re past that phase, you know I need to go home.”

You wondered if he could hear the frenzy of your heart pounding against your ribcage. His face was absurdly close to yours. The heat radiated from his body, and his eyes—oh, God, he was looking at you now, so intensely it felt like he could see even the thoughts you hid.

“You can’t stay still, can you?” Dave murmured, his voice a mix of drowsy and husky, with a hint of humor, although his eyes carried something more—something that made the air in the room feel heavier.

You tried to laugh to break the tension, but the sound died before it could escape. He didn’t move, not even blinking, as if he were memorizing every detail of you in that moment: eyes slightly wide, the lower lip caught between your teeth, the blush coloring your cheeks treacherously.

“Dave…” Your voice came out low, almost a plea. You didn’t know exactly what you were asking for, but you needed to say something to fill the silence that only seemed to make the space between you grow.

“I just…” He quickly looked away, but his eyes returned to you almost instantly, this time focusing on your lips. The movement was so subtle you barely noticed, but your stomach flipped with the realization. He blinked, as if he had just noticed what he was doing, and the tips of his ears turned as red as the reflection of the digital clock. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to... crush you.” He tried to laugh, but the sound also seemed muffled.

“It’s okay.” You managed to say, even with your uneven breathing and a million things running through your mind. But when he tried to move to get off you, your fingers—almost instinctively—grabbed the fabric of his shirt. “Wait.”

The request was spontaneous, as unexpected for you as it was for him. Dave stopped immediately, his eyes searching yours, confused and hesitant. “Wait?” He repeated, the word carrying a mix of hope and doubt.

Silence settled between you again, but this time it seemed to carry something tangible, almost electric. Your eyes fell, against your will, to his lips—and it was then you realized he was doing the same. The small smile he tried to hide with a nervous sigh only intensified the butterflies in your stomach.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he suddenly muttered, so low you almost thought you imagined it. His eyes widened slightly, and he immediately started to stutter. “I mean, not crazy-crazy, but... oh, damn, I never know what to say around you, and—”

“Dave.” Your voice, firm and soft, cut through his confusion. Your eyes met again, and this time, no one looked away. You felt something warm, burning slowly in your chest, as the intensity between you became almost unbearable.

He swallowed hard, the dark curls falling slightly over his forehead and his blue eyes shining with something that seemed to be a mix of doubt and courage. He looked like he was about to say something but hesitated, his gaze lost as if searching for the right words in the air between you.

“I…” He started, his voice hoarse and low, and stopped, furrowing his brow as if in an internal battle. You didn’t say anything, feeling the tension catch your breath. The weight of him on you, though light, brought an odd sense of comfort, as if the universe had decided that this was the only place you should be.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he finally confessed, his voice coming out in a whisper so full of emotion that you felt a shiver run down your spine. His eyes wandered over your face, lingering on the curve of your lips before returning to your eyes. “Being this close to you and, at the same time, so far... it hurts.”

Your heart raced. You wanted to respond, but the intensity in his eyes made the words stick in your throat. He took a deep breath, as if he needed all the courage in the world to continue.

“I don’t just want to hold your hand.” His voice broke, almost cracking, but he kept his eyes on yours. “I want you. All of you. Every part. Not as a friend, not as someone who smiles at me and pretends not to see how trapped I am by you. I can’t do this anymore.”

You felt your heart speed up even more, and a sudden wave of courage bubbled within you. The pain and passion in his eyes reflected your own feelings so perfectly that, for the first time, you didn’t want to hide anything.

“Dave,” you started, your voice a little hesitant, but soon found its strength. “I can’t take it anymore either... pretending that everything is fine, that I can just be your friend when all I want is...” Your voice faltered, but you found his eyes again, gaining strength as you saw hope rising in them. “All I want is you.”

His lips parted in surprise, and for a moment, it seemed like he was lost. Then, before you could say anything else, he took action. In one instant, you were finishing your confession, and in the next, his lips were on yours.

The impact of the kiss sent a shiver up your spine, as if every fiber of your being had awakened at once. His lips were even softer than you had imagined, a softness almost contradictory to the urgency with which he kissed you. His taste—warm, with a touch of sweetness mixed with pure desire—filled your palate, overwhelming your senses until you lost all sense of where you ended and he began.

Your breaths mingled, warm and ragged, as if you were both fighting for air but unable to pull away. His hands found your waist, fingers tightening with enough pressure to set your skin on fire, and you felt the weight of his body pressing even more firmly against yours. The pressure was delicious, every movement making your mind spin.

You couldn’t help it; your fingers moved on their own, finding the dark curls you had always loved. They were as soft as they seemed, and you wound them between your fingers, tugging them gently. The sigh he released against your mouth was like a spark in a fire, igniting something even more intense between you.

He deepened the kiss, and you gave yourself over completely, feeling every curve of his lips, the subtle but undeniable strength of his hands holding you tight. One of his hands slid down your waist until it found the curve of your hip, fingers pressing the soft flesh with a care that was both possessive and gentle. You felt his heat against your skin like a wave, and the weight of him against you was a physical reminder that he was there, all his, with you.

It was feverish, desperate, and absolutely perfect. Your hands, which had been shy before, now explored with more confidence. Your fingers traced invisible lines on his neck, while your other hand slid down his shoulder. Each touch seemed to draw a new sigh from him, and you loved the sound, loved knowing that you could make him feel that way.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, faces so close that your breaths still mingled. He looked at you with an intensity that made your heart race, eyes shining as if he were seeing something sacred.

“You... have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he whispered, his voice rough, heavy with emotion. His lips were red and slightly swollen, and the sight made you lose yourself for a moment before responding, with a shy smile.

“I think I do,” you whispered, running your fingers lightly through his messy curls. And, as he smiled, still panting, you knew, without a doubt, that you could never live without this again.

He didn’t say anything. He just leaned in again, without hesitation, without asking for permission. The kiss that followed was not gentle or restrained; it was fierce, almost to the point of pain, filled with an urgency that made your heart pound. He kissed you as if he were a starving man, as if the moments you had just shared were not enough, as if he wanted to consume you completely.

You loved it. The impact made you lose it completely, your thoughts disintegrating as his weight pinned you to the bed, feeling his chest crush your breasts. The intensity was overwhelming, and every movement of his lips against yours made you feel like you were on the verge of falling apart. It was almost unbelievable—to be here, in his bed, where you had spent so many afternoons playing, laughing, and discussing your favorite movies and comics. That familiar space, which had once felt safe and innocent, was now imbued with something entirely new, something devastating.

Your hands, trembling and bold, began to explore. Your fingers moved up the curve of his back, feeling every muscle contract under your touch. It was dizzying, discovering how he reacted, feeling the heat of his skin under his thin shirt, realizing that he was as vulnerable as you were at that moment.

His hands, in turn, slid down the side of your body, firm and full of purpose, until they found your leg, his fingers kneading the soft flesh. When he pulled it, positioning it around his waist, you felt a shiver run through your entire body. The surprise almost made you gasp, but the gesture did not scare you — on the contrary, it awakened something even more intense inside. He held you like you were precious, but the way his fingers squeezed your thigh said something else: that he wanted you in every way possible.

When your breath finally betrayed you, he broke the kiss, but didn’t pull away. His hot breath fanned your skin, and before you could say anything, his lips were on your jaw, trailing a slow, scorching path of wet kisses down your neck. His touch sent waves of heat through your body, and you writhed slightly beneath him, unable to contain yourself, liquid heat pooling between your legs.

“You’re so beautiful…” he murmured against your skin, his voice husky and full of emotion. Each word came between one kiss and another, his lips exploring with an almost adorable reverence. “I’ve wanted this for so long. I wanted you.”

You felt your heart tighten in your chest, a mix of emotions that seemed about to overflow. He stopped for a moment, just to look at you. His gaze was filled with something raw, sincere, and made you want to never leave the damn bed again.

“I love being the reason for your sighs,” he said softly, his fingers tracing a soft pattern on your skin, where he had mistreated it before. “I love seeing you like this… and knowing that, for the first time, I can say that you are mine.”

His words were like an echo of your own thoughts, and you could hardly believe that this was happening. There, in that moment, it was as if all the lost time had finally been recovered, as if every unconfessed desire had found its answer.

“Dave…” His name escaped your lips like a sigh, full of desire and emotion, before you pulled him back to you. The kiss that followed was just as devastating as the previous ones, but this time you were the one leading, the one setting the pace. Your fingers slid into his messy curls, holding them firmly as your lips met in a feverish, passionate clash. You heard a hoarse sound, almost a moan, escape him as his fingers tugged at your hair, which only served to further ignite the fire that burned inside you.

For a moment, you pulled away just enough to watch him. The blush on his cheeks spread across his face, his lips were red and swollen from so many kisses, shining under the soft light of the room. His hair, always a little messy, now seemed completely untamed, and you couldn’t help but smile a little at the thought that this was all your fault. He was beautiful, and the sight of him like that—vulnerable, surrendered, and yet filled with an almost raw intensity—made something inside you shiver.

You wrapped your other leg around him, holding him tighter against you, as if the world might suddenly intervene and tear you apart. The movement caused his weight to shift, pressing him even tighter against you, and it sent a rush of liquid heat through your body. A noise rasped in his throat at your movement, his body tensing as he pressed against the softness of your body. It felt like instead of blood, fire was coursing through your veins, every fiber of your being ablaze at the closeness, at the way he touched you, the way his lips sought yours as if they were the only thing that mattered.

His hands were no longer hesitant. One held tightly to your waist, while the other slowly moved up your sides, as if he wanted to map every inch of you. There was strength in his touch, as if he wanted to mark you somehow, as if he wanted you to feel that moment on your skin even after it had passed. When he leaned down to your collarbone and began to place small bites on your neck, your breath caught. Each bite felt carefully placed, not just as a show of desire, but as a silent promise that he was there, that he wanted you completely.

You arched your body against his, unable to control the reactions he was eliciting. Your nails dug into his shoulders, pulling him even closer, desperate for any friction. The space between you was nonexistent, but it still felt like it would never be enough. Every touch, every kiss, every sigh that escaped you was filled with an overflowing urgency, as if years of pent-up feelings had finally found their way to the surface.

“You’re a dream,” he murmured, his lips moving against your skin, his voice so low and husky that you could barely hear him. The confession made something inside you melt, even as your hands explored his back, every muscle that moved beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

He looked at you again, his eyes bright and full of an emotion you could barely name, and you knew he felt exactly the same as you: that this moment, so charged with intensity, was something neither of you wanted to end.

Then, without hesitation, he kissed you again, and this time there was a desperate urgency in his movements, as if he needed your lips to breathe. The way he pressed you against the bed, with the weight of his body and the strength of the kiss, made your heart race and your thoughts disintegrate, leaving only the feeling of having him so close.

His hand, previously hesitant, slowly descended to the hem of the shirt you were wearing. He paused for a moment, as if asking for silent permission, but the look you gave him, full of surrender and desire, was all he needed. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, finding the soft skin of your waist, and the touch was like an electric shock that ran through your body. You shivered against him, unable to contain your reaction, and he smiled against your lips, as if he loved the effect he had on you.

His weight was crushing and yet comforting. You could barely move beneath him, but it didn’t matter. In that moment, you didn’t want to move; you just wanted to feel, to absorb everything he was offering. It was a weakness unlike any you’d ever felt, a numbness that wasn’t numbness but complete surrender. He was all that filled your mind, every thought, every beat of your heart.

His other hand moved down to your hip, gripping it tightly enough to make you gasp. You could tell he was trying to hold something back, to keep you from moving against the bulge in his pants. But you couldn’t feel him pressed against your core—the way he held you, the way his fingers gripped your flesh with a kind of almost feral need, said it all. That realization made your pussy clench around nothing, starving for any attention.

You couldn’t help it; your hands started moving again, exploring his arms, moving up his chest, trying to memorize every contour as your own desires grew in intensity. He seemed intoxicated, his kisses growing deeper and more desperate, as if he wanted to mark you with each one. And when his lips finally pulled away from yours to come up for air, it was only for a moment, before they went back down to find any patch of sensitive skin.

The soft bites he placed on your skin were like spreading flames, each one more intense than the last. You felt his lips form words against your skin, a low, husky whisper that made you shiver. “You’re mine… you’ve always been mine.”

The sound of those words, along with his overwhelming weight and presence, made you feel like you were going to lose your breath completely. Everything around you seemed to disappear except for him—Dave, who was no longer trying to hold back, who wanted you as desperately as you wanted him. And you knew there was no going back; not after this.

With his eyes fixed on yours, Dave let his fingers work at the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling it up, as if he wanted to savor every second. When the fabric was finally ripped away, he stopped, staring at you with an intensity that made your heart race. The silence that followed seemed to vibrate with something unspoken as he simply admired you, watching your chest rise and fall with each ragged breath, the shape of your breasts covered by a thin bra that left little to the imagination. His mouth felt dry.

You felt the heat of his gaze travel over your exposed skin, and embarrassment began to creep in, but then he broke the silence, his voice low and husky. “You’re beautiful… so beautiful.” His words were filled with a caress that made you feel completely disarmed, and you realized that you had nothing to be ashamed of. The desire in his eyes was so evident, so overwhelming, that it made your own fears evaporate.

His fingers lightly touched the edge of your bra, tracing a soft, almost reverent path. The touch seemed to set your skin on fire, and the heat that ran through your veins was almost too much to bear. You arched your body involuntarily, moving towards him, a low moan escaping your lips without permission as you felt him press his cock harder against you.

His hands returned to exploring your body with increasing urgency, pulling your bra down instead of removing it from your body. His fingers kneaded your breasts, seeking the pressure that made you purr like a kitten. When he buried his face in your chest, he wasted no time in mouthing the sensitive flesh, sucking on the hard tip until you whimpered. He seemed to want to devour you, and the frenzy that this aroused in you made your pussy respond, staining your panties with more of your arousal. Your own fingers roamed his torso, exploring every line, every muscle that contracted under his touch.

He paused for a moment, staring at you with a silent question in his eyes, his mouth redder than ever. A look that said it all—he wanted to make sure you were okay, that this was what you wanted. His response was instinctive, almost automatic. You writhed beneath him, your hands gripping his shoulders, your voice shaky and urgent. “Dave… I want you. Please.”

That was all he needed to hear. He kissed you again, this time harder, more eager, as if he wanted to take you in completely. His lips left yours only so he could move down to your neck again, exploring every inch with hot kisses and soft bites that made you tremble. Only then did he grind his hips against yours, groaning against your skin as he established a rhythm. The seam of your pants brushed against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

You felt his fingers tighten around your waist, as if he wanted to mark you right then and there. Your body responded automatically, moving against his, every nerve ending burning with urgent need. Your hands moved lower, finding the waistband of his pants, hesitating only for a moment before undoing the button, your fingers trembling as you unzipped him. He shivered when you touched him, feeling his cock twitch against your fingers. Dave groaned your name as you circled the pre-cum-covered tip. Your own body reacted to it, imagining what it would be like to have him stretching you from the inside, slamming against your cervix. Your toes curled at the thought.

“Dave?” Mr. Lizewski’s voice came from the other end, casual but loud enough to make your heart race for an entirely different reason. Your fingers stilled instantly, terrified at the thought of being caught in this situation. “Is everything okay in there?”

Dave reacted instantly, his body tensing as he hurried to cover yours with his, his arms wrapped around you like a shield. “Yes, Dad! It’s okay, it’s okay!” he replied, his voice louder and more hurried than usual.

You held your breath as Dave looked at the door, a blush staining his face. His eyes met yours briefly, shame and embarrassment reflected in his features, before he called out again, “It’s okay in here!”

The silence that followed was brief, but it felt endless, until Mr. Lizewski spoke again, and this time there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Is your friend in the room with you, Dave?”

Dave froze, his eyes meeting yours once more. His gaze was intense, as if he were weighing what to say, and it made your heart race again, but not from nervousness—this time it was from something deeper. The intensity of that moment, the way he was looking at you, almost took away what little breath you had left. His hand that remained on your hip left a reassuring caress.

Finally, he answered, casually, “Yes, Dad, my girlfriend is here.” Your mouth fell open in surprise at his words, your heart beating painfully fast. Girlfriend. Girlfriend! Dave gave you a crooked smile, raising an eyebrow as if daring you to contradict him. You didn’t. He pressed his face against yours, his lips gently pressed against your jaw.

Mr. Lizewski chuckled from the other side of the door, which made you bury your face in your hands in sheer embarrassment. “Well, her aunt called to ask her to come home. Apparently she needs help with the roast or something.”

You tried not to groan in embarrassment as you answered, your voice sounding thinner than you would have liked. “Oh, thanks, Mr. Lizewski. I’ll be right there.”

The sound of his father’s footsteps walking away was followed by a tense silence that was broken when they both started laughing at the same time, unable to contain the mix of relief and embarrassment they felt.

Dave lowered his head and kissed you again, this time gently, his lips sealing a silent promise. “We’ll keep this up,” he murmured, his voice low and husky against yours.

He picked up your shirt from the floor and helped you put it on, your hands still a little shaky as you tried to fix your messy hair and disheveled clothes. “There,” he said with an embarrassed smile, looking at the damage he had done to your skin. It would take days for the marks to fade. “I think everything is fine… or almost.”

Later, when he drove you home, the nervousness returned, but this time it was mixed with something else—a certainty. At the door, as you prepared to enter, Dave stopped, his eyes fixed on yours once more.

Unlike all the times before, he leaned in and kissed you, a brief, sweet touch that made your heart melt. "Good night, girlfriend," he whispered, with that shy but meaningful smile.