#and debating on whether or not to do a background

[astrologydray]

…Pallas in the houses…

Pallas through the houses shows how and where your brain naturally sees patterns, solves problems, and defends what matters. It’s your built-in strategist, often working in the background through intuition, logic, or observation—this is the part of you that “just gets it.”

1st House – The walking strategist

You naturally read situations fast and lead with sharp instincts—people may feel like you’re always five steps ahead. Your mind and identity are fused; you can spot the game, make the move, and stay calm under pressure.

2nd House – The value-based problem solver

You’re great at figuring out how to make things last, make things make sense, or make money. You’re wise when it comes to worth—whether that’s self-worth, price tags, or how to build real security.

3rd House – The verbal pattern genius

You’re sharp with words, ideas, and reading the room—you could probably win a debate with your eyes closed. You solve problems by talking it out, explaining it clearly, or connecting dots no one else sees.

4th House – The emotional strategist

You instinctively know how people feel and how to protect what’s sacred. You’re the person who can sense emotional patterns in family, memory, or childhood dynamics before anyone else picks up on them.

5th House – The creative chess master

You use art, humor, flirting, or performance as tools to read and shift energy. You solve problems by shining your light in smart ways—and you’re great at making others feel seen or outwitted, depending on your mood.

6th House – The low-key expert

You’re a behind-the-scenes brain who knows how to fix, tweak, heal, and improve things quietly but powerfully. Your mind thrives in routines, systems, health practices, or jobs that require smart efficiency.

7th House – The relationship whisperer

You can see through people, understand dynamics instantly, and know exactly how to handle conflict without making it a war. You’re a master at reading between the lines in partnerships—business or romantic.

8th House – The emotional hacker

You’re psychologically sharp—you just know what’s going on under the surface. Your intuition is next-level, and you often solve deep, taboo, or emotionally messy problems like it’s nothing.

9th House – The big-picture thinker

You’re gifted at seeing patterns in belief systems, cultures, or worldviews. You solve things with a zoomed-out view—philosophy, teaching, spirituality, or calling out BS with facts and faith.

10th House – The public mastermind

Your wisdom shows up in how you move through your career, reputation, or leadership role. You’re seen as someone who “has it together,” because you apply smart strategies to your goals and grind.

11th House – The visionary connector

You’re brilliant in groups, ideas, or future plans—you just get networks, friendships, and what society needs. Your brain is wired for innovation and creating smarter systems for collective growth.

12th House – The intuitive mystic

Your wisdom comes from dreams, subtle energy, or divine downloads—you solve problems through gut feelings, not spreadsheets. You might not always explain how you know things… but you always do.

[starscr0ss]

hii @blood-orange-juice since U asked ＼(^_^)／ (sorry this took longer than i expected i Had to make a post about it i just have many thoughts)

i wrote a little about this on my twitter ^ post shown above

The post you commented on was originally me rambling about what i think to be tartaglia’s sort of attention seeking tendencies- but to relate it back to chlmi:

In general i find childe to be incredibly needy, whether it's serious or simply a facade he puts on, he seems to greatly enjoy receiving the attention of those he respects and/or appreciates- lumine being in this category.

I personally find this to be incredibly funny and also just interesting. There’s this chronic need to be constantly recognized and praised- like I had said previously in my post. I think this for several reasons: there are personal, more logical ones- Like him possibly being the middle child of his family. There are other ones that are more backed up by canon, like him being an adventure-hungry kid, idolizing the heroes he father would tell him about. All of that just points me to a kid whose family just happened to be preoccupied with the rest of his siblings, and not on, say, little meek Ajax.

One of my favorite parts about this dynamic is the blinding, neverending faith he seems to have on Lumine- he loves her for she is to him: an equal, inside the battlefield and outside of it. I think there’s a part inside of him who honestly wants to save her- but not like, in a patronizing way. I don’t even think it's something that he could even articulate. He wants to be there for her, wants to help her and fight by her side and i’d even say he’d outright hate Aether for acting in a way that, for him, brothers shouldn’t- childe adores lumine, even more so i think he just adores the fact that someone like her even exists: a real hero, an adventurer, a good person.

And he wants her to see him, at least once. He’s greedy, he deserves to be seen by her.

That’s childe on my part. Talking about lumine is a little trickier because all we have are random tidbits on her personality and royal background (which i hateeee i need their entire life story and dislikes and likes on a neatly written page with ribbons and all. But oh well)

Anyways, lumine is like three different unhealthy attachment styles stacked on top of each other wearing a white dress and flowers, (and we love her for it. I support women’s rights and wrongs.) But really, there’s no way you’re normal about your interpersonal relationships once you’ve lived your entire life depending entirely on your brother and assuming he will always be there for you, just for him to leave and also refuse to come back with you when you plead him to. I am reminded of Dainsleif’s question to her (“Do you believe your brother to have abandoned you?”) because I think, in some part, she does.

Some people see her as the opposite, but at least in my experience, an avoidant person is simply one that knows they get too easily attached- of course Lumine is incredibly avoidant. Painfully so. But it's all just a symptom of her root problem, which is being unable to form a normal and not all-encompassing relationship with anyone else. And really, Childe is the worst person for her to come across. He’s unsavable, terminally unfixable, because there really isn't anything there to fix, because everything he is, he’s proud of. It just so happens that what he is is a weapon, and weapons eventually dull or break. And obviously she doesn’t just see him as a weapon (whether he likes this about her or not is up for debate, but any of those are interesting and fun to explore so i'm fine with either jsjs)

Do I think she wants to save him? In a way, I do. In an incredibly selfless way, I think she’d trade places with him if she could (ever listened to kate bush? Yeah. that one song) but also i think she just wants him for herself, not anyone else and certainly not the tsaritsa or the abyss.

So yeah that’s my basis for my thesis, written on the twitter post above. I really think she’d foolishly try to latch onto him the same way she did with Aether (at least I think that serves for a fun dynamic) . And I also think he’d let her, out of greed. Out of desire.

Toodles!

[strawberry-nugget]

You ask Katsuki to give you a massage and end up with him blowing your back out♡♡

Warnings: smut, 18+ minors do not interact, fem!reader, happy ending massage, p in v sex, fingering, (some light) anal fingering, oiled up sex yall #holyfuckingairball, slight!dirty talking, slow sex, biting, spitting, prone-bone position, unprotected sex, All characters are 20+

Katsuki’s hands are huge. Heavy. Warm like stones left out in the sun. His fingers are thick, bulky and chubby where his knuckles are, the pads of his thumbs are calloused and rough, freed from the texture of a print due to regular filing, and still, my god— do they feel good rubbing zig zag lines and uneven shaped circles against your sore back.

His hands settle over every curve of your back like they were made to be there. Broad palms that are quirk charged bracketing your waist, spreading heat through his thumbs over muscle and skin until you’re not sure where your body ends and his begins. The weight of them is grounding, like gravity doubled. Like exhaling for the first time in hours.

You have been sore for way too long. Debating on whether you should book an appointment for a massage or get doctor prescribed physios, but ultimately in your lack of time and indecisiveness, you’ve let the issue come to its boiling point, let your back feel sore and aching to even the touch of your nails when you scratch yourself. 

You tell yourself it surely wasn’t an excuse to make Katsuki get his hands on you like this, but then again if you were asked, you couldn’t say the opposite. The feeling of his hands on your skin is scorching every cell of your existence at all times and now— now you’re enjoying this way too much.

Naturally, your breath starts to stutter. Just a little. Shallow at first—barely-there catches of air that stalls in your chest each time his thumbs roll in deep near your spine, right where it always hurts worst. Katsuki notices. Of course he does. His hands pause for half a beat, then glide lower, smoothing the ache with a gentler pass like he’s coaxing the tension out instead of breaking it.

“Too much?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and heat and something else he doesn’t name. Something that lives between the cracks of his touch.

You shake your head into the pillow.

No. Not even close.

If anything, you feel as if you might as well melt.

The room is candlelit, filled with that slow bloom of lavender and something warmer—jasmine? Chamomile? It smells almost toasted from where his palms heat up the oil, seeping into the air like steam curling off summer pavement after rain. Soft music is playing in the background, drumming low with every single lyric the singer sings; Katsuki has gone out of his usual way to make you feel comfortable.

You’re already half-melted into the mattress by now, face buried in a pillow that still smells like his skin, the edge of your tank top pushed up to your ribs. You feel him behind you, quiet, deliberate, the bed dipping beneath his weight as his hands find the bottle of oil again.

When his hands leave your back, you’re back to feeling like hell, like all the alleviated pain just punched its way back into your rear.

To save you from this agony, Katsuki’s hands—those massive, brutish hands that have torn through half the villains in Japan, the hands that have been worked in excruciating and harsh conditions over the years—are moving over your back again like they’re made of sunlight and patience.

He presses again, harder this time. Not cruel, not rough. Just deliberate. One thumb working in a crooked elliptical circle beneath your shoulder blade while the heel of his other palm drags slow, wide strokes across your lower back. There’s no rhythm to it, no pattern. Just instinct. Just him. And maybe that’s why it feels so good. Because it’s not technique, not some learned routine from a textbook. It’s just him and the way he cares about you. Cares enough to soften his rough edges, to make his hardened palms feel incredible and soothing on your back.

Katsuki settles on either side of your legs, sitting on his knees above you as his oily thumbs hook under your bunched up shirt, coaxing you to lift only ever just a little, so he can take the article of clothing off of you.

With only a small tag, the flimsy piece of clothing is over your head, discarded onto the edge of the bed and Katsuki moves over your legs again, this time sitting low, just over the back of your knees. Rough palms that drip of fresh lavender oil feel your tummy as you stay lifted up, running up, up, up, until they slide across your breasts, thumbs softly brushing your nipples.

You moan with a rasp, at the loss of the feeling, or maybe at how hot his palms are when they engulf your shoulders and give a pinching little rub. 

You feel Katsuki press in with a slow, unyielding pressure that makes your breath hitch against the pillow. He knows exactly where to go—where you hold stress, where it bites. Right between your shoulder blades, far up on the back of your neck, low at the base of your spine, the outer edges of your hips. His thumbs circle there, digging in just enough to ache, then easing off like a tide pulling back from shore.

He tags at your pyjama shorts next, just the waistline at first, then the start of your panties, but his thumbs stain the fabric in lavender sweetness, tagging even further when he says “Off”

You lift your hips without a word. It’s not even a decision—it’s instinct. A quiet offering. A permission that’s already been granted a hundred times in your body before it ever reaches your lips.

The shorts slide down slow. The elastic tugs over the swell of your ass, catching just slightly at the curve of your thighs before easing off, guided by thumbs that are far too gentle for how rough they look. His hands are reverent, even now. Even with your bare skin revealed under the low flicker of candlelight, with the smell of lavender thick in the air, wrapping around you both like a silken ribbon.

There’s a pause. Not long. Just enough to make you breathe in, hold it. You feel the weight of his gaze on your back. Feel it like a touch. Like heat.

Then his hands are on you again, and it’s almost worse than before. Better. Unbearably better.

His thumbs drag low, slow, slick with oil as they part the dip of your spine. They don’t press too hard. Just smooth you open—figuratively, literally—with strokes that make your toes curl into the sheets. His fingers knead into the meat of your hips now, heavy and full, pressing into places that ache with tiredness, places that never get touched this way unless it’s under the guise of something much filthier.

“You wait too long,” he mutters. Voice rough, low, almost annoyed—but not really. Not at you. “Could feel the knots from the second I touched you.”

You hum, something low in your throat. Almost a laugh. Almost a whimper. “Didn’t have time.”

“Make time,” he snaps, but it’s soft. Almost affectionate. His hands say more than the words ever could. They dig in again, dragging slow zigzags along the base of your spine, making your back arch and your thighs twitch. He smooths them over your ass, dragging the oil agonisingly slow over you, until his thumbs brush over the lower crevices of your bottom.

“Just ask, I’ll rub your back”

You can’t tell if it’s the oil or your own sweat making your skin slick now. Can’t tell where the ache ends and the heat begins. Can’t tell where you end and his skilled fingers begin.

All you know is that Katsuki’s hands are still on you—huge and hot and unrelenting—and that you never want them to stop.

You’re starting to forget the ache.

Not because it’s gone, but because it’s changed, morphed into something else under his hands. It’s still there, but not sharp. Not angry. Just… full. Blooming warm in your chest and pooling low in your belly like syrup, like honey slowly melting down a spoon.

You breathe again. Really breathe. And it comes out shaky, lips parted against the pillow, lashes fluttering in the candlelight.

“Fuck,” you whisper. Not directed at him. Not even really a word. Just a sound of surrender.

Katsuki shifts behind you, and you feel it—his weight bearing down gently on the back of your thighs, his thighs bracketing yours now, his body closer than it was before. Still clothed. Still in control. But not distant.

Never distant.

You feel his breath brush across the back of your neck a second before his lips do.

A soft press. Nothing more. Just warmth. Just acknowledgement.

“I know you’re tired,” he murmurs, voice low, sticky with quiet tenderness and worn-down. “But you can’t let yourself get like this.”

You nod—barely—but he sees it. He always sees you. Even when you try not to be seen.

“I’m here,” he says. “You got a boyfriend to fix your back anytime”

It’s simple. Not romantic, not flowery. Just your usual Katsuki. 

His palms flatten against your waist again, spreading out like wings, dragging slow and deliberate as they glide up your sides. They pass over the swells of your breasts without urgency this time, just pressure and heat and familiarity, before curling over your shoulders. His thumbs dip under your arms, into the softest parts of you, and rub gentle, grounding circles.

You lean into it. Into him.

“You don’t have to fix everything,” you murmur, voice hushed against the pillow. His hands still. Not gone. Just still.

You call out his name, almost sheepishly, sleep dragging a voice that’s ready to complain, in contrast to your previous statement. You pout even, “Don’t stop babe i'm sore” 

Katsuki exhales through his nose, and it sounds like a laugh, except it’s lower. Thicker. Like he’s trying not to let on how fond he is of you when you get like this tired and whiny and melting beneath his hands like you were made to be touched and felt up by him.

“Yeah?” he mutters, and you hear the smirk even before you feel it. “Thought I didn’t gotta fix everything.”

You nuzzle your cheek deeper into the pillow, refusing to dignify that with an answer.

He hums. His thumbs move again, slow, small circles into the soft spot just below your shoulder blades. You sigh, finally loud and satisfied again—and he shakes his head like he’s trying to be annoyed, even as his hands keep coaxing little, blissed-out sounds from your throat.

“Back’s all locked up like you’re made of concrete. What the hell’ve you been carryin’ around?”

You shrug lazily, the motion barely registering. “Life?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Too much of it.”

He shifts again, the bed dipping as his weight adjusts. One arm slides beneath your stomach, anchoring you gently, while the other keeps working slow and steady down your spine. Every stroke is fixated to every dip of your back like he’s trying to draw something out of you. Not just the tension. The tired. The worry.

You make another soft, contented noise, and he presses his lips to the side of your neck again—no heat, no rush, just a quiet, grateful touch.

One moment you’re relaxed, open, muscles soft, the dull ache of being rubbed with such pressure weighing you down to complete relaxation and the next—Katsuki’s lips find the edge of your shoulder blade. Smooching once, twice over spots that are oiled up.

He can’t help himself.

The lavender scent. The way your ass is curved upwards, so perky. The oil makes your skin shine in the low light of the candles. The angelic way the music starts sounding as the notes hit your skin like the softest raindrops on flower leaves; He feels himself lean into the fondly softness of the moment, growing hotter by each second. His cock has already started giving him warning throbs inside his briefs.

It’s almost quite dangerous, what you do to him. The sight of you sprawling limp and sleepy and soft under just the touch of his hands. So in a bold movement he smooths his wonders once again over your ass, thumbs parting your legs from the inside of your thighs, just a little. When he pulls back to his original position, vermillion eyes flicker where your slit is, glistening softly, not throbbing quite yet.

The slow drag of his hands, smoothing lower, is parted only by a moment from the pause just above the dip of your ass, where his thumbs rest—hover—like he’s thinking something over. Like he’s holding himself back, the way he always does when he thinks this might be too much, too soon, too selfish of him.

But to assure him, it isn’t, you push your hips back, just a tiny bit. So eager for him as always, even in this vulnerable state.

“Katsuki,” you breathe through a moan slurred, not like a question, not a plea. Just his name. Like you’re granting him permission by calling it out.

It’s all he needs.

His hands firm at your waist again, grip tightening just slightly, a groan catching low in his chest as his body bows over yours. You feel the warm press of his mouth at the nape of your neck, open and slow and wet. Feel his breath, the way it shakes. The way it matches yours.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he mutters against your skin. “Lyin’ here like this. Soundin’ like that.”

You’d laugh, a soft breathy chuckle, but it comes out like a whimper when his thumbs knead into the meat of your thighs and spread you gently apart. Lavender clings to everything. Your skin, your breath, the air—but now it’s mixed with eerie desire, like it wouldn’t turn out exactly like this when you asked him to rub your back.

His hands don’t rush, like they usually do when his chest is so tight with desire, arousal. They drag over your hips, your waist, until his fingers slide down the sides of your belly and find the edge of your hips again. This time, when he tugs your love handles, doughing them into the pads of his palms, there’s no hesitation. Just soft skin and warm oil peeling away from your skin, pooling on the sheets behind you.

You’re bare. Completely. The candlelight flickers, catching the sheen of sweat and oil across your back, your thighs. Katsuki pours more oil on his palms. You feel it trickle down your spine, between your legs. You feel him there too, kneeling behind you, hovering over you like heat itself.

And when his hands return, when his fingers slide between your thighs and find you already wet, already open—his breath punches out in one low, reverent curse, like he doesn’t remember seeing the way you were glistening when he looked over a second ago.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands slowly opening your ass cheeks “Look at you.”

You press your face harder into the pillow, hips tilting, thighs spreading wider in a silent invitation you’ve never needed to say aloud with him.

He slides one thick finger through your slick and groans, low and guttural like it hurts. Like he’s the one unraveling.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he says, voice rough, dazed, groaning out his words “fuckin’ dripping…”

The first push of his fingers is slow, deliberate—just one at first, thick and sure. Dragging the edge of the knuckle softly against your clit. Your back arches. Your mouth falls open. His other hand braces at your hip, grounding you, owning you.

Then another finger joins the first.

And god, his fingers are just as big as his hands, and you swear they’re made for this. Not gentle, but not rough either. Just pressure. Heat. Depth. The kind of stretch that makes your legs tremble, your body pulse with something deeper than need.

You sob into the pillow, and he shushes you softly—lips at your shoulder, tongue dragging the edge of your skin, teeth sinking in.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he breathes in your ear. “Let me make you feel good.”

You shiver when the pads of his thumbs push on the outter lips of your pussy, spreading you wider for him with that same careful control he uses in a fight—like he knows exactly how much force to use, how far to take it before it ruins you. And maybe you want to be ruined a little.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Katsuki murmurs, voice nearly gone, wrecked from how hard he’s breathing. His thumbs hold you open while his fingers curl slow, deep—dragging against that spot, under the hood of your clit that makes your thighs jolt, makes your chest squeeze tight. He watches you clench around him, watches the oil and slick mix and drip down to the crease of your thighs. Watches everything with that starved kind of look on his face, biting his lips and scrunching his nose, eyes blown wide like he’s being allowed to witness something sacred.

And he can’t help himself, once again, not to drag his left thumb over your entrance, circling softly, to gather some slick before his finger taps at your other puckered hole, rubbing once, twice, before slowly sinking in.

At the same time, almost, his right pointer finger enters your pussy, the thumb never leaving your clit, always circling it lazily, elliptical.

You both hiss, you at the feeling of both of your holes being entered, him at the feeling of how tightly you clamp around just his fingers.

His cock is furious inside his pants now. Angry at the top and leaking over the spot the tip has settled at.

“Fuuuuck,” he whispers again, this time quieter. Like it’s just for himself. Like he can’t believe how good you feel, how warm and wet and tight you are, clenching down on both fingers like your body’s trying to drag him in deeper.

And he feels like he might as well go insane.

Because it’s not just the way your body reacts to him, not just the way you sob and tremble and push back against his hand like you can’t get enough, though all of that drives him crazy. It’s that you let him see it. Let him touch you here, like this, in this kind of quiet, candlelit intimacy where everything is soft and raw and slow.

Your thighs tremble. Your breath catches.

It’s too much and at the same time, not enough.

His left hand, still slick and strong, adjusts where it holds you open. That finger still lazily and slowly pumping —almost still of movement— in the hole of your ass, teasing in slow, subtle pushes that make your whole spine tense, makes your toes curl into the sheets. And all the while, his right hand works in tandem; pointer finger deep inside your pussy, thumb lazy and steady on your clit like he’s marking time. Like he knows just how fast to take you, just how slow to pull you apart.

You whimper, shamefully loud. 

It’s the kind of sound you’d usually try to bite back, bury into your wrist or his bicep, but Katsuki doesn’t let you this time. He growls at it, low, like a threat, pushes in just a bit deeper, rubbing the pad of his thumb in slow, wet circles against your clit until your hips twitch again.

“There you go,” he mutters. “That’s it. Let me hear it, baby.”

You do. Because you can’t not.

As you carefully wiggle your hips just a little more upwards, you yelp, feeling just a little pain from the thick finger in your ass and it takes all of Katsuki’s humility to gather a ball of spit in his mouth and let it go off, past his raspberry blown lips and onto the slit of your ass. 

His finger exits so, so, so slowly, still you groan at the slight discomfort due to it, making his chest swell, and he catches some of his spit with his finger and enters you again.

Every nerve in your body is lit, every edge of you aching and raw. Katsuki doesn’t let up and with his chest bearing all this excitement and humility that makes his ears red and tingly from seeing you so spread open like this, he doesn’t stop. Just holds you open like you’re something precious and obscene all at once, his fingers working slow and deep until you’re shaking under him, toes curling, face buried in the pillow to keep from sobbing his name.

Suddenly, the bed creaks under his knees as he leans down, dwelling chest brushing your back, breath hot on your neck. His fingers never stop working—sliding deeper, curling, then scissoring your pussy open just slightly as if to test how ready you are for what comes next. He simply rasps at how wet you are, but it’s swallowed under the silky sounds of your squelching.

You feel open, loose, hot to the touch and unable to move, like your lower half has been lost in a cloud of overbearing pleasure.

Then, like you're kicked to the gut and jolted out of your pleasure cloud nine— you feel it. The weight of it.

Katsuki’s cock, hard and heavy, presses against the swell of your ass, sizzling hot even through the thin cotton of his boxers, begging to be set free.

You feel yourself leak, a beady drop of sticky sleek that trails down the lips of your pussy and onto his thumb. He presses down on your clit like it’s a button, squeezing just enough before flicking it, left then right, up then down and all over again until you’re screaming into the pillow.

Your pussy feels like it’s on fire and for once, the finger in your ass is starting to feel way more pleasing than it’s ever felt in the few times you two have tried this.

You feel the steady pulse of his throbbing mushroom tip beneath your skin, a weight that drags and shifts with every careful motion of his hips, like he’s tracing the shape of you without needing to see. Every inch memorized in the heat of this moment.

Slowly and so deliberately, his hands exit out of you with a pop and a treacherous whine from the depths of your chest that drips on your lips and slip to the waistband of his briefs, fingers rough only to himself as they peel the fabric down his thighs, releasing the tight hold. The cool air hits the bare skin of his cock, already glistening with heat and promise, and your breath catches at the sound of his dick hitting his abdomen.

Katsuki shifts closer, lips trailing a feather-light kiss along your shoulder, warm and urgent, grounding and electric all at once. His fingers slip free from where they held you open just moments ago, replaced by the thick, slick head of him pressing between your folds, nestling there like he’s already part of you.

His cockhead on your clit feels like heaven. Everything nice. Big and bulky and heavier than his thumb, it glides over a few, agonisingly slow times, before his voice breaks into speech. 

He finds your clit again, traps it between flesh and fingertip, giving a small, delicious pinch that makes you shiver and arch against him.

“Y’gonna let me in, baby?” he whispers, lips dragging over your shoulder as his fingers slip free, replaced by the thick head of him nestling between your folds again.

You’re going crazy. Aching at the loss of his tip on your entrance. Drool catches at the side of your mouth and spills over the pillow, walls clamping down around thin air. You need him inside you right now or else you’ll combust. You’ve been spread out and toyed with for oh so long.

“Y-yes, please baby, put it in”

His breath fans across your skin, hot and ragged, as he shifts the last bit of distance between you. The head of him presses deeper, teasing the wet, swollen gate of your slit, just at the edge of full surrender. Your body tightens, trembling with the delicious agony of waiting.

Then, painfully slow, he pushes inside you, past the tight rim of your entrance—inch by inch, and so deliberate, a tender invasion that makes your chest rise and fall in ragged gasps. The heat of him floods you, filling every ache and hollow with only his tip that's pouring clear precum like a river. A vein on his cock throbs, catches close to your g-spot and you moan at the feeling, your clit throbbing like its on fire, by the action.

Katsuki’s hot hands slide down your hips, gripping firm enough to anchor you but gentle enough to let you melt beneath him. His lips find the curve of your neck, pressing soft, chaste kisses that trail lower—each one a quiet confession, a promise stitched into flesh. He bucks into you again, broken breath and a rhythm to match it, hips far from even stuttering against you.

All Katsuki can think right now as he looks down at his hands on your plush skin is that he loves you. All blown out and barely spread open as he pushes your ass close, chanting his name as he feels you trap his veiny cock inside your walls. He couldn’t keep his hands off you for a second and it’s like a blessing that you asked him to massage you. A curse too, because he knew he wouldn’t hold back from turning it into sex even if he tried.

With every -barely- measured thrust, you feel his chest swell against your back, pounding with something more than desire—a love so raw and fierce it almost hurts. His cock drags deep inside you, the slow rhythm setting fire to every nerve, every whisper of skin-on-skin.

He buries his face into your shoulder, breath hitching, biting onto your earlobe and sucking before he speaks, voice thick and vulnerable at once. “Love you babe.”

Your body trembles, caught between the sweet sting of pleasure and the weight of his words. You press back into him, aching to close the distance, to be lost in the overwhelming pull of this moment—where every touch, every breath, every heartbeat says you.

“Love you too” you whisper, finally.

You gasp when he grinds deeper, and he groans like he’s hurting, like it physically aches how much he wants to make this last.

And then he starts kissing you. Everywhere.

“I gotchu babe, let go” he whimpers “You’re killin’ me,” he breathes. “Feels so good—I just wanna stay here, baby, please—lemme just…”

His hips stutter and you feel him shake into your sore neck, just a little—and his lips press harder, tighter, to your shoulder as he groans your name into your skin like a vow. Like he’s praying and you're his only god.

Your hand reaches back blindly, desperate to touch him, to grab at something real, with your face still squished into the pillow and he catches the movement, brings one of his hands to match yours and threads your fingers together without a second of hesitation. His hand tangles with yours above the pillow. Fingers sticky with lavender oil and need, pressing into yours like he needs the anchor. The other stays at your hip, guiding you back into him with the same rhythm he holds in battle—steady, devastating.

You can feel the way his heart beats against your back when he leans in close. Can hear the way his breath hitches when you let out a soft moan into the pillow, hips pushing back into his, seeking more.

His grip is tight, grounding. A promise made in the trembling space between sweating and hot skin.

You feel every inch of him, not just inside you, in the squelching in and out and the sound of skin slapping, but around you, covering you, his chest flush and hot on your back, the way his arm tighten around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you close enough.

With every thrust, he leans in, chest brushing your back, lips dragging kisses along the curve of your shoulder, your neck, the back of your ear. His breath is warm and ragged, but his mouth is gentle. If saying ‘I love you’ wasn’t enough, his cock spells it out inside you, like he can’t stop saying the phrase without saying it out loud.

“You’re killin’ me,” he mutters, kissing the nape of your neck, voice breaking against your skin. “Don’t even know what you do to me.”

Katsuki’s hips roll again, and you gasp more from the emotion than the sensation. You’re so full, he’s so deep in it almost hurts. But he’s so tender with it. You feel him kiss your shoulder again, then the spot just underneath your ear. You shiver under the weight of it, under the heat of his breath.

“Can’t get close enough to you,” he mutters, almost like he’s mad at himself for trying. “You’re all I fuckin’ think about.”

You reach for him with your other hand as well, fingers searching behind you until your hand finds his forearm. Taut, huge as always and trembling from the control he’s holding. You clutch him there, and he groans at the contact, your nails dig in and he’s thrusting just a little deeper, a little slower.

Each time his hips meet yours, your breath stutters, your throat tight with the aching swell of something bigger than arousal. It’s overwhelming—the way he fills you, how soft he’s being, how quiet and gentle he is when usually he’s all noise and heat and thunder. But now? There’s no room for temper now. And if he’s always just slightly embarrassed and aroused by that feeling in the bedroom, this time, it’s becoming something worse. His belly tightens, stomach tight and numb and falling like he’s been punched.

That bubbling feeling is travelling straight to his cock, making him impossibly hard, letting the start of an orgasm shimmer, his balls tightening so much he can feel it.

You can feel it where his hard abs brush your back, where his nose presses into your shoulder blade, where his hips move with more emotion than rhythm. His voice is cracking, his fingers are squeezing yours for dear life.

But the way he is fucking into you, is not rough, nor fast. It’s worship. Slow and delicious.

Every inch of his body sings with it, matching the soft song in the background. Every part of him is working to memorize a body he already knows like the back of his hand—not just how you feel around him, but the sound of your voice when you gasp, the way your hand tightens in his when the pleasure crests too high, the way your breath stutters when he kisses the back of your neck like he’s saying sorry for every time he ever doubted he’d deserve this.

He doesn’t even know what’s gotten into him right now.

It’s probably that he only feels safe when you touch him, when he touches you. It’s probably that the feeling of your skin on his is unlike any touch that he despises in this world. The hand you're digging your nails in is scarred, littered with skin tissue that’s newer, tissue that isn't going to match his old skin no matter how many years pass. And even though he hates looking at it, his cock throbs inside you at the sight of your bodies connecting there.

And it’s in every groan that leaves his lips, every kiss he drags across your spine, every tremble in his arms as he pulls you impossibly closer, like he needs your bodies fuse when he fucks you fron the back like a sin. Slowly, never picking up pace, likes he’s fucking you through it instead of towards it.

Your stomach feels likes it’s dropping, adorned in adoration, his love laced rhythm, that slow-motion hammering way he’s fucking you with is messing with your mind and body in delicious ways.

You’re almost at your breaking point.

Your breath catches again, again as the tension rises unbearably, a string pulled tighter and tighter through every snug and wet thrust, every kiss he plants tenderly, along your back 

Katsuki’s forehead falls to your shoulder. He’s barely trembling by an inch but you feel it. Not from strain, not from fatigue, but from the way this is undoing him. And fucking hell if this isnt the hottest sex youve had in a while.

There’s no fight for dominance, no cockiness, just tenderness. Him not being close to you enough, you not being close to him enough either.

He desperately wants you two to merge into one.

You can hear it in his voice when he speaks next. Not a growl, not a command. Just a whisper. Frayed, cracked, raw.

“Can’t—can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

The words split you open somewhere deeper than sore muscle. Because it’s not just the way he’s moving inside you, it’s the way his heart feels like it’s pulsing against your spine, the way he’s holding you like you’re both breakable.

You're scared for a second, that he's going to get irregular heart palpitations again, but the thought is pushed away when his lips brush your ear. “Your pussy 's so tight. Fuck...I’m not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like that.”

But he doesn’t make a move to pull away despite his words. Doesn’t even speed up. If anything, he presses in closer. Slower. Like he’s trying to memorize this exact second—the shape of your back under his chest, the soft pull of your fingers on his scarred forearm, the hitch in your breath that comes every time his hips roll forward.

You can feel the tremble in his thighs now. The catch in his rhythm. You’re so close, just on the edge, and he knows it. You know he is too. But he’s holding it back like he’s trying to stretch this moment out forever, like climaxing would mean letting go and he doesn’t want to let go.

But oh—you can feel it coming, like thunder on the horizon.

It coils in your belly, winds tighter with every breathless thrust. Slow, grounding, devastating in its tenderness. Katsuki’s mouth is at your shoulder again, dragging crazed open-mouthed kisses along your skin, the base of your hair, drunk on the scent of lavender and your skin like it’s an aphrodisiac.

You think you hear him whisper your name. Just your name. Not even his usual ‘babe’ like it’s the only word he remembers how to say, but it’s so cracked and under his breath you can’t pinpoint it over the sound of your own heart beating in your ears.

His cock pulses deep inside you, catching the perfect angle of your g-spot and it’s so hard now it aches, dragging against every place that makes you cry out, stretch, tremble. He’s still slow. Still careful. Always clinging to you like the act of letting go might mean waking up from this.

His arms wrap tighter around you. His scarred hand finds your chest from underneath you , just above your heart, and stays there, pressing down like he needs to feel every beat. His other is tangled over yours, fingers still locked tight, sweaty and trembling and unrelenting.

“Katsuki—” you choke, and he moans like your voice alone just finished him. A total fatality.

“I know, baby,” he breathes. “I know—‘m right here, come f—ah— for me. Let me fucking feel you. Say it babe, say you wanna come and I’ll —fuck, I’ll get you there”

“Wanna come on your cock Katsuki, feels s’good”

“Let go babe, ‘m here, I got ya” he whispers against your ear.

“Please… please, mhmm”

You shudder under him, your legs trembling as you reach that edge and go right over, your whole body clenching, fluttering around him, pulling him deeper as everything breaks open inside you. Your cry is caught in the pillow, but he feels it. Feels you squeeze, feels your hips arch, your back press flush against him, feels your ass fill out the space on his v-line.

And then he loses it. Sweat drips from his forehead and it takes all of his restraint to not let anything in his body ignite his quirk right now. You feel so good, so wet, so hot around him. 

He sinks as deep as he can go and stays there, buried, kissing your cervix with his leaky tip, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, one long broken sound leaving his chest as his body jolts once, twice, into yours.

You feel him come inside you. Hot. Filling out every tight spot his cock doesn’t kiss in you. And still, he doesn’t stop holding you.

His breath is a mess against your skin. Lips still find you in the aftermath—your shoulder, the side of your neck, the shell of your ear. Your cheek. His arms won’t stop shaking. Neither will yours.

But he doesn’t move. He goes still. Stiff like his whole body is cramping.

Minutes pass like this. Breathing each other in. Skin to skin. Not a single space left between you as he pushes you with his hand from underneath you, into his chest.

You shift your head, enough to reach for him with your mouth, just barely brushing your lips to his knuckles where your fingers are still laced together.

“Babe—Kats,” you breathe, lunges closing in, a hint of guilt closing in as you know he has no other way to make you feel he means it when he says he loves you “I love you so much but I’ll pass out”

“Yeah, yeah, just let me—” he shifts a little, just to pull out, dragging his hand just enough to flip you over as he lays on the bed “all good now. Love you”

Katsuki catches your cheeks and presses a tiny kiss to the apples of both your squished cheeks. He flattens you against his chest with that same arm—the one that pulled you through it all. His hand is spread wide over your back like he’s trying to cover every inch of you.

Your cheek rests against his collarbone, lips parted, lashes damp. You feel the flutter of his pulse against your mouth, a part of you, the one that’s worried about his heart, tries to count how many times his heart beats in sixty seconds.

“I can’t feel my thighs,” you murmur, the words slurred, not really a complaint, when you decide his heart is pumping just fine.

“Shut up,” he says, but it’s all rasp, no bite. His lips press to your sticky forehead like punctuation.

You hum a soft laugh against his chest, then pout as you hold and squeeze onto his peck, kissing the outer rim of his scar over and over again. “No, really. I think I forgot how to walk, you’re gonna have to massage me all oooover again”

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

[pop-squeak]

the curse of fall is that whenever the calender turns to october i immediately start drawing over the garden wall

[ink-the-artist]

Another animation test. I like how in some versions of the Golem story the first thing Rabbi Loew has the Golem do is run some errands lol. ive created you to defend the jewish ghetto against antisemitic violence, could you pick something up at the grocery store for me pls

[havenshereagain]

Another week, another WIP Wednesday! Still working on my de-aged Tim fic, but I also have a fic that i banged out over 3k in two days? So there's a snippet of that as well (that fic's premise is most of the family finding out for the first time that Tim is immunocompromised, currently titled Tim's Spleen)

De-aged Tim

That seemed to do the trick because Tim nodded, though his eyes went distant in thought. The kid probably had a thousand questions, and was trying to figure out what order to ask them in. "Did my parents die?" he finally asked, and Jason's jaw dropped a bit. He then explained his thinking, "I mean, earlier you seemed surprised by the fact my parents went on trips a lot and I don't think my parents would stop traveling unless they had to, so either the company went under or they died. And I'm staying here, and Dick said it was my room not a guest room or something, so I probably live here, or at least did for a bit. The room seemed a little too clean for me to have been living here, but I'm an adult now, right? So I probably moved out, but I definitely did live here based on the pictures and stuff in the room. My parents dying is the only way it makes sense to me." Jason's jaw was just about on the floor from the kid's deductive reasoning.

Tim's Spleen

Tim's grip on the handlebars tightened again. "I knew it was serious," he murmured. Losing an organ, especially one vital to the immune system, was a big deal for a vigilante. It was important that his doctors and team know. "I've spoken with Leslie and Alfred about it. I just assumed at least Bruce and Dick had read the report."

Barbara sighed, and Tim could just imagine her pushing her glasses up to rub her face. "Dick's always been awful about reading reports," she said after a moment. Neither of them said anything about Bruce. What was there to say? The man was usually diligent about reports, this was an anomaly.

[spookythesillyfella]

UUGHH I JUST HAD THE WORST DAY IM SO ANGRY AND FRUSTRATED GRRRR !!!!! goes to draw my best friend @jumjum-crafts 's guy to blow off steam

★ version without text + reference image under cut :

★ song : "STATIC ELECTRICITY HUMAN – Computer Flavor" – kairikibear

[smokszyvverstar]

A portrait turns to reminiscing, turns to doubt

Turns to confort in the knowledge that history need not always repeat

[callmehere-iwillappear]

sooooo tomorrow (september 15) marks one year exactly since i started writing cmh SO i decided to do a dtiys to celebrate (that + 200 followers on here)! i have never done one of these before and i have no idea what i'm doing <3

no deadline no rules just go ham (jk there are a FEW rules)

you can draw OR write something for this whichever you prefer

you can totally change up the pose etc

just in case this reaches outside the circle of people who have actually read cmh i should also give context that Leo Is A Ghost

@ me in the post and use the tag #cmhdtiys i wanna see

uhhhhhh yeah that's it. have fun and thanks for sticking with me for a full year. goddamn that's wild

[aparticularbandit]

me: no, i'm not going to put junko with amnesia in this fic, kyoko wouldn't do that

also me: okay but you know the memory sucking machine has to be in the building somewhere because they'd already locked themselves in when junko took everyone's memories

me: sure, but i don't want to put all of the ideas into one fic. no

also me: okay but you know byakuya would totally find the machine at some point and just wait for the opportunity to get to junko to do that to her out of revenge right

me: ....

also me: especially since he can't kill her without setting off the purifier

me: ....

also me: and then you would get the fun of parallels. spend one half of the fic with kyoko having no memories and slowly recovering them; then spend the other half of the fic with junko with no memories

me: ....

also me: you know it's a good idea

me: i actually know the best place for that to happen, too, because it would coincide with the other plot with the remnants and could play out really well

also me: :D

[tsukasageorge]

ranked pretty much all of my finished art on my computer and a couple sketches. can you tell i like hunter x hunter

[cleanlenins]

Stupid Sinners Theory

If Sammy had said "debts" instead of "trespasses", the prayer would have worked.

[hoshifighting]

what kind of nudes they would send you? 👉🏻👈🏻

WARNINGS: smut, mentions of penis anatomy, male body anatomy.

seungcheol: one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, holding it up right so you can see the huge length. phone propped low to catch his abs, chest, and a big delicious smile.

jeonghan: lying down, hand lazily holding his half-hard cock against his stomach, shadows doing all the work. “this good enough for you, babe?”

joshua: sheets slightly covering his cock, one hand slipping underneath like he’s just teasing himself. bonus: his pouty lips in the shot like he’s waiting for your permission to touch.

junhui: standing in front of a mirror, completely naked, flexing a little, with his dick hanging low. he’d throw in a wink too.

hoshi: a pic of his cock leaking, hand gripping it tight, his thigh muscles flexed as he props one leg up on the puff. there’s a tiger plush in the corner. it kills you, but somehow it works.

wonwoo: it’s a mirror pic in his bathroom, dick out, one hand languidly holding it, while he flexes his abs, and the veins of his hand. no caption, no emojis—just the picture. he knows it’ll have you spiraling.

woozi: accidental thirst trap. he sends you a random post-shower pic, towel slung low on his hips, wet hair clinging to his forehead, and his hard cock half-hidden. “oh, oops, didn’t mean to send that.”

minghao: taken from the side, showing off his hips, his cock semi-hard against his thigh, with some dramatic lighting in the background. the veins of his arm, and lower belly POPPING.

mingyu: another mirror whore. he’s taking the pic in his bedroom mirror, one hand stroking himself, abs and v-line shinng and you don't know if it's sweat, oil, or mosturizer. the smirk he gives is almost as cocky as his stupidly hard dick.

seokmin: the shy teaser. he sends you a pic of just the tip of his cock, all red and leaking, his hand covering the rest but barely in the frame. “is this��� okay?” like, yes, it’s okay, now send the whole damn thing.

seungkwan: never thought he would send a nude, firstly. so it's aa tight shot of just his cock, leaking and red at the tip, his hand hovering like he’s debating whether to jerk off or not. “you’re making me like this, you know that?” he’s nervous, but he’s loving how wild it’ll make you.

vernon: lounging on the couch, sweatpants pushed low enough to expose his cock resting against his abs, hand casually draped over it. “so… you up?” he acts like it’s no big deal, but he’s grinning like crazy after hitting send, creating a scenario in his mind where you look at the pic while touching yourself.

chan: a full-body selfie of him sitting on the edge of the bed, cock hard and curved up against his stomach, face flushed and biting his lip. “thinking about you, noona. can I come over?”

[lmvari]

do you mind? (repost)

summary. sharing a table with a stranger at a crowded café, only to realize they’re far more interesting than you expected.

characters. xiao, scaramouche, heizou, venti, kazuha x gn!reader (separate)

tags. modern au, fluff, crack

warnings. kind of ooc xiao and kazuha, alcohol in venti's

XIAO

Internally panicking, but he welcomes you to the table with a small nod. He’s the reserved type—the kind to look anywhere but in your general direction just to avoid eye contact. Archons, how many times has he glanced out the window just to stare at that decorative plant? He even counted the leaves.

Social interaction isn’t his strong suit. And it certainly doesn’t help that you’re attractive.

If he had his way, he’d sit in silence, letting the passing seconds fill the space between you. But his own discomfort betrays him. Hands fidgeting under the table, fingers tracing the rim of his cup, gaze flickering to anything but you.

He feigns indifference, arms crossed, posture rigid. 

But then—you speak. Because, for some reason, you find him interesting.

You introduce yourself first, then ask for his name.

His heart stumbles in his chest. He’s unsure if it’s from nerves or the sheer absurdity of the situation. Someone willingly trying to talk to him, despite his obvious attempts to fade into the background.

Though his palms are slightly damp from tension, he keeps his voice steady, his expression unreadable. Flat tone. Unwavering gaze. A carefully maintained air of disinterest.

You frown. A subtle shift, but he notices.

That’s a cue, isn’t it? A signal that you’ll leave him alone now. That’s what he wanted… right?

Then why does something in his chest sink when you simply nod, pressing your lips into a thin line, offering nothing more?

He exhales quietly. Curses himself. He just lost the chance to get to know you.

But this is the first time someone’s been able to catch his attention. So he thinks of a way to redeem himself.

"Oh. Okay." You say in response to his answer, forcing yourself to sound indifferent. But truthfully, you’re embarrassed.

You spent a whole ten minutes bouncing your leg, debating whether or not you should make the first move, only to be met with disappointment after finally mustering up the courage.

You bite your bottom lip and tap your fingers on the table, falling silent. Now, all you can do is wait for the servers to call your order so you can leave. You seriously don’t want to embarrass yourself further in front of this stranger.

“I, uh...”

A voice cuts through your thoughts.

You don’t assume right away that he’s talking to you, so you keep your gaze averted, pretending not to notice.

Then, a cough. Loud enough that you instinctively glance up in concern.

Your eyes widen slightly when you find him already looking at you.

“Yes?” You ask, taken aback that he was referring to you. There’s a flicker of curiosity in your expression, maybe even a bit of hope.

He hesitates. “…I'm sorry.” His voice is quieter this time, almost unsure. “I didn’t mean to come across as cold earlier.”

The shift in his tone is subtle, but you catch it. Gone is the detached, indifferent edge from before.

You smile, relieved. "No, no, don't worry about it! I get like that sometimes too."

He exhales lightly. Almost as if… reassured. After a beat, he offers a small, hesitant smile in return. It’s brief, but it’s there.

It suits him, you think.

It’s cute that he chose to apologize instead of just letting it be. Most people would’ve moved on, unwilling to make things more awkward. But he didn't.

And then—

"I'm not used to people." He pauses. “…Especially ones like you.”

A beat of silence.

You blink. Wait. What?

His own words seem to register a second too late.

You watch as his shoulders tense slightly, his fingers curling into a loose fist on his lap. The tips of his ears are… pink?

Oh.

Oh.

Was that supposed to be a compliment? Was he flirting with you? No way. He doesn’t seem like the flirty type. He’s definitely more socially awkward than you. Maybe he didn’t mean it like that.

But before you can overthink it—

“…If it’s okay with you, may I have your number?”

SCARAMOUCHE / WANDERER

Glares at you menacingly. Like a cat trying to hiss someone away.

Him? Sharing a table? With some random nobody? Absolutely not. This table is his.

Without breaking eye contact, he places his bag on the chair in front of him. A silent warning. Don’t even think about it.

"It's occupied," he deadpans before returning to whatever he was doing.

You, unimpressed, grab his bag and dump it on the table. Then you plop down into the chair, arms crossed, staring him down as if to say: "Try and get me out of this seat, you brat."

His mouth parted slightly, just for a second, before snapping shut. Did you just—? The audacity.

A scoff escapes him as he leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his glare sharper than ever. His fingers drum against his bicep as he mutters under his breath—something that sounds suspiciously like, "At least you're not completely spineless." Not that he’d ever say it directly.

But since the café is packed and dragging you out by the collar would be frowned upon, he begrudgingly allows it.

For the most part, he ignores you. Or at least, he tries to. You pretend not to notice the irritated glances he throws your way every time you smile at your phone or stifle a laugh.

Then a server approaches.

She sets your drink down and takes a brief look at the two of you. No food orders yet. Her eyes brighten as she leans in slightly, all smiles.

"We actually have a 25% couple's discount for two strawberry shortcakes!"

Silence.

His stare darkens.

He looks at her like she just personally insulted his entire bloodline. If he had one in this universe, anyway. His lips part, undoubtedly to say something cruel enough to make her rethink her entire career.

But before he can, you slap a hand over his mouth.

"That sounds great! We’ll take it!" you chirp, grinning at the waitress as if your life doesn’t currently depend on keeping Scaramouche from verbally eviscerating an innocent employee.

The server’s eyes sparkle with delight as she scribbles down the order. She even hums. 

He looks personally offended.

You heave a sigh as the server finally walks away. Just as you’re about to relax, you feel a vibration against your palm. The glaring stranger is trying to speak, his voice muffled against your hand.

Then, before you can react—

His tongue moves.

He licks your palm.

Slow. Wet. Deliberate.

"Gross!" You yank your hand away, scrubbing it furiously against his sleeve.

He swats you off instantly, recoiling like you just infected him with the plague. "Get your germs off of me!" he snaps.

"You're the one who just licked my hand!" you retort, scandalized.

His scowl deepens. His expression alone speaks volumes.

"The hell was that for? First, you hog my table—"

"I wasn’t hogging it, we needed to share!"

"—interrupting my peace with your presence—"

"I was minding my own business!"

"—and then you have the absolute audacity to make us out as some kind of couple?!"

"Shut up, they might hear you! We’ll lose the discount!" you hiss, glancing around in case the staff overheard. The people in the vicinity gave looks of concern at your direction.

He scoffs. "You have some nerve."

You roll your eyes. So dramatic. Acting like you just ruined his life.

"I had to grab the opportunity. It’s strawberry shortcake."

He clicks his tongue. "That’s your excuse?"

"It’s strawberry shortcake," you repeat as if that alone explains everything.

He huffs, crossing his arms. "Fine. Go eat your stupid cake."

"You don’t want some?"

"I hate cakes."

You blink. Who the hell hates cake?

"Why?"

His eyes narrow. "Why? Because I hate them. I hate sweets in general. Life isn’t sweet. Life is full of bitterness and sorrow. I don’t get how people manage to laugh in this world. It’s annoying."

…Wow. That escalated.

How did a conversation about shortcakes turn into a monologue about the inherent misery of existence?

"What the hell? Who hurt you?" you mutter.

"My mother."

You suck in a sharp breath. 

The words are so blunt, so casually spoken, that it takes you a second to process. Your lips twitch. No. You shouldn’t laugh.

But the longer you stare at his deadpan face, the harder it is to hold back. A chuckle slips out. Then another.

Hey, this guy is kind of funny. He's growing on you.

He gives you a baffled look like you’re the crazy one for finding humor in his trauma dump.

His brows furrow, and for a brief second, his gaze lingers—not in irritation, but in something else. Something almost mesmerized. He mutters something too quiet to catch before looking away, resting his head on his palm.

You inhale deeply, composing yourself. "Fine. I'll eat both cakes, then. I'm the one paying anyway."

He doesn’t respond, just glares at nothing in particular.

Minutes later, the same cheerful server returns with a tray of two servings of strawberry shortcake. Just as you reach for your wallet—

A hand beats you to it.

The stranger slaps down his own cash before you can even open your bag.

The server’s grin widens. "Ah, paying for the date? How chivalrous!" she chimes, her voice far too amused, before skipping away.

You freeze. Wait.

Did he just let her think that?

Your gaze snaps to him, utterly bewildered. He doesn’t even deny it—just grabs one of the plates and starts stabbing the cake with his fork.

"I thought you said you don’t like sweets."

"That’s right," he mutters before taking a grumpy bite.

You narrow your eyes. "Then why—"

He chews, swallows, and then shrugs, avoiding your gaze.

"Would be a real waste of my money if I didn’t enjoy it with you."

HEIZOU

Has been watching you since you entered the café. Not in a creepy way, just subtle, observant, like he’s solving a case. And wow you are stunning. The way your eyes scan the room, looking for an open seat, tells him you’re about to approach him.

He makes his move first.

"Over here!" he waves, voice warm and inviting, like he's an old friend waiting for you. You hesitate, confused. Do you know this guy? But with no other seats available, you accept with a small, grateful smile.

Big mistake. Or maybe the best decision you’ve made today.

Because once you sit, he talks. And flirts. And teases. And somehow, he already knows things about you.

Will ask you all sorts of questions: What's your name? Your age? Your birthday? Your favorite color? Any pets? Exes?

Even taking guesses as to what your answers might be. and he got them all right, if not, then close. But every now and then, he throws in something completely unexpected: 

"What's your ideal type? Is it me?"

"Aside from being pretty, what do you do for a living?"

"Have you ever committed a crime before? Because now you have."  He says while clutching his chest. 

You nearly choke on your drink. Heizou just grins, clearly enjoying himself.

"Alright, your turn. You can interrogate me now," he offers, eyes gleaming with amusement.

And so you do. Because he’s interesting. Charming. Smart. Too smart. And when he leans in slightly, studying your features like he’s committing them to memory, you feel yourself getting drawn in, too.

Heizou hums in thought. "You’ve got the kind of face that belongs in a painting," he muses. "I’d describe it more, but I’d rather see how flustered you get first."

You roll your eyes, trying (and failing) to suppress a smile.

He'd be the type to reach out and take small bites of your food while chatting. He does it so shamelessly that you're impressed, so you just let him.

This boy is so confident with himself, flirting so casually like it's second nature.

He wouldn't go as far as to touch you, of course. He knows his limits and will keep his hands to himself. But he acts so relaxed and friendly with you that you think maybe he's just playing you.

You’re not dumb. You know he’s interested in you.

It’s not like he’s being subtle about it, either. The lingering glances, the teasing smirks, the way his eyes light up whenever you react to his words. It’s obvious.

And sure, you feel the same way. But still. 

Is this how he always approaches strangers? Does he flirt for fun, or does he actually mean to follow through? How many people have fallen for his tricks before?

A thoughtful hum breaks your train of thought. Heizou taps his chin lightly, then suddenly snaps his fingers. A habit you’ve noticed ever since you sat down.

"Your expression tells me you’re doubting my motives. Correct?"

You blink in surprise. Then chuckle softly, shaking your head. Damn, he’s good.

"That’s right. A point for you, detective."

He lets out a breathy laugh, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Funny you say that. Being a detective is my full-time job."

Your lips part slightly in surprise. He never mentioned that before. But now it all makes sense. The way he reads you like an open book, the way he asks questions so effortlessly, the way he makes it feel like you’re being studied and he’s enjoying every second of it.

"That’s quite… attractive." You admit, cheeks warming slightly.

Heizou leans back in his chair, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself. "You think so?" His grin widens, but there’s a new glint in his gaze now.

"Then allow me to clear up any lingering doubts, sweetheart." He tilts his head slightly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip.

"I do plan on pursuing you."

Oh.

Your heart stumbles. You were not prepared for him to be that straightforward.

Heizou watches your reaction, clearly amused. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he shakes his head. "Only a true detective can crack the case of this heart theft, you know."

A teasing pause. Then, the final blow.

"And my prime suspect… is you."

VENTI

When you approach him, the faint yet unmistakable scent of alcohol lingers in the air. He’s drunk. In the middle of the day. At a café.

Wait. Do they even serve alcohol here?

His head rests lazily on his folded arms, eyelids heavy, lips slightly parted. If it weren’t for the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders, you’d think he was fast asleep. Beside him, a humble coffee cup sits suspiciously untouched. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you lean in for a peek.

Yep. It’s alcohol.

How the hell did he sneak that in? More importantly, how has no one caught him yet? You glance around, half-expecting an employee to scold him, but they just pass him by like he’s invisible. Maybe he’s a regular here.

Deciding not to wake him, you quietly settle into the seat across from him, giving him space. 

Then, without warning, he jolts awake.

"Oh! Hello, stranger!"

He’s suddenly wide awake. No sluggish blinking, no groggy confusion, just pure, unbothered energy. You flinch at the unexpected enthusiasm.

He doesn’t ask why you’re here. He doesn’t even bother to ask your name. Instead, he jumps straight into conversation as if you’re an old friend who’s been here all along.

And somehow, you go along with it.

With an animated grin, he launches into the most ridiculous stories you’ve ever heard.

"Earlier, I saw this red-haired guy absolutely demolish some blue-haired guy in a fight. It was spectacular! Ehe~!"

You blink. Excuse me?

That’s just one of the things he shares. He never runs out of things to say. Wild, chaotic, oddly fascinating things. Like?? Does he see stuff like that on a daily basis?

And despite nearly passing out five minutes ago, he speaks so effortlessly that you start questioning if he was even drunk to begin with.

Like Heizou, he will also steal some of the pastries you ordered, albeit in a more subtle manner. He thinks you don't notice this lol.

"You've got fine taste in sweets, stranger!" he hums, twirling a fork between his fingers. "Tell me, what's your opinion on wine?"

You blink at the sudden shift in topic but answer with an amused smile. "I don’t really know much about it. I just drink whatever I feel like."

Venti gasps dramatically, "Hah, I thought so! I cou—"

His sentence is abruptly cut off by a hiccup. You barely suppress a laugh as you slide a glass of water toward him.

"Whoops! My bad!" He lets out a bubbly giggle, taking the water with a flourish. After downing a few sips, he clears his throat with an exaggerated ahem.

"As I was saying—" He pauses for effect. "If you're interested in wine, I’d be delighted to educate you! I’d say I’m an expert.”

You tilt your head playfully. "I can tell."

His eyes twinkle with mischief. "But if you're not..."

He leans in slightly, voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper.

"I'm still very interested in having a drink with you sometime. You’re quite the gorgeous stranger, you know."

Before you can fully process the compliment, he winks. Smooth, confident, entirely shameless.

"So," he muses, resting his chin in his palm.

“What do you say about keeping in touch?"

KAZUHA

Kazuha is probably the most normal one out of the bunch. No glares, no drunken ramblings, no interrogation-like questioning. Just a warm, endearing smile as he gestures toward the empty seat across from him.

He even stands up, gently pulling your chair back for you. A small but thoughtful gesture. One that makes your heart skip just a little.

"Please, have a seat." His voice is soft, and smooth, like a passing breeze on a summer afternoon.

As you settle in, he strikes up a light conversation, asking about your day with genuine curiosity. He listens intently, nodding along, occasionally offering small comments that make you feel at ease.

And unlike a certain maroon-haired flirt or a wine-loving bard, instead of stealing your food, he offers you his. With a slight nudge, he pushes his plate toward you.

"Would you like to try some?" His expression is hopeful.

You shake your head, feeling too shy to accept. "Oh, no, it’s yours. I couldn’t."

He pouts. Actually pouts.

"Come on, just a bite. Humor me." He even throws in the puppy eyes.

And damn it, how could you refuse that face?

Reluctantly, you take a tiny piece with your fork, just enough to taste.

He notices. And he’s not having it.

Without a word, he cuts a larger piece, lifting it toward your lips with his own fork.

"Say aah," he coaxes, his smile both playful and teasing.

Your face burns hotter than the café’s espresso machine, but you comply, letting him feed you.

His expression softens, eyes twinkling with quiet satisfaction.

But just when you think it couldn't get worse—

He leans forward slightly, his gaze dropping to your lips.

Before you can react, he reaches out, thumb brushing lightly against the corner of your mouth.

Then, with a casual grace that should not be allowed, he brings his thumb to his lips, licking off the stray bit of cream.

And smiles.

Innocently.

As if he didn’t just send your soul straight into the abyss.

You stare at him, utterly flustered, while he simply sips his tea, acting as though he didn’t just casually destroy you in broad daylight.

"You're acting awfully sweet to a stranger," you point out, tilting your head at him.

Kazuha hums thoughtfully, swirling his tea. Then, he gives you a small, shy smile.

"Am I? Well... how could I not, if the stranger is you?"

Smooth. Too smooth.

He gives you a shy smile. "We could fix the 'stranger' part. How about friends?"

You giggle softly. "Are you sure just friends?"

He gives you a playful look. "Well, we could be more in the future."

His laugh is light, airy. Like the whisper of wind through maple leaves. But then, something seems to dawn on him, and his expression shifts.

"But—" he pauses, suddenly looking sheepish. "If you're already seeing someone, being friends is enough."

Oh, that's adorable.

You giggle behind your hand, heartwarming at his sincerity. After all that flirting, he's still worried about stepping over a line.

"Don't worry," you reassure him, "I've never dated anyone."

His eyes widen slightly, genuine disbelief flickering across his face.

"Is that so?" He tilts his head. "That's surprising. I thought someone like you would be off the market by now."

You shrug, smirking at him. He leans in just a little, voice dropping to a gentle murmur, as if sharing a secret.

 His gaze locks onto yours, warm, admiring. 

“I get to find and keep the treasure, then? What an honor.”

note. ah yes the work i was most proud of back then lol anw i’m planning to make a part 2 for this idk when tho maybe when i feel like it. i improved a few bits from the original and this is not proofread! i literally just skimmed through the text and changed a few stuff hope u enjoyed say hi if u remembered this

© lmvari do not repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works on any platform.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Could you perhaps write something? It’s the readers birthday and Reid waits all day to see if she brings it up, but they never do. So he shows up at her apartment with a gift for her and tells her he’ll always remember her birthday, even if she doesn’t tell anyone when it is. And then a little smut occurs. 😱

Birthday Surprise

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), fluff

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, forgotten birthday

Word count: 7.9k

a/n: this is such a great idea i'm so sorry it took me forever to get around to writing it !! it's probably way smuttier than you thought lolol i was in a smut slump but we're back !

main masterlist

Additional warnings: oral (fem receiving) protected PinV

The day unfolds like any other, with the usual rush of paperwork, coffee runs, and the occasional moment of laughter echoing through the bullpen. You stay focused on your work, avoiding any unnecessary interactions that might draw attention to yourself. After all, it’s your birthday, but you’ve chosen to keep that to yourself. It feels strange, withholding such personal information, but in a high-stakes environment like this, there’s a part of you that prefers to blend into the background. Birthdays aren't meant to be a spectacle here. 

You glance around the room, noticing the typical energy coursing through the space, unaware that a pair of eyes have been subtly watching you all morning. Spencer Reid, as meticulous with people as he is with facts, has always been someone who notices the little things others tend to miss. Today, it’s your silence, the absence of a celebratory card, or a slice of cake that catches his attention. He’s well aware of what today means, not because you told him, but because he knows. Just like he knows the birthdays of every other team member, except yours is different—yours matters more to him. 

Spencer taps his pen against his notebook, his gaze drifting toward you. He debates internally whether to say anything, to let you know he’s aware. He’s read enough about social norms to understand that birthdays often come with expectations—balloons, cake, a few awkwardly sung lines of "Happy Birthday"—but that’s not your style. He’s noticed how you avoid the spotlight, how you prefer quiet moments over public celebrations. Still, he wonders if there’s something you’re hoping for today.

Penelope, typically the beacon of all things celebratory, hasn’t said anything either. But Spencer figures you’ve kept it quiet on purpose. He knows Penelope would have plastered the office with decorations had she been aware, and since the office remains as normal as ever, Spencer figures you’re not in the mood for that kind of attention.

He watches you, waiting for a sign—a smile, a quick glance his way, anything that might suggest you’d appreciate a private acknowledgment. When nothing comes, he respects your decision, but there’s a gnawing feeling inside him. Birthdays are supposed to be special, and even though you’ve chosen not to celebrate, he can’t just let it pass without doing something. Not for you.

The day comes to an end, and not a single word has been spoken about your birthday. You’ve kept it quiet, of course, but still, the silence lingers a bit more than you expected. Not from anyone else, and not from you. Spencer has watched the day unfold in his quiet, observant way, and though he knows you’re not one for grand gestures, he can’t let this pass unnoticed. 

After leaving the office, Spencer’s mind is already set on what he needs to do. He stops by your favorite restaurant, carefully picking up dinner. You never told him your favorite spot, but he’s always been the kind of person who pays attention to the little things—especially when it comes to you. He takes pride in knowing these details, even if he’s never made a show of it.

From there, he heads to a local bakery, the door chiming just as the frustrated baker is about to close. Spencer, out of breath and apologetic, manages to convince the baker to stay open just long enough to get a small cake with your name written on it. The generous tip helps, but more than anything, it’s the desperation in Spencer’s voice that softens the baker’s resolve. 

Now, standing outside your front door with his arms full—dinner in one hand, cake in the other—he uses his elbow to press the doorbell, feeling a flicker of nervousness that’s unusual for him. He never shows up unannounced like this, but he knows this is different. This matters.

Inside, you’re curled up on the couch, completely absorbed in the book your parents sent you as a gift. It’s one you’ve been dying to read for months, and it’s been the perfect way to end your quiet day. The unexpected ring of the doorbell pulls you from your peaceful moment, your brow furrowing slightly as you set the book down. 

You tiptoe toward the door, glancing out the sheer blinds to see who it could possibly be at this hour. When you spot Spencer standing there, your heart skips a beat. You quickly open the door, a confused grin tugging at your lips.

"Reid?" you ask, your voice light but puzzled. "What are you doing here?"

He shifts awkwardly, his arms still burdened with dinner and the cake, and there’s a sheepishness in his expression that’s both endearing and unexpected. 

"Happy birthday," he says, though it comes out more like a question, his uncertainty evident.

Your heart swells at the sight of him, the surprise of his gesture hitting you all at once. You glance at the dinner in one hand, the cake in the other, and something warm blooms in your chest.

"Thank you," you say, your voice soft as you open the door wider. "Come in, please."

Spencer followed you into the kitchen, his eyes subtly taking in the details of your small, cozy home. It occurred to you that this was the first time he had ever been inside, and that realization only added to the strange, fluttery feeling that had been building inside you since he showed up at your door.

He set the bags down on the counter, the quiet clinking of takeout containers filling the brief silence between you. 

“How, um... how did you know it was my birthday?” you asked softly, a hint of shyness in your voice. 

Spencer didn’t look up immediately, making himself busy with the food, carefully unpacking it as though it were an everyday task. “I would never forget your birthday, Y/N,” he replied, his voice so matter-of-fact yet warm. 

His words struck something deep inside you, and your heart swelled all over again, the warmth spreading through your chest and into your limbs. “Reid... that's so sweet,” you murmured, barely able to contain the emotion in your voice.

He smiled over his shoulder at you, that soft, almost boyish grin that made everything feel lighter. “I hope this is okay,” he said, turning around to show you what he had brought. “I guessed you’d like this.”

You blinked, staring at the familiar containers in his hands, and your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t just any takeout—it was your favorite order from your absolute favorite restaurant. Your mind struggled to process how he could have known, and your body felt like it was on the verge of exploding with a tidal wave of affection and gratitude.

“H–how?” you stammered, unable to get out anything more coherent as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you.

Spencer shrugged in that sweet, almost bashful way he did sometimes, his eyes meeting yours as he simply said, “I pay attention.”

Those three words hit you harder than anything else he could’ve said. It wasn’t just the dinner, or the cake, or even the fact that he’d remembered your birthday without you saying a word—it was that he saw you, truly noticed you, in ways you didn’t think anyone ever did.

Without thinking, you stepped closer, your eyes soft and full of everything you couldn’t put into words. “Reid, you didn’t have to do all of this,” you whispered, but there was no mistaking the happiness in your tone.

He smiled gently, placing the food down on the counter. “I know,” he said, his voice soft, “but I wanted to.”

And just like that, your quiet birthday became something more than you ever could have expected—because of him.

As the two of you settled into an easy rhythm of conversation over dinner, it felt surprisingly natural—despite the unexpectedness of the evening. You sat across from each other at your small kitchen table, the soft clinking of forks against takeout containers punctuating the space between your words. Spencer, usually so reserved and careful, seemed more relaxed, as if the intimacy of the moment had broken down some of his usual barriers.

“You know,” Spencer began between bites, “this restaurant has one of the highest customer satisfaction ratings in the area. I didn’t just pick it at random—I wanted to make sure it was perfect.” He looked up at you, his eyes bright with sincerity.

You smiled, taking in how thoughtful he had been without even realizing how much it meant to you. "I can’t believe you went to so much trouble for this. I really don’t expect anything big for my birthday."

Spencer shrugged, his expression so genuine it made your heart ache just a little. "Well, it’s not just any day. It’s your day. And you deserve to feel special."

His words landed gently, but with a depth that made your pulse quicken. You had always seen Spencer as more than a colleague, but you’d never really considered him in a romantic light. The way he was speaking tonight, though, made you notice things about him you hadn’t before.

“You’re really thoughtful, Reid,” you said, picking at your food, your voice soft. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone remember the little things like you do.”

He glanced at you with a shy smile, pushing his glasses up slightly. “I like to notice the important things. People tend to overlook those details, but they matter.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, and you suddenly realized how much attention he must’ve been paying all this time. Spencer was always observant—he was a profiler, after all—but this was different. He was talking about you, not in a way that made you feel studied, but in a way that made you feel seen.

“I guess I’ve never really thought about it like that,” you replied, your voice light, though your heart felt anything but. “Most people don’t pay that much attention.”

Spencer looked at you intently then, his gaze soft but unwavering. “It’s hard not to pay attention to you.”

The statement was simple, but the way he said it felt like something more. You felt your cheeks warm, caught off guard by the realization that Spencer Reid might see you in a way you hadn’t seen yourself.

“Reid, I—” you started, but he interrupted, not even realizing the shift in the conversation.

“And you’re always so organized with your case files,” he continued, a small smile playing on his lips. “I appreciate that about you. You make my job easier, and honestly, it’s hard not to enjoy working with you.”

You laughed softly, feeling flustered but trying to keep it light. “You make me sound like I’m perfect or something.”

He tilted his head, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. I’ve always thought you were... well, pretty amazing.”

“I... I didn’t know you felt that way,” you admitted quietly, playing with your fork to avoid looking directly at him.

Spencer, seemingly oblivious to the weight of his own words, shrugged again. “I'm not always good at saying what I’m thinking, but you’ve always stood out to me. I guess it’s just… obvious to me.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and for the first time, you found yourself really considering Spencer Reid in a different light. Sure, he was brilliant, kind, and more attractive than you’d ever let yourself dwell on—but you had never imagined he might see you that way.

You felt... average. Just you. How could someone like Spencer, with his genius mind and thoughtful nature, possibly see you as anything more than a friend or colleague?

As you looked across the table at him, his expression soft and open, you realized that maybe—just maybe—you had been wrong about where you stood with him.

After the plates were cleared, you and Spencer sat side by side, laughing as you decided to abandon any pretense of formality and dig into the cake with forks. It was just the two of you, after all, and the evening had become too comfortable for anything else. Every bite seemed to add to the warmth between you, and even though neither of you had touched a drop of alcohol, it felt like you were both intoxicated—drunk on the unexpected affection and connection between you.

You noticed Spencer watching you with an intensity that was both thrilling and unsettling. His gaze felt heavier than usual, more present, more... intentional. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a little self-conscious under his watchful eyes. “What?” you asked, your voice light but breathless as your lips curled into a small, uncertain smile.

Spencer let out a soft laugh, a sound so gentle it sent warmth coursing through you. He shifted closer, his hand lifting, and before you could process what was happening, his palm was cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed across your lips tenderly, lingering there. 

“You have...” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours, “some frosting.”

His touch was electric, sending a shiver through you, though you were frozen in place. Your lips parted slightly in surprise, but you couldn’t move. Spencer's thumb continued to gently trace the curve of your bottom lip, the moment stretching between you, thick with something you hadn’t realized was there until now.

He leaned in a little closer, his breath brushing your skin as he whispered, “Y/N… I’m going to kiss you. Is that okay?”

His words, soft and tentative, sent your pulse racing, and you barely registered the nod you gave in response. But that was all he needed. Spencer's gaze flicked down to your lips, and he closed the remaining distance slowly, as if giving you every chance to stop him, though you knew you wouldn’t.

His lips met yours gently, a hesitant kiss that was soft, warm, and everything you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. The world seemed to fall away for a moment, leaving just the two of you, locked in something fragile and sweet.

Spencer’s hand stayed cradling your face as he deepened the kiss just slightly, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache. When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his forehead rested gently against yours, and his eyes were still closed as if he were savoring the moment.

“Was that okay?” he asked quietly, his voice thick with emotion, still holding onto the last traces of your kiss.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands instinctively finding their way to his chest. “Mhm, very okay,” you whispered, smiling softly as your heart raced in your chest.

Spencer opened his eyes slowly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. The room felt heavier with meaning now, but it was the kind of weight you welcomed, a sense that things had shifted between you in the best possible way.

“Can I do it again?” Spencer asked, his voice playful, his lips pulling into a silly grin that made your heart flip. 

You couldn’t help but giggle at his eagerness, your cheeks warming as you nodded once more. This time, though, you didn’t wait for him to make the first move. You leaned up toward him, your hands sliding from his chest to the back of his neck, your fingers gently threading through the soft strands of his hair.

Spencer’s hands moved from where they had been resting on your face, sliding down to your waist as he pulled you in closer, your bodies now pressed together with a new, delicious kind of tension. He let out a soft, happy hum, the sound vibrating through you, making you feel like your entire body was alight with warmth. 

When you felt his tongue gently part your lips, exploring your mouth with such tender care, you couldn’t help the soft, sweet moan that escaped you. The sound seemed to stir something in Spencer, and you felt his fingers tighten on your waist just as a low, deep groan rumbled from his chest.

Encouraged by his reaction, you tangled your fingers further into his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. The world outside this moment seemed to fade even more, leaving just the feeling of Spencer against you, the intoxicating heat between your bodies, and the soft sounds of contentment that passed between you both.

Each kiss was deeper than the last, each touch more deliberate, as if you were both slowly learning a new language made of gentle caresses and lingering glances. Spencer’s lips were soft and insistent against yours, but always so tender, as if he was savoring each moment, never wanting to rush. The feeling of his body pressed so intimately against yours, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go, made your pulse race.

Spencer pulled back ever so slowly, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You let out a soft whine, your body instinctively leaning forward, both at the loss of his lips and the delicious pull of his teeth. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath, the air between you thick with unspoken feelings.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he murmured, his voice soft and almost breathless, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Your heart skipped at his words, and you tilted your head slightly, curiosity getting the better of you. "How long?" you asked, your voice just as quiet, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile intimacy between you.

Spencer laughed, the sound low and almost bashful. "Two years and three months," he said with a soft chuckle, his breath tickling your skin.

You paused for a moment, realizing how specific that time frame was. Then it hit you. "That's... that's when I started at the BAU," you said slowly, your mind racing to piece it together.

He nodded, his forehead still resting gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between. "Since the first day I saw you, I knew you were special."

His words hung in the air, and something inside you shifted. You could feel the weight of his confession settle in your chest, and it only made the moment feel more intense, more real. Spencer had been feeling this way for so long, waiting patiently, watching from the sidelines, all without you ever knowing.

That’s when you made your decision.

"Take me to the bedroom, Reid," you said, your voice steady but filled with anticipation.

Spencer pulled back instantly, his eyes wide in surprise, his expression almost comically stunned. "What?"

You held his gaze, your hand gently brushing his cheek as you repeated, more softly this time, "The bedroom, please?" You threw in your best puppy dog eyes, knowing it would be hard for him to say no.

For a moment, Spencer was frozen, his mind clearly racing to catch up with the reality of what was happening. "Okay—yeah, yeah," he stammered, still in shock but unable to hide the excitement building in his voice.

He stood back quickly, offering his hand to you with a mix of eagerness and hesitation. You took it, letting him pull you gently from the kitchen, the warmth of his palm against yours sparking something deep inside you. As he led you down the hallway toward the bedroom, your heart raced, the anticipation growing with every step. 

As soon as the bedroom door closed behind you, your hands were already tugging at Spencer’s sweater vest, pulling it over his head with eager fingers. His usually neat hair was left a little wild and messy, and you couldn't help but giggle softly at the sight. He grinned back at you, shaking his head like a dog trying to shake off water, making you laugh even harder.

"You're ridiculous," you teased, but your words were laced with affection.

Spencer just smiled wider, his eyes filled with mischief and desire. Without missing a beat, his hands found the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it up as you raised your arms in surrender, allowing him to undress you with deliberate care. The fabric slipped over your head, and as soon as it was discarded to the floor, you could feel his gaze roaming over your body.

His eyes lingered on your chest, clearly noticing the absence of a bra, and the way his breath caught sent a shiver through you. There was something so intense, so reverent in the way he looked at you that it made your skin tingle. His hands found their way to your breasts, his touch gentle yet filled with hunger, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

Without another word, Spencer dipped his head back down, capturing your lips in another kiss that left you breathless. This time, it was deeper, more urgent, as if all the emotions he'd been holding back for years were pouring into this moment. His thumbs rubbed at your nipples as he kissed you, and you could feel his heart beating wildly against your chest, matching the rhythm of your own as you whined softly into his mouth.

Your hands found their way to his hair again, tangling in the soft strands as you pressed your body closer to his, craving more of him, more of the way his lips moved against yours, more of the way his hands explored you.

The moment you felt the unmistakable press of Spencer’s arousal against you, your instincts took over. Your hands trailed down, quickly working at the waistband of his pants, eager to feel more of him. Spencer’s fingers left your body only long enough to undo the buttons of his shirt, your breaths becoming heavier as the distance between you both shrank even more.

Soon, he was down to just his briefs, his skin warm against yours, and for a second, you thought he was about to pull you into another kiss. But instead, he surprised you by crouching down in front of you, his hands resting on your hips. You looked down at him with curiosity and amusement, tilting your head.

“What are you doing down there?” you asked, laughing softly, though your heart was racing.

Spencer looked up at you, and the look in his eyes sent a rush of warmth through your body. There was something almost reverent about the way he gazed at you, like you were the most precious thing he'd ever laid eyes on. “I have wanted this for so, so long,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I want to savor every little bit of you.”

His words made you flush with heat, the intensity of his desire crashing over you like a wave. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, and before you could say anything in response, Spencer's hands were moving again, removing the last pieces of your clothing as he kissed the newly exposed skin. 

And then, you were standing completely bare before him, your most intimate parts now level with his face. The vulnerability of the moment, combined with the raw hunger in Spencer’s eyes, made you feel dizzy, but you couldn’t look away.

It seemed like this was exactly what he had wanted all along. Without hesitation, he leaned in, his breath hot against your skin before his tongue traced a sure stripe through your slick folds. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure up your spine, your knees almost buckling from the sheer intensity of it.

A gasp escaped your lips as Spencer continued, his mouth working with a determination that made it clear this was something he had imagined countless times before. His hands gripped your thighs, steadying you as he continued his ministrations, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes designed to unravel you from the inside out.

You couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips, your fingers tangling in his hair once again as he savored you, just like he said he would.

"You taste better than I imagined," Spencer murmured between breaths, his voice thick with desire before he dove back in, his mouth moving over every inch of you, leaving no part untouched. His tongue was thorough, his lips relentless, and each movement made it harder for you to hold on to any coherent thoughts.

Your grip on his hair tightened as a desperate whimper escaped your lips. "You—ungh—you imagined this?" you managed to gasp out between moans, your voice shaky and breathless.

Spencer hummed against you in response, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, his mouth latching onto your clit with more intensity, suctioning his lips tightly before shaking his head back and forth, creating a sensation so intense it made you scream out, your body trembling with the force of it.

The sound that left you was raw, completely involuntary, as waves of pleasure rolled through you, Spencer's hands gripping your thighs tighter to hold you steady as you lost yourself in the moment. He was relentless, devouring you with an eagerness that matched his earlier words. It was clear he had thought about this—dreamed about this—and now, with you here in front of him, he wasn’t going to waste a single second.

"Reid..." you moaned, your voice breaking as your entire body responded to his touch, your legs threatening to give out beneath you. Each movement of his tongue, each gentle bite or hum, pushed you closer and closer to the edge, and all you could do was hold on tight, letting him take you wherever he wanted you to go.

But then, just as you were teetering on the edge, Spencer pulled back, leaving you breathless and aching for more. The sudden absence of his touch made your body tremble, a desperate whine escaping your lips. When you looked down, confused and still dazed with pleasure, you noticed the almost stern look in his eyes, his lips glistening as he gazed up at you.

"Spencer," he said, his voice low, full of intent.

Your brow furrowed slightly, your mind hazy from the high you had been riding. "What?" you managed to ask, your voice breathless and needy.

His eyes softened, but his expression remained firm. "Call me Spencer," he repeated, his tone a mixture of command and affection, as if this small detail mattered more than anything in that moment.

Before you could fully process it, he leaned back in, parting you gently with his thumbs to give himself even more access. The feeling was overwhelming, your body trembling as he resumed his ministrations with renewed intensity, his tongue and mouth working in tandem, more precise and focused than before.

The need in you swelled again, even stronger than before, and this time, you couldn’t hold back the moans that spilled from your lips. "Spencer," you gasped, his name escaping your lips like a prayer, your body arching into him as he pushed you further and further toward the edge.

Hearing his name on your lips seemed to spur him on, his movements growing even more deliberate as he devoured you with every ounce of the hunger he had been holding back. You were completely at his mercy, unable to think, unable to do anything but feel as he brought you closer and closer to the peak of pleasure, his name falling from your lips again and again.

Spencer could sense how close you were, your breath hitching and your body trembling beneath his touch. He doubled his efforts, his tongue moving with precision and urgency, his fingers pressing against your thighs to keep you steady. The need to see you completely unravel, to give you that release, spurred him on as he focused entirely on you.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, and then, finally, the tension that had been building in your core snapped. You tilted your head back, your body arching as the overwhelming pleasure took over. With a loud, uncontrolled moan, your hands found Spencer’s hair, gripping it tightly, tugging hard as you released, your body shuddering and your mind reeling from the intensity of it all.

Spencer didn’t stop, his mouth never leaving you as he worked you through your climax, swallowing everything you offered him. The feel of your fingers gripping his hair, the way your body shook as you released in his mouth—it was everything he’d dreamed of, and more. Only when your body began to calm, your breath evening out, did he slowly pull back, his lips brushing against your skin one last time, savoring the moment.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of satisfaction as you slowly came back to reality. You were still breathless, your body weak from the intensity of your orgasm, but the way Spencer looked at you, filled with awe and admiration, made you feel like you were floating.

"That," he murmured softly, "was everything."

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, still floating in the afterglow, your head in the clouds, your body humming with the remnants of pleasure. Spencer slowly rose from his knees, his hands gently skimming your skin as he stood to his full height, a soft, amused smile playing on his lips as he looked down at you.

“You with me, beautiful?” he asked, his voice full of warmth and amusement as he stroked your hair, fingers threading through the strands tenderly.

You blinked up at him, your eyes still hazy with satisfaction, but your smile was soft and content. “I’m with you,” you replied, voice breathy but sincere, your whole body feeling like it was made of light.

Spencer chuckled, the sound affectionate and full of something deeper. “Good, good,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. “Do you want to keep going?”

A slow smile spread across your lips, and the way you said, “Please, Spencer,” made his heart race with excitement and affection.

Spencer grinned, the playful glint in his eyes returning as he gently guided you down onto the pillows, his hands firm but tender. He leaned over you, his fingers brushing your cheek as he whispered, “Anything for the birthday girl.”

With that, Spencer lowered himself over you, his body pressing against yours with a sweet, delicious heat. You could feel the warmth of him, the anticipation growing as his lips found yours once again, slow and lingering, savoring every second. His hands explored your body as though he wanted to memorize every curve, every inch of your skin, and the way he touched you made your heart race all over again.

This wasn’t just about physical pleasure anymore—it was about something deeper, something that had been quietly building between you both for much longer than either of you had realized.

"Can you..." you started, but then hesitated, suddenly feeling a wave of shyness crash over you. This was Reid, after all, your colleague and friend, someone you'd see at work tomorrow. The reality of that hit you, and it made your heart race for an entirely different reason now.

Spencer, noticing the shift in your demeanor, raised an eyebrow, his voice soft and reassuring. "Can I what, darling?" he asked, a small, amused smile on his lips as he looked down at you.

You shook your head, trying to brush it off, but Spencer’s expression quickly shifted to concern. His hands, which had been tracing gentle patterns on your skin, paused, and his voice became softer, more serious. "Y/N... are you okay?"

You let out a quiet sigh, nodding, but there was still a lingering tension in your chest. "Just... is this going to be weird tomorrow?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The intimacy of the moment, the emotions wrapped up in everything that had just happened—it suddenly felt fragile when faced with the idea of seeing him at the office the next day, going back to the usual routine like nothing had changed.

Spencer's face softened even more, and he tilted his head, his eyes searching yours. "Weird?" he repeated, his voice thoughtful, as if he was carefully considering your words. He shifted slightly, his hand coming up to gently stroke your cheek. "No, Y/N, this doesn’t have to be weird."

You blinked up at him, your heart settling slightly at his calm demeanor. He continued, his voice gentle but certain. "We can take it one day at a time, okay? But if you're worried about work, nothing between us will change unless you want it to. I care about you too much to let this ruin anything.”

"If anything, this makes everything better," Spencer continued softly, his eyes full of sincerity as his hand stayed gently on your cheek. "I’ve wanted to be close to you for so long. I wouldn’t do anything to mess that up or make you feel uncomfortable. We can handle this however you want—slow, steady, or even just keeping it between us for now."

His words soothed the unease that had started to form, the tenderness in his tone making it clear that he wasn’t rushing anything, wasn’t trying to push for something more than what you were ready for. Spencer, as always, was careful, deliberate, and understanding. The way he looked at you, the way he touched you, made you feel safe, even in this new, uncertain territory.

You took a deep breath, feeling some of the weight lift from your chest. "I just… I don’t want this to change things in a bad way," you admitted, your fingers lightly brushing over his arm as he hovered over you, your bodies still close but the air between you calmer now.

Spencer shook his head, his smile warm and full of affection. "It won’t. I promise. I’ll still be me, you’ll still be you. And we’ll figure out whatever this is together, one step at a time. You don’t have to worry about work or anything else right now. Just... be here with me tonight."

You felt a sense of relief wash over you, his words grounding you in the moment. The fear of what tomorrow might bring began to fade as you looked up at him, trusting that Spencer, with all his care and thoughtfulness, would never let this turn into something that would hurt either of you.

"Okay," you whispered, offering him a small smile. "I’m here with you."

Spencer’s face lit up with a soft, almost shy grin as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, his hands once again finding their way to your waist, holding you close as if reassuring you through his touch.

“Good,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and comforting. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

With that, the tension between you melted away, leaving only the quiet intimacy of the moment. Spencer guided you back onto the pillows, his movements slow and deliberate as he kissed you again, this time with more ease and tenderness, making it clear that whatever happened next would be on your terms, whenever you were ready.

Spencer groaned deeply into your mouth as you pushed his briefs down, your hand wrapping around him, stroking him with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch. You guided him into position, your need for him clear in the way your body responded. His lips never left yours, but his breath grew more ragged as the tension between you mounted.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours, his voice thick with restraint.

You whimpered in response, the feeling of him grinding against you, the tip of his cock hitting your clit, making it impossible to think of anything else. “Please, Spencer,” you begged, your voice trembling with need. “I want you so badly. Please.”

He let out a strained groan, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as your words washed over him. "Okay, okay," he whispered, trying to soothe you even though he was losing his own control. "Shh, you never have to beg me for anything, ever."

Your body writhed beneath him, desperate for more, for him, and you shifted your hips instinctively, trying to coax him to push inside. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and your need for him was palpable in every shaky breath you took.

Spencer, however, managed to hold onto a sliver of resolve, even as it wore thin. "Y/N, beautiful," he said, his voice rough, "we need to use a condom."

"Top drawer," you gasped, your words nearly a plea as your body moved beneath him, craving the release only he could give you. "Hurry!"

With a nod, Spencer fumbled toward the bedside table, pulling the drawer open with shaky hands. He found the box quickly, tearing it open with urgency. Your eyes stayed locked on him, watching every movement, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your skin burning with need.

He returned to you swiftly, sliding the condom on with practiced care, though his hands were trembling. The moment he was ready, he positioned himself above you again, his eyes filled with both desire and affection as he leaned down to kiss you, this time slower, savoring the feel of your lips against his.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice softer now, filled with reassurance as he finally pressed forward, slowly pushing inside of you, the sensation sending a wave of pleasure crashing through both of you.

Your head fell back against the pillows, a loud, satisfied moan escaping your lips as he filled you completely, your body welcoming him in a way that felt natural, perfect. Spencer groaned, his breath hitching as he felt your tight walls constrict even further around him. 

"Y/N, darling, relax, please," Spencer panted, his voice laced with both urgency and concern as he struggled to hold himself back, his body tense with restraint. He could feel your tightness, the way you clenched around him, and it was driving him wild, making it hard to stay in control. 

You whimpered, your body still adjusting to the sensation. "You're just—ah!" Your voice broke into a loud gasp as he finally pushed all the way inside, filling you completely. The stretch was intense, overwhelming in the best way. "You're so big... why didn't you tell me you were so big?"

Spencer let out a tense chuckle, clearly amused by your reaction despite his own effort to keep himself in check. "I, uh... didn't think it was that big," he managed to get out, his breath shaky as he looked down at you, his forehead damp with sweat from the strain of holding himself back. 

“You’re a fucking liar,” you laughed breathlessly through your whimpers and whines, your body trembling with both pleasure and amusement.

His chuckle, though filled with affection, was also tight with restraint, and you could feel the tension in his body as he tried to keep from moving too quickly. "Just... breathe," he murmured, his voice gentler now as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, trying to calm both you and himself. "I'll give you as much time as you need. I don't want to hurt you."

You nodded, taking deep breaths as your body slowly adjusted to the feeling of him inside you. Spencer’s hands stayed gentle, stroking your sides and thighs as he gave you time to acclimate, though you could feel him trembling with the effort of holding back.

After a moment, you shifted your hips, testing the sensation, and the movement elicited a low groan from Spencer, his self-control wavering. "Okay..." you whispered, your voice soft but filled with need. "I’m ready."

Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire as he slowly began to move. His pace was careful at first, each thrust deliberate as he let your body adjust to his size, but the tension between you built quickly, and soon, the rhythm grew more urgent, more desperate.

Each movement sent sparks of pleasure through you, the sensation of him filling you so completely making you dizzy with desire. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the way he moved so perfectly in sync with you, as if you were made for each other.

Spencer groaned deeply, his forehead pressing against yours again as his movements grew more intense. "You feel so good," he murmured, his voice strained as he fought to hold himself back just a little longer, wanting to make this last as long as possible for both of you.

"Spencer!" you cried out, your nails digging into his back as your body trembled beneath him, the pleasure overwhelming you.

"Yeah, baby?" he panted, his voice rough and breathless as his hips slapped against yours in a steady, rhythmic motion. "Tell me what you need."

"You! More! Please!" Your voice was a desperate plea, every inch of your body burning with want.

"Fuck," he breathed, his control slipping as he sped up, his thrusts becoming more intense. His hand snaked between your bodies, fingers finding your clit as he began to rub you in time with his movements. The sensation made you cry out again, the combination of his fingers and his body sending you spiraling toward the edge.

“I’m—I’m gonna come,” you whined, your body trembling as you clenched tightly around Spencer, the sensation pushing you toward the brink.

“Y/N!” he gasped, his voice strained as he tried to hold on. “Calm down, baby, you’re going to push me out.”

But you were too far gone to hear him, lost in the overwhelming pleasure that was building inside you. Your whimpers grew louder, your body thrashing uncontrollably as Spencer’s fingers moved faster, working in perfect rhythm with your body's need.

Suddenly, it hit you all at once, the most intense release you’d ever experienced. You let out a violent scream, your entire body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, something deeper and more powerful than anything you'd ever felt before.

Your walls clenched so tightly that you did, in fact, push Spencer out, and you gushed all over him, your body overwhelmed by the force of your orgasm. Spencer let out a low groan at the sensation, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and arousal as he watched you come undone in front of him, watched your release coat his stomach and thighs.

“Did you just... squirt?” Spencer asked, his voice full of pure awe as he looked down at you, his eyes wide with amazement.

You were a panting mess on the bed, completely spent from the intensity of what had just happened. “That, or I just peed on you,” you mumbled, half-joking but still trying to make sense of the overwhelming sensation you had just felt.

Spencer laughed, shaking his head as he dipped down to kiss you, his lips soft against yours. “You are so sexy, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice full of affection and admiration.

You kissed him back tiredly, your body too exhausted to do much more, but the desire to give him what he needed still lingered. "Want you to come too," you whined softly, your words almost pleading.

“Okay, okay,” Spencer soothed, his breath hitching as he positioned himself once more, slowly pushing back inside you. The sensation made your body jolt, and you cried out, your back arching from the overstimulation. It was too much and yet not enough, the oversensitivity sending sharp pulses of pleasure through you.

“Are you okay, darling?” Spencer asked, his voice breathless as he fought to hold himself back, concerned about your comfort.

You nodded quickly, though your body was trembling beneath him. “Nuh huh,” you whimpered, your voice shaky as you gripped him tightly, pulling him closer. “I’m okay, I want this. Please,” you urged, your body still sensitive but craving the closeness, needing to feel him chase his own release.

Spencer groaned at your words, his resolve crumbling as he began to move again, thrusting into you with an increasing pace. His body was tense, his breath ragged as he neared the edge, each movement sending both of you into a dizzying spiral of pleasure.

You clung to him as he chased his release, your breaths mingling, your bodies connected in a way that felt intimate and overwhelming all at once. And when Spencer finally let go, his body shuddering as he found his own climax, you held him close as he groaned and whispered your name. 

After Spencer had taken care of both of you, gently cleaning you up and even changing the sheets that had been soaked in your release, the two of you finally settled into bed, wrapped up in each other's arms. His body was warm against yours, his breath steady as he held you close. Everything felt so perfect, so right in that moment, like the world had shrunk to just the two of you in that cozy little space.

You nuzzled into Spencer's chest, feeling his heartbeat under your lips as you placed a soft kiss there. "I want things to be different," you mumbled, your voice quiet and filled with a softness that made his heart swell.

Spencer looked down at you, his hand stroking your hair gently. "Yeah?" he asked, the happiness in his voice evident. "Different how?"

You shifted slightly, still cuddled close, your lips brushing over his skin. "I want everyone to know," you murmured, your voice more certain this time.

Spencer chuckled softly, though he held you tighter, a smile spreading across his face. "Know what exactly?" he asked, teasing slightly, though he had a feeling he knew where this was going.

You tilted your head up, meeting his eyes with a sweet, serious look. "That you're my boyfriend," you said, your voice full of affection, but also with a sense of determination.

Spencer’s heart fluttered at your words, and he couldn’t help but break into a grin. He’d never thought he’d hear you say something so simple yet so powerful. "Boyfriend, huh?" he teased softly, though his own voice was thick with emotion. He pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. "I think I’d like that," he whispered.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle over you like a blanket. "Good," you replied, kissing him softly. "Because I want everyone to know how lucky I am."

Spencer let out a soft laugh, his thumb gently tracing the outline of your face. "I think I’m the lucky one, Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with nothing but pure, overwhelming happiness. And in that moment, with the two of you wrapped up in each other, everything felt like it was exactly as it should be.

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[heartfullofleeches]

Groundskeeper Reader who works in an allegedly haunted manor turned murder-mystery attraction, but the murder is real and the mystery is which guest ended up in the soup of the day- Whether Reader is human themselves is up for debate- They're satisfied with having a job that gives them a roof over their head and allows them to do their favorite thing - cleaning. The ghosts, ghouls and killers at the manor greatly appreciate Reader's efforts to keep their home tidy. They're adorable wandering around aimlessly with their shovel looking for a new guest to bury.

Groundskeeper is also selectively mute because they just like me sometimes fr and no talk, only clean. They overwork themselves to the point of not eating or sleeping which their coworkers are sure to fix for them. Again, whether Reader needs food is a mystery, but they'll eat if requested.

-

[A group of axe welding ghouls circle around Groundskeeper Reader in the cemetery-]

Yan Ghost: Wait, guys- There's something familiar about this one...

[Groundskeeper Reader ignores them, pulling out a spray bottle and hosing down a grave stone with cleanser. Reader reaches over the back of the grace - picking up their hat they dropped earlier and putting it back on.]

The ghouls, in unison: Groundskeeper!!!

-

Killler: Ugh.... I can't see out of the windows...

[The slasher wipes blood of the window with an old rag. Groundskeeper Reader watching in the background - nodding in approval before wandering off.]

Killer: The hell?.... Why does my face feel so warm?

[Later]

Killer #2: Dude, what are you doing?

Killer #1 - mopping the floors while occasionally looking around for Reader: Nothing.

-

Chef: Ohh, Groundskeeper! One of our dear guests forgot to finish their meal. Would you be a dear and take care of this plate for me?

[Groundskeeper Reader wheels their trash can over to the table, reaching for the plate-]

Chef: Ah, ah, ah!- We don't waste food in this house. Have a seat and eat up before it gets cold.

-

[Groundskeeper Reader drags a body out to the cemetery to bury it in one of the empty graves - ultimately falling asleep in the coffin. The Host of the attraction finds Reader - carrying them up to an empty bedroom.]

Groundskeeper Reader: ....

[Groundskeeper Reader wakes up alone, visibly distressed by the dirt they left on the clean sheets.]