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sevenop · 2 months

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Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: There's nothing you could do or say

A/n: I just want to shove a revolver down my throat and pull the trigger with some indescribable pleasure of primacy. It would break my heart to see you die slowly, fade away and become a ghost of the past.

Inspired by 'i love you,' Billie's point of view. The person this is meant for, I hope you especially like this text. Let me know, dude!

Caution: mention of illness. I apologize if this offends you in any way.

There are only three hours left before the night flight to Berlin, and I still haven't seen you all day: waking up in the same bed together doesn't really count, because I'm always so short of you, you know that. I overslept godlessly, jumped out of bed in one merged impulse, like a Hellhound, and you just smiled, reminding with your calmness the mistress of the underworld - Persephone. You helped me get ready as quickly as possible, reducing my small gap in the schedule to almost zero, even though you just got up.: with slightly swollen and reddened eyes, battered, so homely in my clothes, which I always throw under your palms on purpose. In my clothes, you look so ethereal, protected, so... mine.

For you, I am a hasty whirlwind of branded clothes with a fabulous price tag and my own defenseless nakedness, demolishing everything in my path except you. I hurriedly screw up an awkward, such an unequal to your care "thank you", while my head is quickly filled to the brim with lines-schedules with the time of events for today. The usual madness.

"'Merci', we're still in France," you correct jokingly, perched on the edge of the bed and smile, with the very corners of your lips. Your pale cheek is imprinted with the silhouette of a pillow after sleep, and that smile on your lips is pure fissure.

Your hands twitch a little as you daintily dig your aristocratically skinny fingers into the fabric and take turns holding out the clothes you'd prepared for me while I was in the bathroom. You chalk it up to your over-indulgence in coffee these days, and give me the traditional neat kiss goodbye while I'm so reluctant to let you out of the protection of my palms, which look so good on your waist. You smile again, and again your smile is an immaculate fracture, your eyes a deafening abyss for the first time, unreadable to me.

"How are you feeling, my heart?" - I run my hand over your cheek. You're still too pale even by my standards, and you're also unusually cold. My own heart falls down a little, like a balloon under a weight.

"It's okay, Eilish." - You croak softly in my ear, and it feels so good, it gives me goosebumps. I bite playfully on your lobe, unable to contain myself, and close my fingers around your waist a little tighter. - I'll pack our bags, run or you'll be really late."

Something is really wrong, and I don't have time to ask: the phone in the pocket of my shorts is literally bursting with the trill of a dozen calls, and I'm really far behind schedule. So this "something" is sluggishly drowned out in the noise of my mind as I listen to the manager's plans, drive with my mom and brother from place to place, sit through several consecutive interviews, answering semi-automatically, albeit diligently sincere. Thoughts about you are silenced, resembling furniture still untouched by the hungry tongues of flame, on which the burning roof of the house immediately collapses: it is only necessary to "dive" me back into the car, bypassing the noisy and curious crowd, to not meet the usually extremely warm, understanding and peaceful lakes in mom's eyes - this lingering "something" clicks loudly, again burdening not only the head, but also the whole heart. Blinding sparks of worry gleam in her gaze, like lake pebbles catching the light of the sun through the thickness of the waters. Are there secrets again?

"Mom, is something wrong?" - the sliding door slams shut with a bang as soon as several managers and Finn deftly run into the salon, who is almost dragging the setting sun behind him, like a gel ball on a string: his shaggy red hair playfully winking golden lights in the light. The stocky guard taps the side of the van several times with a massive fist, announcing readiness, and And mom is twitching, as if someone fired a cannon - "Mom?"

"I... I don't think I'm at liberty to tell you just yet, dear." - She self-effacing, wanting to look away, but she doesn't let herself, just catches Finneas's gaze for a second, turning back to me.

"What do you mean?" - I frown, leisurely glancing over her: a little hunched over in her unnaturally, stiff, confused. Not at all like her. His heart began to rattle, climbing up his ribs and all the way to his throat, to lodge there in a lump of excitement and foreboding. Finneas coughs awkwardly, drawing attention to himself, as ungainly as our mother, except that his eyes are cold icebergs of concentration and utter seriousness, and his hands are resting on his knees in a tight grip, as if he's on the scariest attraction of his life. The blood in my arteries boils from the pressurization, from mine own blunt ignorance. - "Tell me, I want to know."

"Y/n hasn't told you yet?" - his voice sounds disproportionately ingratiating in the noise of people's shouts of adoration and the soft rustle of wheels gradually gaining momentum. The van moves smoothly back toward the hotel and It's not long before we'll be leave, all that's left is to pick you up, the rest of the faithful crew and a couple of our suitcases. Except to cut that anger-inducing Gordian knot of misunderstandings that has been wagging since I woke up.

"What the hell are you talking about?!" - the words come out like bright, rustling confetti from a naughty firecracker. I still couldn't help myself.

They look at each other in silence, almost shouting a heartfelt epitaph in the harmony of their voices. Finneas touches my shoulder gently with his palm, and mother takes my hands in her warm palms, and I feel a slight tremor creep through her. I feel that now I find myself along with them on this unknown attraction, that twists nerves and veins on its mechanism, being driven by fear.

"About her leukemia, Bils."

And the world immediately collapses to the size of an atom, ceasing to exist and sound at all. Boom! A shot from a shotgun at point-blank range, what smearing my bloody remains, the remnants of my mind on the darkened glass and the entire cabin. From the floor to the roof.

"What?..." - Like the four pearls clicked quietly on the stone tiles of the floor, as my the letters bounced lightly off the silence of the salon, echoing them. Even the small bunch of managers shut up instantly, looking in our direction with a kind of pity, as soon as this harbinger of doom reaches their ears. Leukemia.

"We don't know if it's really true, because the first symptoms could be conjugated by their similarity to simple severe overexertion, and the resulting diagnosis is a likely paperwork error," - Mom closes her gently fingers on my palms tighter, but my blood is already cold and I can't feel anything, as if I've ducked under the thickest of ice, - "We all just hoping that the new test show it's really true, but..."

"But she asked to be ready." - Finn's voice trembles, but he heroically finishes. - "Just in case."

"What?..." - like a wind-up puppet I scatter these long-suffering four letters again, and I don't have enough for more. In an elusive mind, a puzzle flimsily develops, answering a question that has been stuck into my head since the morning, and I see that smile of yours before my eyes - a delicate pink stroke protecting me from the catastrophe of Vesuvius: "It's okay, Eilish...". And immediately so wants seeing the world blurred, drowning in stinging salt from tears.

And I remember jumping out of the van, remember flying into the elevator, hitting the floor button a hundred thousand times in a few seconds just to get to the top faster, remember how kicking the door to our hotelroom with my whole body, catching you off guard. All of this is completely unimportant, a merged sequence that is so treacherously imprinted on my brain while being completely insignificant. You're sitting near the entrance, perched upright on your large suitcase: your sharp shoulders are outlined by my ridiculously colored T-shirt, and your long legs in baggy jeans are stretched out while you tap your converses socks against each other. You jumping up with a startle, like the devil out of a snuffbox under the force of a steel spring, when the door meets the wall with a distinctive slam. The unreadable morning abysses in your eyes are fathomlessly sad now, while I am devoid of words, all the letters of the alphabet, every possible sound. And you understand just so, without any of those empty air vibrations stealing up the already precious now time. You understand what they told me.

"It's not true," - I kneel down, not even closing the door behind me, I don't care. Wrap both palms around your face, but you just stare at me with a look of worldwide sorrow, cuddling up to me like a beaten kitten. - "Tell me I've been lied to..."

"I'm sorry, Eilish," - your soft whisper that hits me exactly in the solar plexus, - "It's true."

It's true. It feels like my guts have been left somewhere in an elevator office, a bloody trail leading right here to you. I was completely blown away.

"Billie, I-"

"Okey, listen, I'll help! I'll pay whatever it takes, I'll give them everything!" - My ligaments were tearing with excitement, turning my own measured whisper into a pathetic whimper.

"There's nothing you could do or say." - You raking me up into your arms, and without a second thought, I burst into tears: the world in front of me was starting to blur and my eyes stinging. Why? Why you? All you do is stroke my head like a whiny little baby while I crumple the fabric of your t-shirt with my hands, choking on my own despair. - "All we have to do for now is wait. We'll find out in Berlin."

"W-why didn't you tell me this morning?"

"I knew you wouldn't go anywhere after that, I didn't want to cause trouble." - You chuckle softly, and I just press myself into you tighter, my wet nose against your neck, my arms wrapped around you. Suddenly, if I let go now, you're gone forever? - "I'm sorry, I know I should have told you sooner. I just..."

"Please don't leave!" - The tears and nerves are starting to make me shake. The feeling of coldness behind my back mixes with a small flame of hope as your hands stroke my shoulder blades. - "Please, please, please..."

"I won't leave, Eilish," - your hand touches my chin, lifting my head to touch my lips with yours, and I gasp, memorizing absolutely every crack on them as if for the last time. - "I won't leave."

I don't remember how much I was hysterical, but the life-giving warmth of your hands lingered in my memory, which spread down my back, giving me like demonic wings, behind which I so want to hide you from everyone and everything. I remember how I collected your tears with my lips, resembling transparent snakes, as two worried heads appeared in the doorway - a copper-red and a light sandy one, it's mom with Finn. We leave the hotel, and I don't let go of your hand for a second: not when you're carrying a heavy suitcase that I'm trying so hard to take away, not when you jump into the car with me, not when we're sitting in line for a flight. Mom tries to defuse the situation, from time to time timidly and tenderly asking about how you feels, Finneas and dad offer all kinds of help here and there, and you just laugh it off, hiding behind this cunning, and even now beautiful in its falsity fracture playing on your lips. You squeeze my hand tighter, stoically swallowing your own excitement, devouring from the inside.

After a while, we are already climbing the airplane ramp, surrounded by the dense darkness of the night, and you are smiling again, when I look at you anxiously again: the smile that you gave me, even when you felt like dying. An old line, personally composed and now my personal nightmare in an instant, become much stronger than before. What else can I do but wait endlessly? Up all night on another red-eye I stared at you just as endlessly, when fatigue took over and you dozed off, trustingly resting your head on my shoulder. I silently memorizing absolutely every feature of your face to plug the abyss in my head. It's all infinity multiplied by infinity.

The porthole is gradually being colored in light blue tones. We have arrived in Berlin.

×××

A ragged breath bounces off the tiled walls, mixing with a loud splash: I emerge from under the thickness of the already almost cooled water, just to hang limply in the wide bathtub. There is an absolute emptiness in my head, shackle me with it's coolness, like this water around my body. So perfectly. I hear a light knock on the bathroom door, so sonorous, as if you are touching the wood with your very knuckles: they are slightly reddish, beautiful. Yes, I think I was too loud. When you don't hear an answer, you press down on the door handle and walk softly through to carefully sit on the side of the bathad. Excitement spreads in your eyes, like rainbow spots of gasoline on the surface of a puddle.

"Billie, are you okay?"

No, are you? It's so ironic that it's being asked by the person who is now in pathological danger more than anyone else. I'm supposed to be strong for you, but somehow I've suddenly broken down on my own, staring so blankly at that spotless white-washed ceiling for half an hour. Worthlessness. The water splashes again, makeshift waves rising slightly over the tub's rims, leaking onto the tile floor as I assume a sitting position and stare at you after all, eye to eye. Naked and insignificant. I can't do nothing with everything I have, I just want to shove a revolver down my throat and pull the trigger with some indescribable pleasure of primacy. It would break my heart if I see how you die slowly, fade away and become a ghost of the past.

"Yes." - My own hoarse echo, covering weakness.

"Your water's cold, a klutz," - you touch your fingertips to the cold surface and shiver. - "and you're also lying."

We stare at each other in silence, and then I break again like a branch of a flowering tree: rustling and crunching. You and the bathroom start to shake, so I cover my eyes to hold back the hailstones of tears.

"I'm sorry."

"Crying isn't like you," your hot palms touch my cheeks with indescribable care, brushing away the droplets of tears and wiping away the clear paths of sadness. - "Never been the type to let someone see right through."

You speak in my own lines, either from the fact that your thoughts are so close to my soul lyrics, or just to cheer me up. You know how much I enjoy it, how much it amuses me. But right now it's not funny, it hurts. You catch my gaze and your lips quickly fold into a sincere "sorry" before kissing my water-damp forehead.

"What will I do without you if this turns out to be true?" - I grab your wrists, pulling you closer, and you smile for the thousandth time in these two days, while the irises of your beautiful eyes reflect my praying glaciers, which melt in despondency, creating new salty rivers that flow between your slender fingers. You never let go of my face. - "What should I do, Y/n?"

"First off, get out of the cold bath so you don't get sick." - you coo, hiding mutual shards of sharp pain in a gaze that's as variable in its spectrum of light as a gothic stained glass window. - "And we'll decide the rest in a warm bed, okay?"

I climb out of the tub, stepping barefoot onto the bare tile, and you deftly throw a huge, soft towel over me and hold out another, smaller one for my hair.

"I'll be waiting, Eilish." - You kiss my lips, and I don't want to pull away, just hang on to your neck with both arms. The soft towel immediately falls to the floor, once again exposing the pale curves of my body, which you look at fleetingly, shyly.

"Stay with me, don't go, please."

And you stay, leaning patiently on the sink built into the nightstand, waiting for me to run a soft towel over the alabaster skin, collecting all the moisture, waiting for me to put on clean clothes. Silently staring, so attentive, as if memorizing.

"You're so beautiful, O'Connell." - You catch me off guard with your words just as I bend over to open the stopper in the tub. The water immediately swirls into a small spiral vortex, dancing over the drain, and your words make it an order of magnitude harder to breathe. - "My insanity.

We go back to the bedroom: I pull you with me, accompanying you confidently between the coffee table and other furnishings in the dark, and you follow obediently, understanding without any words. We lie down on the bed, and I immediately cling to you in a hug like a baby koala and you cover us with a heavy blanket and I exhale for the first time in two days as if nothing had happened. It would be so nice if it were true.

"You need to rest, Bils." - you gently pull me closer to you, though it feels like it's getting no closer, as I lavish light kisses on your face, -"You're tired."

"You still haven't answered my question."

You sigh heavily, as if your lungs are in a vise and your thoughts are trapped in a snare of fears and your own fear of choosing the wrong words. You look away, but I immediately stroke your face, bringing you back to me. I try to look warmly, even though I'm as scared as you are.

"Let's hope? And if it still don't, then... forget me, please."

I covered my eyes to collect my thoughts, but the same picture was in front of them: tourniquet, needles, thick syringe. I watch from the couch as your dark scarlet blood first spreads moderately along the transparent walls of the cylinder, and then quickly runs upwards, following the piston of the pressurized syringe. I fold my hands in front of me between my apart knees, and I can see them trembling with excitement. You told me not to go, and I just couldn't do it, I'm too worried about you. It's only when the thin needle catches a glimmer in the light, darting out of your vein, that I exhale, diligently watching the shiver. My head wants to twitch in a tic, but I don't let it. For your sake I coped then, I need to cope with the words now.

"Do you want to leave?" - The voice twitches so stupidly, echoing the heart that's throbbing behind my sternum. - "What about your promise?"

"I don't want to, but I love you," - and you don't smile anymore, just pull the corners of your lips down, exposing your own weariness. - "And I don't want you to get hurt even when just looking at me."

"Maybe won't you take it back? Say you were tryingna make me laugh." - I bump my nose against your collarbone, sending goosebumps through your body with my hot breath. - "It'll hurt me even more when I know you'll be alone, that I won't be able to be there for you when I can help in any way, Y/n."

"But now you feel weak and insignificant, I can see that, Eilish! And it's all my fault!" - You furies on, and I deftly catch your lips with mine for a soothing kiss. You exhale stunned, but immediately calm down, becoming so soft and supple in my arms. Only now do I realize how much you've broken yourself under the strain of waiting, realize I can't let go.

"I can't escape the way I love you..." - softly humming just one line, and the embers of hope are already kindling in your eyes.

"I can't escape the way I love you." - you whisper repeat confidently, quieting my restless seas in response.

And we touch each other's lips an infinite number of times, without any words or oppressive thoughts, because they are not necessary now. The excited exhalations, looks, and sensations mean so much more now. You drift off to sleep unnoticed by exhaustion, not breaking the safe warmth of the embrace, sniffle amusedly into my shoulder, and I finally smile with more than a serene smile before I drift off into the realm of Morpheus after you, gulping down a thousand hopes.

It's just over ten hours to the rubicon crossing.

×××

Finneas awkwardly grips the long fingerboard of the bass guitar, touching the thick strings with his fingers, not so much testing as seeking reassurance in the sound. He looks at me, and I shudder as I lean on the microphone stand. The stage lights flared up in one loud click, blinding me, making me frown.

"Are you ready?" - From afar, somewhere in the darkness, the cameraman's cheerful voice is heard.

"One second!" - Mom shrieks from backstage as I almost nod. Synchronously, my brother and I turn our heads in the direction of the shout, and this action also recurs by the rest of the studio staff. Mom is glowing brighter than any spotlight, Dad is almost dancing with a mixture of emotions, and you're standing backstage with them, clutching a folded sheet of paper in your hands. And you smile. At last, without a fracture, so sincerely.

Finn jumps up from his seat like a rocket, and I keep up: flying into your arms with the microphone in hand, making you stagger, but with light laugh.

"Negative." - you whisper gently in my ear, and I'm ready to burst into millions of brightest fireworks. - "The hospital really just mixed up the paperwork back then."

And when the rest of the family joins the hug with joyful hooting, and we all jump together like a football team that won a world match, the heart finally finds peace, getting into the precisely designed groove between the ribs.

You're all right.

#billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader

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humbledragon669 · 4 months

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S1E3 – Hard Times Write Up P2 – The Globe Theatre London (1601) and the Burbage Meta

This part of the write up for episode 3 is going to take on a slightly different format, in that it will only be covering a very short (approx. 4 minutes) section of the episode. It will also contain the details of a meta-theory I have based on the short conversation that takes place in this scene, and I’ll be analysing the comings and goings of the scene in greater detail to try and demonstrate how the theory came to fruition. I’m not going to lie – this theory is likely to be HUGELY unpopular. I am not a fan of it myself but it’s where my head canon is at, and if it were true might explain one other unknown piece of canon. So, with all that said, let’s get started.

Before we get into the weeds, I’d just like to take a moment to appreciate the soundtrack for this scene. I’ve spoken before about David Arnold’s ability to compose incidental music of all manner of styles to assist with scene setting and the piece playing in the background here is no exception. The use of period instruments, simple orchestration and playful melody do an excellent job in establishing our place in the timeline. Chapeau, sir.

Alright, let’s get the ball rolling with some familiar ground, specifically the obvious joy on Aziraphale’s face when Crowley arrives.

Look at that happy little face! It looks like pure reflex too, he just can’t help himself. Did you appreciate that little suggestion that this is a happy couple on a pre-arranged date? Well hold on to it, because things are about to get rocky.

I’m going to skip ahead a little bit, but I will be coming back to look at some of the other interactions that take place here later on. I’ll mention (briefly) that this scene is the first we learn of the “Arrangement” actually being in place and that they have invoked it “dozens of times” (the book confirms it was originally enacted in 1020). It took me a little while to twig, but the fact that they do work on behalf of the other doesn’t just mean that Crowley is capable of blessing things and using his miracles for good (the latter isn’t so dubious – they both seem to use their miracles more like magic tricks anyway), but that Aziraphale is capable of tempting people into (bad) things. Food for thought.

When I first started looking at this episode with a mind to doing a write up for it, there was one of Aziraphale’s lines that stood out to me:

The reason it stood it is because it feels almost… lustful. And it shouldn’t because he’s not talking about Crowley here, but the actor on the stage – Richard Burbage. I dismissed it because I did not care for what that might mean for our precious darlings. That’s ridiculous, right? Aziraphale desiring someone other than the tall dark prince. Absolutely.

Time for a tangent.

After I finished writing Dangerous Liaisons (a 5+1 fix-it fic I wrote based on the theory that the entire Final 15 is all just an act), I found myself wanting to fill in some of the gaps that I had touched upon in the fic. There is mention of certain events, and of declarations of love on both sides, at particular points in their history, and my brain was already whirring about if I was to write them (spoiler alert: I am 100% going to write them), what the details were. One of those events takes place in 1941, which got me thinking about Aziraphale spitting out that he did the “I Was Wrong” dance that year. Which in turn got me wondering about what that dance would have been for. Which in turn got me thinking about what the other instances of the “I Was Wrong” dance in 1650 and 1793 could have been for, and eventually I was at the point where I wasn’t just planning to write more fics about the events mentioned in Dangerous Liaisons, but my versions of how those apology dances came about as well.

At the time, I had a notion that perhaps the 1941 dance had been done as an apology for Aziraphale’s outburst in 1862 about the holy water. Similarly, I had an idea that the 1793 dance could potentially have been about the fact that Aziraphale had (very stupidly) gone to France during a war against aristocracy, dressed in finery, for nothing more than crèpes. But the 1650 dance? I had no clue.

Until I went back to this scene.

What if. What if that lustful undertone I thought I had detected when Aziraphale speaks about Richard Burbage wasn’t nothing at all? Honestly, when my brain offered me that idea, it felt like fireworks had gone off in my head. Did I like it? FUCK NO. Did it make a weird sort of sense? Urgh, so help me, it kind of did. So hold on people, I’m going to say it quickly, because I am not enjoying writing it about as much as you aren’t going to enjoy reading it.

I think Aziraphale had an emotional affair with Richard Burbage.

I think not only did Crowley know about it, but that initially he gave it his blessing. I think Crowley changed his mind when he realised how much he was hurting as a result of it. I think Crowley tried to talk Aziraphale out of it under the pretence of not wanting him to feel the pain of heartbreak when Burbage inevitably died. I think they had a huge row about it. And I think the 1650 “I Was Wrong” dance was Aziraphale apologising for it all.

Hate me now? It’s OK if you do, I kinda hate myself for thinking it in the first place to be honest.

I know you’re probably thinking “well, what on earth were the 1793 and 1941 apology dances for then? If the original dance was for something as awful as an “affair”, what could he possibly have done in later years that would have been bad enough that the dance needed to be repeated?”. I know you’re thinking it because it’s exactly what I thought when my brain force fed me this theory in the first place. So here’s the thing.

I don’t think the dances in 1793 and 1941 were for anything different.

I think all three of the instances of the apology dances were for the same thing – Aziraphale’s emotional affair with Richard Burbage. Because it’s the one thing Crowley can secretly never forgive him for, even though he gave him permission to do it in the first place.

I suppose I had better start talking to explain myself here, shouldn’t I? Well, alright then, I will, but only about my reasoning for the theory – the playing out of the dances I will be writing about in my fics.

Let’s start with the little glance at Burbage we see from Aziraphale when Crowley says he hates the ”gloomy” Shakespeare plays:

I’ve slowed it down so that you can see it, but Aziraphale’s primary concern about Crowley’s criticism is whether or not Burbage has heard it – that’s where his gaze initially goes to before being distracted by an approaching Shakespeare.

OK, OK, a single glance and a single line of script. That’s hardly a confession, is it? Well, I’m not done yet. Let’s have a look at Aziraphale falling over himself to reassure Burbage of his talents.

This sort of gushing simper is something you might usually see from a teenage girl trying to bolster the older boy she has a desperate (and inappropriate) crush on, often when responding to an attempt by him to fish for compliments or show the younger girl up. It makes me a little sick at just how desperately Aziraphale offers his support here to be honest. My feelings aside, his babbling flattery wins him Burbage’s attention, which clearly delights the angel.

I’m sure most people would be happy to believe that the reason Aziraphale denies his friendship with Crowley is because that is the standard for them both, but I think there’s more to it than that. I’m of the mind that Burbage and Aziraphale already know each other at this point, and that they’ve already begun to develop feelings for one another. Burbage asking Aziraphale about his “friend” isn’t just a general question - it’s tinged with jealousy. He wants to know who this man is, not in an attempt to garner more compliments, but because he’s feeling threatened by his presence. As well he should. Let’s also take a look at Aziraphale’s face after Crowley’s presence has been pointed out:

Does it look familiar to you? It does to me. It’s the face he pulls when he’s in trouble for doing something he knows he should be in trouble for. Just like when Nina drops him in the shit with Crowley for having a naked man in his shop:

We can also see Crowley starting to cotton on to things in this little exchange. He sees Aziraphale’s desperation and flustering, sees the human’s jealousy and possessiveness. So what does he do? He does what any self-respecting mischief-loving demon would do. He decides to join the pissing contest. You can see his decision in his expression here:

If that expression wasn’t enough to let you know that he’s entering the ring at this point, his dismissive response to Burbage’s challenge should be enough to tell you he now considers this man fair game.

I think you should get on with the play.

Ouch. Saucer of milk, Crowley? Or maybe just turn your disdain to the person you’re actually upset with? Ah, he’s got that covered, showering Aziraphale with sass when he heckles Burbage. You can see a little train of emotions going through his expression here – amusement morphs into shock and disbelief, finally indicating his incredulity with a head shake so subtle you can only just catch it in the movement of his hair.

Quick side note: in the script, Burbage gives Aziraphale a “grateful thumbs up” at the heckle. Very friendly, don’t you think?

And so we come to the hateful fateful line that got us into this mess in the first place.

He’s very good, isn’t he?

And now it takes on a whole different level of meaning, doesn’t it? This is him asserting his pride at Burbage’s talents, justifying his feelings in a thinly veiled confession, and subtextually seeking approval from the one person in the world that he would ever want it from.

Let me be clear: I do not believe that Aziraphale is sexually attracted to Burbage, or that he’s in love with him. I think he feels a deep emotional attraction to him and there isn’t a doubt in my mind that Burbage’s talent is what’s really driving it. It’s worth remembering that Richard Burbage was a real historical person, who was the resident actor at the Globe Theatre. He played virtually every major role in the company, and it is generally thought that the role of Hamlet was written for and based on him. He was possibly considered the greatest actor of his time.

Crowley’s response, which comes after a tiny pause, seems oddly out of character.

Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety.

For those who don’t know, this line is an almost direct quote from Shakespeare’s “Antony and Cleopatra” (written after 1601, hence why Shakespeare makes a note of it when Crowley speaks). It’s spoken by Enobarbus, Antony’s best friend, who acts as a reasoned counsellor to Antony, offering advice unbiased by an all-consuming infatuation with Cleopatra. The pronouns have been changed in Crowley’s rendition (the resulting line in the play is about Cleopatra, so “his” becomes “her”). I have no doubt that Crowley’s subtext is pretty thickly layered here, so I’m going to try and break it down a bit:

We have a reference to age not having an effect on appearance. This is pretty obviously a characteristic of both himself and Aziraphale, immortal beings as they are.

The second half of the line he delivers is a reference to the subject having a range of moods that are unpredictable in their application.

The line as a whole takes these two ideas and wraps them in the suggestion that the subject is overwhelmingly attractive to many.

So taking all of that into consideration, I believe that the subject of Crowley’s line here is Aziraphale. He’s the one who doesn’t age, who is unpredictable and has fickle moods. It’s a reminder to himself of the things he finds attractive in Aziraphale and why others might also be drawn to him. It’s his admission that in this situation, he must be Enobarbus, the advisor, but that one day he can resume his role as Antony to Aziraphale’s Cleopatra. I mean, where else do we think he gets his 20th century first name from anyway?

That was a lot of analysis for a tiny handful of words. Aziraphale is less impressed with them, presumably because his little crush’s talent has not been recognised and he didn’t get the approval he was looking for.

The conversation that follows lets us know that Crowley has called this meeting. What’s interesting though is that according to Crowley’s opening line of the scene, it would appear that the location choice was Aziraphale’s.

I thought you said we’d be inconspicuous here.

This would suggest that Aziraphale knew that Burbage was going to be displaying his talents and that it would give him ample opportunity to show him off. Poor Crowley has been completely ambushed.

The majority of the conversation after this point is largely business-related, but it doesn’t stop Aziraphale from returning his eyes to Burbage at every opportunity, who is relentlessly charging through his lines in the background. Interestingly, the only line we focus on him for is this “the pangs of despised love”, which refers to the heartache caused by love that ends badly. And what other way is there for the affair between him and Aziraphale to end but badly? He’s human. He’s going to die. Leaving Aziraphale heartbroken. The frame just before these words are delivered would suggest that Aziraphale isn’t actually paying attention to him when he says them (shocking), so he’s probably missed that particular point entirely.

It's touching to see that Aziraphale does still care for Crowley, despite whatever else might be going on in his brain – his main concern, at least on the surface, is that it could put Crowley in danger if they invoke the Arrangement. In truth, I think he’s also considering the possibility that he might get to stay in London to spend more time with Burbage if he doesn’t have to go to Edinburgh; it’s written all over the lingering gaze he shoots the actor’s way when he’s offered the change to “toss for Edinburgh” (*smirk*)

And just look how disappointed he is when he loses:

And as if Aziraphale had not asked enough of his demon already, he overhears a conversation between Shakespeare and the oyster vendor (named Juliet, wonder if old Bill stole her name for anything he’d written previously…), prompting him to ask Crowley for a favour. I don’t think this could be interpreted as anything other than a secret gift from Aziraphale to Burbage. He obviously thinks it’s a marvellous idea and has set his heart on having it – just look at his silent ask of Crowley:

If that little eyebrow raise looks familiar, it’s because exactly the same micro-expression we see when he silently asks Crowley to clean his jacket in episode 2:

Let’s just for a moment say that my theory about all of this is complete guff. Why would Aziraphale be so desperate for Hamlet to succeed? Why this particular play? I’m prepared to settle and say the reason he doesn’t do the miracle himself is because he’s just lost the toss and is about to go and do Crowley’s job for him, but I can’t work out why he would be so keen for this play to succeed if there wasn’t some sort of emotional attachment involved with its lead actor and inspiration. So, I’m sticking to my guns on this one. Note: I’m not going into any metafiction stuff about both David and Michael having played Hamlet to high acclaim – everything here stays strictly within the GO universe.

And, like the lovesick little puppy that Crowley is, he gives his heart’s desire what it desires, even though it isn’t him. He even calls it a “treat”, and it earns him a pretty sweet smile of gratitude.

I don’t believe that Crowley’s gesture here is without subtext. I think this is him giving Aziraphale the approval he was fishing for earlier. And Aziraphale knows it – his secondary response (after that big soppy grim) is one of delighted relief. I have no doubt that Crowley is smarting a little by this point, and that’s borne out by the fact that he now leaves the theatre alone. If we look at the ends of each of the historical scenes, there are three where one of our hero couple leaves without the other (I’m not counting the departure in 537 AD where they both leave simultaneously). One is in 1862 (where Aziraphale refuses to supply Crowley with holy water) and another in 1967 (which I obviously haven’t covered yet) where Aziraphale leaves after delivering his soul-destroying “you go too fast” revelation. The other is this one. It’s seems very fitting that the only scenes where we see one of them leaving without the other are scenes where there is emotional tension between them. More importantly for this scene though is not so much that Crowley leaves, but that Aziraphale stays, his gaze instantly returning to Burbage on the stage. Not only is his face still fixed with a soppy smile, but he resumes eating – something we will see him using as a flirting device with Crowley in future years.

There’s one last thing I want to talk about from the beginning of this scene that I think bears mentioning:

Setting aside the fact that he miracles a coin out of thin air right in front of a human’s face here, there’s something else that draws my attention. The vendor in this micro-scene gives a customer two choices: oysters or oranges. Aziraphale chooses a third option, that we as the audience are not aware is available: grapes. Is it too extreme to consider this to be foreshadowing the choice that Aziraphale will make in this scene? As an entity, we have seen him try to choose between Heaven and Crowley for centuries, but here he will instead choose a third, previously unknown, option – Richard Burbage.

So there we have it. If you’ve stuck with me this far, I really do congratulate you. And I’m sorry. I’m not exaggerating when I say that writing this all down was actually really hard to do. I don’t want any of what I’ve theorised here to be true as much as most of the GO fandom, but once the idea planted its seed I could see how much sense it made.

If you’re still reading, and don’t hate me too much, I’ve written the prologue and first chapter of the fic that goes with this meta (you can find it here). I’ll be writing the second and third chapters covering the other “I Was Wrong” dances once I’ve completed the analysis for their relevant scenes, though that does mean the 1941 chapter will be a little while in the making.

Not sure I really want to include my usual sign off here, but… questions, comments, discussion always welcome. (Please don’t throw too much abuse at me!)

#good omens #episode analysis #good omens season 1 #aziracrow #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #head canon #crowley loves aziraphale #ao3 fanfic #aziraphale loves food #meta thoughts #aziraphale #crowley

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night-shadowblood-writes2 · 14 days

Text

Bridge The Gap With Me

Noa x human reader

basically we wake up in their world and we are trying to survive it. I did not edit this at all so if there are mistakes I'm sorry

chapter 1: waking up in a new world

Running feeling the wind in my hair the cool air rushing by my face with each step the deep inhail every few seconds filling my lungs a wide smile spread across my face. I felt free like a bird in the sky no one to hold me back. It gave me pure joy the terrain was new exciting and I was in no way letting stop me. I jumped over rocks, dodged tree roots, and rounded trees.

I loved it here the world so untouched by human hands watching from a screen was so different I air felt so much fresher and when I finally slow in small meadow I lay in the grass. I remembered when I woke up here I was in an empty building a binker of some kind, I was cautious scared even I took careful steps when there was no one around almost like I was abandoned here.

I remembered panicking but a few hours later I got up and looked further in depth in what I had missed I saw notes in books and plans that was there. It was far from the year I was in 300 years farther. I looked for provisions and it was mostly rotten or old. I ate what was edible and started planning what I could do to servive I couldnt stay here I even if I wanted to I needs resources in order to live.

So I grabbed the best kept bag and filled it with what I could. 2 pairs of pants that fit me well enough 2 shirts one was one size larger the other fits rather snug and the one I currently wore which for the best a pair of sturdy gloves. I got a pair of steel toe boots half a size too big I grabbed what looked like soap hand made and as much medical supplies I could a tent and sleeping bag.

My best finds after that was a pair of hunting knives that needed a bit of sharpening two metal pots and a fire starter. with those tools and supplies I walked out into the world. What met me was a world that mother nature reclaimed. With a deep breath I stepped out and left my safety net and leapt into the fire and here I am now a few months later. It was was slap to the face the harshness of my new reality but I did it somehow. I swore I cant thank myself enough for watching those videos on survival and the notes from the bunker on what was safe and what to stay away from.

So here I am now in this small meadow the grass tickling me it was spring time early spring to me it seems. I was getting close to a few building that were in the distance I was hoping to find temporary shelter there.

With a sigh I got up and walked there keeping an eye out if there was one thing I learned while in the bunker was that the new world I found myself in was my favorite movie series. Apes have taken control of the world and because humanity had little to do with the world other than struggle to survive it became this new beautiful utopia.

After a few hours and my feet feeling like the were swollen from all my traveling I arrived to buildings covered in vines I made sure I was properly covered getting tetanus was not on my list today or any other day. It was like looking at ruins on the computer or TV so beautifully tragic. I found a library and I swore I felt tears filled my eyes something to pass time no longer would I be stuck with my thoughts.

I looked at survival books medical books and tentivly I made my way to the kids area and found books that brought me back to my childhood Dr Seuss, the hungry caterpillar, and the rainbow fish from there I went to fictional stories like the Percy Jackson books to romance books to thrillers I filled a backpack full of my finds. I then found paper and pencils and art books that were there whether I was a good artist or not I didn't care. Even if I was alone I felt atleast a little less so now. I chose a random book and began to read letting myself escape even for a little bit. once I finished a chapter I got up made sure I was safe and secure and got ready for bed.

I stayed the one week before deciding to leave but making sure to remeber where it was incase I wanted to return. ive been on the road for a few hours when I came across a tunnel and was deciding if I should chajnce it and step through, after a few seconds to considering it I walked through. It was damp and smelled weird but with a brisk walk I was finally on the other side.

"Hmm now which direction should I go?" I said to myself my voice a little hoarse from no use. Deciding to go straight I remebered to remain diligent and keep alook out just because i havent seen and ape or human doesnt mean theres not any out there and if there was either I had no way of knowing if they were friendly.

It was starting to get dark so i found a liitle space to pitch my tent and make a small fire nothing too big just enough to keep me warm. I pulled out some water and a few berries I found on the way safe to eat from what the guides I had said. I was exhuasted making sure the fire was secure and no way start a forest fire i gotinto my tent and into my sleeping bag and slowly drifted to sleep. ' I hope I can meet someone soon.. hopefully someone nice' was my final though before I slept the same thought after a few weeks after waking up here.

#kotpota #noa kotpota #noa x human reader #basically an isekai I guess #noa x reader #kingdome of the planet of the apes

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terranceholdsapencil · 5 months

Text

Okay I watched the devils chord now so some thoughts and moments under the cut

S14e03 "the devil's chord" doctor who spoilers

-knocking from inside a piano after someone played a tritone is actually the coolest fucking entrance

-"Henry, get away from him" "Them." "What" "Me." "What." "Im - them" "Youre who?" "YOure who"

-"But its SOOO SAAAAAD, TIMOTYYYY"

Half of this is actually just the way maestro says things it DOES something to me

-NEW DOCTOR WHO INTRO MUSIC VARIANT!!!

ANd its playing on the JUKEBOX

-"that. is. AMAZING!" "OH WAIT SERIOUSLY?" "OOUHH! PEOPLE ALWAYS SAY THE TITANIC! OR MARS! OR BETLEHEM!! But the BEATLEEEEEEES! WhY have I never done thAt before?"

-the way theyre walking around the tardis after changing. California soul in the background. Im in love theyre having so much fun.

-"nineteen sixty thrEEHEHEHEY!"

-fun and humming conga line music on a zebra crossing. Im in LOVE

-"How do we get in? Wont they ask who we are?" "ngE"

-the way 15 and ruby giggle.

-"Ive got a dog and hes called fred"

-"You take John Lennon Ill take Paul McCartney"

-susan mentioned. One referenced. I miss them. Also susan is not dead. I dont care if she never turns up again. She is not dead because I said so.

-something about the way 15 leans on the wall and looks at the city while ruby plays

-the orchestra tuning in on her playing after a while. Maybe its cause Im so happy theres new doctor who but I got goosebumps

-the arpeggio giggle oh my god I LOVE IT

-the tuning fork??? Even ignoring the gorgeous outfit the TUNING FORK???

-at this point I wanted to look if there was a german dub (cause thats my native language). There wasnt. But there was a czech dub, and Im half czech. So I turned that on for a second. And let me tell you, Maestros voics in the czech dub?? Once again. I am IN LOVE.

-sincr when can the sonic just turn off sound

-the workaround with the water was actually great

-i couldnt take "i dont know, Ruby, that is the point, I dont. know." "BUT YOU ALWAYS KNOW-" "I DONT. " seriously cause ruby basically just met him. And literally just last ep he didnt know things. This moment doesnt hit because the first part doesnt ring true yet. I think thats my general problem?? I LOVE ruby and 15 but theyre so familiar and close and stuff but theyve known each other for a VERY SHORT real time, considering this ep supposedly comes directly after the last and the last literally starts directly after she entered the tardis.

-"i was born in 2004" that feels fake cause my best friend was born in 2004. Theres no way youre only 2 years older and youre a doctor who companion and Im just a sad dude

-i will be honest I was very much very disappointed by the fact we actually got to see the destroyed future. I totally expected she comes back in crying or something and we have to fill in the gap. Instead we see cgi broken london. BUT that allowed for maestros fucking iconic entrance with the shoe shot so I am not mad

-maestro being the toymakers child works surprisingly well thats lots of fun

-the way maestro lay on the piano? Iconic. Absolutely iconic. I love them. Gorgeous. Beautiful. Camp af. Fun. Pure. I-co-nic.

-more maestro saying things in the greatest fucking way possible:

-"Im going sOlO. :D"

THEIR FACIAL EXPRESSION??

-"A gEnius 💁"

-"I sAid gEniuSss. And you might be brIght. And hot. And... (dun-dun-dun) timey-wImey"

That totally got me I replayed this like 10 times instead of continueing to watch the ep. I can only repeat myself: In. Love.

-tardis with the lights out?? GORGEOUS. My eyes have been blessed. Beautiful. I love her so much shes my everything.

-"Im sorry im sorry *kiss kiss*. Dont hate me"

the way he apologises to her tardis and the doctor forever

-when they got out of the tardis he said something in a different language. The subtitles say its turkish. Does anyone know what he said?

-"I thought that was non-diegetic"

First: iconic that the score was actually heard in universe. Love it. Great idea. You totally get me with that.

Secondly: does that line imply the doctor always hears the score? Cause he said HE thought it was non-diegetic. Does he hear his own themes? Does it ruin emotional moments? If hes doing a speech does it distract him?

-"Playing love-sick sOngs for heartbroken lesbians, and thAt just makes me hungry for all those delicious songs"

-they had a music battle. They had a music battle with personified music and basically won. Not only that. Personified music actually said the words "mUsic bAttle". So stupid. Maybe I love it.

-no matter what I think of the idea of a music battle with personified music, the actual music battle was so much fun to watch. I loved it. Im gonna rewatch it.

-"Ive experienced everything"

No you havent thats the point. Im actually mad at that line. No he hasnt. The reason he travels is to find whatever he hasnt experienced yet. Literally JUST LAST EP he was completely baffled by the space babies and the bogeyman. This ep he was overwhelmed by the stolen music. He has experience ALOT, possibly more than anyone before him, but not everything. Never everything.

-honestly i think its rude to call this a beatles episode when they were basically not in it at all. Ian listened to the beatles back in classic who and they looked at a concert and the presence of the beatles in that episode is almost bigger to me than them in this ep.

-the musical number at the end. So stupid. So silly. I love it. Thats insane. But fun. But stupid. But fun. Also hello Henry Arbinger looking at the musical number

-was the rain during the musical number for real? Where'd it come from?? They were INSIDE. Was that just for the fun time? Because the snow in space babies was important.

-the zebra crossing making music. Im in love. I wanna. I want to dance on it too. So much fun. The stripes are even glowing.

#doctor who #doctor who thoughts #doctor who spoilers

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bleedingcloud · 7 days

Text

9/19/24

Anyone who knows me knows that for one, I always say I'll be succinct, and I never am.

Anyone who knows me also knows that I'm a very reserved person. Someone once told me that I'm the queen of deflecting. (If you see this, ily).

Truthfully, this has been one of the worst years of my life.

Irreconcilable grievances amongst a myriad of conflating factors have cast over the wonderful things that I have encountered and experienced this year.

I have always attempted to be a kind and altruistic person. My intentions have always been a pure display of my intrinsic desire to put action behind my words, show up in a multitude of ways for others, and prove to them that there are people who care. It is meaningless to me the amount of time I have known an individual. I will always go out of my way to bend over backwards to disprove theories of isolation.

Regardless of how hard I try, I cannot change this value. I am a problem solver by nature and I want to help. I would drop everything and anything to drive hundreds of miles to be there to show you that you're not alone.

The weight of my endeavors has never felt as fruitless as they have felt this year. This is not to say I have felt any regret over anything I've done. I am a firm believer in people doing things because they want to, not because of some arbitrary obligation.

There are people dependent on me. I don't mean in a "my friends need me!" kind of way, but rather dependents that require financial, emotional, and physical presence. My survival is contingent on the dependency of others.

I feel like this year I've had such a disconnect in reconciling my past and future in this weird space of purgatory.

In spaces of academic elitism, I struggle to connect, having gone to a Title I-funded public school system for the duration of my youth. I make attempts to cut through the class gaps and prove my worth as an academic. These efforts find me in good faith with my professors, but studying alone for hours is nothing more than an outlet to distract from the fact that I am alone. Academia has always been my coping mechanism. I can throw myself into hours of reading and work, and the academic gratification feels fulfilling.

I turn to those I miss and love, but at times, it feels there are these unspoken distances or spaces between, or maybe I have grown away. I am incredibly appreciative of those still in my life that I do love and care about.

My family is a mess I wouldn't attempt to touch in this venting session, but know they're always on my mind, in the most gut-wrenching and painful way.

I've felt this year has just been me being squeezed for juice and there's nothing left for me to give. My cup has not been refilled. My attempts to fill my cup have been going back to my previous mention of ensuring others don't feel alone.

I have been told you cannot martyr yourself, but I cannot conceivably conjure up an alternative purpose. My life is not for me - it is simply a vehicle to help others. That is what gives me purpose.

I have loved and I have lost so much this year. I have reached out absent any responses. It has been incredibly difficult for me to reconcile how I could have so much love in my heart and yet feel so innately alone. I have committed social suicide with the potential intent of committing the real deal. I have attempted to drown the weight in my heart with any means necessary to make it go away. I have screamed and cried and pleaded with G-d or whoever else would possibly hear my cries and tell me it was going to be okay.

I have done some incredible things this year. I have loved and enjoyed and indulged and learned so much. I would not write this with the intent to paint a false image. People have done so much for me and shown me so much love. I'm just trying to keep moving forward. I am searching for alternative means.

The most gut-wrenching pain I have encountered this year has been my expression of love and care in its entirety to those around me and receiving not an iota of love back. Giving my all to someone or something and being met with disillusion and moments of exclusion. I’ve always felt marganilized in various spaces throughout my life, but never as much as I have this year. I am not enough for spaces of elitism, but how could I not be enough or maybe even too much for camaraderie? This is my elegiac moment. I ask for nothing. I should expect nothing.

I'm going to keep pushing through because I know my love isn't wasted and I know my efforts might be fruitless, but they mean something to me. Despite how different I crave to be, despite how much I want to absolve myself of altruism, I cannot. These factors are far too intrinsic to erase.

Hearing someone tell me how much my words, actions, or efforts meant to them make it worth it - gives my life meaning.

If you need me, you know where to find me.

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nowoyas · 2 years

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Edible Arrangements 33

First - Prev - Next - M.list - Read on Ao3

A/N: i didn't forget you forgot

Chapter Summary: Neito attends his first therapy appointment. You head out with Tenya to cope.

Warnings: slight angst

Word Count: ~2900 words

…

Dr. Fuyumi’s office is cold.

Neito doesn’t know what, exactly, he expected in a place like this. But it’s cold.

The walls are a soft blue, the carpets winding with a blend of colors—cream, black, and red. The rot in his skin. The blood tainting his soul.

She’s got a gentle tone when she speaks. He wonders about her quirk, wonders if it’s something suitable to counseling services like this. He kind of expected most great therapists would have quirks that were… memory-based, or otherwise emotions, or something like aromatherapy. Anything that would aid their therapy services.

It was not uncommon that he found himself toying with the urge to initiate contact with someone, solely out of a desire to copy their quirk and figure out what secrets it held in the few precious minutes he’d have with it.

She had to know about his quirk. It was in his intake paperwork. But she hadn’t made any move to prevent him from copying it, if he wanted.

Tell me a little bit about why you’re here today, she had asked him. That had been three… no, four now, minutes ago. She’d waited patiently as he took in the carpet, the walls, the ceiling, the little flecks of red interspersed in her hair.

“I’m a horrible person,” he says finally into the silence.

She’d had a surprise cancellation, an unexpected opening in her schedule, and then, Neito had gotten in, based purely on being the first one on the waitlist to answer his phone when she called to fill the gaps.

“Well, I haven’t seen anything to imply that,” she says evenly. “What makes you think so?”

“I…” He sighs. Where do you even begin telling a therapist about issues that involve something she probably doesn’t even think is real? “Do you know about vampires, Dr. Todoroki?”

“Fuyumi,” she corrects gently. “And I suppose you could say I do.”

He arches a perfectly maintained brow her way. That’s… a weird way to answer. “Tell me what you think you know.”

She quirks a secretive smile. “More than I think you realize.”

Fuck it. He’s already here for mental health reasons. It’s not like she’s ever going to think he’s sane.

Might as well frontload her with it.

“I thought of myself as a vampire hunter. Thought I was helping people. I… you know, all the old literature, the even older stuff that started the idea, was all about how they’re monsters, right? They take advantage of and hurt people. They manipulate, kill, take whatever they want and leave nothing for anyone else. There is no way for a vampire to ethically exist, because they have to harm others in order to continue living. I’m a Philosophy major, so I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that stuff. So I took it on myself to fix the situation.”

She stares at him as he speaks. She doesn’t move to say anything.

“I nearly killed someone. Hurt someone else, who I thought he was taking advantage of, because he was a vampire and they were clearly being bitten by someone. That was months ago. Within a few days, my stepsister decided to tell me that she’s been a vampire for god knows how long, by turning me into one. As revenge, I guess. So now I’m stuck as the thing I thought was a monster, and maybe I am one, but I don’t feel the urge to hurt anyone, which means that ethically, I might be a better person than before, because I have more potential to seriously hurt someone but even less desire to, because I nearly killed someone and realized how fucked up I was being, and I feel like I’m falling apart, and you probably think I’m experiencing delusions or—or something.”

There’s a soft tilt to her head, a moment where she processes everything.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I wish I had their quirk. I feel like you’re lying to me.”

“No, Neito,” she replies. “I’m really not.”

Dr. Fuyumi Todoroki smiles with her fangs out.

Izuku does not respond to the messages sent his way. Tenya, of course, has bowed out entirely, leaving only the following members of the [Name] Protection Squad present for today’s meeting: Neito, presiding. Itsuka, reluctant but with a sense of obligation. Hitoshi is steadfast in his attendance, Mina had plans she couldn’t cancel, and Tsuyu comes in her stead with the promise to inform her of any happenings.

“Anyone else think it’s weird that Loverboy isn’t here?” Hitoshi comments, his breath puffing white in the February air. “You’d think he’d drop everything if it meant helping out his human.”

Neito nods, sighing. “He wouldn’t respond at all. I even tried calling him.”

Hitoshi makes a questioning grunt, but shrugs it off. “Alright. Probably just busy.”

“Or he’s just not in a good state, kero.” Tsuyu places a finger to her chin. “I think I remember [name] mentioning that that girl who died was one of his TAs. He’s with [name], so I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Right.”

“So why are we here, again?” Hitoshi leans against the wall behind him, arms crossed. Tonight, they’d chosen the campus swingset to hand out near, surrounded in its high walls. It’s nice. Secluded.

“As I’m sure we’re all very aware, we’ve made little to no progress breaking their thrall,” Neito says. “Not for lack of trying, but for lack of information.”

The group nods in their own time.

“Didn’t you have some idea about that?”

He nods back. “I did. But we have a slight snag in the plan. It’s going to be more complicated than I expected.”

“Why’s that?” It’s the first Itsuka’s spoken since agreeing to tag along. Neito brought her in hopes that she’d tell him if he was being a dumbass. Here’s hoping the plan holds up to her well-honed dumbass detection.

“So, the plan was to start seeing [name]’s old therapist. Genuinely, I was going to continue seeing her, because as I’m sure we’re all aware, I’m not the most… hinged member of society.”

“Damn right,” Hitoshi grumbles. Neito blissfully waves it off.

“But since she is [name]’s former therapist, she should still have [name]’s therapy notes.”

Tsuyu blinks into realization. “Oh. Evidence.”

He snaps his fingers. “Exactly! I intended to enthrall the therapist, get the notes, and then wipe her memory of the exchange. It would have been perfect evidence—notes from someone who wouldn’t benefit from falsifying notes, and [name] could consider forgiving me for the breach in privacy later.”

“So what went wrong? Clearly you wouldn’t be talking like this if it’d worked.”

He pulls a thin smile. “Well, it would have worked beautifully if she wasn’t a vampire herself.”

He snorts. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

“So, what?” Itsuka raises an eyebrow. “What are you thinking instead?”

“Murder,” he says flatly. “Obviously.”

She’s not impressed.

“That was a joke, in case it wasn’t clear. I don’t want to let go of the plan to get her therapy notes, but without being able to enthrall her therapist, I’m not sure how else we would get them. Unless… we make some plans.”

He waves his arms out in invitation. “Who wants to violate some patient privacy rights?”

Izuku does not approve of you being out and about right now. Tenya, for his part, isn't much of a fan, either, after you told him about the whole deal with Momo and her missing killer, but he jumped at your call and was more than happy to come with you when you invited him out. You both need to worry about birthday present shopping for Tsuyu, anyway, and birthdays don't stop for anxieties about potential murderers.

Your marks have been itching plenty lately. Last night, you went out with Mina, and you felt it, the low burn of eyes on you. Someone marking you.

You, in all your alcohol-fueled indifference, could not have given less of a shit.

So here you are, hungover, in a bright mall, probably looking like an absolute disaster especially next to Tenya, always well-kept Tenya. He doesn’t approve of your general state right now, either, of course he doesn’t, but there’s a softness in his disapproval. A kindness.

It’s been five days since the fight, and you still haven’t told anyone about it. You haven’t talked to Izuku, either, except for one word on his weekly feeding day. You’d stormed into his office, pulled him up to stand with his face in your neck by the collar of his shirt, demanded drink, and then left when he was done.

(He had cried after, when you didn’t even let him bandage the marks, but that’s not your problem.)

That being said, no one’s been told what’s going on, at least, not by you. But it doesn’t take a genius to realize that you’re not well. You’re skipping classes. You went out drinking with Mina on a Thursday night, for crying out loud! You look like shit with unwashed, unkempt hair, and Mina’s single attempt to tease you about Izuku as usual had been met with a cold shutdown.

If nothing else, Tenya isn’t having it. One hour into your failed gift shopping excursion, you barely with the energy to hold a conversation, he steers you to the food court, sits you down, and wordlessly gets in line for the little bakery pop-up.

You, exhausted, have nothing in you to question it with.

You check your phone.

Tsuyu to [name] at 1:02PM

Tsuyu: Hey, can I ask you something?

Oh, yeah, she’s probably the only one out of the loop. You haven’t seen her yet since That Day™, given that your schedules somehow always keep you from randomly running into each other and it’s not time for the monthly lunch meetup yet this month. Not that you don’t think Mina would have gossiped at least a little bit about your firm backslide into depression territory. (She means well, you’re sure. She’s just nosy.)

Tsuyu: And I get if you’re not okay with this. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want an answer

Tsuyu: But would you be mad if I asked Tenya out? I know you both have history and everything, but I really

You stop reading. Your chest feels tighter than it already did. For whatever reason, you can’t breathe. You want to hit something. Hard.

Whatever else she’s said, you don’t even bother reading it. With clumsy fingers, you bang out a response.

[name]: I don’t relly care

[name]: go for it!

There. Now you’re just left with the questions of the thing.

Your neck is burning again. You palm at the marks, massaging them in hopes of soothing them, but it provides little relief. You’re staring wordlessly at your now-black phone screen, absently rubbing your neck as your mind races.

A drop of water falls onto the screen.

What the fuck is wrong with you? Why do you give a shit if your friends go out with each other? Are you just upset because of the thing with Izuku? It must be, right? Straws break the backs of camels all the time. Anyone in such a fragile state would get upset over their friend group dynamic shifting. It’s normal.

You have no reason to worry about this. There’s absolutely no reason to be upset. You’re being ridiculous.

So what if Tsuyu asks Tenya out? So what if they’ve been spending time together. It’s not like that means anything. It’s not like you care if one of your best friends gets together with your—

With your—

with

(something is creaking something is bending something is)

“Hey, sorry about the wait.” Tenya slides something across the table into your field of vision—a cheese danish, a cup of what you can only assume is hot chocolate. “You seemed like you—[name]?”

(Something snaps back into place. The pain in your head is blinding, for just a moment.)

You blink around in confusion. “What?”

“You’re crying.”

A hand comes up to feel at your cheeks, and sure enough, your palm comes away wet. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m—my head is fucking killing me.”

“That’s why we drink water when we go out to the bar with our best friend,” he replies, voice gentle. He also slides a small cup of water towards you.

You look up at him. The tray he’d brought everything over on is empty now. He only ordered for you.

“You didn’t get anything for yourself,” you mumble, not yet reaching for anything he’s brought you.

He has the gentlest smile as he shakes his head. “I didn’t stop because I was hungry. I stopped because you needed a moment.”

“When did I say that?”

“You didn’t have to. I know you, [name].”

And then you’re crying all over again, and Tenya is leaving, only to come back and press some tissues in your free hand. You don’t use them, merely crumple them in your hand.

“I don’t think you’re crying over a headache,” he says at last.

“I don’t—“ A quiet sob wrenches itself from your throat. “That’s just it! I don’t know what I’m crying about!”

“Drink some water. Slow sips. Okay?”

You forgot he could be like this. Gentle with you. Warm. These days, you’re so used to him being cold, carefully distant.

Like he’s afraid of something.

(Like Izuku.)

You disobey him, just a little. The entire cup of water gets downed like a shot, and then you’re reaching harshly for your cheese danish, and there’s a hand on your wrist, stopping you before you can angrily down the entire cheese danish.

“Take a breath. You’re clearly upset about something.”

The worry in his eyes is all it takes to at last break you. His hand remains around your wrist as the words tumble out of your mouth, clumsy, one after another.

“I got in a fight with Izuku. I was—he’s—he’s—“ You choke on the words.

“It’s okay. Take your time.”

Remembering the sting in your arm, the burns on him that cover his one hand and peek out of his shirt collar, you drop your voice into a near-whisper. Especially given the ache in your bite wounds. Not again. “He’s hunting the man that turned him. His sire. And I don’t… I don’t want to tell him not to. The man’s horrible. A serial killer. Killed his parents. But…”

“He’s a what?”

The hand on your wrist is still. Any warmth, any gentleness in his expression has snapped away.

Burn-scarred fingers on burn-scarred skin. Adolescent wounds into adolescent wounds.

“A serial killer?”

“I… I see.” He swallows harshly. “Right. So Izuku is hunting him?”

“He’s been obsessed recently. I don’t think he’s ever paused from it completely, but, you know, it’s been bad. I’ve been having to force him to feed. Remind him to shower and sleep and change clothes. I started doing his laundry because he’s been so focused he’s been forgetting and I don’t think he even noticed. He spends all day either blazing through his work to get it over with as soon as he can or scouring the internet for information.”

“I… I see.”

“And it’s scary! It’s really scary! And I think… you know, um… that girl? Who died?”

His face is carefully still. “You could say that.”

“I’m not supposed to know this, but they think she was killed. And she… she had bite marks and stab wounds. You know, like the serial killer I roomed with did to her victims. But also like how… how Izuku’s sire left his victims. So either his target’s close, or else my nightmare is, and if it’s his sire, then… then…”

The tears fall, unbidden. “I asked him what he was going to do when his sire was gone. And he told me that he’ll probably die when that man does. And I got mad. Because he apologized. He said he was sorry. He was lying.”

“Oh, [name]…”

“And I just… I don’t know, I’m pissed! I’ve barely said a word to him since and I don’t know how to live like this! What if he dies, Tenya? What if I lose him like—like—“ You break off.

Like who?

He waits patiently. “Like who…?” he says when it becomes clear that you’re not going to finish the sentence.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I just… I’m pissed off, I guess. And I don’t know how to handle this. I think I might go back to therapy, but I don’t have any money, and…”

He nods. “Right. Izuku’s been paying for everything.”

“Yeah. He has.”

For a long time, he’s silent. You gently pry your wrist from his grasp to take small bites of your cheese danish.

When at last he speaks, there’s a glint of something rare in Tenya’s eyes.

Mischief.

“I can’t take you to therapy, [name].”

“I wasn’t asking you to,” you reply weakly.

“But there is a place I think you would enjoy to blow off some steam. I’ll take full responsibility for any injuries incurred.”

…

“What?”

“Finish your cheese danish and your hot chocolate,” he orders. “After that, we’ll go.”

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#my fics #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x reader #vampire midoriya izuku #bnha reader insert #mha reader insert

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hocusbogus · 2 years

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Things to do less often

1. Self-doubt I don’t usually have this, but imposter syndrome yes. As in, am I that good? But at the same time, I know I am, it’s a really weird conflict inside me. But this is something that I would want to do less often.

2. Treating food as a coping mechanism I’m learning it, I think I started to treat it as fuel end of last year and refocused my habits to meet that notion. I used to turn to food to make me feel better, when I feel sad I’d soothe myself via good food, when I’m happy I reward myself with good food, it just doesn’t make sense because I can’t even tell whether it’s a reward or a coping mechanism at one point.

3. Criticizing My friends and I love to joke around about how we’re haters at heart and we love judging people for fun like sports. It was not malicious and it was simply just for fun. However, I feel like I shouldn’t extend it to people I love and care about. Just because they do things that I don’t think are the ‘right’ way, I tend to be very vocal about it and go out of my way in letting them know. Unless it’s life-threatening, I decided that it is not my place no matter how “well” I meant it, or even if it was out of a pure intention to help, I am imposing my values and standards and they shouldn’t bear that burden at all, they should do whatever the fuck they want.

4. Making up excuses I have a ton where it comes from, I’m very good at over-analyzing and being able to see different sides to a situation or people, and I tend to make up excuses over situations, people’s behavior, or even my own decisions and habits. Just because I understood the motivation doesn’t mean I have to say it or defend it, sometimes I need to take things at face value. Especially when it involved other people, I need to stop filling in the gaps that they did not communicate and if that is how they expressed themselves, that is how I should accept it.

#personal #journal prompt

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maifrenthebesto · 1 month

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The voices told me you're too scared to make your last first move again. I wouldn't take that if that were me dawg. I wouldn't take a lot.

Yeah we're finished here.

Knowing what to say is difficult because you don't always want to say it.

I admittedly had to let a lot out of my system to function.

And let a lot in to help fill the gap left in the absence of what could no longer be seen.

It was through trial and error that we find ourselves able to read and write, to ve able to be moved by that which we choose to listen to, and to live in the light of our own sum. For as long as you're able to afford it, that is.

You don't have to show me to know that you feel anxious at times. That you've been scared before our intersection, and that you will continue to experience anxiety through your life. This is a shared experience, at some point we can all find ourselves stranded.

My aim is to help, not condescend. The intersection of feelings and information is defined through experience, and while I've been able to expand this domain quite far, it is only as stable as the host observer's relationship to the experience. Whenever you like/don't like what you see pertaining me, I get a stimulus, neuron activation. I then respond to it internally or externally regardless of surrounding but not indiscriminate of them, meaning the response type relies more heavily on the stimulus itself rather than the timing and context in which it is received.

This results in instances of me talking to myself abruptly at times, however the information coming out at these times needs little context to be able to be interpreted between select participants. As if the fact I said something at that time cleared a gap in their thoughts either consciously or subconsciously. This last part is of course wishful thinking, as it has seldom been corroborated, however there are remarkable instances I can look at not as proof, but as indication of a phenomenon which urges one to ask questions.

And this whole log is an attempt to answer the questions that come to me.

Any overlap between questions you may have had is purely non-coincidental. But I'm sure there's a fair share of coincidences scattered around the path that has been outlined by the coincidences that happen to be synchronous to the viewer's experience.

You already hold all the reasons not to do anything, it's in fact all I have been hearing recently. All that context you're having to fill people in, it echoes, they laugh, and you march onward still. For that reason alone I sympathize with the nature of your approach, you seek internal growth, but you still know that despite how close to home I hit you in my remarks, that they are not meant to be denied, as embarrassing as it may be, it has let your authentic individuated self shine through that fog that surrounds me, the same fog I assume others are gonna have. They are not to blame for being impervious to it, but it is quite transparent to see the relation links through the nature of the flow of information. And the intentions behind leaving me in the dark become apparent when you look at the players involved.

But I'm not needed for pointing out the things we all know already.

Or am I?

Someone has to remind us of who we are when we lose sight of ourselves.

So yeah I did it and I'll do it again.

Would you?

If you answered anything to anything ever, make sure to let me know about it, I want to hear your voice, so go ahead friend, I'm listening.

Talk as much as you need, I have written as such, so perhaps we'll both get tired around the same time too.

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sneak-a-cat · 1 year

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made a joke about being trans to my younger step sister who kept referring to me solely as her sister. the joke was an attempt to remind her that i'm pangender, being told i was her sister or "the closest thing" she had to one, it was pretty uncomfortable. it makes me antsy to be seen as so feminine without anything else mixed in. i just don't like it.

course she already has a complex relationship with having a sister as one of her brothers is trans, and it came up in conversation that she didn't really have any, idk, feminine peers in her household before? and she listed her older brother, and the youngest and made no mention of her previously mentioned trans middle brother, so i tried to remind her "hey i'm trans too, i'm 99% sure i actually won't be able to relate to you as fellow females or whatever the fuck your trying to imply here" without, yknow, saying that since she is quite a bit younger than me, but old enough (12) that she should have gotten my incredibly heavy handed hint about how she didn't mention middle brother in her list

i know she's just wee but she frustrates me so much, she desperately wants me to fill this mythical role of older sister that i am just not capable of for a variety of reasons nor would i feel comfortable doing so for a whole host of other ones both of which meet in the middle saying in big bold text "i'm fucking trans"

one of the reasons this makes me so uncomfortable is that she is clearly trying to fill the 'gap' her middle brother left when he transitioned and her 'fix' for this is boxing me into feminine ideals and using me to feel like a big mature girl who talks to her 'older sister' to solve problems, and she heavily implied she lacked the ability to relate to her brothers due to differences in puberty which is just. no. i would not feel comfortable discussing my experiences actually, and i don't like how she feels this kinship with me and entitlement to my experiences purely because of my biological sex

i feel way more comfortable in the middle ground as sibling rather than sister, or even brother, both gendered terms feel too far if i'm honest, which is peculiar for the masculine one, i can be iffy about feminine terms but pretty comfortable using most masculine ones

she treats me like i'm the key to some sort of milestone, i try to talk to her about things other than the fact that we happen to share a biological sex but she generally manages to bring it back to "were both girls" and, i mean, she barely even tries to get to know me. i think she prefers to version of me in her head since the real me snaps at her in the kitchen when she keeps looking at me, the real me doesn't have time to talk to any of them since i'm busy with other things and she seems to take it personally, the real me sometimes doesn't really want to be their older step sibling. the one question she has asked me, twice btw, unrelated to my "being a girl" is "what's your favourite colour" which is not a crap question because it can lead to an interesting talk. except. well, except for it can't lead to anything of substance when she gets insulted when i say "i don't have one, i like seeing how beautiful any colour can look when they are treated right and put in the right hands" it doesn't lead anywhere when i get steam rolled over and ignored only for her to jubilantly claim "pink is my favourite colour" and then stop talking and look at me as if i fucked this conversation

and i know, i fucking know she's 12 i'm the one who should be making sure our interactions run smoothly but i can barely carry a conversation with anyone never mind a 12 year old who is only interested in one aspect of myself which makes me really uncomfortable sometimes, especially when it's highlighted in such a way and constantly referenced

like fucking hell i'm fine looking as femme as i do, i know my body will always tip people off and i am completely fine with that! i like my body! no dysphoria there! (unless in some clothes) but interacting with her makes me wish i didn't look like this cause maybe if i was less like this and more obviously some flavour of trans she would be less hooked on 'getting to know me' without prompting a single worthwhile conversation about either of us

and i know, its a complicated situation, its fucking difficult to get to know people in a new family unit like this but i fucking try, i try and socialise with the kids when i'm able to using card games since i don't have to talk about anything serious then, its not the best but i am fucking trying to bond with them but the age gap is too fucking difficult at times, i mean for christs sake i'm friends with my step mum! i can bloody do it just not with them its too much

especially when one of them is incredibly desperate to bond but so incredibly shit at showing it

i'm going to have to have a conversation with my dad about how she treats my gender, which might be difficult since he and my step mum are weak for me bonding with the kids as they know how difficult i find it, specially how overwhelming it is to have your opinion valued far far too much (only thing its good for is being strict in card games, if they get too loud (ow) then i just raise my voice a bit and they settle pretty quick), so telling him might be a bit upsetting for both of us cause i hate to disappoint him...

#this is me venting no need to read unless your curious i spose i have written more in depth about my gender than ever before #i'm posting this with a big warning sign of: here be gender frustrations and confusing family dynamics #there is no transphobia of any sort just a confused younger step sister who really frustrates me #i just find it helpful to write something then post it #rambles #gender rambles #<- confusing ones :(

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impostoradult · 4 years

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I finally figured out why it feels like Supernatural murdered a unicorn (AKA why you need to STOP telling me to watch Black Sails)

I’ll start by saying, everything everyone else has been saying CERTAINLY bothers me:

- the queer-baiting - the bury your queers - the undermining of Dean’s character arc - the wasted opportunity for a certain kind of overall narrative closure - the flat out disrespect to Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles

All of that bothers me tremendously.

But there has been something else rather ineffable about this that has left a horrible taste in my mouth that I couldn’t quite pin down until last night. Bear with me, if you will, because this will require some set-up.

*** This is not the first show to ever disappoint me in a spectacular fashion, nor will it be the last, I suspect. And one of the ways I’ve always coped with that disappointment was to remind myself that there will be other stories, other characters, other chances to get it right. (”It” being any number of things from just pure narrative emotional coherence to not burying your queers to not stringing along your queer audience and then yelling fuck you to them on the way out)

But somehow that assurance -- that there will be other stories, other characters, other chances to get it right -- has rung particularly hollow in this instance, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on why until yesterday.

I kept asking myself, why do I still have this feeling, deep in the pit of my stomach, like something was lost here that can never be recovered?

Because something was lost here that I am doubtful can ever be recovered, and I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else talking about this aspect of it at all.

***

A few months ago, TV critic Maureen Ryan did a great interview piece with Mike Schur (of Parks & Rec/The Good Place) discussing the death of long-form TV in the streaming era. They explore how the longer seasons and longer runs of traditional broadcast/cable TV provided an opportunity to tell particular kinds of stories that you simply can’t when seasons are 8-10 episodes and series typically run 2-4 seasons (thanks Netflix).

One key thing we’ve all lost in this new era of highly condensed TV storytelling (and of prestige TV narrative styles)? The traditional (several season’s long) slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance. Not only is there simply no longer the time or space to write such romances, it has also come to be seen as hacky, manipulative, cheap, artistically impoverished, low-brow, a embarrassing vestige of the era before TV became art™.

Everybody is trying to be Fleabag now. No one wants to be Frasier. (”It’s really more like a 10 hour movie” they all like to brag)

Obviously TV still has romances, even ‘drawn out’ romances. But ‘drawn out’ in 2020 is like 2-3 seasons, maybe. More commonly it’s like half a season. Take Schitt’s Creek. The number of episodes between when David and Patrick first meet and when they first kiss? Seven. Seven episodes. Half a season. If you watched it live, it took less than 2 months for them to move from introducing that dynamic to consummating it. And I’m not bagging on Schitt’s Creek; I think the David/Patrick’s story is very lovely and well-written.

But Niles & Daphne (Fraiser) had to wait 7 years and over 150 episodes before they finally got there. Josh & Donna (The West Wing) had to wait 6+ years, and 145 episodes. Mulder & Scully (The X-Files) had to wait 7 seasons and 143 episodes. Booth & Bones had to wait...you see where I am going with this.

And my point is (and I can’t believe I never realized this explicitly until now): there has NEVER been a queer slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance of that type on TV ever. EVER.

I’m going to say that again, because I think it bares repeating:

There has never been a queer, slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance that fits the 100-150 episode paradigm of delayed gratification on TV.

Not ever.

I can’t think of ONE example Not a single, solitary one. And I know queer TV pretty well. Arguably the closest we’ve ever come is Legend of Korra, and that ran 50 episodes, a THIRD of the length of old school will-they-won’t-theys like Booth & Bones or Josh & Donna.

Queer people have had a fair number of canonical romances on TV by now, even fairly long running ones. But we never got a primary/front-and-center romance that you had to root for for 100+ episodes before you got any kind of canonical consummation.

That is a particular kind of TV experience that queer people and queer characters were just 100% shut out of until it was too late. And because of how the TV landscape has changed in the last 10 years, I don’t know that that opportunity will ever come back around in our lifetimes.

***

Dean and Castiel are/were a legacy of an earlier era of TV, an era that still contained the possibility for a will-they-won’t-they of that particular mold. There were other shows that could have also filled this gap at one time - Rizzoli & Isles, OUAT, House MD, etc. But one by one all of them were killed off, their queer romances unrequited, until Supernatural was the only one of its’ generation left standing.

And they should have acknowledged that they were a species about to become extinct.

There are plenty of other valid and compelling reasons Supernatural should have gone full Destiel, don’t get me wrong.

A) It would have been the most emotionally satisfying ending to the series and to those characters (and that would have been reason enough).

B) It would have stopped the manipulative queer-baiting of the (disproportionately queer) fanbase (and that would have been reason enough).

C) It would have been queer representation of middle-aged men, of bi men, of queers who came to their queerness later in life (and any/all of those would have been reason enough).

D) It could have been a glorious subversion of the bury your queers trope, considering how often they’ve died and been resurrected (and that would have been reason enough).

But point E) on this list is the reason this one hurts in a singular way that no one even appears to be acknowledging.

Almost all of the other wrongs and missed opportunities contained in this Supernatural debacle have the possibility of being rectified (at least to a degree) elsewhere. I can and I likely will get more bi male characters from TV as time goes on. I can and likely will get more middle-aged queer characters. I can and likely will get more queer characters coming to their queerness later in life, and starting queer romances later in life. I can and likely will get more queer characters who aren’t killed cheaply and prematurely. I can and likely will get more genre TV shows with sprawling myth arc plots that are resolved in a coherent, satisfying way. I can and likely will get Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles involved in other projects that value their work and their talents.

All of those other things are at the very least POSSIBLE, and many are even likely.

But a queer 100-150 episode slow-burn romance a la Mulder & Scully or Niles & Daphne or Booth & Bones? That is the one baton Supernatural dropped spectacularly that no one else even has the possibility of picking up again for the foreseeable future. (They don’t even write those types of romances for heterosexuals anymore!)

Seriously. It was a TV unicorn. And rather than letting it run wild and free, they stabbed it with a rusty nail.

***

Given the monumental shifts in the TV landscape that have occurred in the last decade, I don’t know that TV will ever go back to the slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance spanning 100-150 episodes. Today it is a miracle if you can get ANY show to last longer than 50 episodes in the first place.

And that is the piece of this that makes it feel (to me) like they murdered a unicorn.

Because queer people have gotten a lot of things from TV, and they will get a lot more as time goes on. But that one? That one could very well be a totally extinct species.

That is the larger missed opportunity here that has left this feeling especially hollow and destructive. That is the thing that makes me balk when people tell me to go watch Black Sails or Pose or whatever other prestige TV show is doing this representation ‘better.’ Because that’s not really the loss I am mourning here. I KNOW there is ‘better’ representation elsewhere.

But the will-they-won’t-they/slow-burn romance is a qualitatively unique thing that queer people literally just never got. Ever. There is no substitute, no alternate, no other show I can turn to with that kind of build-up and pay-off for a queer couple, and there probably won’t be in my lifetime. Not unless the TV industry undergoes another monumental evolution similar to the streaming revolution that shifts the incentives back to telling those types of stories again.

All those shows you want me to displace Supernatural with? None of them can give me the one thing I uniquely wanted (and could have gotten) from Supernatural. THAT ALTERNATE SHOW DOESN’T EXIST. It doesn’t exist. And I have no reason to hope it will ever exist in my lifetime.

So stop telling me to look somewhere else; you don’t understand what made this one a unicorn.

***

Addendum: The only other possible show that could perhaps fill this gap is It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (re: Mac/Dennis). But I’m hesitant to say it exactly meets that criteria, for a number of reasons:

1 - It’s far less serialized relative to Supernatural and (except for a handful of stand-alone episodes) very little of the story is grounded specifically in Dennis/Mac’s romantic dynamic (unlike SPN, where it is absolutely central to much of the narrative)

2 - IASIP is fundamentally satirically in nature/tone which makes it much harder to have genuine romantic pathos (not impossible, but harder)

3 - All the characters on IASIP are fundamentally crummy people who you aren’t exactly supposed to root for. Which doesn’t mean a romance between two of them can’t have its value/charm/worth but it’s not the same as when it is between characters who unequivocally deserve nice things/happy endings

#Supernatural #Destiel #queer representation #sorry this is long

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mercy-burning · 3 years

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Your Favorite — Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Y/N and Spencer decide to keep seeing each other in secret. Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Adults w/ age gap, cockwarming, heavy petting, penetrative/unprotected sex, breeding kink, oral sex (both receiving), degradation, exhibitionism, fingering, cum play maybe? Word Count: 7.5k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | MASTERLIST

NOTE: This is... *nervous laugh* this is pure filth. Like... It’s nothing but sex scenes, y’all. Buckle in. (Also the end is a lil angsty so watch out hehehe)

———

JULY 8th

"You're sure you guys are okay without me for a little while?"

I love my mom. Really, I do.

But if she delays her bath for any longer than one more second, I'm going to burst into flames.

Thankfully it seems that Spencer is patient enough for the both of us. "Positive. You deserve to relax a little. Go. Take your bath, we'll be fine."

Mom looks to me for extra reassurance, and I give it to her with a nod.

"Okay. I'll try not to be too long."

She turns and kisses Spencer, long and lovesick, and I want to barf. What's even worse is that when she pulls away and pats my head before retreating up the stairs, he's smiling. And he's supposed to, I know that. Part of him obviously cares about my mom, and even if he's only fucking me on the side, the fact remains that he goes to sleep next to her. That's the way it has to be.

But it still makes me incredibly envious.

It's a problem.

Mom is upstairs now, but our rule is that unless we know for certain that she's not coming into sight or earshot anytime soon, we remain distant.

Still, I make my distaste for their affections known. "You guys are gross..."

Spencer laughs, his hand sneaking over the couch cushion and grazing the end of my skirt. "Jealous, are we?"

Of course, I have to make it difficult for him. "You're a genius, you tell me..."

"Hey now... You're lucky I'm giving you any attention at all... Besides, you know the rules."

I glance over at him, practically crumbling apart at the seams under his intense gaze. It's one I've gotten used to as of late, one that rivals every smile I've ever seen him give my mother.

"Doesn't make it any easier," I mumble, glancing down at where his fingers are still toying with my skirt.

"I know..." He reaches out and touches my hand, and my skin tingles. "Come here."

Even though I can hear that the bath water has only just started running from below, I comply all the same. I scramble off the couch and return on his lap, straddling him and nesting my fingers through his hair while I lean in to kiss him.

He welcomes me with open arms and an open mouth. The moment our tongues brush, I sigh and melt into him, needing desperately to be as close as possible. Our kisses then are languid and wet, and soft. We don't want to get carried away in case we need to be alert and jump apart, so it's best to keep our bodies controlled.

But as I'm learning, around Spencer, controlling myself is painstakingly difficult.

A whine escapes me when his right hand slips under my skirt and rests along the inside of my thigh, and I shift, silently begging him to give me more.

"So impatient..." he mumbles over my mouth.

I pull away and slide my hands down over his neck and shoulders, my hips rolling forward as I pout. "I haven't had you all week. I'm lonely..."

It's true.

Once all my STD tests came back clean and I got my birth control figured out and solid, the first thing he did was tell my mom he wasn't feeling well and texted me the address to his apartment. And after I told her I was meeting up with a friend, I drove over there and got my brains completely fucked out. We spent all day under the sheets, on the couch, over the kitchen counter, and then on the floor, until I had to go home and pretend like it never happened.

Since then we'd only slept together once, and that was just over a week ago, quickly while Mom ran to the store for an onion of all things. And then Spencer had been busy with consulting on new cases that his old job wanted a little help with, and once he had free time, Mom insisted they go on a date weekend.

I pout harder, stomach churning at the memory of the look he gave me before they left—a silent, sweet goodbye that had left me empty and wanting.

But he's just amused.

A smirk ghosts over his lips, red and a little puffy from the pressure of my own against them. "So I definitely can't trust you to be quiet enough to fuck you properly..."

That warrants another whine and another roll of my hips, and I can feel his hand gripping my thigh a little tighter.

"Please... Spencer, I need you..."

His name rolling off my tongue must be what makes him give into me, because I barely have time to react before he's kissing me again, using both of his hands to lift the back of my skirt up and knead my ass.

"Wait... Are you wearing..."

I grin over his lips, wiggling my ass into his touch and utterly turned on by the fact that he knows what underwear I'm wearing just by touch.

"Mhmm," I answer, nipping his bottom lip. "Your favorite..."

The sound that rumbles in his chest as he crashes his body against mine has to be the sexiest thing I've ever heard. He's obviously trying not to be loud, but it's hard, and that makes the sound strained. He really wants this, wants to keep me, and to do that he has to refrain from going absolutely primal right now. He has to do anything to keep this quiet.

So he pushes me off of him, and I pout, thinking he's given up until we can get a true moment alone.

But I know that isn't the case when he spins his finger and then starts undoing his pants.

"Turn around, sweetheart," he huffs, slipping his pants and underwear down just enough that his erection emerges free. "You're gonna sit here, keep quiet, and keep my cock nice and warm, understood?"

Don't have to tell me twice... I'll fucking take what I can get.

So I spin, back up, and move all my clothing to the side, my skirt lifting as I nestle into Spencer's lap and hold my panties to the side. He laughs at my eagerness, though he isn't laughing much longer once I sink down onto him and get in real close. His hands come out to grab my chest and pull me flush against his own.

The way he stretches and fills me has my eyes rolling back, a long, happy sigh falling from my lips. I wish I could say I'm being dramatic about it, but I'm really not.

I'm genuinely relieved and satisfied with the burn.

"There's my girl," Spencer muses through a sigh of his own, his breath fanning gently over my neck right before he gives it an open-mouthed kiss.

His hands slip under the baggy sweater I'm wearing and run along the planes of my stomach, then up and up, taking the fabric with him until it rests above my bare chest. Being exposed like this, right in the middle of the living room while my mom is just upstairs, excites me more than I think it should.

While Spencer kisses and licks at my neck, his hands now gently kneading my breasts, I squirm.

He doesn't like that very much.

"Ah-ah," he warns, squeezing me tight and pulling me into him more. "Relax..."

He hooks his legs around mine then, spreading them apart and somehow filling me deeper. I whine, leaning my head back onto his shoulder and trying not to roll my hips.

Instead, I settle for clenching myself around him, and that seems to be the right move.

"Atta girl... Lay back and relax... Just feel me filling you up nice and slow..."

"Mmmm," I respond in kind as his hands loosen and glide down my body.

He's light with his touch, though the kisses on my neck feel hungry, and his cock feels heavy and thick inside me. It's a beautiful contrast, really, making me feel so full and yet so light, like I'm a raincloud.

Soon his fingers dip under my skirt and cover my hand, which is working at keeping my panties off to the side. He traces the curves of my fingers with his own, mumbling praises and scattering kisses along the side of my neck. And I'm distracted enough that I almost don't feel his other hand make gentle contact with my clit until I gasp from the sharp sensation.

I can feel his smile against my skin as he starts rubbing in slow, precise circles.

"That feel good, princess?"

"Uh huh," I breathe out, trying to keep still. My other hand digs into my knee in hopes that I can stay grounded and focused on keeping still. But despite that, I'm feeling rather calm. Satisfied...

Right where he wants me.

"Mmm..." He hums happily into my skin, continuing to kiss my neck while working my clit.

And I have no idea how long we lay there. It feels like it could be hours.

The TV is on, but we're not paying any attention to it. In the back of my mind I know that Mom could be done with her bath at any minute, but it's been too long without Spencer inside me... And even though he's not actually fucking me, just having him this close and feeling him touch me, fill me, breathe me in...

God, I never want it to stop.

I'm almost on the verge of coming, but he removes his hand from me and slides them up my stomach again.

I whine at the loss of orgasm, but he pays it no mind. "Here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna start moving..."

I start to get excited, wiggling in his lap a little.

With a dark laugh, he brings his hands to my breasts, kneading them gently and nipping my earlobe. Getting my attention...

"But you're not gonna stop until I fill that slutty little cunt with my cum, got it? I don't care if you come more than once. I don't care if you come at all... I don't care if your mom comes down here and sees..."

I swear I almost come on the spot from his words alone.

And then his voice is somehow even darker, seeping through my skin and settling into the very deepest parts of me.

"You will not stop until you make me come, am I clear?"

I wouldn't deny him if I could. I'm so damn whipped by this man, so eager to please and be near him that he could ask me to do any fucking thing on the planet and I would.

My rational brain might have second-guessed that feeling if it hadn't been horny as fuck...

And so I get to it, maneuvering my hips and working Spencer's cock like my life depends on it. And honestly, it kind of does, because if my mother comes down and catches us I'm dead.

Despite the urgency, though, I relish every second of it. I try to remember every sensation vividly because I don't know when I'll get to feel it again. So every time I sit back down on his dick, I clench it on the way up, because I know that drives him wild and it also means I get to feel him grab me tighter.

I can't see him, not even really when I turn my head, but I can picture how he's probably biting his lip, trying not to be loud. His eyes are probably shooting daggers at the ceiling, praying to the heavens above that my mom won't come down.

But it looks like the heavens above have decided to damn us to hell.

That unmistakable sound of the drain in the tub rumbles through the ceiling and down the inside of the walls as the water travels through the pipes, and my heartbeat races faster than it ever has.

Spencer tugs my hair then, pulling my head to meet his shoulder once more. "You better hurry, little girl..."

That's when I finally come. My cunt throbs and shakes around him as I bounce as quietly as I can. His grip in my hair is tighter, urging me to keep going, and the sharp sensation seems to extend my orgasm a little.

I whimper and whine as I feel it, and that seems to be what does him in.

"Fuck, Y/N, that's it... That's my girl..."

Four more bounces from me is all it takes, and then he's holding my hips in place. He grunts as quietly as possible into my shoulder and fucks into me slowly, filling me to the brim with his cum and breathing harshly into my skin.

I can hear Mom walking around upstairs, most likely getting dressed, which means she'll be down any minute...

"Time to get up, princess," Spencer whispers a moment later, letting go of my hips.

I turn my head into his neck, whining. "I don'wanna..."

"I know, I know... But you have to."

I know he's right. But I can't just get up and lose him so quickly. I want to hold on for as long as possible.

So I tilt my head up and bring his lips to mine. Thankfully he doesn't reject me, instead returning my affections and sighing into my mouth. He's still sheathed inside me, and I can feel his cum very slowly starting to drip down.

I have to get up now...

My mouth reluctantly parts from his and pouts. I expect him to return it with a sad smile, but his lips are rather mischievous.

He smirks, lifting me off of him and quickly pulling my panties back in place. His cum instantly soaks into the thin, lavender fabric, and it only reminds me of his absence.

But then Spencer spins me around on the heels of my feet and presses his hand firmly to my clothed, sopping wet cunt under my skirt, rubbing it in and making me whimper out at the overstimulation.

"I missed you," he whispers sincerely. Sweetly...

I can't help but smile as I lean down to kiss him one more time.

"I missed you, too."

JULY 23rd

I've been looking forward to this weekend since Mom brought it up after her bath—A call from work. A weekend business trip across the country.

She would be gone for almost a whole week.

Spencer's already started on his coursework for the next school year so he'll be busy most days, but at night? That's when he's all mine.

The only hard part about this, really, is containing my excitement. Just yesterday Spencer got me alone and warned me that I better keep my cool and be patient. Though, the way he said it was hardly a bad thing considering it gave me an excuse to feel his hands on me, even in the laundry room where, more or less, this had all started.

Even now I can still feel their warmth and their heft as they grope and paw at my breasts while he attacks my neck with sloppy kisses.

But right now he's not here, and as much as I can't wait to spend the week with him, my mom is also going to be gone for that long.

Just because I'm fucking her boyfriend on a regular basis doesn't mean I don't still love her.

Though, the thought of it all makes me a little uneasy—I don't know what the future holds. I know Spencer obviously cares about my mom, but if it really gets to a point where they've been together long enough, would he ever marry her?

And then what?

It's one thing for him to be my mom's boyfriend, who doesn't live here and only stays when he can... But it's a whole other one to be my stepfather. And what if my mom wants to have another kid?

No.

I'm not even going to think about it... If it ever gets to that point, then we'll deal with it, but right now I've only known Spencer for nearly 2 months, and it's way too soon to be thinking about any of that right now.

"You gonna be alright without me for a week?"

I curl into Mom's side, laughing and thankful for her distraction. "I spend almost a whole year away at college without you, I think I can survive five days."

"Ugh, don't remind me. I wish you could just stay here with me forever."

"Ha, no you don't. I'm a menace."

"Only when you eat all my food and then complain that you're starving..."

My eyes roll affectionately. "Mom. That was one time, and I was fifteen and dramatic."

She kisses the top of my head and then rests her chin on it. "Then my point stands... You were only a menace when you were fifteen. Now you're an angel."

I can tell she's sincere, and when I tell her Thank you, it feels incredibly deceitful—Especially when she starts humming my favorite song and brushing through my hair with her fingers, just like she used to do to get me to sleep as a kid. The foggy feeling it sends through my bloodstream reminds me that I'm definitely not the same person I was back then.

Although, it is true that some things never change, and within minutes I'm soundly asleep in my mother's arms.

———

When Spencer and I are sending her off at the airport the next morning, my heart thrums wildly in my chest.

"You have Spencer's number in case of an emergency?" she asks me in a haste.

"Yes, Mom. For the thousandth time, I have his number, and I have Grandma's number, and I have just about every other number you've ever given me for emergency contacts."

She gives me The Look.

"Yes, I have it. And I'll be okay. I love you."

"Oh, I love you, too," she says, pulling me in for one last breath-reducing hug, though, that's not truly what knocks the breath from my lungs.

She goes to Spencer next, reaching up to give him a goodbye kiss. I'm expecting it. I'm okay with it.

But this is unlike any other kiss I've seen them share, and it admittedly makes me jealous.

Spencer almost has her off the ground, pressing her close to him and kissing her deeply. Her hands weave through his hair as he tilts his head, and this time I can see his tongue slip into her mouth.

"O—kaaay, my eyes are burning... Thank you for that..."

I know I can get away with that because it's a completely normal reaction to seeing your mother make out with anyone, so I don't feel bad about it one bit. And I especially don't feel bad about the warning look he gives me over my mom's shoulder when she comes to give me another hug.

But then she's gone, and minutes later we're leaving the airport parking lot, and I can't seem to shake my jealousy. Even when his hand rests politely on my knee.

The whole way home I only barely acknowledge his presence, giving him half-hearted smiles and remaining mostly still when he glides his hand higher up my leg. By the time his fingers slip under the hem of my skirt, I think he knows something is up, because it stops there.

He waits until we get in the house to bring it up.

"Y/N, are you okay?"

I plop myself down on the couch with an overexaggerated sigh. "Kinda..."

I know Spencer used to be a profiler, and really, it's not that hard to figure out what's wrong with me. But it's still a little scary how easily he just knows.

"You know I had to," he says, walking over and standing in front of me. "Keeping up appearances and whatnot."

He's right. And it's a consequence of what we've decided to do, so really I'm in no place to complain.

Still, I reach out and pull him in by the belt loops, leaning my face in rather close to his crotch. "You know... Actually, I think you just like making me jealous..."

The smile that dances over his lips is amused and downright sinful. "Oh?"

"Mhmm," I drawl, sliding my hands to the front of his pants and rubbing him through the fabric.

He laughs. "Yeah, you are pretty cute when you're all huffy."

With big eyes and a fluttering in my stomach at the way he looks down at me, I feel that pressing of jealousy start to lift off my chest. I know that within an hour he'll have me pinned under his body somehow, and the thought allows my response to come out clearly and without question.

"So how are you gonna make it up to me?"

———

We're already out of our clothes by the time we make it upstairs. And when we finally get into my bedroom, I'm about to shut the door and then Spencer stops me.

"No one's home, sweetheart... Leave it open."

He takes two steps and has me in his arms, his hands sliding down my back and resting over my ass. And when he gives it a squeeze, he grins down at me. "You're gonna be loud for me, understand?"

"Hey, that's on you," I tease, wiggling against him. "You want me loud? Make me loud."

His grip on my ass gets tighter as he pulls me closer, and I yelp out. "Don't challenge me, little girl... You'll regret it."

I laugh then, calling back to his earlier statement. "Aw... You're pretty cute when you're all huffy..."

"Alright, fine."

The next thing I know, I'm on my knees, and his hands are rooting in my hair. The rough carpet underneath me already burns, but I know in the end it's gonna be so worth it.

Spencer brings me close to his exposed crotch and tilts my head up to look at him. "I'm gonna fuck that attitude right out of your pretty little mouth, got it? And you're not gonna do a damn thing but take it like a good girl."

I would have asked him if that was a threat or a promise if he hadn't immediately shoved his dick in my mouth. It has me wet in an instant, the way he just pulls me onto him and starts fucking my face with an urgency that seems to contradict all the time we have. He needs me now, with no time for teasing or pleasantries, and I fucking love it.

Which is why I do as I'm told, enjoying every second as he holds my head still and snaps his hips forward, his velvety smooth cock gliding over my tongue and down my throat with ease. It doesn't take long for my eyes to water, my vision going blurry and my body growing hot. My face is angled straight ahead, but I still find a way to look up at him, and from this low angle?

It's the best thing I've ever seen.

No matter how many times I've been on my knees like this, staring up at Spencer as he loses himself at my hands (or rather my mouth, if you want to get technical), I swear I could never tire of it.

His eyes are glaring down at me as he concentrates, his arms are out in front of me as they hold my head in place, and his pubic bone and sculpted hips are right there, moving ferociously in front of my eyes. He's so deep in my throat for a few seconds, holding me down while I gag around him, that my nose is buried in the soft trail of hair that gathers on his skin, and I want to stay there forever.

But my gag reflex isn't much durable for more than fifteen seconds, much less forever, so I have to pull back.

Spencer pulls me off of him completely, a trail of spit following my lips and then detaching until it lands along my chin. I blink away some of the tears that had gathered in my eyes and pout up at him.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"You're supposed to be making it up to me..." My voice is scratchy and a little hoarse now, but I know it'll probably be worse if Spencer really thinks he can make me as loud as he says (which I truly don't doubt for a second).

He tugs me up by the hair, and I whine as I get to my feet, my knees aching already. And then his mouth is on my cheek, gently kissing away a tear. "Aw, I thought you liked having my dick in your mouth..."

"I do..."I giggled a little, nestling into his body and feeling his erection, now slick with my saliva, press up against the inside of my thigh. "But I like it better in other places..."

"Mmm, you're right... I do, too..."

I certainly hadn't been expecting that answer.

But it doesn't surprise me when he walks us over to the foot of my bed and pushes me onto it. "Hands and knees, princess."

My knees still burn from the carpet, and I'm sure this squeaky-ass mattress won't alleviate the pain at all, but if there's one thing I've learned since having sex with Spencer it's that pain is all part of the pleasure.

So I don't question it. My limbs submit to his simple command, and once I turn away from him and perch myself on my hands and knees, I can feel him climbing on the bed and crawling up the backside of my body. His hands roam my ass and my waist, and within seconds he has his cock nestled against me.

He moves nice and slow at first, dragging the length of him through my slick cunt and ghosting the skin of my backside with his hands.

"Remember... Nice and loud, okay? Wanna hear how good I make you feel."

Like I could ever deny him. Even though I like to tease him and push his buttons, I couldn't think of a single thing in the moment that I'd ever deny him.

So he finally pushes into me, stretching me out well and good, and a low groan slowly rolls off my tongue like a waterfall. And I'm not doing it for his sake; It's like he draws it out of me like a syringe, and I'm utterly powerless against it... Against him.

Like I need a metaphor to explain how I'm well and truly his bitch...

"There she is..." Spencer breathes, reaching the very deepest part of me and staying there. "There's my obedient little girl... Tell me what you want."

I turn my head to get as good of a look at him as I can, and give him the pout to end all pouts. "I want you to fuck me, hard... Please?"

His answer is a gentle push forward, his body leaning over mine to take my hands and pin them behind my back, which pulls me up towards him so that my back is nearly flush with his chest. His hands are so big that one of them is able to hold both of my wrists while the other gathers my hair and tugs.

I feel like I'm being held by a bungee cord, especially when Spencer starts snapping his hips and pounding into me roughly. My knees are pushing into the springs of the mattress and lifting again with each thrust, and I can't help the stream of whimpers and shouts that escape me at the whole experience.

He lets go of my hair in favor of reaching around and palming my left tit, his pace never faltering for a second. Everything he's doing is precise and swift and so fucking good that my eyes can hardly stay open.

"I'm hearing you, pretty girl, but I don't think you're quite loud enough..." he grumbles in my ear, letting go of me and gently pushing me back down on the bed. He slips out of me and I whine at the loss, but I don't have to worry about it much longer when I feel him lay down over top of me and slam into me hard.

I yelp out, my hands reaching out and clutching the comforter for dear life. Spencer's hands, meanwhile, push up off the mattress on either side of my hips to lift himself up, and then he's grabbing my waist and pushing me into it while he fucks me.

When I instinctively shove my face down and try to muffle myself, though, one of his hands leaves my waist and comes up to tug my hair, pulling my head up. His hips pause, pressed deep into my backside, and I can feel how he's struggling to keep still.

"Uh-uh... No one's home, princess... Let it all out..."

He pulls back and plows into me again, and this time his pace is frustratingly slow. With each slam forward my voice grows louder, begging him for more with incoherence until I start to feel myself grow tense with pleasure.

"You're almost there, baby, I can feel it," Spencer breathes. His voice is far away, and I wish he was closer, his breath on my neck and his lips not far behind. But for now I gladly settle for his hands, tight and bruising on my hips, and the force of his pelvis as it collides brutally and wonderfully with my ass.

What finally brings me sweet release is the sound of him grunting out one word. A command. And once again it's like I'm powerless under his spell.

"Come."

I do, and he fucks me thoroughly through each wave. Even once I've finished, he chases his own orgasm for minutes.

By the sounds he's making and the way his hips falter here and there, I can tell he's close, but he wants to make it last. I want to tell him that we have all weekend, to maybe tease him a bit, but I'm so fucked out and incoherent that I couldn't have said a single word if I tried.

So I lay there and take it with a weary smile on my face, ever the whiny, whimpering mess that I am, and patiently wait for the moment he decides to let go.

And when he does, it's the most glorious feeling in the world. I'm tired, yes, but never tired enough to lift myself and wiggle my ass back into him, clenching myself around him and relishing in the way he grunts out my name. He empties himself into me, and I hum, positively satisfied and warm.

Before I know it, I'm sinking down within the comfort of my blankets, and I rest my head in my arms, the pillow still a little too far out of reach. And though I'm content, I still whine out sadly when Spencer retreats and leaves me feeling empty.

I'm about to tell him to get over here and cuddle me when I feel his weight redistribute, and it isn't long before he has his head between my legs, his tongue acting as a net for the cum that drips out of me. He barely touches me, only the tiniest of flicks with the tip of his tongue darting over my skin. I can't tell if I'm thankful because of the relief or if I want the burn to go on forever.

In the end, I don't really have a choice.

He pushes his tongue up, sweeping over my dripping cunt and cleaning me up. Suddenly his mouth is everywhere, making the most delicious sounds and bringing me closer to another orgasm, and all I can do is let it happen. My weary smile is joined by a fluttering pair of eyelids and a string of whimpers that are so small they don't dare drown out the words Spencer is grumbling between my legs.

Some of which, I can hear, sound out, "Another one..."

His finger adds to the mix, coming up and rubbing my clit in tight circles as he finishes cleaning up the mess he made, and within seconds I'm a writhing mess at his undoing.

I'm not sure how long it lasts, only that one second I'm tensing with another orgasm and the next I'm having my limbs moved.

Spencer is beside me in an instant, his face coming into view as I feel my breathing slow to a steadier pace. The longer I wait, the more focused I am on his features, soft and even a little concerned as he strokes some of the hair from my face.

"How are you feeling?"

The smile that beams across my face is just about the most natural thing I'd ever felt. And it seems to bring out those bright glints of adoration in his eyes that only ever serve to make my heart flutter, which makes what I tell him even more true.

"I'm happy."

JULY 27th

Waking up to Spencer next to me, while a daily occurrence these past few days, is still possibly the most surprising and comforting feeling in the world.

Our bodies never part. From the moment we lay down to sleep until the moment we wake up and decide it's time to start doing necessary daily things, not one inch of skin is untouched. Even when showering.

I think back to yesterday morning, where he dragged me out of bed because he had to pee and didn't want to leave me. I was slumped over the backside of his body while he went and then in his arms again while he ran us a shower to wake up.

It brings the widest smile to my face, however sleepy it may also be.

"What are you smiling for?"

I squint one eye open and see that Spencer is staring at me. I hadn't expected him to be awake.

"Just thinking about yesterday..."

He tightens his grip on my waist and pulls me even closer, my face instantly drawn to the crook of his neck. "Mmm," he hums as I nestle in and press a sleepy kiss to the bare skin at the column of his throat. "Which part?"

"Our shower."

I feel his thumb then, rubbing back and forth over my hip as clearly as I can feel him smile against the top of my head. "That was fun, wasn't it..."

"Mhmm," I agree. My lightly tongue traces over his collarbone before I kiss it again. "Our shower is much better equipped for sex than yours."

"So... What you're saying is that shower sex is out of the question this morning?" he confirms with a laugh.

"That's exactly what I'm saying..."

"Well then, princess, what uhh... What alternatives do you think we should try out?"

I start to laugh when he pulls my leg up over his waist and hoists me over on top of him. My face remains buried into his neck, though I trail my lips up and up until I reach his jaw.

"Hmm... What if I just ride you and see where it takes us?"

When my lips finally reach his cheek, Spencer shifts and captures them in a long, butterfly-inducing kiss before pulling away with a smile and brushing the hair from my face. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea."

It helps that I can already feel him hardening beneath me, and from the moment I felt his hands on me, I'd been aroused.

Though, as soon as I line him up and get ready to start our morning the right way, his phone rings on the bedside table. I'm tempted to keep going, but he half pushes me off of him when he reaches and reads the name.

"It's your mom."

That instantly kills my mood.

With a dramatic sigh and a pout, I hop off of him and curl up under the covers, letting him answer.

"Good morning," he chirps rather happily, and I try not to imagine my moms smile on the other end of the line. Thankfully I can't hear her, but I can still see Spencer smiling as he greets her and goes through all the pleasantries that come with a long distance relationship; I miss yous and how are yous...

I wonder if he really does miss her. He must, at least a little, right?

I'm staring straight ahead now, picking at my nails while I wait for them to finish talking, but something feels off.

I can feel Spencer's eyes on me.

But then he asks, "What are you wearing?" through the phone with a voice so playful and seductive, and I snap my head around, glaring at him.

"Really?" I mouth.

The smirk on his face makes me want to chuck his phone across the room.

"Mmm," he hums, looking me dead in the eye. And the next time he speaks, I swear he's talking directly to me. "Why don't you take it off... I want to talk you through some things..."

I know my mom is hearing the roughness in his voice through the phone, but right now I can see his eyes, hungry as they rake over my body once I slowly peel the blanket away and reveal myself to him, and I know that his main goal isn't to get my mom off.

It's to finish what we started before she'd interrupted.

"Touch yourself for me, baby? Nice and slow. Just relax..."

He softly crawls over to me, keeping the phone to his ear with one hand while the other takes my knees and spreads them apart.

I start to touch myself as instructed, but he swats my hand away and winks, nestling between my legs. I lean up on my elbows and tilt my head, wondering where he's going with this, when he leans his other cheek into my thigh.

"You know what I'd do to you right now If I was there?" A small pause. And then, "I'd use my fingers to slowly stretch you open... Feel you contract around me..."

His fingers do exactly like he says, and I have to stop myself from making any sound. The evil grin growing on his face as he does it all makes it even harder.

"I'd finger-fuck you nice and slow," he continues in a voice just above a whisper. "Until you're begging me for more."

When his eyes meet mine, once more I want to lean forward, snatch his phone, and smash it on the floor. I want him to utterly devour me, without any interruptions or avoidances at getting caught.

But he's such a fucking tease.

Mom must be talking on the other end, because Spencer is silent, slowly fucking me with his fingers and watching them intently as they disappear inside me. Entranced... The thought of her speaking to him and holding his attention makes me jealous— Sure, he's fucking me right now, but really, she's the one calling the shots.

I lean my head back in frustration, letting out the tiniest of whines and grinding my hips up into his hand, hoping and pleading for more.

A low laugh leaves him. "Please, what?"

It's not lost on me that my mom must have asked for more from him at the same time I did... It cements just how absolutely fucked this whole situation is, and yet I can't help but clench around his fingers in earnest, silently pleading with him to go on.

He removes his fingers from me and I sigh out, trying not to disrupt their call.

"And... How would you like me to fuck you?" he asks, looking at me with an evil grin and knowing damn well I can't actually answer.

After he gets her answer, he climbs up on his knees and spreads my legs further, throwing one of them up on his shoulder while he leaves the other on the bed. Since he only has one hand to work with, he gestures to it and I help him out, lifting my other leg up to my chest and holding it with one arm to let him get inside at a good angle.

"Yeah, and how do you want it, baby?" He lines himself up with me and very slowly sinks the head of his cock in, holding it and running his hand along my stomach. "I'm thinking... I'd like to fuck you so slow you're practically writhing beneath me..."

I stick my tongue out at him, and then without warning he slams into me. I bring a hand to my mouth and bite down on my finger, trying not to make a sound.

"You're gonna be patient... And you're gonna let me take my time... Until you're nice and desperate... Whining out for me like a good little whore..."

Each sentence is punctuated with another thrust, hard and deep, followed by a short pause, and it's all I can do not to cry out his name and beg him to go faster.

Mom must be talking on the line again, because Spencer doesn't say a word as he fucks me. His pace doesn't pick up or slow, and his own self control starts to recede—I can see it in his features. I can also feel it in the way his free hand grips my leg. He wants to go faster, he wants to lose control, and this is killing him just as much as it's killing me.

But then he pants into the phone, his voice breaking a little as he pauses and rolls his hips into me, slow and burning. I whine into my hand as quietly as possible, and he asks the question that will seal my fate.

"Where do you want it?"

I wait, clenching around him and praying for the result I want.

And then he laughs. "Yeah? You like when I paint you with my cum, huh?"

I shake my head, silently begging him to resist and stay inside me, but he only shrugs as if to say, Sorry about your luck, and then pulls out, leaving me whiny and desperate.

Just like he said.

And then, he comes all over me, stroking himself fast and hard. Even though I've still yet to feel any sort of relief, seeing him in front of me like this, feeling his warmth dance across my skin in warm spurts, and hearing him groan out as he watches my body gladly accept it all...

It's quite honestly the most satisfying thing I've ever seen.

I can't say I'm not happy, though, when he slumps down and pants, sighing out a few goodbyes to my mom and then tossing his phone on the floor when she hangs up.

He smiles at me then, and I pout.

"You're evil..."

"Mmm, you love it," he drawls, leaning down and starting to dart his tongue over the mess he made on my stomach. Meanwhile his finger finds its way inside me again, and I feel myself start to turn into a writhing mess once more.

And he's right.

I do love it.

JULY 29th

Approaching the front door with Mom in step behind me, knowing that Spencer awaits for her on the other side isn't what makes my heart jump out of my chest.

It's the look on both of their faces when they see each other.

Though I push Mom forward to go see him, it nearly breaks me seeing her run into his arms. He picks her up and spins her around, reminiscent of their little moment at the airport, and the pure happiness on her face specifically makes my stomach twist.

This time it isn't jealousy.

It's guilt.

She's... incredibly happy. I don't think I've ever seen her this happy before. She's positively beaming as she hugs him tight and buries her face into his chest.

And when he looks past her head and looks over at me, I feel it.

The heartache.

Spencer's eyes burn holes into my own, and fill them with a sympathy that makes me feel more wounded than comforted.

I wonder then if he can see it on my face; The way I'm trying not to break down and cry... The way I'm only holding myself together by the weak smile I'm wearing, both to assure him that I'm fine and also to feign happiness for my mother, rather than the aching envy and sadness that festers within every crevice of my soul.

I offer to grab more of Mom's things from the car and dart right back out the door to avoid them for a little while. Maybe to also get some fresh air, even though I'd just been outside less than a minute ago.

After flinging open the trunk of the car, I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut, feeling my chest start to tighten at the realization that I might be starting to fall in love with him.

A man who isn't mine, and who could never be.

———

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds smut

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happyandticklish · 3 years

Text

Commission Info

[Commissions currently open!]

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Note: I’ve added a 300 word buffer on each fic, in case a fic ends up running a bit longer and I genuinely don’t think I could condense it down further. That being said, there is no guarantee it will end up being 300 words extra, that is purely for myself if I believe it’s needed.

In addition, for some of the longer fics, I would appreciate a prompt either that can span out that long, or that you give me creative license to expand upon in order to actually fill the word count (you can always pick a shorter word count if you don’t think it will fit, ofc!)

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Note: I hold the right to refuse a prompt for any reason if I so please. Usually this is just if a prompt brings up an issue I hadn’t thought to put on the “I Won’t Write For” list, or if a specific scenario makes me uncomfy. For instance, sometimes enemies to lovers is okay, sometimes it’s abusive. Sometimes age gaps are okay, sometimes it’s illegal. Just because you have sent in a prompt I don’t decide to take does not mean that you’re not free to work with me on one that will ^^

What I Will Write:

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. I estimate I’ll probably have fics out within anywhere from 1-3 weeks depending on how long the fics are and life circumstances that may end up cropping up. If it seems like a fic is going to take longer, I will reach out to let you know. Two weeks should be my usual rate, though!

#commissions #writing #personal #tickling

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spookydrreid · 3 years

Text

Roll With It

Pairing: Spencer Reid x college!fem!reader

Category: fluff

Summary: reader decides to drag spencer to one of her college’s football games when her friends bail.

Content warnings: whiny!spencer, age gap, talks of college football (?), swearing, mentions of food, alcohol consumption.

Word count: 1.3k

Want to buy me a coffee?

A/n: this is purely self-indulgent… when you read this, I will be at an Alabama University football game with my friends but all I want is Spencer to be there with me. I feel like he would have so much fun!! Soooo… I’m writing this to satiate that feeling. So, it’s specific college wise and if it flops? that’s fine lol.

…

“Come on, please! I don’t feel comfortable going alone!” I whined from the bathroom. My boyfriend, the lovely Dr. Spencer Reid, was sitting in my bedroom, watching me get ready. It was game day at my college and I had tickets. Bama football was quite the event. Students got excited and campus is beaming with crimson pride.

I was just as excited because this was my first game of the new school year. Typically, I went with two of my girl friends. We have a whole day where we eat, drink some alcohol, and then cheer on the crimson tide. But today? Both of them are sick and I am left with two tickets and a deep desire to watch some football.

“I don’t like football, bunny” Spencer whines from his place on my bed. His eyes watch me intently as I flit around the bathroom. It was a spectacle here and most girls dressed up for game days.

I sigh “but college football is so different. You already know the songs! And you’ll be with me! I know you didn’t do this when you were in college.”

Spencer was ten years my senior. At 34, he’s been out of college for some time and has been with the BAU for even longer. It was rare he had a weekend off and I wanted to spend every second I could with him. On top of that, I also wanted to show him around my campus. He was so young when he was in college, and I just know he wasn’t able to have fun like this.

“I didn’t have time,” he comes into the bathroom, wrapping his arms around my waist gently as I put on mascara. “Beautiful. As always.”

I can feel my face heat up at his compliment, butterflies filling my entire body, “thank you, Spence.” I mutter, a little embarrassed. We’ve been together for four years and I still get so nervous around him. “You have time now. Please, Spence? I really would love to take you and it’s rare you get a day off.” I look up at him with my giant puppy dog eyes that usually get me what I want.

I watch his wall drop with a sigh and a smile “you know what? I’ll go! I can’t promise that I will like it, but I won’t know unless I try. Right?”

I turn in his arms, clapping and squealing “yay! Oh my goodness you are going to have so much fun! I promise!” I wrap my arms around him in a crushing hug before pulling back to kiss him roughly.

…

“Put this on. It’s a night game so you’re going to get cold.” I say as I toss him a sweater, I bought him as a surprise. It has ‘university of Alabama’ on the front. It’s classic and very Spencer if I do say so myself.

He’s dressed very down for once, jeans and a t-shirt. I melt at the sight of him, he never dresses like that. And while I love his usual nerdy look, I cant help but enjoy this for the time being. It was different and he looked sweet.

“Bunny… I don’t get cold.” I nod. We’d been together long enough for me to know that he does, in fact, get cold. As soon as the weather dips below 75, the man is cold.

“Whatever you say, Dr. Reid.” I giggle and pat his chest. “Come on. We can walk to the stadium! It isn’t far!” That was one of the beauties of owning a condo on campus. I wasn’t more than a five minute walk from the stadium and a large majority of my classes. And I will be forever grateful to Spencer for talking me into buying it! I hoped that one day, soon, he would move in with me.

He grips my hand and takes my house keys from me, slipping them into his pocket once we’ve locked the door, “doesn’t the noise bother you?”

I shake my head, “no. But I am very used to sleeping around noise. You know me, I can fall asleep just about anywhere.”

He laughs and my heart pounds. It’s one of my most favorite sounds ever and I do all I can to hear it. He holds my hand, kissing the back of it. I’d never felt more at home before I met Spencer. He was everything I wanted in a man and more. Even if we’d done long distance, he took every chance he could to come see me.

“I want to see you drink a beer!”

He scrunches his face, “why? I’m not really a beer person?”

I shrug, “you weren’t a pumpkin spice person either and here we are! Now, every fall you look forward to them! And they have pumpkin beer so, try it!”

“Fine,” he says with a smile, “but only because I love you so much.”

…

The stadium is huge with its capacity of 101,821 people. Watching the game on TV makes the stadium look small. But Alabama put a lot of money into it and in person, it shows.

“This is what your tuition pays for?” His brown eyes stare at the sky as we wait in line.

I shake my head, “I mean most of it goes towards the salary of the university president. But I imagine some goes to this?”

I scan my student ID which holds our tickets, pulling Spencer behind me with excitement. And once we’re fully inside, his eyes grow even wider. “This place is giant!” I smile up at him as he looks around. I can see the excitement in his eyes, and it warms my heart so much.

I lead him to our seats while he looks around. He’s careful with what he touches and makes sure to not get in others way. “We are here! I got us as close as students are allowed!”

He sits and looks over at me, “thank you. For taking me.” He looks happy and I can barely stop the tears the well in my eyes.

I lean down and kiss him softly. He isn’t much for PDA, but he allows the kiss, “no one else I’d rather be with, Spence.”

…

By the time fourth quarter rolls around, Spencer has gotten the rules down. He stands behind me, arms wrapped around my waist to keep me warm as we watch the clock tick down. Bama is up by three points and it’s a nail biter. But, with one minute left, the score a touchdown and the stadium goes wild. Spencer turns me and kisses me, chilly hands resting on my cheek.

“What was that for?” I mutter, breathlessly, as he pulls back. His lips brush mine softly as he answers.

“Just felt that warranted a kiss. And I just like kissing you.” He smiles as he does it again, pecking my lips just as softly. “I love you.” He whispers. I can barely hear him over the crowd roaring at another Bama win.

I hold his face, “I love you more, Spencer Reid. Now, take me home and let’s celebrate this win.”

...

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#Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid x college!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x y/n #Spencer Reid Fluff

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johnsamericano · 3 years

Text

𝔖𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯 ℜ𝔲𝔰𝔥 𝔧.𝔧.𝔥 •3•

I hope this ain't getting shitty. Thank you for reading, sexy people. Send me a message or an ask if you'd like to be added to the tag list.

warnings: hungover jaehyun, age gap, hospitals, nothing too extreme.

sugar rush m.list.

taglist: @thoreeo @trustmahluv @sunny-nyu @nanascupid @silent-potato @painted-hills

Yoonoh woke up on a strange bed, the mattress stiffer than the one he had back home. He refused to open his eyes, fearing that the daylight would worsen his headache.

“Wake up, sunshine.” He groaned, all the memories from the past night hitting him like a truck. “Come on, I made breakfast.”

His eyelids finally fluttered open, frown softening at the sight of you in a messy bun and your cute pajamas.

“How come you look so fresh?” The dark circles under his eyes had deepened in the span of a few hours. Thank God he didn't have to work that day.

“I always look fresh.” You seemed to be more comfortable around him. Perhaps it was because you had to tuck him in last night. “Up.”

You tugged both of his limp hands, forcing him to sit up.

“What did you cook? It smells nice.” He scrunched up his nose like a little kid.

“Eggs, bacon, and hash browns.” Fast as lightning, he got up from bed. On his way to the kitchen, he noticed the blanket hanging from the edge of your sofa. Disappointment pinched his heart.

“Why didn't you sleep with me? You would've been more comfortable.”

You set two plates on the small table, pulling the pan out of the stove to serve them.

“You spread yourself all over the bed as soon as I laid you down.” You lied successfully. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you weren’t that comfortable yet.

You let the pan down on the kitchen counter, taking a seat in front of him.

“Do you still want to visit my father?” Sparkling orbs stared at him timidly, fearing his answer would be negative.

“I mean…” You hummed, trying not to give it as much importance. “I do want to go!” He quickly corrected himself, frantically shaking his hands. “It’s just that I don't want to meet your father like this.” He pointed at his bed hair, which had only become messier since he woke up.

“You’re acting like he's gonna see you.” There was a slight bitterness in your tone, along with a fake grin.

“Alright, let's do this instead...” Yoonoh sat up straight, clearing his throat as if he were about to give a speech. “We’ll have breakfast, you'll shower quickly, and then we’ll drive to my house so I can fix myself. How does that sound?”

“So I'm finally gonna see your mansion? How exciting.” You kicked his leg teasingly under the table, his cheeks inevitably dipping as he tried to suppress a smile. “I bet you have some peacocks in your backyard.”

“And there's also a dolphin in my pool.” He let out a hearty laugh, extending his arm over the table to grab your hand.

His house was most definitely not what you expected.

It was about the size of the one you grew up in, the decoration inside minimalistic. There were no expensive paintings framed with pure gold, only pictures of him and his family. There was a small backyard you could access through the French door in the kitchen. Half of it was occupied by a greenhouse.

“I had to donate the peacocks to the zoo.” He whispered as you looked through the glass door, squeezing your shoulders with his slim fingers.

“What a shame.” Hesitantly, he wrapped both of his limbs around your torso, letting his chin rest stop of your head. Your heartbeat was thumping loudly against your chest. Yoonoh surely felt it but decided not to comment on it.

“There’s a Tv in my room in case you want to watch something while I shower.” A hint of mischief adorned his honey-like voice. “Or you can come in and watch me instead.”

“Stop!” Your elbow connected with his ribs out of pure panic, making him bend in pain with his hands covering the injured spot.

“It was a joke...” He whispered, teeth gritting together.

I made him mad, you thought. Should you escape or face the consequences of his anger? All thoughts erased from your mind as he grabbed your calves, lifting you over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” You hit his back with closed fists, unable to see the expression on his face. “Yoonoh!”

He went up the stairs, proceeding to enter his room and throw you on his bed. Thousands of dirty scenarios crossed your mind before he threw himself on top of you, crushing your bones under his muscular body.

“My...ribs...”

“Oh, sorry, what is that?” To make matters worse, his fingers tickled your sides, provoking a fit of desperate giggles to escape your mouth. “I’m not hearing an apology.”

“Sorry! Sorry!” His hands finally stopped, giving you time to breathe. Nonetheless, he remained laid on your chest, using his forearms to lift his weight. “Aren’t you gonna shower?”

“I like you.”

The confession was so sudden, so raw it took you some time to finally react. But you had no words to give him an answer, instead, you combed your fingers through his long hair, massaging his scalp while waiting for him to speak up again.

“I never thought I'd be feeling more than friendly affection for you. Our agreement doesn't include love, after all. But I've started feeling like a teenager all over again. I can't help but get excited whenever you call me. Do you know how sweet your voice sounds through the phone?” He sighed, discouraged at your lack of response. “I guess you're not there yet.”

Instead of verbally answering, you planted a sweet kiss on his head, right where small, grey hairs had started growing.

“I’m not good with words.”

“That’s alright.” He snuck his hands under your back, holding you tightly as a sudden need to nurture you took over him. The mature image he had of you faded in less than a second, leaving behind a young, troubled woman. “I’ll shower quickly so we can go see your pops. I bet we’ll get along just fine, maybe even go golfing when he wakes up.”

“I forgot you're almost the same age. Creepy.” He smiled, though uneasiness started steering in his guts.

“Does that bother you?” He asked without giving it a second thought.

“I don't know yet.”

(...)

The man with high cheekbones and bruised skin laid limp on the hospital bed. Yoonoh had been working on his case for about a month, yet, it only started feeling real the moment he entered the room.

“This is my dad.” All emotions had escaped your eyes as if your soul wasn't there anymore. Only an empty shell.

“You look so much like him.” he was afraid touching you wouldn't be the right thing to do, so instead, he said: “He seems like a suitable golf buddy.”

Tension finally loosened its grip around his body as you snorted, pigment returning to your cheeks. Finally, he wrapped his hand around yours.

“He will wake up, y/n.”

“He’s taking his sweet time.” You glanced back at the laying figure, skinnier with every day he spent asleep. “I want someone to pay for taking away the last person that loved me.”

The last person that loved you. Would Yoonoh be able to fill that spot? Not yet, probably. He couldn't modify the depth of his feelings, but he could surely give you the vengeance you longed.

“Do you trust me?” With your eyes still glued to your father, you nodded. “Then I can assure you we’ll win the case.”

“I know we will.”

He sat silently with you, holding your hand without saying a word. The smell of alcohol and the beeping noise of machines made him nauseous. He hated hospitals. You noticed the change in his demeanor, his hand becoming cold while holding yours with strength.

“Do you wanna go?”

“No!” He smiled through the pain, scooting his chair closer to lay your hand on his lap.

He wouldn't agree to get his ass off the plastic chair. You had to tell him you were hungry for him to finally stand up, still clutching your hand like your father did when you were still a kid. His parental behavior caused several emotions to stir inside your guts, so mixed up you couldn't quite put a finger on any of them.

“What do you want to eat?” The tension finally left his body once out of the building.

“Soup.” You smiled while swiping your thumb on top of his knuckles. “I know a place, but to be honest, it isn't good. So we can go to the store and get the ingredients to- but you can't cook.”

“I’m up for a cooking lesson if you are.” He wanted to see your pretty smile again. Maybe making a fool of himself would help. “Let’s hit the road.”

“Wow, so cool.”

“I know.”

(...)

“Can you grab that can of chicken broth?” You pointed at the high shelf, letting go of Yoonoh’s hand to allow him to move freely

“I have a better idea.” He dragged you by the arm so you were standing in front of him, trapped between his body and the shelf. “I’ll lift you so you can reach it.” Matching his words, his hands grasped your waist, ready to carry you.

“Stop!” You slapped his hands repeatedly between giggles. Ignoring your complaints, he started lifting you. “Yoonoh!”

“Yoonoh?” A feminine voice had him placing you back on your feet in less than a second.

“Seryeong, I didn't expect to see you here.” His hands remained seated on the curve of your waist.

“Neither did I. I was surprised when Sungchan told me you'd left early yesterday.” She seemed a bit older than you but still younger than the man behind you.

“I had some matters to take care of.” She eyed you from head to toes with a smug grin plastered on her lips. Just by the look of her clothes, you could tell she was as wealthy as Yoonoh. You feared the scene would turn into a tv worthy drama.

“I’ll go get the chicken breast.” You tried escaping his grip, only to be pulled closer to his warmth.

“No need to. It's already inside the cart.”

Why am I so dumb?

“Does your father know about your little girlfriend?” She asked without hesitation.

“I guess.”

“And why didn't he tell me anything?” She cocked an eyebrow, his hands finally loosening around your body and allowing you to move from your position.

“Look, this is something you should talk about with him. Now, if you excuse us...” With a hand on your shoulder, he began pushing the cart to the next aisle, the chicken broth long forgotten.

“Is this some kind of arranged marriage situation?”

“Something like that.” His hands were tense while holding the cart, knuckles turning white from the strength used. “Before you start asking, I'm not really in the mood and I don't want to direct my bad mood toward you. Let's talk about something else, alright?”

Who was that woman that had the power to turn him into a literal raging ball of fire with just a few words?

#nct au #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct smut #nct x reader #nct #nct scenarios #nct 127 #nct angst #nct jaehyun #nct fluff #nct jung yoonoh

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intercoursefluids · 3 years

Text

Marry Me Part 1

Dick cracks the kitchen door open and takes a picture of the scene.

Marinette kneading dough with a focused look on her face, Damian sitting at the counter occasionally looking up at Marinette before continuing to sketch.

Dick turns to the side, noticing Alfred coming his way and scrambles to hide the evidence of his snooping.

Alfred looks at him, raising an eyebrow before walking in the door.

Dick waits around 6 minutes for Alfred to walk out and away before creeping back over to the door.

Soft instrumental music now fills the air, Marinette humming along as Damian watches her with a soft smile.

Marinette's soft humming fills the air accompanied by Damian's pencil strokes.

Dick pulls out his phone taking a small video and posting it to his personal twitter with the caption “It’s so Domestic!” followed with a crying emoji.

Marinette finishes kneading the dough and starts to form them into little rolls, placing them on the pan as she sways to the music.

Jason arrives just as she finishes.

Dick waves like crazy, signaling him to be quiet, and for once Jason listens.

He comes over peeking through the door with Dick before breaking out into a wide grin, pulling his phone out as Marinette places the pan in the oven, turning on the timer before washing her hands of the flour.

They watch as she hums swaying to the music as she dries her hand with a dish towel when the unexpected happens.

Now to understand their shock, you’ll need some background information.

Damian Wayne would rather gouge out his own eyes before dancing with someone.

So imagine their surprise when their little brother stands up and walks over to an oblivious Marinette, humming softly with her.

He taps her on the shoulder to get her attention before bowing at the waist and holding out his hand to her.

“May I have this dance?”

Marinette smiles blindingly bright before placing her hand in his.

He guides her around the room, spinning her periodically with the softest look any of them have ever seen on his face.

He starts to hum louder than before as he spins her before pulling her close again with a hand on her face.

Dick has to put a hand over his mouth and pass his phone to Jason because he's shaking so much. Tears stream freely down his face as he stifles his sobs.

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Neither brother even jumps at Selinas sudden voice, instead mutely nodding their agreements.

Dick leans back against his step-mom, sniffling at the display of affection playing out in front of them.

“It’s okay Dick, me and Selina are crying too.”

One look at Jason and Selina confirms that they are both in fact crying as they record. Well in Jason's case his eyes are a little shiny.

The song comes to an end as a timer rings.

They break away and Dick takes back his phone, stopping the video as Marinette checks and something in a pot on the stove.

Dick is about to step away when he notices Selina still filming and Tim walking towards them.

“What are you all doing? And why is Selina recording?”

Thankfully Tim seems to notice the secretive atmosphere and whispers not giving away their position to the two inside the kitchen.

“Your little brother is being sweet and I have a feeling that he’s not done being affectionate yet.”

Tim raises an eyebrow crouching down next to the rest of them and pulls out his phone before pointing it through the gap.

“Blackmail kinda sweet or make me cry kinda sweet?”

He turns back to the rest and sees Dicks face before pulling out a handkerchief that Marinette made him.

“Nevermind.”

They turn back in time to see Marinette finish stirring whatever is in the pot and move it off the heat before turning back to Damian.

Hugging him she rests her head on his chest with a smile as a new song starts up.

“Do you want to dance?”

Marinette looks up at Damian with a confused smile on her face.

“I thought we already did, mon chou?”

Damian chuckles softly tucking some of the hair that fell from her bun behind her ear.

“That we did, Habibiti. But against my better judgment I can’t help but find that dancing with you is one of the finer things in life.”

Marinette smirks at him, her hand coming up to grasp the wrist of the hand still cupping her cheek.

“Well then maybe we shouldn’t dance, afterall too much of something you enjoy can lead to an addiction.”

Damian smiles, swooping down to kiss her softly before pulling away.

“Indulge me just this once?”

Marinette sighs heavily, before speaking.

“Oh alright, but just this once.”

Behind the door there isn’t a dry eye in sight, even Jason shed a tear or two.

They start dancing again but not quite how they were before.

Before they were doing proper ballroom dances, now they just hold each other close and sway. Marinette's arms around his neck and her head resting on his chest, meanwhile Damians arms wrap around her waist, pulling her flush against him with his chin resting on top of her head, both of their eyes closed. The perfect picture of contentment.

Dick snaps a picture before immediately posting it to his twitter with an attempt at a caption that looks more like a keyboard smash since he can’t see very well through his tears.

They sway together for a long while before a second timer sounds.

They break apart, albeit reluctantly, and Marinette pulls the tray from the oven before carrying it over to the counter and switching the now golden brown buns to a cooling rack.

Since she is now facing the door the brothers plus Selina have a perfect view of Damians face from where he stands behind her.

Dick, now coherent enough to take pictures without them being blurry, lets the others film as he takes another picture. Posting it again to his private twitter so the rest of the family can see.

His face is full of pure adoration and love for the girl working in front of him.

“Mon Chou? Can you grab the glaze from the fridge? I need it.”

Damian immediately snaps out of his daze to do as she asks. He places the bowl by her hand before wrapping her up in a hug from behind, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“I love you, Marinette.”

Dick immediately takes two pictures, one with just the hug and Marinette working and another of her smiling after he says he loves her. And just like the rest, he immediately uploads them.

She smiles, stepping away to untie her apron and walking away. Effectively breaking the hug much to their 4 spectators disappointment.

“I love you too, Damian.”

She walks around the counter to hang up her apron, leaving only a few feet between her and the people who are filming them.

She doesn’t make it.

“I think I want to marry you.”

The 4 sharp inhales go unnoticed by the two teens as Marinette drops her apron, spinning around to face Damian with a bright blush.

“What?”

Marinette's voice is barely a whisper, as Damian rounds the island to come stand next to her, taking her hands and accidentally angling them in the perfect view to show both of their faces to the cameras.

“Let me reword that. Marinette, I know I want to marry you.”

Tears start to form in her eyes as Damian gets down on one knee, pressing a kiss to each of her hands before he starts to speak again.

“Marinette, you are so incredibly phenomenal. Ever since the first day I met you I knew I was doomed to fall for you, I just wasn’t prepared for how hard I would actually fall.”

Dick snaps another picture managing to type out a simple “OMFG” before posting.

“You are the only one I have ever been able to see myself spending the rest of my life with, the only one I have ever wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

Tears stream down Marinette's face as Damian looks into her eyes.

“I know that you have been hurt by the people you trusted most, you’ve told me how the people who were supposed to stay by your side turned you back on you.”

Damian sighs, turning her hands up and kissing her palms.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I vow from this day forward that in any way I may accidentally hurt you, even when I try my damndest to prevent it, that I will allow it to be done onto myself tenfold. I will stand by your side but I will never force you to remain by mine. When you want to take the lead I will cover your blind spots and protect you from those who try to blindside you. When you can’t think of a plan right away, or are too overwhelmed to take the lead I will stand front and center to cover you till we make it to safety. My sword arm, my strength, and my knowledge are at your disposal. And my heart and love are yours to take.”

Selina reaches over dick to Jason and Tim, putting her hands on their shoulders as they both cry freely.

“I know I’m not the best at expressing or even understanding my emotions.”

Marinette opens her mouth at his self deprecating tone, but Damian rushes to catch her off guard.

“Even so, the one thing I am sure of is that there will never be enough words to tell you just how much I love you. I will happily spend everyday for the rest of my life, trying to show you just how much you mean to me. And even then it won’t be enough.”

Damian pauses giving Marinette time to let out her thoughts before he continues.

“Oh Damian, I-, but what will everyone think? We’re 16! No one even knows I am with you outside of friends and family. What will we do when people call me a gold digger? I- people in France already don’t like me. I don’t want to drag you through the mud with me by agreeing to marry you Damian.”

Marinette winces, slowly pulling her hands away from Damians. He just grips them tighter.

“Marinette.” His serious tone makes everything go quiet, silencing even his brothers and stepmom's soft sobs.

“There are only two things in existence that could stop me from marrying you and one of them is if you say ‘No’. If the people in France believe that they have any say in what you do or don’t do just because they believe the words of a liar over you, it just proves that they are even dumber than I thought. As for our age? We can be engaged for the two years it takes us to turn 18, or if you want, we can wait longer. I don’t mind. And I’m pretty sure that if someone called you a ‘gold digger’ Jason, Dick, and Tim would put a stop to it before word even got to us.”

He gently pulls her hands back again, kissing her palms as she speaks.

“What's the other thing?”

He hums in question, meeting her eyes.

“You said that there were only two things that could stop you from marrying me, one was me saying ‘No’. What’s the other?”

Damian straightens slightly making sure she knows just how serious he is.

“Death.”

It's silent for a minute, no one daring to breathe.

“Yes.”

It's barely a whisper, hardly more than a breath, and yet it holds more worth than anything else in the world.

“Yes I will marry you, Damian.”

Damian immediately jumps up wrapping Marinette in a hug and spinning around with the before dropping to the ground again.

“I can’t believe you said yes.”

Marinette laughs at Damian, happy tears flowing down her face.

“You asked me!”

“I didn’t think that I was lucky enough for you to actually say yes!”

Marinette giggles again pulling Damian into a kiss that he happily returns, at least before he groans loudly and breaks, instead resting his forehead against hers.

“What's wrong?”

Damian sighs his shoulders lumping before answering.

“I have to tell my brothers and Selina by tomorrow. At least Dick and Selina so they can help me-”

He cuts off, paling severely.

“Dicks gonna kill me. I proposed to you without a ring, and he will skin me alive for it.”

Marinette laughs again.

“I’ll ask him to spare you. Besides, he can’t have me as his sister-in-law if he kills my husband.”

Marinette blushes at him as he smiles.

“Tomorrow, I’ll get the ring tomorrow. I don’t think I could wait any longer than that to finally put a ring on your finger.”

They cuddle up together, relishing in each other's presence.

Dick is the first to stand up, followed by Jason, Tim, and then Selina.

They walk down to the cave, all staying silent as their phones save the videos they were lucky enough to take.

Once they make it the tears start up again, full volume wails coming from dick and sniffles from Jason.

“That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

Dick cries into his stepmother's hair. His brothers following suit.

All of a sudden Dicks phone starts going off like crazy.

He pulls it out annoyed ready to tell whoever is on the other end off for interrupting his cry sesh.

467 notifications and climbing from twitter.

He opens it to the picture he snapped when Damian started swinging Marinette through the air with the caption ‘She said yes! BRB gonna go cry my eyes out’.

He looks at his username with horror, paling considerably as he looks at his family.

“I fucked up.”

#FLUFF #maridami #daminette #batfam #maribat #so cute

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