#and yeah there was initial anger but like. it was *dealt with*

[go-to-the-mirror]

guys is it mean to tell someone that you're going to take the bus instead of wait 15 minutes for them to show up (and probably get into an argument because you're tired and those two people together always fucking fight with you) [rhetorical]

[vicsy]

maxiel; mutual post-Hungary jack-off session. 1.5k.

we cope how we can and this is my humble offering.

Max is panting into his neck wetly, his arm sandwiched between their chests. Daniel’s got a mouthful of Max sweat-slick hair sticking to his lips, his tongue, half of his weight pressing Daniel into the stiff couch cushions. He stares at the low ceiling, the light fixture there, running his fingers up and down Max’s spine, his naked skin almost sparking a match beneath Daniel’s fingertips. He feels boneless but on edge; anger but an afterthought but present nonetheless.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck,” Max echoes.

Daniel shuts his eyes, a nervous giggle bubbling in his chest, making Max's head bounce a little. What a fucking mess.

He knocked on the door of Max’s motorhome half expecting to be told to fuck off. Max looked wild and Daniel recognized the glint in his eyes too well to let those expectations fly. He got gripped by the collar of his race suit and unceremoniously yanked inside, well against the odds continuously stacking not in his favor. Max locked the door before he paced to the small kitchen and then turned back, watching Daniel like he had been another ghost of their shared past.

“Daniel,” he raked his eyes up and down his form, pausing at his lips. Max’s race suit was partially off and his shoulders were squared, either for the fight or for surrender. The latter he chose rarely but desperate time, matching measures.

“No time,” Daniel said hurriedly, pouncing, but Max had been waiting for him, almost with open arms.

He didn’t give too much thought to navigating whatever he and Max have rekindled after years of drought. They’ve been glued together for the past two weeks, practically living in each other’s pockets, so falling back into the embrace of old habits felt like an inevitability that Daniel welcomed. No harm, no foul.

There was no finesse to their lips crashing, teeth clanking, Max’s hands fumbling with the zipper of Daniel’s race suit. He had beelined straight to Max’s motorhome without changing, riled up to the point where his vision had tunnelled and had shown him the way. Daniel slipped his palms under the hem of Max’s fireproofs, up his waist, tugging the tight material off and away. He missed the reek of champagne soaked fabric clinging to Max and it only made Daniel push forward harder, tongue slipping past Max’s familiar lips, one hand gripping the back of his neck.

No chances — they never made it to the adjacent bedroom because Max’s race went almost as shitty as Daniel’s and Max always gives as good as he gets.

Stumbling over the coffee table and a suitcase, Daniel parked himself on the uncomfortable couch and Max finally dealt with his race suit, all but ripping the top half of it down, burying his face into the crook of his armpit. Throwing one leg over Daniel’s thigh, Max inhaled audibly and moaned.

Daniel was woozy with desperation. His hand made it to its destination, fingers bumping against the outline of Max’s half-hard dick. His hips jerked, rubbing against Daniel’s clothed thigh, too much of an impediment but he couldn’t stand the idea of going through a costume change, not when Max kissed up his neck and cupped him through the thick material of the race suit.

Shimmying up, Daniel tried to make it easier for Max but it’s was too much work, too messy, so he opted to take the initiative and tug Max’s fully hard dick out, moving the elastic of his fireproofs behind his balls. It could not have been ideal, downright uncomfortable, but Daniel knew Max — his mouth dropped open, a whine tumbling off his lips at the slight discomfort, breath tickling Daniel’s chin. His dick twitched in Daniel’s palm. He grinned, arching an eyebrow at Max and got squeezed hard in return under his fiery gaze.

Max managed to get an easier access to his dick, half sitting in Daniel’s lap, one arm thrown around his neck for balance, fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Daniel’s neck. He gave an experimental tug and Max reciprocated without missing a beat. Pleasure shot up Daniel’s spine and his hunger came alive with vengeance. He bit into Max’s lower lip, palming his waist with a free hand. It felt like a boxing match, Max pumping him fast and sloppy; Daniel holding on to the razor’s edge of unbridled desire, taking as much as he can. The void opening in his chest called for more. And more.

He had shit to do and it was an atrocity on its own, not having the freedom to take Max all the way, sink into his body like it could be another homecoming after years of aimless roaming.

Instead, Daniel drew back and looked down at Max’s cock drooling precome over the rose tattoo on his hand. He felt a bit sick with it, with the open road of possibilities ahead, so he twisted his wrist and Max rocked forward, sunk his teeth into his jaw harder, groaning. Daniel did it again and Max’s hold on his spasmed, his hips jutting back and forth, seeking release.

Daniel couldn’t breathe in the lack of space between their bodies, between the way Max matched his speed when Daniel jacked him faster and faster, the slide almost too dry to really feel good but nothing about the day they both had had screamed for something soft or tender.

With a hitch in his breath, Max came first. It was somewhat fitting for him to cross the finish line before Daniel but he was just behind, on Max’s tail, shooting once, twice, three times. His come painted Max’s bare chest, flushed with a lovely pink blush, and a couple of pearly-white droplets landed on his puffy nipples. Daniel got a sudden urge to lick it off but he couldn’t be arsed to move, let alone let go of Max. He peppered kisses over Max’s cheek, the side of his jaw, wherever he could reach. Daniel feeling stickiness cling to his skin where Max’s release soaked through his fireproofs and it was probably the highlight of the day.

It felt gratifying, in a way — he and Max were practically in the same boat. Fucked over by the team, bristling with anger they had no opportunity to let out to the fullest. Only exception was Max’s boat had some points in it. Daniel has been left adrift with nothing.

He let himself slide flat onto the couch and Max followed, tethered. The dead weight on Daniel felt grounding almost as much as it was crushing his ribcage as he tried to catch his breath. He would not have changed it, though. In the sea of fluctuations, Daniel knew all but one place to anchor himself to.

The circumstance of today catches up to Daniel as he's fighting off a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. He's lost the track of time. Max places a small kiss to his throat, his hand squeezing over Daniel's shoulder.

“I still gotta go to debrief. Fuck,” Daniel groans, tired and wrung out. The remaining sparks of pleasure fizzle out, leaving him running on empty.

Max hums and then makes an effort to unstick himself from Daniel, not without staring at him from above, all heady, his lips kiss-slick and so wonderfully tantalising. It's a sight Daniel missed. He wipes the come off his palm against the couch, rather inconspicuously, and steadily gets up to his feet. This feels awfully normal, like he never even left.

“You can come after the debrief if you want,” Max says, more like throws at him, picking up the discarded piece of fireproofs off the floor.

Daniel adjust himself to look somewhat presentable and partially succeeds at the job. He gives himself a once-over in the full-length mirror by the door and stops abruptly, as if cut off. Thinks again, turning the implication around in his head, then catches Max moving in his peripheral, almost like a shark circling him.

“Aren’t you flying out tonight?”

Max looks at him, long, then shrugs, sitting back in the couch to get his racing boots off. He makes a face, nose scrunched.

“I of course can leave tonight, Daniel,” he says, measured. Daniel tracks his movements, remembering; and memorizing anew. “Jet is ready to go anyway. No point to stay longer, honestly. Fucking shame of a race.”

Daniel’s been fighting an uphill battle — on track, in the car, in the briefing room — and losing out on those fine margins. His hands are tied most of the time. He’s being nice, a real team player, someone who chooses the high road even if he gets trampled along the way. Daniel should just leave for the debrief, get an earful of meaningless words and then catch a flight he has booked. Meet Max in a week for his home race like nothing happened. Onwards and upwards. Or whatever.

But maybe being nice has run its course. Maybe Daniel is ought to be selfish again.

“Hey, so,” he gets Max’s undivided attention back onto himself, grinning, and leans on the door, not yet leaving but grasping the handle in a slippery grip just in case. “That jet of yours. Got an extra seat for little ol’ me?”

Max smiles, derisive as ever, and this time around Daniel cashes in on a win.

[asha-mage]

amusing that rand indirectly destroyed like half a city by initiating a booty call with his 3000 years old nuclear milf, though. oh, to be him.

Honestly this is SO GOOD. It dose such a good job of depicting the inherent danger and contradiction in Lanfear's relationship with Rand. She loves him, but she is a ruthless and hardened killer, a general in the Dark One's army, and a titan of the One Power in both knowledge and raw strength. Help from Lanfear is almost more damaging then her working against them, because she will never give it without it furthering her own goal (corrupting Rand) and when she DOES give it, it almost certainly will come with casual cruelty and death dealt out to the innocent. Rand describes it in TSR as like 'being loved by deadly viper' and he is dead on. She might not kill him to advance the Dark One's plans, but she might if he makes a wrong move or rouses her jealousy and anger, or else crosses some invisible line.

Also like, and this is an side, it's WILD to me that people are saying the last episode demonized Siuan or made her into a villain, when objectively the people whose actions are MOST dicey, most dangerous, and have the most deadly consequences, the most damage done to innocent lives, are Rand and Moiraine who respectively come up with and endorse the 'Rand asks his evil sugar mommy to get him out jail pretty please'. Like yeah, their backed into a corner but this is equivalent of enlisting the Joker to rescue you.

[crossoverfamily]

I don't know if it's something that is meant to be picked up and/or has been picked up before and I'm just late to the party, but I ended up realizing that there is a strong parallel between Peter vs Green Goblin and Tony vs Winter Soldier.

Green Goblin and Winter Solider both relates to the actual person (Norman and Bucky) not having control of their own body, of their own actions. And both end up the murderer of parent(al figure) for Tony&Peter.

As a result, the parallel continue as both Tony and Peter end up fighting with intent to kill despite knowing the actual person wasn't in control of their own actions.

The major difference, however, is when the murder happened, and how much time passed between the "moment of truth" and the attempt to kill the murderer. And when I think about it, Peter was much more cold blooded than Tony.

Tony did seem to want to kill Bucky during that fight, but at the same time, he wasn't so "lost" that he tried to kill Steve, and I did wonder because after the initial few moments where Tony really went for it (tried to blast and missile Bucky right in the face), the only moment Tony had a real chance for a mortal blow was by the end, he's the closest to Bucky who is on the ground, and Steve is a few feets away, and I was stuck by how Steve needed a few moments to stand back up, and Tony actually wait (when he could have used those few moments to shoot at Bucky that was right there). Maybe it's because the actual loss is years in the past for Tony, but at the same time, discovering it was murder, not accident, can easily make it feel anew again.

But most importantly, Tony was immediately fighting Bucky right after the "moment of truth". There was no time to "cool off" between discovering the truth ("reliving" the murder) and being able to do something about it. But Peter?

Peter actually has time pass between May's death, and being able to face Green Goblin again. He's able to have time with Ned, MJ, the other Peters. Yet, when the occasion came, he still goes for a fight to kill with the Goblin, and would have dealt the killing blow if Peter 2 didn't step in.

With that said, I do feel that Peter's mental and emotional state have to be taken into account. The list, in my head, goes like this: it all starts when alien attacks and he goes on the spaceship with Tony, ends up fighting Thanos knowing fate of universe is at stake, end up loosing, end up dying, suddenly awake and sure he's told its been five years but at that point I feel it doesn't process yet, is back into battle for the sake of the universe and it's a real war like battlefield, looses Tony, returns to "normal life" except nothing is normal (the reality of having been gone five years sets in, having to deal with grief, all the expectations placed on Spider-Man), desperatly tries to have some sort of normal high schooler life and vacation, we all know how that vacation went, he's barely returned from it attempting to once more have some sort of "normal life" back when his identity is revealed and he's accused of murder, everything super stressful, he tries to do something that backfires, and it culminates into loosing May.

So yeah, I feel like Peter has been under a lot of stress that he's barely been able to deal with, which can explain why he goes for the kill without it being the heat of the moment (unlike Tony). All that stress, and grief, turned into anger that last him and make him cold blooded when he sees the chance to fight and kill. Then again, Tony himself wasn't stress free when he learned the truth. He also learn/realize at the same time that Steve has known and hide the truth, all the Avengers he's known for years have either been MIA for a while or have sided against him, he almost lost Rhodey, and there's all the lingering PTSD plus the knowing something big is coming. So Tony isn't really stress free when he ends up fighting Bucky.

Still, for all there's parallels between Tony and Peter emotion mental states, plus the general situation, and how they react, which is all very similar, I just can't help seeing that one difference in which Tony acted in the heat of the moment, but not Peter. Funnily, they do have another parallel in how there is someone to stop them (Steve, Peter 2). But yeah, I just love that it shows Peter has his own dark side. And how terrifying it would be if he stopped holding back and/or stops caring about not hurting someone else.

And just, my brain stays stuck of the idea that Tony didn't have any real time to process "this guy who killed my parents also wasn't in control", whereas Peter did. Again, Peter had a lot of stuff that piled up, and his loss is very fresh, so that likely plays a part.

But the way that Peter shows such a cold blooded dark side, whereas Tony in a similar situation only was "heat of the moment"? Delicious.

(You can bet this influence my Peter-muse, because there's no going back from having seen your own dark side in such a way. He can't forget what he was willing to do, and I'm tempted to consider the idea that he doesn't feel regret. He knows, objectively, that Norman wasn't in control, and to some degree, he's glad that he was stopped, yet he just doesn't feel "horrified" or genuine deep regret about how he acted. He's touched his dark side, his cold blooded anger, and there's so much to play with. Does it scare him? Or does it "scare" him because he realizes he's not afraid of that dark side?).

(Additional thought: I've toyed with the idea that Peter's cold blooded anger start to find a new target. May wouldn't have died if there had been no need for the spell, and there would have been no need for the spell if Beck hadn't revealed his identity and made him look like a murderer. So Beck receives part of Peter's anger, but then it doesn't stop. Because a part of Peter feels like "none of this would have happened is Tony was still alive", and this same part feels like it's all Thanos fault that Peter lost Tony. So Peter feels pretty cold about Beck and Thanos, and if one of them was to threaten (or threaten again) Tony's life or someone else Peter cares about? That dark, cold blooded willingness to maim and kill miiiiiight show up again. Same goes to anyone who threatens Tony's life, he lost him once, he won't loose him again. The joy of writing ideas for time shenanigans: canon happened, but people dead are alive again, and such situations as "oh no you won't kill him again, not on my watch" can happen~).

(Do imagine Tony's shock when Peter who he's never seen be anywhere really "dark" goes cold and lethal due to someone threatening Tony's life. And any other reactions you want to imagine. I know I am~).

[theluckywizard]

HI LUCKY i am once again asking for a smut emoji prompt fill:

cullen / rose / 🛀🏻 / ❄️

Thank you for this opportunity to torture my blorbos. This is easily one of the most painful pieces I've ever written so weeeeeeeee. Also I did not do a final proof read soooo... yeah. For @dadrunkwriting Somehow this piece clinches all of the following square (kind of incidentally for the Whumptober ones lol) WHUMPTOBER BINGO: Pinned down, Aftermath of Failure, Troubled Past Resurfacing, Goodbye Note and Betrayal KINKTOBER BINGO: Begging, pain play (play might be a stretch, but there's a lot of pain during sex)

Rating: Explicit CW: Sex, sex while recovering from severe injuries, there's a lot of pain emotional and physical WC: 3650

Summary: Cullen is recovering from severe injuries after an encounter with Samson in Emprise du Lion in Rose's quarters. Rose has been nursing her anger and anguish for weeks and it all comes spilling out at last.

***

We’d found him in a grove above the Tower of Bone camp battered and unconscious, pinned to the ground with his own blade through his left shoulder. I’d grown so accustomed to waking to an empty bed that it didn’t faze me initially. But he’d left a note, a short one, and based on our conversations and the persistence of his ruminations and silent brooding, I knew, I knew what it meant. 

Forgive me.

The flood of nausea was immediate. I was forever competing with his obsession with Samson and on that day it all came to a head. I’d asked him to stay at Skyhold while we dealt with Emprise, keenly aware of how deeply red lyrium affects him. But he insisted that he should be there to help deal with the templars and I couldn’t find the will to fight him on it. I didn’t have the strength to resist the force of his stubbornness. Not on this. 

And I wish to the Maker that I had.

Even with the healing draughts on hand we quickly found their limits. They’d only mended him enough that he became aware of the pain and then all we could do is sedate him for the journey back to Skyhold. He’d need bed rest and the skill of our best healers at Skyhold to repair the broken bones and torn ligaments properly and it was an eleven day ride by carriage, stopping in every reasonably large Orlesian town to seek the aid healers with greater skill than those we had with us.

I had him installed in my quarters upon returning, ignoring Ellendra’s bloody impertinent looks and raised eyebrows. Maker knows everyone in the Inquisition understood we’d gotten together at last. And he wanted to work even though Rylen had it well in hand. 

I’m going to allow him to compromise his own recovery. 

Not after he denied me the chance to talk sense into him with regard to Samson.

“How much longer am I to be kept here? Are you my lady or my boss?” he complains, propped up in bed by the mountain of pillows I’d made for him earlier. All the contusions and lacerations have long since healed, but he hobbles to see me at my desk like a centenarian and I know I’m right in keeping him a little longer.

“When you can climb that bloody ladder to your loft yourself, you can go back to your own quarters,” I tell him, standing and leaning in gently to kiss him.

“You can hold me, you know. You won’t break me.” 

It’s true, I’ve been keeping him at an arms length, clutching his hand from across the mattress so that I don’t accidentally roll onto him at night. I tell myself I’ve been terrified of causing him greater pain. But really it’s the anger. It nests inside me, burrowing deep, severing all the little tethers between us. I’ve been wondering if I’ll ever cauterize the wound inside me. It’s still bleeding.

He returned to a small measure of duty a week ago, taking briefs in my quarters with his closest lieutenants, trying to alleviate the awkwardness by complaining lightly to them about my solicitousness and the stubbornness I’d shamefully reasserted long after I should have.

I slip my arms around him gingerly feeling the anger squash between us. Sighing into the scent of elfroot salve and earth and elderflower that amalgamate to make up him, it evaporates for the moment. I long for a mutual squeeze, so I can squeeze the feeling, the questions that have been ravaging me into him. 

How could you leave me like that? 

Why didn’t you trust me?

But for now, I surrender to the comforts: his nose and lips nuzzling over my face, the warmth of his body radiating through our comparatively thin casual clothing, the glow of aurum in his eyes as the brightness of the whiteout conditions outside reflects within them. He’s recovered enough that the hunger of his body is readily apparent, bearing into me more than any other part of him. And it’s been weeks without his touch, exacerbating the gulf— real or imagined— between us. I can feel the sensation low inside me, my body opening to him, the yearning taut in my belly. 

But the bell tinkles above us to let us know someone is below and I remember what I’d arranged. I hold up a finger and stride over to the stairwell.

“Come up!” I call. 

“Come up?” Cullen says in a mild panic. I ease him into my desk chair and toss a blanket into his lap with a mildly threatening smile. 

The first things that arrive are two copper tubs, carried in by staff I’d paid extra out of my personal stipend. Then comes the water, hauled two buckets at a time by a string of staff lengthy enough that no one has to make more than one agonizing trip up the six floors of tower steps. 

Cullen sits pink cheeked through it all, no doubt worrying over what everyone must think of us, having two bath tubs prepared side by side.

“A little extravagant, Rose,” he remarks, a little tick of consternation marring his brow.

“Since you’ve been resisting more healing sessions, this is the next best thing,” I tell him, perching on my desk in front of him, his legs stretched out on either side of mine from my chair. 

“But two tubs? Maker’s breath.”

“Yes two. And it’s not what you think,” I say and the bell rings again. “And now you’ll see.”

A staff member comes huffing up the stairs with two large buckets of crushed ice which they lug into my chamber and dump artlessly into one of the tubs. They hand me a palm sized rune on their way out. 

“An ice bath?” he says looking at me like I’m mad. 

“Ellendra says an ice bath will keep your inflammation down and help you recover more quickly. So you can return to your cursed loft,” I tell him with tense, scolding brows, bending to kiss him. I hold up the rune. “And then you can take a warm bath with me after.” I drift over to the warm tub and drop the rune in.

“Oh I don’t think so, Rose. I’m not getting into that tub of ice unless you are,” he says emphatically. He thinks he’s outfoxed me but never one to back away from one of his little challenges, I drop my robe, calling his bluff and swish my fingers into the shocking cold of the first tub. If it means he’ll get some proper care, I’ll do it. 

Cullen shakes his head at me, hobbling over and I catch him halfway, looping my arm under his and around his middle to help him the rest of the way. 

“You’re a terror,” he says with a scolding eye, undressing and wincing and fixing his eyes upon the ice filled water with anticipatory dread. When I pull the nightgown I’ve been lounging around in all day over my head, Cullen’s eyes sweep over me, his breath snagging his his throat and he pulls me back to him again. Breathing warmth into my neck, he rakes his fingernails over my shoulders and then my back like he might just take me right here, powerless against his own saved up lust.

“You’re not getting out of this that easily,” I gasp, when he grazes his fingers between my thighs. “But perhaps we can continue this discussion after the ice bath if you’re cooperative.” And yet I can’t find the determination to stay his hand. He fixes his eyes to mine as he dips a finger into me, gently, like he’s about to taste the cream on a dessert. I shake my head from side to side even as my knees weaken when he nudges my clit with the heel of his palm. 

He’d been such an eager student, asking and practicing and remembering, my pleasure an unwritten tome to fill with his discoveries. And I’d been just as eager to find out what made him grip his bedsheets by the handful or groan open mouthed and unrestrained.

I will myself to stop him.

“After,” I insist, helping with him with his clothes which he insists he can do on his own. I wander bare to my desk for my hour glass. “We’ll climb in together and sit for the prescribed five minutes making miserable faces at each other and then emerge utterly reborn. Well. In theory.” I don’t bother with managing my reflexive gape as my eyes devour his sculpted form, his skin flushed under the soft spread of golden hair across his chest and the hardened length of his cock bobbing gently as he turns to me. It took months to convince him to stop hiding it from me and I reward his comfort by biting my lip gently before reaching up on my toes to sweep my open mouth against his.

“We could skip the ice bath,” he suggests, his breath tight in his chest as his finger traces down my upper arm.

“And render all the hard work our staff did moot? I don’t think so. Together?” I ask and I’m met with a pained, defeated expression. I slip my arm under his around his back and steady him while he lifts a leg into the tub, a sharp gasp snagging in the back of his throat as he steps in. I follow suit, standing in the tub fully, my heart fluttering in response to the breathtaking cold and reach to help him in behind me.

“You’re punishing me, aren’t you?” he says. The corner of my lips twitch slightly because the thought had crossed my mind, but no. I just want him to recover fully.

“We’re going to sit down together on a count of five,” I tell him and he sighs hopelessly, the tawny gaze that I’ve coveted nearly since I first laid eyes upon it connects with mine like it’s a lifeline. “We’re going to survive. It’s just ice water. It’s just five minutes.” I flip the hourglass and count down and then we ease in, puffs of strained breath and agony jumping from our lungs. We submerge to our shoulders and he tugs me to him immediately requiring a scold for cheating.

“Maker’s breath. Five minutes?!” he bleats desperately.

“We can sing all the known verses of Andraste’s Mabari. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“I only know two. How many do you know?! I recall you not knowing any that night at Harritt’s.”

“None! But I can mumble along with you. Or make some up.”

Cullen half rises from the water and I cock my head to challenge him on that move, stubbornly staying inside the bone chilling vat. He sinks back down wiltingly, glancing at the hour glass.

“How can we be sure any of our parts will work after this?” he complains, his teeth chattering.

“We can’t. We’ll just have to find out.” 

We gasp and bicker our way through the remainder of the sands, our eyes trained fiercely upon the last grains that spiral through the glass isthmus with painstaking deliberation. He rises first— too quickly and I need to lunge forward to assist him out of the tub so he doesn’t exacerbate some strain or tear he’s still nursing. Stepping into the next tub we gasp nearly as much as we did in the first— the relative warmth feeling like it’s scalding our skin.

I insist on bathing him, training my eyes on the soapy wash cloth as I run it over each curve of him, failing to ignore the new scar, the evidence of his betrayal. The anger I’ve been managing so carefully jostles against the cage I’ve got it in. Swiping trails of suds over his chest then his clavicles and shoulders and around the his back, I can feel his gaze upon me, watching me, waiting for me to look at him. But even at this distance, I find my emotions brewing into a quiet storm, churning behind my carefully fixed gaze.

“Rose,” he says, knowing the way my face holds tension, knowing what it means when my quiet stretches too long. I can’t look at him yet, afraid of what might spill from my lips.

“Darling.” It’s softer. A plea. I let him tug me closer and allow myself to look at it, the healing wound. The backs of his fingers stroke down my cheek and then across my lips. I clasp his hand against my face, my eyes slipping closed, feeling the heft of his palm like it could erase some small scrap of the anguish inside me. Laced gently together in the warm bath, we trace wet fingers over and around each others twin scars, our thoughts circling closer to one another.

“Cullen—“

“I’ve been wondering if you’ll ever be able to forgive me.” We speak simultaneously across the short span between us. The silence aches while I search for words.

“I nearly lost you.”

“I know.” His voice is a hoarse whisper, penitent, his eyes glossy and guilt-ridden.

“I’m just scared. Of what’s becoming of you. This obsession of yours— it’s so personal. I’m scared there will be nothing left of you when all is said and done.”

“I know.”

“And it kills me that I can’t save you from this.”

“Rose. I know.” 

I run my finger gently over the taut red line just below his collar bone again, made by his own sword. It had been a warning. Samson could have ended him. But he didn’t, like a filament of friendship still connected them even as bitter rivals in a war for the fate of the world.

“You have to stop. Let me handle it.” I beg him as though I couldn’t stay him with an order alone. But I’ve never wielded my superiority over him in such a way. Cullen’s ragged sigh betrays him. I find myself pleading with him. “I’ll go to Dumat with my best people. We’ll find him. We’ll find Maddox.”

“Let’s not speak of this. Not right now,” he whispers, touching my cheek. “I love you. Kiss me.”

I submit to his command, bracing myself gingerly on the edges of the tub to lean in and kiss him. 

We pause to regard each other, the brilliance of his eyes muted to a soft tawny hazel in shadow but there’s intensity there. I know the need that aches behind his eyes, it aches inside me too. I want to drive our agony into one another, through one another. He crushes me against him, our mouths meet with unprecedented wildness. We consume one another, slipping and clinging clumsily in the sloshing bathwater, our arousal proof of life after everything. But ungainly in the tub, I stumble against a particularly sensitive spot and he cries out in pain. Pulling back reflexively, I give him space to stretch and he shakes his head at me, his eyes smoldering into mine like they could ignite me. 

“No, come back,” he breathes.

“I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care.”

“Then let’s get to bed where it’s a bit softer,” I propose. At his nod, I rise from the tub and step out carefully, wrapping my shoulders in a towel before returning to help him. He groans and winces as he rises and steps out of the tub. When I turn to fetch him a towel he arrests me by my elbow and pulls me to him, his body slick against mine, wet fingers impressing into my rear as he draws me in and backs slowly toward my bed.

“We have to have be careful,” I fret, as he grazes his lips over my neck.

“No,” he insists. “I need this. All of you. Please.”

“Then let me— I could go down,” I suggest, grasping him firmly, his erection warm and heavy in my hand.

“Please,” he says again, tugging us back onto my bed. Even this short tumble elicits an agonized grunt of discomfort and I roll to his side.

“You’ll get reinjured. Your hip—“”

“The bone is mended.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Maker, Rose. Just wreck me,” he says, his frustration and hunger plain. I can’t help the way my eyes widen into unblinking shock at the expression. At the desperation that’s driven him to such vulgarities. “I need you. I need to feel you.”

Stuffing the unresolved feelings down, I run my hand over his damp chest, raking my fingers through the golden hairs. I try to regard him as I once had when everything between us was less fraught. When the beauty of his eyes left me dumbstruck. The way I’d marveled at the sprinkling of freckles across his nose and the sharp cut of his jaw. How I’d ached for him to be mine.

Leaning down gently I brush my nose against his, remembering that uncomplicated feeling. Willing it into existence.  

“I love you.” I will those words too.

We lose ourselves in a kiss, so utterly detached that his slight groans and whimpers of pain disappear into the haze that holds us. Our cold lips and warm tongues ply for whatever’s left of one another. Cullen lifts my leg over his hips and we bear into each other, the pleasure surging in jolts as he thrusts past my entrance.

“Maker,” he gasps, as I draw my hips back, withholding. “Please.”

“You really want this?” I ask, ferocity escaping my hold, like my anger wishes to play as well. 

“I do,” he mutters against my lips.

When he churns his hips against me, I tilt mine until he can push into me, the friction and our heat mingling, prompting broken gasps from both our lips. I brace myself against the headboard and ride him, the fury I’m desperately trying to hold back slipping out, suffusing through my movements. Cullen grits his teeth against the pain.

“More,” he begs. It seems absurd, watching him strain against the force of it, gripping a handful of pillow and another of bedsheets with blanching knuckles, but I oblige him, driving down upon him until sweat beads at my hairline and between my breasts. His eyes never leave mine, the creases between his brows deep even as he looks penitent beneath me, glossy with tears that won’t spill.

His breathing grows shallow and erratic, taut puffs as his climax builds. I relax and let myself open to my own, pleasure aching in my core, my entire body flushed and charged. He reaches up for my breast and the intensity of it too much and I snatch his hand away, pinning it above him and come, riding it out amidst my curses and exclamations, my thrusts growing more fitful and convulsive. I drop my head over his chest but Cullen grasps my chin with his free hand and asserts his fierce gaze, climaxing himself as I dissolve above him. 

He almost never cries out, but today it erupts from him like a caged beast, his hips arching high into me, nearly bucking me onto his chest. He gathers me against him, grimacing and groaning as the pleasure dissipates enough for the pain to break through. As my own surges of ecstasy settle, my emotions wrestle free of my exhausted grip and I wash him in tears. The questions loom heavily even while his fingers tips brush lightly over my back, even as his lips press softly against my hair. His chest jerks from the same sort of restrained sob as mine, matching shudders inside our ribs.

“Why?” I croak the word out from where I’ve kept it all these weeks. “Why, Cullen?”

“I— I felt,” his voice breaks. “I felt it was my responsibility to deal with him.”

“Responsibility?” I ask, my hackles rising. I lift my head to smear the fluids from my nose and eyes and lay it back down again. “Let’s talk about responsibility. You leave me in bed with naught be a good bye note and offer yourself up to him on a platter. Cullen, you know what his powers are like. Better than anyone.”

“I don’t know what came over me. I— I’m sorry. I— think the red lyrium must have clouded my thinking.”

“The red lyrium isn’t what has you obsessed with him. You were ready to leave me over this. Forever. I’ve never felt more alone in these last few weeks.” I lift my head again to stare him down. “Do you know what it was like to find you like that?”

“I would do anything to undo it.” 

“You’re my love. And Maker, you’re the commander of my army— and I don’t know how I can trust you again. Do you know how that feels?”

“I’ll make it up to you, Rose. I promise,” he says, reaching to clutch my cheek.

“You were pinned to the ground by your own blade. You were so broken you were nearly unrecognizable. How are you going to take that memory from me?”

Cullen’s tears spill over.

“I’m sorry, Rose.” He avoids those other words, the words he’d written on that too-big piece of paper and left on our nightstand. But sorry won’t cut it either.

I roll gently to the mattress and his hand follows, tracing warm strokes up and down my waist. I don’t know what I hoped would come of this conversation, but I’m left feeling unfulfilled, my grief and distress still roiling about within my breast. My next words escape me, petulant and resentful.

“You were meant to be the steady one.” I hear his breath catch and I regret them as soon as they’ve slipped past my lips. His sigh flutters and he swallows. He withdraws his hand, a void gaping wide between us.

“Well. That was your mistake then.”

[monty-glasses-roxy]

How much property damage has everyone done?

Hmm

Well Freddy has done the least that's for sure. He did a fair bit in his first few years just like Monty but as newbies in a brand new building that's to be expected. Of course in his initial time he also had to learn some rules the hard way even if they're hardwired into his brain so yeah he's done a bit.

Sunny hasn't done a great deal of it either and any that he does cause is cleaned up fairly quick. If it can't be fixed, it's either hidden, or balanced in such a way that it looks fine until someone nudges it or a breeze hits it or something. Honestly, being dropped into the daycare role has gotta be frustrating so if he's ever intentionally broken shit thats probably when it was done.

Moon has done a fair amount. Again though, it was mostly after they were moved from the theatre to the daycare. He misses when they could play with the kids and not just be there to help them sleep, and believe it or not, he misses the kids booing loudly when he came on stage as the villain. Their patience is only so good, its fair enough that a few staffbots have met their demise to them. Never in front of the kids though.

Like Freddy, Bonnie's only really caused property damage in his first year or so of being introduced. He's very rarely a culprit of it and when he is, it's mostly intentional sabotage of some gadget or another. He's less of a breaker and more of a 'cause an inconvenience' kind of property damage guy. He feels it makes more of a statement.

Foxy is fucking notorious. He would be the reason there's no windows to the outside world in the Plex if he could be. He's the kind of accidental damage in every game he's ever played. It mostly ends in the odd couple of toys and screens being broken from a stray ball or something but if you count him being clutzy and breaking random thingamajigs in his endo as property damage then yeah he's done a hell of a lot lmao

Monty has done a shit load. After the first few years, he started containing that anger and rage to his room for the most part so most property damage is in there. There's so much spare Monty themed shit for his room in storage on standby. The contained nature of it limits it a lot, but god damn has he gotten better at obliterating his room in a matter of seconds.

DJ has done... a bit. Mostly in his first few years as well with knocked over arcade cabinets and broken cleaning supplies (given he's canonically designed as a janitor as well). It's entirely accidental with him though. He struck out one time and learned that he's way too strong to be doing that shit and has dealt with his emotions in different ways instead. He only really wanted to try the whole 'break something' strategy anyway so he's fine with not being able to now. Once he's used to the place, property damage is very rare.

Chica's first five years were god awful. She's calmed down a lot, sure, but she was so fucking bad for it. Literally no shits given. If any staffbot got between her and food, that was it. She would break things to send a message and to make a point, not really out of much anger unless it's at a specific person. Her aggression is typically aimed at attractions and areas that aren't hers, but um. Not always. She's way better about that stuff now though. She's grown.

Roxy is of course, the worst for consistent property damage. Like Monty, she's highly destructive and like how Chica used to be, it's not contained to any one place. She tends to stray away from destroying attractions given the state of her own but has destroyed the Cupcake Factory before. Staffbots are her favourite targets. They're great stress relief and they're fucking everywhere in her territory always bumping into her and watching her and sounding alarms over the Minis and she fucking hates them. AND they test the track with those things! How come they get to race when she can't?? Fuck those guys! She's the reason they have the first update ever in six years and all it does is modify their pathfinding AI to avoid her specifically.

The Minis have done very minor property damage. They are friendshaped. Their damage is their display case and vent coverings.

[titenoute]

I loved your TMNT '03 art and had to check you out! (Great work on all your fandoms BTW <3) I think one things I like about the 03' series was how they dealt with anger. Not just Raph's either. No, we see Leo, Don, and even Mikey get angry & enraged. But the most stark difference is how they react to anger. With enemies? They are getting beat or dying. But Raph & Leo may take out some of their anger on their family. Don & Mikey don't violently act out to family, even when mad.

Aw shucks thank you !

Also .... I do agree that overall, all the boys tends to have some anger management issues in the show and that there are some patterns....But I don't think they're *that* violent to each other ? Honestly the first time I watched the 2003 show, I thought the 'angry one' was Raphael, like everyone else. He is at first glance, the one the most ready to throw hands on a whim. At first glance. I'm currently re-watching the show (I might vlog about it who knows) and I do observe some …Let's say 'anger' in all the boys. Idk how this went over my head, but 2003 Leonardo a hot headed guy. Like... Holy shit kid CHILL. No wonder him and Raph tend to snark at each other often. Yet I wouldn't say that Raph or Leo have that much of a tendency to be physically violent to their other family members. Yes, there is that one time where Raph almost sent Mikey to his grave the hospital, but that's... Pretty obvious that's not something Raph lived well. He never went to that point again in 2003 and Leo never went there. Raph sometimes does still playfully swat Mikey (which doesn't makes it ok but it is a classic big brother dick move) but it doesn't get beyond that, unless when they are training. And beside the playfull shove there and there, I have never seen 2003 Raph or Leo angrily attack Don. I Cannot imagine Raph or Leo being absolute dicks to Don in 2003 tbh. (That's...More of a 2012 thing.) And when Raph and Leo do fight over something, it's not that often physical, and rarely bc the two are angry. Mostly, one is being a major dumbass because he is angry and the other points it out. For example : In season 1 for 2003, Leo was miffed coz Splinter told him Katanas weren't superior weapons, though the lesson here was mostly : 'don't get cocky kid'. Leo learns later but is he PISSED at first. Raph sasses him on being a hothead….Just like him. "Dude that's MY thing, what even ? lol "

( On that note, I initially didn't realize how much of a brat Leo was in 2003, I always thought he was a stuck up and thought he was boring. BOI was I wrong. I love this absolute dork. ) So yeah, they butt heads sometimes... ...But they are not in the level that their 2007 movie counterparts were capable of. For those who don't know, Raph and Leo have a pretty severe fight. It's not exactly explicit, but at the end of said altercation, it's kind of hinted that this was much heavier than what the ones they were used to. (I wouldn't call that an almost murder tho, unlike a lot of people said at the time.) On that note, hate it or like it, but that movie is probably responsible for starting the whole era of Raph and Leo clashing HARD that we all thought was the natural status quo for a while. (And tbh I am GLAD Rise got us out of that. I don't think it's a bad trope, but it was getting old. Xp)

[knightofameris]

ames :D it’s jules🧸!!!

woah!! i’m so glad i caught you in a (un)timely manner :D three months isn’t toooo bad of a wait, right? KWKDWK

you’re right, you never changed your URL—i don’t know what april 2023 me had going on but i am glad i’ve remembered the right one all this time! i don’t use tumblr that much anymore either but i do log on from time to time just to see what’s up!! i’m so glad you’re doing well, it makes me so happy to hear about what you’ve accomplished and what you’re excited about for the future. :)

i am so so so proud of you. i know you have talked about how your home life was never the best and to know that you have made your own life for yourself and are away from such an environment genuinely brings me so so so much joy!! AGHH ames, you deserve it. i hope you know you deserve to feel so accomplished of yourself + proud of yourself, and that i’m proud of you too! and hey, no one ever said you had to stick to one thing in life >:D so yeah if you end up switching career paths, go ahead and do it! i support you no matter what you do!

AHHHH!!! A BOYFRIEND!!!! he sounds so so so cute i hope you two are doing good now!! i love that you two can talk to each other about anything and be comfortable like that :3 and of course of course, a prerequisite for being a bf is to be able to play games and watch anime together >:3 i hope everything goes well for you two no matter what, and that you find happiness <3

i’m glad you’re doing better mentally, hun <3 burnout sucks ass and having no passions for anything definitely sucks the life out of you… but YAY! one piece!! i still…have yet….to get into it….my friends are into it + so is the guy i’m seeing right now KSMDSK should i get into it??? is this a sign?????

thank you for all the sweet words ;D my journey has definitely been a little bit … hm. crazy? than i would have wanted?

(TWs up ahead for unhealthy coping mechanisms, breakdowns, depression, anxiety, anger issues + toxic relationships. if you’re not okay with that it’s completely okay! i’ll put a TLDR at the end of where you don’t have to read too explicit stuff)

it has been an incredibly wild ride for me, even though it’s been only 9 months since i initially sent that ask. i graduated and started college late august and went through probably the absolute worst month and a half of my life; i got broken up with after a 2 year relationship, lost my entire high school friend group including my best friend, almost lost my childhood friend group, dealt with a LOT of mental health issues, and just overall was not having a very good time. to be clear, i was in the wrong in my relationship and i denied it so much of the time until it ended up kicking me in the damn ass. i dealt with a LOT of home issues/past trauma, which impacted my relationships with my pre-college friends + ex, and in the end, my breakup was the straw that broke the camel’s back. my pre-college friends dropped me with no warning and everyone from before turned their backs on me, basically. i spiraled into a depression and since i already struggled with anxiety + anger issues, it was rough, INCREDIBLY rough. it was like you were talking to a wall, almost? i would have breakdowns during the dorms and lashed out and was just coping in an incredibly unhealthy way, to the point where one night i ran off. i ended up having to have what’s called an emergency counseling session at my college with a counselor and the community director, and since then have been going to therapy.

TLDR; because of mental health issues, i lost a lot of people who meant the world to me right as college started (i.e. bf of 2 years and bestfriend). this, along with the adjusting to college life + past trauma, had me seeking therapy early october.

HOWEVER, i am doing so much better now! and i can say this confidently. i started therapy, rekindled my passions in poetry and art, focused on my academics and ended with a 4.0 for the sem, found friends who love and care for me and want to see me grow, enjoyed my first semester + got out of my comfort zone, and currently am romantically involved with someone who means so much to me! it’s been a roller coaster in getting to where i am today and i know i have so much more to work on but i’m so, so, so proud of myself. i also found myself a found family in one of my hs teachers. him and his wife figuratively took me in and care for me as if i am really their child, and i am so incredibly grateful to them for all that they’ve done to support me.

actually, the day i’m sending in this ask is the day before i move back into the dorms! i’ve been home for winter break. it’s been a lil rough again but i am excited to get back to the dorms (less excited for the actual classes…) and see everyone. i start classes monday!

so yeah, that’s about it for me!! i’m not really into haikyuu anymore or even genshin—i still think about the characters from time to time (iwaizumi hajime 27 personal athletic trainer yeahyahyeahyeahyeah) but it’s nothing too serious :P i played honkai star rail for awhile!! however once college started i haven’t really had any time to invest in those kinds to time-consuming games where you have to grind D: but i still do love all the character designs and am actually studying to hopefully be apart of the game design process one day!! so !!! WOOP WOOP !!!

OKAY THATS ACTUALLLYYY IT i swear !! hopefully we will be able to catch up again soon—it’s always nice knowing that the people you crossed paths with in life are doing well :3 thank you so much for everything once again! until next time, darling ames <3

- your lovely 🧸 :)

Okay well, uh, this is like 5 months later ASDJFLKADSJKLDASFALSKDJ I would be totally down to exchange discord if you're comfy! but up to you! I will be trying to check more <3

AWWWW thank you so much jules ;u; that's so sweet of you. Life is so strange as we get older... I know it's just going to get weirder and weirder. A lot like Haikyuu, even when reaching the end of a journey, not only do you feel a bit empty but also... relieved? Because you did it!! But also, the journey, even hard, was fun. I sure miss my friends because a lof of us have big adult jobs now so it's hard to call and text--you're always a bit exhausted at the end of the day. Watching Battle of the Garbage dump really hit me in the feels LMAOOOO. The match was fun for them but they didn't want it to end but in order for it to BE fun was because they knew it had to come to an end TT_TT

Heheh thanks!! I find that a lot of the characters I simp for all have bits and pieces of him so :3

Also, hey, that shit sounds real hard man. Thank you for sharing all of that with me, I hope that in the past 5 months it hasn't been to crazy and you've been enjoying your first year of college! I hope you've found a good therapist and I hope, no I know, you will find friends who will stick with you through thick and thin. And whoever your partner is is lucky to be with you. Honestly, I don't really, and haven't really, have a friend group anymore. Maybe it's because America has the lack of a third place, the lack of walkable cities except during university (if you lived on campus), and a bunch of other things. But we gotta work with what we got and sometimes just having different friends in different parts of your life is okay, you don't always need to bring them all together for that "friend group" because it's just not always like that. And I spend time with my boyfriend's kinda friend group (more like a discord server where anyone who joins will join and it's the same people who do) and yeah I know them and they know me but I also know they would not be good REAL friends. LMAO.

I'm glad you're doing so much better! Therapy is so good and helpful and also props to you for getting a 4.0... that shits hard. And I hope you're enjoying the time with the person you're romantically involved with! heheh. Also that's so sweet of your former HS teacher! Goals, honestly. (On that note, I have a contracted teaching job as a physics HS teacher now WAHOOOOO, I long term-subbed an English class for all of second semester and that shit was hard cus these kids had two teachers quit on them and multiple long term subs lmao so they were pretty disheartened until i stuck it out)

I hope you enjoyed your second semester in the dorms!!!

I get like random spurts of haikyuu obsession... and then it's off. I actually got back into genshin now! LMAO I started playing the main quest, and it just got me hooked. Since it's summer and I already have a job set out I've been relaxing tbh so I started playing again since I got bored... Trying to work out though cus I have no muscle and I should take care of my body LMAOOO

Also valid! I feel like I would try to play games and shit during school as a student but there was always so much to do. Now, I have so much free time heheh.

I WOULD LOVE TO SEE YOUR WORK WHEN YOU GO INTO GAME DESIGN OMGGGGG, imagine i play one of your games in the future...

Yes! I totally get it, I'm glad you're doing well, I hope you've been doing well as well ;u;

[hgghgfd]

Blissed Out: The Raptures Of Rock

(New Zealand)

by Simon Reynolds Sent by Nick White

This essay/interview was taken from the book "Blissed Out: The Raptures Of Rock" by Simon Reynolds (Serpent's Tail, 1990). The interview was conducted in 1988. It can be a bit too earnest and academic (in another chapter, on Sonic Youth, Reynolds applies the theories of Roland Barthes to the music of My Bloody Valentine- gulp!), and occasionally it covers familiar ground. Nevertheless, I think it's very illuminating, and furthermore, it proves that Nick Cave and his work can quite easily absorb and reward academic analysis.

Discipline and Punish

Nick Cave looks the part. Deep gashes of black under the eyes, skin the colour of ashes, a slight wobbliness to his movements. His speech is fastidious, precise in a way that would seem pompous if he were at all ebullient; but with his small, grave voice- sometimes withering, always withered- the impression is of a wary distrust of words and the way they can be misconstrued. But he's much more forthcoming than in an earlier, abortive encounter. Almost affable.

Pardon the ignorance, but what exactly is The Mercy Seat?

"It's the throne of God, in the Bible, where he sits and throws his lightning bolts and so forth. But it's also about this guy sitting on Death Row, waiting to be electrocuted or whatever. It's juxtaposing those two things. A person in his final days, thinking about good and evil and all the usual fare."

So the fallibility and the arogance of human justice is something that obsesses you?

"It's something that interests me a lot. My social conscience is fairly limited in a lot of ways; there's not much I'm angry about that doesn't affect me quite directly. But the prison system- not particularly capital punishment- but the penal system as it is, and the whole apparatus of judgement, people deciding on other people's fates...that does irritate, and upset me quite a lot."

Is that why you got involved in the film about prison life, Ghosts of the Civil Dead?

"It's a two-way thing: I had those feelings long before I wrote the drafts for the script, but the process of writing and research inflamed them. It should be clear to anybody that the basic idea behind the prison system is corrupt and unjust, but the more I worked on the film, the more I understood how extreme the injustice was. This particular film has quite a strong political statement to make, which is something I'm not really known for.

"I was involved in writing the first two drafts of the film, but by the sixth draft there weren't that many of my ideas left. I also had a small part: I play a kind of known provocateur, who is brought into the prison- one of the new hi-tech ones- in order to disrupt the equilibrium. He's a psychotic with some kind of death wish...spends his whole time screaming abuse.

"What angers me about the system goes beyond the unreliability of "proof"... it's that the way criminals are dealt with has nothing to do with rehabilitation and readjusting people who've stepped outside society's norms. The same goes for mental institutions and so forth. But it's also the very idea of someone being judged "criminal" or "insane" because they're unable to fit into what a basically corrupt society considers "social" or "sociable"".

So you take issue both with the very idea of the "the normal" and "normalisation", and with the fact that the authorities don't even bother to fulfill their professed project of "rehabilitation"?

"Yeah, something like that. I did a lot of homework when I started working on the script. The initial plan was to use the prison world to create a certain kind of ready-made atmosphere. But over the eight drafts, what emerged was a particular vision of the whole penal system as almost a plot by the higher powers to perpetuate the whole system of crime, keep it rolling, keep criminals on the streets..."

In order to terrify the population into accepting the existence of the police. All this reminds me of the ideas of Michel Foucault. He looked back to an era (pre-industrialism) before the things we consider "natural"- prisons, asylums, hospitals- had been devised, in order to trace the "genealogy" of pseudo-sciences like penology, criminology, psychiatry and sexology. What he discovered is that these "disciplines" were not really about uncovering truth for its own sake; the "knowledge" they generated was inseparable from and instrumental in "techniques of domination". Later, he shifted his focus from social hygiene (segregation /surveillance /normalization) to study mental hygiene: the ways in which each individual is involved in self-policing. We define ourselves as "normal" by repressing our own capacity for violence or the visionary- just as we suppress and marginalize those people in the body politic who've gone over limits.

Looking back, it's clear that Cave has always been obsessed with this latent other within each individual, that can be catalysed by an extreme predicament. See how he describes his novel And the Ass Saw the Angel:

"It's set in a small valley in a remote region somewhere in the world. A sugarcane-growing valley. It's the story of the people who live there. The fascination of these closed communities and hemmed-in lives, that recur in my work, is that they breed a certain ignorance, can be the breeding ground for very extreme, absurd emotional releases."

In Cave's work, most of the characters are in a sense prisoners- of an obsession, or a claustrophobic environment. But maybe this sounds glib when set against the specific and extreme misery of imprisonment.

"I've been writing songs about prison ever since I started writing songs. But I have a less romantic conception than when I started. The film is in two sections- the population section and the maximum security section. When the film-makers were in America, going from penitentiary to penitentiary, looking in libraries, interviewing people, they stumbled on this amazing story about Marin.

"Over six months, the inmates were subjected to these totally unfair changes of routine, from small things like not getting coffee one day, to next day having their cells raided and all their possessions confiscated. The whole balance between guards and inmates was totally disrupted. The convicts became more and more upset, the guards were afraid, but they kept getting orders from above telling them to maintain these random violations of the equilibrium.

"Until eventually it broke- and a prisoner stabbed two guards to death. This was leaked to the media, who began to clamour for stricter control. Marin was put onto immediate lockdown- which is where no one is allowed out of their cell and all privileges are removed. Twenty-one months later it was still in lockdown.

"The point is that two guards were sacrificed by the authorities in order to achieve this control situation. That's the kind of system you're dealing with.

"The Mercy Seat is about this person in solitary confinement, becoming more sensitive to inanimate objects, and as he sits thinking about human and Divine Justice, finding himself judging these things as Good or Evil."

Some say that The Mercy Seat is the best thing Cave has done for five years, since Mutiny in Heaven. I wouldn't go this far (that would be to devalue all the peaks in the interim)- but the single is stupendous. It's a gigantic, near illegible swirl-surge, a horizontal, disciplined avalanche. With its maddened strings, echo-chamber vocal and the odd filigree of lonesome country whistling, it is vaguely suggestive of the sixties pop-melodrama of Wichita Lineman or Something's Gotten Hold of My Heart. But a sense of the epic driven to such histrionic pitch that it verges on Velvet's white noise and viola hysteria.

"Dignity" is not a word that figures in my lexicon of praise (too redolent of the prattle of soulboys) but with Cave's work since Kicking Against the Pricks, it's unavoidable. A ruined dignity, the courage of someone staring into the abyss with "nothing left to lose".

Here it's the condemned man waiting to "go shuffling out of life/just to hide in death a while". Eventually, the song becomes a real-time simulation of a locked groove, an out of control roller-coaster of dread but also of resilience: "And the Mercy Seat is waiting/And I think my head is burning/And in a way I'm yearning/To be done with all this measuring of proof/An eye for an eye /And a tooth for a tooth/And anyway I told the truth/And I'm not afraid to die." Over and over and over, 'til you think your cranium is set to bust.

From Her To Eternity

Nick Cave surfaced at a time when post-punk's handle on the workings of desire was diagrammatic and programmatic. Punk had bequeathed the idea that demystification was the route to enlightenment. "Personal politics" was the buzzword: the acknowledgment of the "dark side" was always grounded in progressive humanism, the belief that what was twisted could be straightened out, that the shadows could be banished by the spotlight of analysis. The idea was that through deconditioning, unblocking, a ventilation of the soul ("airing your problems"), it was possible to achieve some kind of frank and freeflowing exchange.

Against this view of love as contract, Cave, in The Birthday Party, was almost alone in reinvoking love as malady, monologue, abject dependence, whose ultimate expression could only be violence: the recurrent theme of girl-murder, or at the opposite pole of the paroxysm of desire in Zoo Music Girl, "Oh! God! Please let me die beneath her fists!" Cave was the first writer, in a post-punk climate of positivism, to start using Biblical imagery (sin, retribution, curses, bad seed, revenge)...

"Perhaps I'm kind of emotionally retarded...but basically I've just written about things how I've felt about them, myself, emotionally. Things like revenge, which you talk about as almost an Old Testament feeling, I see as completely now. It's just one of those things this society has repressed, along with any other strong or extreme outburst of emotion. I think there's a certain numbness in the world today...that accepts certain kinds of violence, but is against other kinds of violence."

So you have a kind of ethics of violence? Certain kinds of violence- the crime of passion- have a kind of aesthetic integrity?

"That's one way of putting it...There's something more noble in revenge, than in...sadism, or violence through greed. Maybe there's something more aesthetically pleasing about it, I don't know...I just find those subjects the easiest to deal with: on the one hand, they're the most tangible feelings I have to pull out of myself; on the other, they make me want to make a stronger statement when I ultimately do that.

"I don't deny any feelings of happiness just because I don't write about them. For me, there's just something more powerful in Man's ultimate punishments- whether they're on a humanist level or a more mystical level- than in his ultimate rewards. The rewards of happiness and contentment and security, I see as mostly drawn out of a routine of things. And they have no aesthetic interest for me, or much lasting value.

"But then again, my favourite song in the world is Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong. If any song really chokes me up, it's that one. If there's a song that I would like to do, but would never attempt because I wouldn't know how to begin, that's the one. If I could produce the same effect on other people as Louis Armstrong does with that song, then I'd be really happy. But there's something so unintentionally tragic about that song. Although I'm sure that has a lot to do with the way I listen, Louis Armstrong being this all-time winner and happy guy."

Do you resent the arbitrary power that beautiful people have? Something shallow, unearned, but capable of putting you in thrall. Revenge would seem to originate in this feeling of powerlessness.

"You're asking me if I'm some sort of embittered, wounded animal, who only wants to reach out and break things because he can't be happy or possess them?"

No, more generally than that: the idea of beauty as terrorism. Of possession as the delusion we all run aground on. It seems like there's a negativity at the heart of romantic love, because love is nothing if not the always already doomed fantasy of possession. Doomed because of the flux (growth or decay) that is the loved one. You were talking about life's punishments just now, and maybe the fact that love is doomed from the off is one of them.

"There's lots of different angles you can look at things from. I accept all that. Although I don't think it's impossible that it can't be the other way, that two people can't grow toward each other. I don't particularly believe all love is doomed. But I guess, one is usually kinda suffering from some aborted love affair or association, rather than being a the peak of one. I think it's fairly obvious that a lot more suffering goes on in the name of love than the little happiness you can squeeze out of it. But I wouldn't like to dwell on it. Perhaps you could lighten up a bit."

Condescendingly, like an agony aunt or something, he adds: "There are plenty more fish in the sea."

The Singer

Since the death of The Birthday Party, Nick Cave has steadily made a transition from exhibitionist, incendiary live performer to something more stately and, yes, dignified. The fireball has become an ember. Kicking Against the Pricks, an album of cover versions, marked the key shift from poet visionary of sex-and-death to interpretive balladeer, from torched singer to a croon the colour of cinders, from Dionysiac excess to a ruined classicism.

And on Your Funeral... My Trial, Cave and the Bad Seeds were staging their own dilapidated equivalents to By the Time I get To Phoenix and Something's Gotten Hold of My Heart, in the gently obliterating, slowly gathering, morose grandeur of Sad Waters and Stranger Than Kindness. Cave has influenced other kindred spirits to leave behind self-immolation in favour of The Song.

When did he start getting into what he calls "entertainment music, although some might call it corn"?

"I've just found myself usually more affected by the cliches in pop, in art, in life, than I have by the..."

Wilful difference?

"Yeah. I find that wilfulness in itself is enough to make me turn away from something. When people are attempting to be different for the sake of it, I find it incredibly irritating."

Do you have different influences now than when you started?

"I think I've been through being influenced by people. I don't think that could happen to me now, in the way that it did in my formative years. My ideas are self-generating now, they spring from what I've done before. It's all very inward-looking, and a lot of the time I find myself- it may sound unforgiveable- ignorant of what's going on outside me and the influences that are going around. I don't think I'm fully formed or ever will be, but my basic creative journey is now self-perpetuating."

But musically at least, you've moved from Stooges-meets-Beefheart conflagration to something more classically structured: the songs are like the charred and gutted husks of magnificent pop architecture. And figures like Dylan and Leonard Cohen and Tim Rose have become important to you...

"But not as a matter of influence as such. I only look towards someone like Dylan because I see the things that have happened in his career and the conclusions he's come to and the way he's responded to outside forces, the audience, the press...and I recognize a similarity to how I feel in my career.

I have a vague inkling of why Dylan has progressed the way he has, which I don't have about other people. The particular songs of his which affect me have helped me to understand what I ultimately want to make of my music, and what I'm failing to make of my music. What I've found to be the most inspiring of his work have been the songs which are ultimately almost meaningless in their simplicity."

"Take Nashville Skyline. I found the fact that he made that record much more affecting than, say, Highway 61 Revisited. Nashville Skyline was one of the albums he put out after his motorcycle accident, from which the critics concluded that he must have somehow injured his brain...

All the complexities of his lyrics were ironed out...He made some very basic country records. It's these songs, or albums like Slow Train Coming, which affected me more than Blonde On Blonde. The simplicity of the statement, and the bravery...in a way, it requires more courage than making something more 'experimental'."

So you feel the same enlightenment that happened to Dylan has also befallen you? You no longer want to be marginal or difficult?

"I am still waiting for what happened to Dylan to happen to me. I'd be a lot happier if I could disentangle myself from what I've already done and create songs from a completely fresh perspective."

The Bad Seed

When did you first feel different or destined? At school? Later?

"I assumed everybody felt they were different from anybody else...it would be a pretty sad individual who didn't feel that they were unique."

But such an individual usually defines him or herself against a body of people who are meant to be homogeneous and standard-issue.

"I didn't have any great coming out. Perhaps my basic thoughts were externalized by reading Crime and Punishment by Dostoievsky, and realizing that I had a basic Napoleonic complex. That was quite a revelation in those years of juvenilia. That book is all about the idea that the world is divided into the ordinary and the extraordinary, and that the extraordinary shouldn't have to live by the dictates of the mediocre majority. As an adolescent, this made sense to me."

Do you think everybody has the potential to be extraordinary, if pushed over a limit?

"No, I don't, actually. I think everybody probably does feel they do. But I think they're probably deluded. I don't believe that we're all born equal, as lumps of dough that are later shaped by our peers and parents and so forth...I believe in innate inequality."

Did you have an unusual childhood? Was there something to colour your worldview with its tragic perspective?

"I'm sure there was...but I'm not about to start psychoanalysing myself..."

You see it as a bogus science?

"Yeah. Anyway, rather than attributing it to my childhood, I prefer to believe that I was born into the world with greater or lesser faculties than other people and that I can take full responsibility for them. I wouldn't put it down to the way I was manipulated as a child."

Doesn't that mean you have even less responsibility? Wouldn't that make you even angrier with the world?

"I think people get even angrier if they think about this precise thing that was done in their so-called formative years that made them the way they are. I just feel that I can take credit, or blame, for what I do or have done. That it came from within me, not from without.

"I'd rather see what makes me different as something almost congenital. And I have these inklings that what you commit or endure in this world, relates to some kind of justice or balance. Maybe if you get a bad deal in this world, it is because of something you did, or were, in a previous life. Which is why I don't feel sorry for the poor."

Cave's departure from progressive humanism, with its belief in individual and social transformation, is so extreme that his worldview verges on the Mediaeval: the language of curses, bad seed, the worm in the bud. The world is a vale of tears, a giant ball of dung. Even more than Morrisey and his bad memories, Cave's vision is the antithesis of the idea of pop as a remaking of yourself. For Cave, the sole possibility for heroism is in fatalism, a stoic dignity in the face of your plight, the blight that is your negative birthright.

[redbayly]

Hey, guys. I normally try to live free of drama, but drama sometimes just catches up to me. In the last 24 hours, someone started leaving some really rude reviews on one of my most popular fanfics on Fanfiction.net. Now, this is not something new. Despite how well-liked this particular fic is and how many wonderful, kind, and thoughtful reviews I’ve gotten, the nasty ones stand out.

These latest reviews were, by no means, the worst I’ve ever gotten. I once had someone spam me with some of the vilest, most disgusting insults and threats I have ever seen. What set these reviews apart is that they wrote them under their own account. Normally, these guys like to post their nastiness under the anon/guest heading, so it’s fairly simple to just delete them. Not so when posted under an account.

The messages, as I said, were initially just rude. Insulting my OCs (who were basically just background extras) and just generally not contributing any critique of substance on this roughly ten-year-old fanfic. They then left one neutral comment and then one actually kind of nice comment, but then completely shifted into saying I was making “stupid decisions” and that I was “going to destroy everyone’s character” before saying they were dropping the fic. 

They then wrapped it up by telling me to kill myself.

This is the first time I have ever had to report abuse. Again, I normally just delete anything hateful or rude because it’s usually anonymous, but I couldn’t do that here.

What’s more, no one ever, EVER, has any business telling someone to kill themselves. Not only is it incomprehensibly cruel, it is actually illegal to do online. I told my father (a retired lawyer) about what had happened and he said, “Yeah, no, they can’t do that, it’s a federal crime. If Fanfiction doesn’t do anything about it, that is a liability to them.” So I’m fairly confident that there will be some consequences for this person’s atrocious behavior.

Thing is, though, I’m not even angry about it. I’m just really disappointed that someone feels that it is acceptable to say such things to a stranger online. I had sent a couple PMs to them before I reported them, but got no response. I really do wonder what is so messed up in their life that they didn’t see what they were doing as wrong. The gentler, more nurturing side of me really wants to sit down with this person and ask if they are okay. 

I recently applied for a teaching job (English) and one of the things I��d like to do, if I get it, is teach my students about how to give good critique. I’ve seen too much toxic stuff online and I feel the best way to combat it is by teaching young people how to express their opinions on other people’s work in ways that are constructive and healthy. Part of the problem with reviewers like the one I dealt with, I think, is that they weren’t taught that disliking something doesn’t give you the right to be abusive. And that is something that needs to be learned as soon as possible.

All in all, though, despite how that person treated me, I just feel sorry for them. It doesn’t matter to me that they hated my fic. If I’m totally honest, I’ve fallen out of love with that fic, myself. But the amount of anger that has to exist inside of someone for them to tell another human being to kill themselves (over a crappy, old crackfic at that) speaks volumes about what kind of a place they are at in their life. I only hope they find better outlets for that anger than leaving comments like those. I have had some problems with mental health and suicidal thoughts in the past, so telling me to kill myself really strikes at a sore spot. However, I was able to take it in stride and, while it will definitely linger for a while, I will be able to move on.

What worries me most is that they might say something like that to someone who can’t move on. And that could have far more serious consequences.

[gothoctopus]

Lyle - Agape 1

Agape 1- Does your OC wish to make the world a better place? How far do they see that as being their responsibility? What lengths would they go to in order to help achieve this?

HA.

The short answer is no, he doesn’t. 

He’s been so focused on survival for the longest time that he doesn’t really have it in him to tackle the root issues in his life. It’s like fixing up small bits of a car while the engine falls into disrepair —He’s still pushing onward, but it’s an uphill battle. Pieces will continue to break off until the main problem is dealt with. He’s tired. And besides, nobody bothered to offer him a hand-up when he was suffering, so why should he strive to make things easier for people who would just stab him in the back at the earliest opportunity? In the end, everyone is just out for themselves.

The long answer is…yeah. He’d like to change things for the better. People treating him or others like him with compassion is always the first step in this revelation for him, be it in his original story or in Barovia. At his core he’s just a very scared, deeply traumatized man who’s every attempt at normalcy was severely punished and who comes from a world that saw him as less than human and as such never bothered to expect better of him. Being around people who love selflessly and care deeply and offer an outsider’s perspective on his trauma is KEY to helping him realize that the world doesn’t have to be a terrible, brutal, and uncaring place. 

It’s also his still-unrealized love for Aleksander that keeps him from outright lashing out at those who uphold those systems in anger as he is initially inclined to do. Doing so would likely put Aleksander at risk, and his is a life Lyle isn’t willing to bargain with. But it’s also this sort of love that eventually makes him unwilling to turn a blind eye to the systematic suffering of people like him, which in turn leads to him and Aleksander trying to find other, less violent avenues to free his people. It’s why he was so invested in seeing Lavinia returned home safely in Barovia. I think this is the first step on the long road to him trying to make the world a little less hostile.

….Still gonna be a cranky bitch who says the wrong things, though. That’s just his baseline :P

[officiallyashley]

TMNT 2018 HEADCANONS— various info about the rottmnt movie

NOTES: obvious spoilers ahead for the ROTTMNT Netflix movie, so proceed with caution. This movie made me cry so many times for so many reasons lol. These headcanons are going to get dark so fair warning. Also, these headcanons are going to be made a bit haphazardly (and I’ve just finished the movie rn as I’m writing this so yeah I still have to let everything sink in). I’ll make a couple of oneshots that cover the movie at some point (I have a lot more oneshots to finish in the meantime). One last thing: keep in mind that Steele and Tessa, Ash and Raph’s twins, are turtles. Enjoy!

WARNINGS: spoilers ahead, MAJOR and MULTIPLE character deaths. 

{~~~}

HOLY SHIT 

THIS OPENING TO THIS MOVIE MADE ME CRY 

LIKE OH MY GOD WTF NICKELODEON WTF ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE ME UGLY CRY?!?! 

CUZ IT FUCKING WORKED! 

*inhales and exhales sharply*

Kk so bare with me on the math 

But if I did this correctly

Everything should add up

But if the math isn’t correct, then just know that these characters are  around these ages 

In the year 2044 (the year the opening takes place), everyone except for Casey dies. 

The turtles and the kunoichis’ children were also fighting in the battle against the Kraang. 

In 2044, Ash and Raph are 41, Leo, Donnie, April, and Alex would be 40, Mikey would be 39, Harley would be 23, Steele, Tessa, and Bella are 19, and Whitney and Alec are 16.

Everyone had died in Casey’s timeline. 

Of course, Raph, Splinter, April, and Donnie had already perished. In her rage and anger at witnessing her father, aunt, grandfather, and uncle getting killed, Harley had made the rage-filled impulsive decision to charge in and directly attack the Kraang (very similar to how Raph charged at Karai and the Foot Clan at the beginning of the TMNT The Last Ronin comic series anyways—). Unfortunately, Harley was outnumbered and had become causality in the Kraang war. 

Tessa, as well as Bella, Alec, and Alex, had been crushed to death while piloting a Kraang ship. Their objective was to stop an immensely powerful energy source, and they had no other choice than to send the ship they were in into the power source. Alas, their plan ultimately didn’t work. 

Ashley had been killed by the Kraang while defending Leo. Leo was already injured badly, and Ashley jumped in front of her leader and took the hit for him. Ash later died of her injuries in Leo’s arms, surrounded by her remaining family. 

Mikey, Leo, Casey, Whitney, and Steele were the only ones left now. Everyone else had been brutally murdered by the Kraang. 

Mikey, of course, sacrificed himself to be able to send Casey Jones into the past. Now, Michelangelo is dead. 

Whitney was horrendously wounded. She wasn’t going to make it, and ultimately, she didn’t survive. Whitney later died in her older brother, Steele’s, arms with their Uncle Leo by their side. 

Currently, it was only Leo and Steele left. Steele had also been injured to the point where he couldn’t travel with his friend, Casey. 

With tears in his eyes, Casey was kicked into the portal by his Master Leonardo. The last thing that Casey Jones saw as the portal closed was Steele and Leo charging ahead and taking out more Kraang creatures, only for the Uncle and Nephew to be incinerated by a laser beam. 

An entire family was wiped out. Three generations of the Hamato family were eradicated. Splinter, the turtle brothers and the kunoichis, and their children were killed. Casey’s timeline was doomed. He knew that he couldn’t go back to the timeline that he knew, but he knew that there was a chance that he could save this one.

After locating the turtles via April and Alex and the initial shock of Casey being from the future had worn off, Casey had explained the situation to everyone. Hearing everything and having a plan, this prompted Ash to drop off her and Raph’s daughter, Harley, who was a toddler at the time, at her father, Chad’s, house while they dealt with the rise of the Kraang. 

With Leo being arrogant in his leadership, he didn’t listen to his team. That’s why their first attempt at stopping the Kraang didn’t go as planned. Yes, they successfully retrieved the key, but in the end, Raph had sacrificed himself and gotten captured by the Kraang in order to save Leo. This, in turn, later made him infected and mind-controlled by the Kraang throughout the majority of these events. The turtles also lost their mystical powers.

When Leo returned with the news that Raph was taken by the Kraang, everyone was devastated. Ashley wanted to break down and cry right then and there. What was going to happen to the love of her life, the father of her child?

“What do you mean, Leo?! You have to be joking!” Ash spoke up brokenly, tears pricking her purple eyes. Her eyes widened, and she was rendered speechless. 

“I’m not joking, Ash! Raph is captured by the Kraang, and we have no time to lose!” Leo responded panicked, his voice rising. 

While April and Splinter stayed in the lair to watch over the key to the Kraang’s portal, the others made their way to go and save Raph. 

While they were on their mission to save Raph, the Kraang attacked and caused the group to separate. Alex, Mikey, and Donnie were together about to be crushed in the Shellraiser, and Leo, Casey, and Ashley were together stuck in a section of the subway tunnels. 

Casey and Ash gave Leo a piece of their mind about his behavior and how he should basically get his head outta his ass and listen to his team. 

“Leo, I understand that you haven’t been appointed leader for very long and you’re still learning, but you have to listen to your team! As Casey said, you don’t have every single answer under the goddamn Sun!” Ash chastised sternly, flicking the leader on the forehead. 

Eventually, Leo came to his senses, which definitely made Casey and Ash feel a tad bit better. 

Meanwhile, April and Splinter were on their way to Donnie, Alex, and Mikey, and the two of them successfully saved the turtle brothers. 

Eventually, everyone had regrouped upstairs in the main room of the building where they located and freed Raph. Unfortunately, Raph had become infected by the Kraang and a battle ensued. In the end, they couldn’t get to Raph in time and the key to the portal was stolen back by the Kraang via infected Raph. 

In the end, the gang had to retreat without Raph and the key. 

The Kraang were unleashing their wrath upon the city of New York, and the team was watching this all play out on the roof of a building. All hope was seemingly lost, but they ended up formulating a plan. 

So they split up into two teams. Mikey, Ash, Donnie, and Leo were together inside the Kraang base while Splinter, April, Alex, and Casey were taking care of the creatures on the ground. 

Leo and Ash went to find and save Raph while Donnie and Mikey found a way to hack into the Kraang’s spaceship. 

Leo and Ash ended up having to battle infected Raph, with both of them trying to talk to him and coax him out of his mind control. 

“Raph, come on, snap out of it! You have to snap out of it! You’re needed here with us!” Ash pleaded as she dodged another attack. 

“They’re right, man!” Leo chimed in quickly, charging at his brother with his twin katana in hand, “You’re my brother. You’re a father now, Raph! You’re just now beginning your own little family with Ash! You have to snap out of it! Please!” 

“Please, Raph, we need you. Harley needs you. She needs her father in her life.” Ash said tearfully, their voice cracking under the weight of their overwhelming emotions. 

In the meantime, Donnie and Mikey had discovered a way to hack into Kraang’s spaceship. Donnie had to, quite literally, go inside the ship for a better connection, but he managed to do that right as one of the more terrifying Kraang’s arrived. 

Leo and Ash were completely done with fighting Raph. Right as that happened, Leo and Ash saw that Mikey and Donnie had been captured by the Kraang. Ash also managed to get captured during the fight with Raph. Leo was the only one, out of this group, who wasn’t caught. 

Leo managed to talk some sense into Raph, with Ash adding in things as well. 

Leo managed to get caught, too, but Raph was finally snapping out of it. Leo motivated the team to fight back against the clutches of the Kraang. Everyone was fighting back, the turtles got their mystical powers back, and Raph was free. Now, the turtles and Ash were fighting against the Kraang together. 

The battle was taken outside of the Technodrome, and everyone was fighting in the air. The leader of the Kraang managed to knock Donnie, Mikey, and Ash off of the Kraang ship. 

Raph managed to get to them, embracing all three of them tightly. He shielded the four of them with his mystical abilities, and the four of them landed in a random parking lot in Staten Island. 

Besides the fact that the four of them were displeased with landing in Staten Island, they were okay and no one was too badly injured. 

“Donnie, Leo is still up there.” Raph pointed out. 

Ash tried to fight the pain she was experiencing in her knee and chest. She attempted to stand up, but she fell to the ground. Raph was at her side instantly. 

“Ash, baby, you need to stay down here,” Raph said. 

“I can fly up there and help Leo out, Raph.” Ash ignored what her boyfriend was implying. She didn’t even hesitate in her response. 

Raph widened his eyes, along with Donnie and Mikey. “Ash, you’re in no position to fight. You’ll severely overuse your weather manipulation abilities, and it’ll have dire consequences if you do.” Donnie explained. 

“Donnie’s right, Ash,” Mikey piped in, “you have to take it easy.”

Ash looked to Raph with a look of frustration and helplessness. Ash’s mind was running a mile a minute, but she recognized the fact that Donnie and Mikey were right. All they had to do was utilize the ninja’s greatest weapon: hope. 

Soon enough, after leaving the rest of the creatures to Alex, Splinter, and April, Casey had made his way to Leo, who was still on the Kraang ship with the most powerful Kraang. 

Casey was finally at the key, and he was about to take it, when he heard what Leo’s plan was. Leo was planning on pushing the Kraang back into the portal and he was going to have Casey close the portal with him still inside of it. Everyone could hear it on their communication devices. Leo was going to sacrifice himself for the greater good of the world. 

Everyone pleaded for Leo not to do it, yet he did anyway. The portal closed with Leo still inside of it, trapping him in the dimension with the Kraang. 

Even though the world was saved, the turtles and the kunoichis felt like they lost everything in a matter of seconds. 

April and Alex fell to the ground, comforting Splinter. Raph collapsed to the ground in devastation with Ash crying at her lover’s side. Donnie placed a hand on his brother’s shell, shocked that he was crying. Mikey tried his damn hardest to use his mystical abilities to teleport Leo to them from the Kraang dimension. 

That’s when there was a glimpse of light. Mikey had managed to begin to summon a portal, and he began to flake away. However, Donnie, Ash, and Raph stood right next to Mikey and took some of his pain away (like that one scene in Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 1 when they held the power stone). Together, they were able to successfully open up the portal and retrieve Leo. 

Leo was home and alive. The Kraang were gone. Everything was going down the right path. 

Weeks had gone by and everything was going great. The aftermath of the Kraang was still being cleaned up by the officials, and the turtles, kunoichis, and Casey would help clean up during the nighttime. 

During their celebration after everything had settled down, Ash introduced Casey to her daughter, Harley. Of course, since Casey grew up with his version of Harley and the others, it was ✨weird✨ for him to see Harley as a toddler. The last time he saw Harley, she was 23 years old. Casey held Harley for the first time ever, and he remembered what his old friend was like in his timeline. It was bittersweet for Casey — he knew that his Harley in his timeline would never have a chance to live a full life, but this Harley does have that chance to live her life to the fullest now that the Kraang were gone from their world. Casey was incredibly happy for Ash and Raph and their family, and he was excited to see who Harley was going to grow up to be. 

Also, Casey was shocked to see a picture of his mother, Cassandra, on April’s phone, so that was interesting. 

Everyone was finally safe and sound. Casey, although he missed his friends and family back in his timeline, he has a chance to start anew in this one. The world was saved, and everyone finally has the happy ending that they deserve.

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑. 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚. 𝐢 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐞𝐭𝐜. 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥.

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Hungry Eyes

masterlist

Summary: Spencer is tired of hiding your relationship. 

A/N: The idea for this fic came from a lovely anon that requested a fic based on She’s So Nice by Pink Guy. I also drew inspo from Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen (strange mix, but stay with me here.) So basically, a lot of Dom!Spencer goodness. I’d like to say a huge thank you for almost 1k followers, because wow. I never imagined 5 people would actually want to read my writing. I love you all, and I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future works!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing, jealousy, degradation, spitting, slapping, oral sex (male and female receiving), spanking, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex

Word Count: 5.5k

           “That is one fine piece of ass. Don’t think I could get any work done with a sweet little thing like that prancing around my precinct,” mutters yet another sleezeball detective, beady eyes trained on you like a lion might study their prospective prey. It’s moments like these that Spencer has to remind himself that patience is a virtue – that he must bite his tongue because he’s at work and that means he has to act professional. Even if those around him don’t seem capable of affording him the same luxury.

           So, it’s with a clenched jaw and all the self-restraint that he can muster that Spencer forces himself to focus on the task at hand. Because Spencer is a professional, and there are more pressing matters that demand his undivided attention. The detective could be dealt with later – in the form of a complaint to the higher ups. But for now, patience.

           Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem. Years on the job had taught Spencer to remain level headed no matter the circumstance. Usually, Spencer could tune out the locker room talk in favor of immersing himself into the case. But when it came to you, or rather, people who dared to look upon you with eyes laden with lustful intentions, Spencer had a rather short fuse.

           It happens often, and he supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised. You’d certainly turned his head the first time he was fortunate enough to lay eyes on you. He’d nearly broken his neck trying to steal another glimpse of you as you walked past him on your way to Emily’s office on your first day. No one would ever describe Spencer Reid as forward, but on that day, he was the most brazen he’d ever been.

           Throwing caution to the wind, Spencer made a split-second decision stop you and introduce himself.

           It was the best decision he would ever make.

           So, yes – he understood why the head of everyone you passed turned your way, eager to bask in your unparalleled beauty. But that didn’t mean that he had to like it. In fact, every time Spencer caught some imprudent bastard leering at you, he had to remind himself that enacting physical force on another person with no real reason could cost him his job. That, and he was above resorting to violence – or at least he was, until you came around.  

           Part of his anger was rooted in the obvious lack of respect. It didn’t matter if Spencer held your hand in his as the two of you walked down the street, or if he kissed you on the lips in the middle of a crowded restaurant. All the PDA in the world did nothing to assuage the lingering stares, and Spencer felt his sanity chip away with every passing day.

           In the beginning, keeping his relationship with you a secret from your colleagues seemed like a good enough idea. Both of you were in agreement that you didn’t want to your personal relationship to affect your professional one, so when the elevator doors opened up and the two of you stepped out into the bullpen, you both were on your best behavior. And it was okay at first – Spencer was able to put his romantic feelings aside and focus on his work, all while still being able to make eyes at you from across the room. It was the perfect arrangement.

           Until it wasn’t.

           Because it wasn’t enough that you were gorgeous – you were also the most selfless person that Spencer had ever met. Always eager to lend a hand to anyone in need – always seeing the best in everyone, regardless of if they deserve it or not. It was an admirable quality to have, and he loved you for it, but on days like today he wishes you were a little more perceptive.

           That, and he wishes you’d chosen to wear anything but the tight little skirt and low-cut top that you were currently sporting. Not that he didn’t love the way the fabric clung to your figure like it was tailor-made for you – because he did - it was just that every other male in the precinct seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. And that made Spencer’s blood boil.

           The tipping point comes when, just as Spencer is trying to hunt you down and propose a quick lunch break, he finds you engaging in conversation with the very same detective that had been spouting lewd comments about you all morning. You’re seated at the breakroom table, clutching a fresh cup of coffee in hand as you look up at the man, a polite smile upturning your lips as you listen to him drone on about how his amateur baseball team had won some stupid fucking tournament the previous weekend. He’s smiling down at you, endlessly smug and way too pleased with himself at having captured your attention.

           It makes Spencer sick.

           His reprieve comes when your eyes flit to the doorway and you flash him a breathtaking smile. It makes him warm from the inside out, and Spencer wants nothing more than to plant kiss after kiss on your lips. Unfortunately, he can’t, so he settles on returning your smile.

           “There you are,” Spencer greets as he crosses the room before coming to a stop next to you. “I was thinking we could go grab lunch.”

           “Is it really lunch time already?” you murmur as you glance down at your watch. “I guess I let the day get away from me. Detective Yarborough was just telling me about the baseball game his team won this weekend.”

           “Oh, was he now,” Spencer feigns interest as he turns to face the man.

           “Yup,” you say, completely oblivious to the uncomfortable tension. “Didn’t you tell me you played in a baseball game once?”

           This piques the interest of Yarborough and he raises an eyebrow at Spencer.

           “You play?” he asks, tone laden with disbelief.

           “Not exactly.”

           The detective merely harrumphs in response, and an uncomfortable silence falls on the room.

           Your eyes dart between the two men and your brows furrow adorably as you try to make sense of the almost palpable animosity.

           “Okay… So, lunch. Did you have anything in mind, Spence?”

           “There’s a really good pizza joint two blocks from here,” Yarborough chimes in. “I could show you, if you like.”

           He acts as if the offer extends to you both, but the way he looks only at you when he says it tells Spencer otherwise.

           “The hospitality is appreciated, but that won’t be necessary,” Spencer breezes, clipped and to the point. He’s able to see in his peripheral vision the way your eyebrows raise in shock, but he’s too busy glaring at the detective to care.

           “Uh, yeah. Thanks anyways, Detective,” you mutter confusedly as you stand.

           “Anything for a pretty lady such as yourself,” he replies. “And you can call me Trevor.”

           Spencer’s hands are clenched into fists and he has to actually bite down on his tongue to keep from doing something he’d surely regret later. You bid Trevor ado with a smile and a parting wave, and then Spencer’s ushering you out of the room and down the hall, hand placed firmly on your back. He can’t do much in regards to initiating physical contact, but he allows himself this miniscule act of PDA. The feeling of your warmth radiating through your blouse is the only thing keeping him from giving into his primal instincts. Instincts that are screaming at him to put that smarmy bastard in his place.

--

           The hours after lunch pass by rather uneventfully. You accompany Tara when she goes to interview the victim’s family, and for the first-time all-day Spencer is able to repress his frustration long enough to focus on piecing together a geographical profile. By the time you and Tara return, the sun has long since disappeared from the sky and fatigue is rolling off everyone in waves. When Emily finally announces the end of the day, she’s met with absolutely no resistance.

           Spencer immediately scans the room for you, only to frown when he sees that you’re nowhere in sight. In fact, he hasn’t set eyes on you in well over an hour, too busy wrapping up the days’ work to notice your absence until now.

           “Has anyone seen Y/N?” Spencer calls out. His question is met by several shaking heads.

           “I think she’s busy,” JJ sing-songs, eyebrows waggling suggestively. Spencer’s frown only deepens.

           “Busy?”

           JJ nods.

           “Yarborough has been chomping at the bit to ask her to dinner. My guess is he’s got her cornered somewhere.”

           Of fucking course.

           Spencer’s out of his seat and stomping through the precinct in second, oblivious to the way his coworkers exchange curious glances as he storms off.

           He finds the two of you in much the same way as before, only this time Trevor is blocking your path to the doorway, hand in the air as he moves to tuck a stray piece of your hair behind your ear.

           “– C’mon, babe. Say you’ll go to dinner with me,” Trevor croons in a way that’s supposed to come off as seductive. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

           You lean backwards in an attempt to evade his touch, and you barely get the chance to open your mouth when Spencer intervenes.

           “She’s not interested.”

           The detective whips around, snorting in annoyance when he sees Spencer standing in the doorway.

           “What are you, her fucking keeper?” Trevor sneers, before turning back to face you. “Who does this guy think he is?”

           Something in Spencer snaps, then – the same something that has been swelling inside him for months, threatening to spill over every time he had to pretend that the stares didn’t enrage him. He’s tired of pretending, tired of hiding, and so, so fucking tired of not putting assholes like Trevor Yarborough in their place.

           Fueled by months of suppressed anger, Spencer manages to cross the room in about two seconds. He has several inches on the detective, standing at an intimidating six-foot one inch in height, so when he comes to a stop right in front of the detective, he’s looming over him threateningly.

           “I’m her fucking boyfriend, and if you so much as try to touch her again, I’ll break your goddamn hand,” Spencer spits out, and he’d be lying if he said the way Trevor’s eyes widen in fear doesn’t thrill him. “Are we clear?”

           “Uh, yeah. Sorry, dude,” Trevor splutters, raising his hands in surrender. “Didn’t know she was taken. My bad.”

           Spencer tears his eyes away from the detective and takes in the way you’re watching on with an amused expression. He reaches out, and you’re quick to place your hand in his. Without speaking another word to the detective, Spencer leads you from the room and out the back entrance of the precinct.

           “What was that?” you tease, eyes glistening mischievously underneath the street lights. “I thought we agreed that we weren’t taking things public just yet?”

           Spencer crowds you against the brick wall of the building, pressing his body flush against yours. He ducks down swiftly, pulling you into a frenzied kiss. His lips drag against yours relentlessly, and all it takes is one breathy moan before he’s licking into your mouth possessively. Spencer slots his knee in between your legs, simultaneously groping at your chest with one hand as the other tangles in your hair.

           When Spencer pulls away, he doesn’t go far. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck as you writhe against him, hands clinging tightly to his dress shirt. You whimper when his teeth nip at the tender spot right under your ear, and you can’t help the way your hips cant up when Spencer’s tongue brushes against reddened skin.

           “I’m tired of pretending,” Spencer murmurs as his mouth continues to move against you, sucking purple bruises against your flesh. “Don’t fucking care about how it will affect the job. Tomorrow, everyone’s gonna know that you’re mine. Gonna mark every inch of you tonight – gonna fuck you until you can’t fucking walk.”

           “Please,” you slur as you guide Spencer’s hand down until his fingers graze the end of your skirt. Spencer chuckles darkly against your neck when his hand brushes against the soiled lace of your panties.

           “Didn’t mean I’d fuck you right here,” he laughs, prompting you to let out an impatient whine. The hand that was previously tangled in your hair slides down until it’s wrapped around your throat, and Spencer’s cock twitches eagerly in his pants when you push your throat harder into his palm. “Such a needy little slut for me. Ready and willing for me to fuck you out in the open, where anyone could walk by and see how fucking desperate you are for my cock.”

           “M’ your slut,” you pant as Spencer’s middle and index fingers ghost across your center. “Only yours, Spence. I don’t care who sees, just - please fuck me!”

           “I fucking own you,” Spencer growls against your lips as he tightens his hold on your throat. “And as much as I’d love to take you right against this wall, the things I have planned for you would elicit quite an audience. I know how loud you like to be.”

           Spencer pushes your panties to the side and you let out a low hiss as he drags a finger across where want him most. You cry out in frustration when he removes his hand to bring it up to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick his finger clean.

           “Just needed a little taste to tide me over,” Spencer murmurs, smirking devilishly at you as he steps back from you. “Let’s head back to the hotel. I’ve got lots I wanna do to you, pretty girl.”

--

           As soon as the door to the hotel room clicks shut, clothes are flying off as the two of you make your way to the bed. It’s a mad dash as you both undress, and as soon as the last garment leaves your body, Spencer pounces on you. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss, and the way you immediately go pliant as Spencer’s mouth works against yours makes him hum appreciatively.

           “Don’t feel like being nice tonight. Are you gonna let me use that pretty little pussy however I want?” Spencer inquires, though he already knows the answer. He’s known how tonight would pan out ever since the first roll of your hips against his back at the police station.

           You nod fervently, hopelessly, and Spencer moves his hand up to grip your chin in his hand. The pad of his thumb traces over the swollen skin of your kiss bruised lips.

           “What about this?” he asks, tapping lightly against your lip. “Are you gonna let me fuck this slutty little mouth of yours?” Spencer slips his thumb into your mouth and you immediately close your lips around the digit, suckling lightly. Your eyes never leave his.

           “You’d do anything I asked you to, wouldn’t you, pet?” Spencer muses, pressing his thumb farther into your mouth until you gag around him. Spencer withdraws his thumb and his hand tugs hard on the hair at the back of your scalp. “Open.”

           You oblige immediately, and Spencer spits into your waiting mouth. You swallow without being instructed, and the visual of it makes Spencer let out a low groan.

           “Get on your knees,” Spencer barks out, and the way you scramble to follow his order makes him let out a chuckle. “So eager to have my cock in your mouth,” he hums as he taps his dick teasingly against your cheek. You open your mouth wide for him, and Spencer guides your mouth down onto his dick at a tantalizingly slow pace. You let out a moan as you hollow your cheeks around his head, tongue lapping greedily at the precum that gathered there before Spencer makes you take him deeper.

           “Everyone thinks you’re such an innocent little thing, but here you are, letting me use you like a cheap whore while you enjoy every minute of it,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as you moan wantonly around his cock. It isn’t until he’s halfway down your throat that your eyes begin to water, mascara running down your cheeks as he fucks into your mouth.

           Spencer lets out a choked sound when your nose brushes against the skin of his abdomen, and he has to fight the urge to throw his head back in pleasure. He doesn’t want to look away, not even for a moment. Not when you’re looking up at him like that, tears running down your face as you swallow around his length.

           He pulls you off him just the tiniest bit before he’s forcing you back down, a string of curses falling from his lips as your head bobs up and down.

           “You take my cock so well, pretty girl,” Spencer praises, prompting you to let out a muffled moan around him. The vibrations send a shock of pleasure through him and he can help the way his hips stutter. “Fuck, baby. You like it when I tell you what a perfect little whore you are, don’t you?”

           You’re unable to answer, because Spencer presses down on the back of your head until you’ve taken all of him again. The pressure he puts on you doesn’t relent, not even when you gag around him.

           “Fucking choke on it, slut,” Spencer grunts. “Don’t act like you don’t want this. You were just begging me to fuck you in an alley not twenty minutes ago, like some pathetic fucking tramp. You wanna act like a tramp, I’m gonna treat you like one.”

           Spencer’s lips curl into a debauched grin when your hands come up and grip the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer and further down your throat.

           “That’s what I fucking thought,” Spencer moans, giving several more harsh thrusts before pulling you off of him completely. Spencer reaches down to wipe at the spit that coats your lips as you look up at him with a shy smile.

           “You okay, pretty girl?” Spencer asks as he caresses the side of your face.

           “Mm,” you hum, nuzzling your face against his palm. “Keep going, please. Don’t hold back.”

           “God, I fucking love you,” Spencer sighs happily. “Get on the bed.”

           By the time Spencer fishes a tie out of his suitcase, you’re sprawled out across the bed, head resting against the pillows with your legs spread wide. Your teeth are nestled against your bottom lip as you watch him stalk towards you, eyes running up and down his naked figure appreciatively.

           Spencer crawls onto the bed until he’s settled in between your legs. You present your wrists to him, just like you’ve done a million times before, and Spencer feels that familiar thrum of excitement rush through his body. He fucking lives for moments like these – moments where all his problems melt away to nothing. Moments where he has no other thought than wrecking you, thoroughly and completely.

           Once your wrists are bound you hold them above you, and Spencer sits back on his heels, eyes raking up and down every inch of you.

           “M’ so fucking lucky to be the only one who gets to see you like this.”

           Spencer pinches your right nipple in between his fingers and you let out a squeak, hips bucking up, desperate for some friction. He kneads your breast in his hand as he lowers his mouth to the other one, tongue laving around you. A light nip from his teeth is all that it takes for you to cry out, eyelids fluttering closed.

           “Spence, please. Need you to touch me now, pl-”

           Spencer’s hand connecting with your cheek stops you from finishing your sentence.

           “Do not tell me what to do,” Spencer seethes, once again gripping your chin to keep you from looking away. “Ungrateful slut. I should just leave you here, fucking dripping and desperate for a release that you won’t get. Maybe then you’d learn to take what’s given to you.”

           “Please, no! I’ll be good, I swear. I’m sorry!”

           Spencer narrows his eyes at you, contemplative.

           “Open.”

           You do as he says, and without another word Spencer inserts two fingers into your mouth, pressing down hard on your tongue.

           “Get them nice and wet, and maybe I’ll think about using them on you.”

           You do as he tells you, and by the time Spencer removes his fingers from your mouth, you’re trembling underneath him from anticipation.

           “D-Did I do good?” you stutter out, batting your lashes at him as you squirm under his gaze.

           “So good, baby. I think you’ve earned my fingers,” Spencer hums. “Need you to be still, okay? You’re not gonna like what happens if you try to move.”

           You nod enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut when his fingers brush across your clit. Spencer spends ample time rubbing deliciously slow circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, relishing in every gasp and whimper that falls from your lips. Lips that he’d very much like to kiss, so he does, and you’re more than happy to reciprocate. Spencer lets out a happy sigh into your mouth.

           You get lost in the kiss, so lost in the way that Spencer licks into your mouth that it catches you completely off guard when he slides two fingers into you.

           “Oh, God,” you moan when Spencer curls his fingers against your walls, fucking them in and out of you, slow and unrelenting.

           “S’that feel good, princess?” Spencer asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Tell me how it feels.”

           Your head falls back against the pillows as you struggle to keep your hips firmly placed on the mattress.

           “Feels amazing, Spence. Always feels so good with you. Never want anyone else, only you.”

           And fuck, if that sentiment doesn’t shoot straight to his heart - amongst other places. Spencer places a tender kiss to your cheek before he’s moving down to your neck and sucking a bruise right under your jaw.

           “Yeah?” Spencer prompts. “Not even that stupid fucking detective? I’m sure he’d love a chance to see you like this.”

           “So, you were jealous,” you chuckle between moans, and Spencer bites down hard where your neck meets your shoulder.

           “F-Fuck, Spencer!”

           “Should I be jealous?” Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers, scissoring them at such an unforgiving pace that you can’t help but roll your hips against them.

           You regret this instantly, because Spencer’s fingers immediately pull out of you, leaving you empty and cold. Spencer tuts, shaking his head disappointedly.

           “Dumb little whore can’t even sit still long enough to cum on my fingers.”

           “Please, let me try again. I’ll do better, I promise!”

           Spencer shakes his head and scoots up until his back is rested against the pillows.

           “C’mere,” he commands. “Lay across my lap. Or can you not follow simple commands?”

           “I-I can,” you whisper as you crawl across him, splaying out so that you rest on your elbows with your ass in the air.

           Spencer grabs a handful of your ass and kneads it in his hands.

           “How many do you think you deserve?”

           You blush and smile shyly at him from over your shoulder.

           “However many you want to give me. I can take it.”

           Spencer returns your smile.

           “Good answer. I think you can handle fifteen. How does that sound?”

           “Sounds perfect. T-Thank you, Spencer,” you mumble, cheeks burning red. Spencer continues to caress the tender skin of your bare ass, admiring the way the skin is completely blank; the perfect canvas.

           You let out a whimper when his hand comes down hard on your ass before kneading the sensitive, reddening skin.

           “T-Thank you,” you gasp out, and Spencer is quick to follow up with another strike against the opposite cheek.

           It goes on like this until it’s time for the fifteenth strike, and by then you’ve devolved into garbled whines, ass bright red and marked up with the imprint of Spencer’s hands. His dick is painfully hard underneath you, and you’re in a similar state – arousal dripping onto Spencer’s thigh, coating it.

           “Last one, baby. Do you think you can handle it?”

          “Y-Yes,” you choke out. “Please, I need it. Hurt me, please.”

           The desperation in your voice does things to him, makes him practically feral with the need to fucking tear you apart, and Spencer is quick to deliver the final blow. You barely even have it in you to cry out anymore – a feeble sob is all that falls from your lips.

          Spencer’s hand ghosts down across your bruised skin until his fingertips trace over where you drip for him.

          “You like it when I punish you, don’t you, dirty girl?” Spencer hums as his fingers glide over your soaked folds. 

          “Y-Yes,” you mewl, shifting so that your cunt grinds back onto his hand. Spencer indulges you - allows you to rock your hips against his palm as he watches on in awe, soaking up every desperate sound that tumbles past your lips. 

          Spencer pulls his hand away after a moment and you keen in protest.

           “Can you sit up for me, sweet girl?” Spencer asks, and you nod, because of course you do – you’d do anything if you thought it’d please him. You struggle to pull yourself up with shaky limbs, and Spencer puts a hand on your lower back to steady you. “Can you straddle my leg? Yeah, just like that.” Spencer pulls you down and places a slow kiss to your lips, one hand coming up to wipe away the tears gliding down your face. After a moment of slow, sweet kisses are shared, Spencer unties your wrists.

           “I want you to ride my thigh – can you do that, princess?”

           You whimper as you lower yourself down onto his leg, eyes fluttering shut as you begin to rock against the hardened muscle of his leg.

           Spencer continues placing kisses on your lips, your face, your neck – worshipping every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth, all while whispering praises against you.

           “So perfect for me. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs as he grips your hips with steady hands, urging you to increase the speed of your hips. “Can’t wait to have that perfect pussy wrapped around my cock. Always so tight, yet you take it so well every time.”

           “S-Spence, m’ close,” you slur, hands clinging desperately to his shoulders.

           “Already? You usually last a bit longer than that, baby.”

           “P-Please, Spencer, I can’t-” you whimper, tears once again pricking at the corners of your eyes at the thought of having to wait a second longer.

           “Shh, baby. It’s okay, you can cum,” Spencer reassures you, and your shoulders visibly untense. “Cum for me, pretty girl.”

           It takes two more rolls of your hips for you to cum on Spencer’s thigh with a cry of his name. Spencer rubs soothing circles into your hips as you ride out your high, murmuring broken thank yous as you come down.

           Finally, you still, and your eyes open, pupils so dilated that your eyes look almost black in the dim light of the hotel room.

          “You okay, princess?”

           You give a weak nod.

           “M’great,” you smile, sounding as fucked out as he’s ever heard you. You lean down and slot your mouth against his, and the kiss is slow and languid – soft and unhurried.

            Spencer is the first to pull away.

           “Need you to get on all fours for me,” he instructs. “Don’t think you need to put any pressure on that pretty little ass of yours right now.”

           You giggle at that, before crawling off of Spencer’s lap. You assume the position, and Spencer places a pillow underneath your hips before trailing a line of kisses down your spine. By the time he reaches your ass, you’re writing against him, wiggling your hips eagerly. Spencer places a kiss to both of your bruised cheeks before pulling away.

           You let out a startled oh! when Spencer licks up your center, parting you with his fingers before fucking in and out of you with his tongue.

           “S-Spence, oh my God, yes!” you cry out, hands fisting in the sheets as he continues to work his mouth against your core.

           “Love your fucking pussy so much,” Spencer sighs against you, lapping at your clit hungrily. “Could fucking lick you out for hours. You taste so perfect, Y/N.”

            Spencer lets out a filthy groan against you, and that’s all it takes for you to fall over the edge, wrecked moans filling the otherwise silent hotel room. This orgasm hits you both quicker and harder than the first, and he can’t help but smile against you as you rock back against his face, desperate to prolong the sensation. Spencer continues to work you through your orgasm, stopping only when you cease to twitch underneath him.

           “Such a good girl for me. Think you can handle one more?”

            You raise up just enough that you can look at him from over your shoulder.

           “Yes, please,” you beg, voice scratchy and raw. “Please, fuck me.”

           “Yes, ma’am,” Spencer chuckles. “Do you think you can lay on your back? I wanna see that pretty face when I make you cum on my cock.”

           You answer by rolling over, wincing slightly when your ass comes in contact with the sheets. You look up at Spencer with wide, doe eyes. You have mascara smeared all down your cheeks and your lips are swollen, and to top it all off, deep, purple love bites are dusted across the entire expanse of your neck and chest. Spencer had set out to mark you as his – so that no one would be able to deny that you belonged to him – and he’d done a spectacular job, if he said so himself.

           “God, you’re so fucking pretty.”

           “Then come fuck me already,” you challenge, looking sated in every possible way – yet still, your eyes hold the same hunger that he’s sure is reflected in his own eyes.

           Spencer leans down and traps your lips in a bruising kiss, and without warning he thrusts in you to the hilt. You cry out into the kiss, startled by the sudden intrusion, but Spencer sets a brutal pace that leaves you no time to recover.

           “You said you wanted me to fuck you,” he growls against your lips. “Now fucking take it.”

           He’s fucking into you so hard that you can’t even manage a reply – you just tighten your legs around his waist and drag your nails across the expanse of his back, no doubt leaving bright red marks in your wake. Spencer can feel his own release fast approaching – honestly, he’s been close ever since the first drag of his tongue against your pussy. And now that he’s finally enveloped into your tight, wet heat, that all too familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach is threatening to consume him.

           Spencer’s hand descends from its place next to your head down to your clit, and your whole body jolts with the first swipe of his thumb. You clench around him as a litany of particularly filthy utterances escapes you, and Spencer’s hips stutter.

           “Fuck, princess,” he groans, head coming to rest on your shoulder as he struggles to regain his rhythm. “You don’t even know what you do to me. You’ve ruined me for anyone else. Never fucking want to lose you. Love you so much.”

           “I love you, I love you, I love you,” you chant into his ear, sounding like some kind of siren, luring him straight to his inevitable ruination. “I’m so close, Spence. Cum with me, please? I want to feel you. Please, baby.”

           “Y-Yeah, fuck,” Spencer chokes out. “Say my name when you cum, princess. Want everyone to know how good I fuck you.”

           And when you cum with a shout of his name, walls pulsating deliciously around his cock, Spencer is quick to join you. He continues to roll his hips against yours as you both ride it out, whispers of almost intelligible affirmations being shared between slow, loving kisses.

           After a moment of post-orgasm bliss, Spencer leaves and returns with a bottle of cocoa butter lotion and a warm, wet rag. You watch on with heavy lidded eyes as he cleans you up, and for a moment, he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. It’s not until he finishes slathering your reddened backside with lotion that you speak again.

           “You shouldn’t be jealous, by the way,” you murmur as he lays down beside you. “You’re it for me, Spencer Reid. I don’t ever want you to doubt that I’m anything less than crazy about you.”

           It’s everything that Spencer’s ever wanted to hear, and just like that, every fear – every insecurity that had plagued him in the past several months – fell away to nothing. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember why he’d ever been worried in the first place.

           “You’re it for me, too,” Spencer whispers as he pulls you until his arms and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

           “We’re going to have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, you know,” you remark as you nuzzle into Spencer’s side.

           “Don’t care,” he sighs happily. “I’ll shout it from the roof tops if I have to. I want everyone to know you’re my girl.”

           “You’re a sap, Doctor Reid.”

           “Only for you.”

           A moment of blissful silence passes, before the sound of your growling stomach sets you both into a fit of giggles.

           “We never did get dinner, did we?” Spencer muses as he lightly runs his fingernails across your scalp. You hum appreciatively and a pleased shiver rolls through you.

           “Nope. You were a little too preoccupied with marking your territory to even offer to feed me,” you tease as you run your fingertips down the planes of his chest.

           “Well, now that that’s been taken care of - could I interest you in some takeout?”

          “Possibly,” you sigh, flattening your palm on his chest, right over his heart. “Do you think that pizza place Trevor mentioned delivers?”

          “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

          “Is that a no?”

          “... Look up the number.”

-

-

-

taglist: @90spumkin​ @moon-light-jukebox​ @thebookamongmen​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @itsametaphorbriansblog​ @eldahae​

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Shigaraki Headcannons: Confrontation #1

⚠[Warning: Yandere and their behavior, stalking, mention of hentai, obsessive mindset, and harassment]⚠ 🖐🏻💀Shigaraki is livid 🖐🏻💀The newest game has people bustling in the unorganized Game store 🖐🏻💀Everybody's digging through the piles of games they have and everyone is so annoying 🖐🏻💀Constantly pushing, skin of sweaty strangers rubbing against him, and the difficulty of keeping his hands in the clear 🖐🏻💀Now usually he wouldn't be afraid to dust a person or two 🖐🏻💀But he figures he might be seen and be trampled by the panicked stampeding sheep like these shoppers do 🖐🏻💀He almost abandons his logic before eying the cover of the famous game being completely untouched in the otome section 🖐🏻💀'This is it!' 🖐🏻💀But the moment he grabs a hold of it so does someone else 🖐🏻💀He was about to throw his prior logic out the window but he recognized that (s/t) hand anywhere 🖐🏻💀"Hehe it seems we've found the same last copy." 🖐🏻💀He could tell you were exhausted college and the part -time job you were sporting probably were to blame 🖐🏻💀"Y-yeah." 🖐🏻💀"Well how about this, I'll stay and help you find another so we don't have to fight over this one ok?" 🖐🏻💀He was too flustered to talk so he nodded 🖐🏻💀You were so sweet to him 🖐🏻💀You were so dangerous 🖐🏻💀You looked behind otome games and even the hentai section 🖐🏻💀Both of you were nervous but for different reasons 🖐🏻💀You were avoiding eye contact while you navigated through the pile 🖐🏻💀'That was so cute you were so embarrassed' 🖐🏻💀'That hentai game with the tentacles isn't here' 🖐🏻💀You tsked as you didn't find the game your roommate so graciously asked (with a shuriken in hand) 🖐🏻💀You'd have to arm yourself with the trashcan lid when you went home 🖐🏻💀You eventually were able to find a copy for the nervous guy 🖐🏻💀'Gosh he needs chapstick' 🖐🏻💀You silently hand him the copy putting your finger to lips 🖐🏻💀You guys sneak to the cash register to buy your finds before any of the walk jobs notice 🖐🏻💀You make your purchase and in friendly spirit you block his purchase from the onlookers 🖐🏻💀As you both try to casually walk out your interrupt by a nosy Ken and his wife 🖐🏻💀"Hello sir" 🖐🏻💀The overly sweet tone reveals the entitlement bubbling to the surface 🖐🏻💀"Im so grateful that you were willing to buy this for our son." 🖐🏻💀"Uh he didn't buy this for you or your kid." 🖐🏻💀You dealt with these kinds of people all the time 🖐🏻💀You lightly push your hand on his shoulder as you guide him out but the Ken had other plans 🖐🏻💀Reaching out his hand to tightly grasp on to Shigaraki's arm 🖐🏻💀"Don't you date leave with my boys game!" 🖐🏻💀At this point everyone is in shock or looking on in anger 🖐🏻💀You take the initiative to slap their hand away taking Shigaraki's in yours 🖐🏻💀"Don't you touch him, you fiend." 🖐🏻💀Hand in hand with Tomura you walked out the store, crossed the street, and went around a corner 🖐🏻💀"Hey, sorry I grabbed you like that I just didn't want it to escalate" 🖐🏻💀"It's fine" 🖐🏻💀"Oh well I've gotta go seeya around, chapstick." 🖐🏻💀You ran away before he could even register the slightly offensive nickname you gave him 🖐🏻💀He felt as though he could explode 🖐🏻💀YOU TOUCHED HIM!!! 🖐🏻💀YOU SPOKE TO HIM!!! 🖐🏻💀YOU EVEN DEFENDED HIM!!! 🖐🏻💀He was so happy he couldn't help his laughter from spilling out 🖐🏻💀Attracting bystanders to stare at him oddly 🖐🏻💀He clutched the game careful to keep his pinkies up 🖐🏻💀You had touched this game❤ 🖐🏻💀He clutched it to his chest as he replayed the entire interaction in his mind 🖐🏻💀He'd have to remember to dust that freak when he got the chance 🖐🏻💀He was on cloud 9 and Kurogiri could tell 🖐🏻💀'At least he'll be in high spirits for tomorrow's attack on UA'

[teenageheartthrob]

An Unconventional Guide to Happiness- Part 4 (Platonic Avengers x Reader, Loki x Reader)

Series Summary: The trials and tribulations of Y/N L/N in the life of a hero, with a super family.

Chapter Summary: Clint comes to calm your nerves after a mysterious night (flashback to come)

Category: fluff, angst

Ship: Loki Laufeyson x reader (eventual), Avengers x reader (platonic)

Trigger Warnings: One swear word and big brother Clint vibes, very wholesome :)

Word Count: 1.9 k

------------

The sound of waves slowly crashing against the shore was normally a gentle reminder of your mortality, it reminded you of the good things life could bring. The current morning especially should have been one of those times, as you watched an over 40s yoga class stumbling their way through stretches, fighting against the wind.

With your anger now dealt with, you didn’t know what to feel exactly. Scared? Sad? Certainly not grateful. 

You were not prepared to be grateful in a world where Andrew Kingston roamed just yet. 

Your thoughts drifted once more to the God, your God, as the morning light guided your eyes to close. 

Initially, you had tried to repress the guilt, but now that you were alone, with no direction or purpose, the feelings were slowly stirring inside you again. 

It was your fault, or at least that’s how you perceived it. 

You could, and should have, dealt with Andy yourself, it wasn’t like you didn’t have the strength. But Loki…he stepped in. 

Maybe he thought you were weak. The Avengers were in enough hot water with the press as it was, he probably just wanted it dealt with quickly. 

Yeah, that’s why he stepped in. 

As you contemplated how in all the nine realms you were going to make it up to your best friend- wait, was he anymore? You had put him in the hospital after all- the presence you had been sensing behind you for the last minute, came closer. 

They were a friendly, the friendliest in fact. Didn’t warrant moving, you decided. 

“Knew I’d find you here,” Clint said, sitting against the palm tree next to your own. 

“Oh really?” You retorted.

“Mmhm, you like the water.” His smirk was so tactile you could feel it without even touching him. Unconsciously, your fingers attempted to shake off the shadow of an emotion.

Smug bastard, of course he’d know that. The small man-made beach was one of your only sanctuaries in the busy city. You had naively assumed no one knew about this one, but of course he knew. He always did. 

“When did I tell you that?” 

You winced, finally opening your eyes to the light- covered beach in front of you. A coffee cup came into view as Clint extended his arm, careful to only make contact with the cup, not you directly. “You didn’t have to.”

“Thanks for the coffee,” you accepted. 

The yoga class was still going strong 15 minutes on, most had outlasted your predictions. 

“No problem, kid. Home?”

You shook your head, maybe a little too quickly. Clint’s underlying concern became more evident. 

“Loki’s awake,” the archer persisted, “want to go see him?”

Pausing, you took a shaky breath and thought it over. While doing so, your hands fiddled with the cup they held, the burn it omitted somehow soothed your raw wounds. 

He wouldn’t want to see you. Because of you he damn near broke every bone in his body. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but his healing powers aside, he had to be in a lot of pain. 

It would be weeks before he was cleared for missions and you knew how restless he could get hanging around the compound. His ever-ticking mind craved more than endless pages of a book or trivial television. It ached for strategy, any chance to show his prowess. Within a week he would be driving you and Thor crazy. 

Thor…

Stupidly, selfishly, you hadn’t even considered him. He would be more angry than Loki, you hurt his brother, who he’d already lost so many times before. 

If Loki truly was mad, the raven-haired God would likely ignore you, treat you as though you didn’t exist. That, you thought, you could handle. 

Thor’s anger was more…outward, expressive. There was a good chance he would beat you to a pulp. 

You swallowed cautiously, hoping to lubricate your still-aching throat. Hours of yelling and crying had taken its toll. 

“What am I doing here, Clint?”

“Running away from guilt, I suppose,” the man next to you answered, “any normal person would.”

“Since when have *we* ever been normal?” you huffed under your breath, although it was still about 100 decibels too loud for the archer to miss. No response came, not that you expected one really, he would be the first to admit that your life was far from conventional. “Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change our lives for anything, we all love what we do. But Loki is laying in a hospital bed and its not even because of something that happened in the field.” Letting your head fall in shame, you continued muttering. “Just can’t believe I was so stupid. Sometimes I wonder if the job is worth it I guess.”

Your life-long friend sat more to attention, hesitantly shifting an inch closer to you. “You know this wasn’t your fault, right?”

“I know, just needed someone to blame.” You weren’t sure if that was the truth or not. You figured it was equally the fault of you and Andrew Kingston, the question was who was more responsible? 

The yoga class was packing up, apparently surrendering to the elements. On the not so distant shore, a woman dressed head to toe in hot pink tried desperately to save her matching matt from the water. You silently chuckled as she was unsuccessful. 

You turned, with what was likely your 500th sigh of the day, to look at Clint. Your absolute best friend, your family. He had obviously been waiting for a vulnerable moment such as this. 

Stealth training comes in handy outside of the field sometimes too. 

“Come on, you have to go see him, Y/N.” You had barely opened your mouth to protest before he spoke again. “He keeps asking for you, you know?”

Your mouth snapped shut. Your fears were confirmed, at least in your mind. The God was pissed. 

You wondered, for a brief moment, why that thought felt like a jagged knife in your gut. 

The archer stood and dusted himself off, knowing full well that the sand would remain on his clothes no matter how much he tried to prevent it. “Here,” he said, reaching for your un-drunk cup of coffee, “give me that. We’ll get you a new one when we get back to the compound. Something cold.”

“What? Wh-“

“Your hands,” Clint called back, already having begun to walk away, “you’re getting those checked out when we get there by the way. No arguments.”

Damn him. 

You stood to follow him, avoiding dusting yourself off for fear of more salt and sand getting trapped in your openly wounded palms. “Oooh, big brother Clint voice,” you teased, “don’t hear much of that these days.”

“You’ll end my stealth career if you keep giving me reasons to use it,” he hit back. 

“I am your career, I’m a full time job.” 

“Don’t I know it,” he huffed sarcastically, wrapping a strong, supportive arm around your shoulders. 

Clint planted a kiss on your temple as he gently guided you both towards what you could only assume to be the direction of a waiting car.

Now caught up to the blond man, you smiled to yourself softly. Normal, it felt normal. Clint’s warmth wasn’t stained with any worry or anger, you knew you were safe. Things in that moment felt good almost, until the image of your best friend unconscious in your lap crept back into your mind. 

Where was Wanda when you needed her? Ordinarily you could go to Loki for that sort of thing- taking the bad thoughts and feelings away, helping share the load. 

But somehow you had a feeling that might not be welcome any more.

—-

“How is everyone?” You dared to ask over the sound of the usual New York traffic. 

It was a vague question. What it actually meant was ‘is everyone mad at me and when am I being kicked out?’ But you were hoping Clint took it as ‘is everyone well?’

He answered a third way instead. 

“Steve, Tony and Barnes are in a meeting with Fury but they’ll be back soon. Although, Cap did ask me to make sure you gave him a call when you were up to it, he sounds worried. I haven’t seen much of Tony but I can bet he’s the same.” 

More guilt washed over you. You shouldn’t have just left like that, you knew how Steve and Bucky were with these kinds of things. 

And Tony…God, you hated disappointing him. 

“Thor has visited him every hour or so. Both seem okay, all things considered.”

“Clint,” you pressed. 

The archer sighed, wisely admitting defeat early, and nodded to the driver in the front of the car. He waited until the partition had risen to continue. 

“Everyone is shaken to say the least, this sort of thing doesn’t tend to happen outside of the field. Loki is awake, but he’s annoying everybody,” the blond refrained  from adding a sarcastic ‘like usual.’ “All he’s done, from the minute he woke up, is ask for you, like I told you. Cho almost considered putting him in restraints after he tried to stage an escape attempt.”

“Shit,” you turned away. Clint hadn’t seen you cry in a long time, and you weren’t about to let him now. 

On one hand you felt oddly touched by the fact that Loki wanted to see you that badly, on the other, you figured he probably wanted to see you so he could do to you what Kingston did to him. “It’ll be fine, he’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Easy for you to say, it’s my fault, Clint.” You cursed your mouth for betraying you.

He made a point of looking at you, blue eyes staring deep into your soul as if he was trying to peel back the layers like you could- trying to find what you were really feeling. 

“Y/N, you’re overthinking it. Loki was protecting you. He knew what he was doing and what the consequences would be. He kept you safe, that’s all he cares about, I promise. That doesn’t mean that what happened was your fault.”

“Okay. Fine.” You figured it was just easier to agree, at least verbally. You knew your mind would be going back and forth on what it really thought for a good while. 

Maybe on of your scheduled recovery periods away from everyone would be a good idea. Although, you didn’t know how long you could truly avoid the Odinson and Laufeyson wrath for. Especially as neither of the brothers seemed to believe in using doors.

“Okay then. Good.”

Your heart sank to your feet as you felt the familiar right turn into the driveway of the compound. You knew you were going to have to face things sooner or later, but it had been nice to run away from everything for a while. 

Just as you were planning how to get away this time, Clint took your hand gently in his own. 

Since you were little, you had a system. When talking was too much or it was just awkward to do so, one of you would squeeze the other’s hand three times. It always let you know you had each other’s back. 

Clint squeezed your hand as you clambered out of the standard SHEILD issue vehicle and you knew that he meant what those squeezes symbolised. 

‘I love you.’

You realised then that no matter what happened with Loki, at least you’d always have one person in your corner - and Clint didn’t plan on going anywhere.

------------

Part 5 soon, flashback about the night coming in part 6!

Taglist: @huntress-artemiss

[heyhihellowhatsup0]

Hooked On Your Feelings - Chapter One (FWB! Tom Holland x Reader)

Prologue

Warnings: Some angst, language, eventual smut in future chapters, fluff

Word Count: 4155

Summary: After a bad breakup, making an agreement with your womanizing neighbor, Tom to be friends with added benefits and no strings attached seemed like the perfect idea. Until things become messy, emotions caused your agreement to crumble.

A/N:   I have been dying to post more so the day is finally here! I am so happy everyone has given my such amazing and sweet feedback! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Needless to say, this chapter does have smut! DM me to be tagged and I cannot wait to hear everyone’s thoughts! (Also .gif is not mine. DM me for credit please, I found on google!) Thank you xx -N

You woke up the next morning with your head pounding while the sun hit your eyes as you opened them. Turning on your back you let out a sigh once you realized where you were. The same bed you figured you would be in even though you were hoping it was all a dream and what had happened didn’t actually take place. 

Remaining underneath Tom’s dark and satin sheets since you knew you had nothing on, you pivoted your head upward and saw his eyes opened and staring up at the ceiling. Clearly, neither one of you had any idea how to address what the hell happened between the two of you last night and you certainly weren’t going to be the one to initiate.

Tom licked his lips as he adjusted himself from under the covers. Did he really just sleep with you? Sure, he thought about having that moment with you. Countless times, actually. It was no secret you were breathtakingly beautiful and he always had that fantasy about you. But you were always dating that idiot for whatever reason and Tom always thought you were never into him in that way.

None of it was planned, of course. It just happened. One minute, you were both drinking and just simply there next to each other. The next, Tom and you were stumbling into his bedroom. Laughing in between kisses as you removed one another’s clothes and experiencing what was probably some of the best sex he’d ever had. His entire body was vibrating still from how he had felt and he never in a million years would have even thought you were the least bit interested in him like that. Then again, you were both clearly going through some really weird stuff last night.

You were both vulnerable and feeling things you didn’t want to admit to other people but for some reason, Tom was alright with admitting it to you and you both found a way to get rid of the feeling, even if it was temporary. He didn’t want you to regret it, because he sure as hell didn’t. He certainly wasn’t expecting any of that with you but it was a hell of a night and he was far from complaining about it. He was just worried you regretted it.

A lot could be said in your silence with Tom as you lay there, the both of you now staring up at the ceiling and neither of you were speaking. You couldn’t help but feel a little awkward while you tried to figure out what to say. Do you just thank him for the night and leave? Should you just say you had work and grab your clothes or just maybe not say anything at all? The silence was killing you for a variety of reasons and you were still trying to rack your brain trying to figure out why you initiated the first kiss to begin with. You weren’t drunk at all but for some reason you just wanted it. You wanted him. And in that moment last night, you were glad he wanted you too.

Tom cleared his throat, the stillness between you both was causing a rise in his anxiousness, “Well...we had sex last night,” he stated the obvious as plainly as possible. Maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut.

“Yeah,” you answered in an obvious tone. You held back from your laughter as you pushed your hair out of your face, “I should probably go,” you told him as you tried to cover yourself up with the sheets even though you already knew Tom saw you naked last night. There were no more secrets between you both. Clearly.

Tom sat up from the bed and began looking for his sweatpants to throw on before he started to help you find your clothes across the bedroom floor. He handed you your t-shirt as he politely turned away while you changed, “Do you want coffee or something?” he offered, something he would never offer another girl who stayed the night.

Offering any girl any type of breakfast or anything of the sort automatically made them believe Tom wanted them to stay longer. To go out on a date or to get a phone call from him later. Commitment. So he always avoided it and usually had you kick them out if they couldn’t get the hint. But obviously you were different being that you were a friend who he just so happened to sleep with. He was grateful you were there with him and he’d never dismiss you as quickly. He cared about you in the same ways you cared about him. Neighborly love. Who he happened to be attracted to and vice versa.

“Nah, I’m okay. I have some back at my place,” you answered casually as you grabbed your leggings as Tom handed you one of your shoes, “Thanks,” you said to him with a small smile as you tried not to act like you were rushing out of there.

You tried to make yourself presentable as Tom began to walk you out of the bedroom, unsure if he should thank you for the night or not. You turned to him with a sarcastic smile and pointed towards your messy waves, “Wow, I guess this officially makes me a notch on your belt, huh?” you tried to joke to make it less weird between you two.

“For the record, you are not a notch or anything like that, Y/N,” Tom said sternly to make sure you knew that last night was actually a night he didn’t regret at all, “I uh...actually had a pretty good time,” he felt his cheeks tinge a hint of pink as he admitted that to you. Another thing he knew to never say to a girl he brought home. Ever.

Making a face at him, you breathed out a small laugh while you nodded your head in agreement, “Yeah, I did too,” you told him honestly.

The two of you just stood in the kitchen by Tom’s door for a minute. Waiting for the other person to say something but neither of you did. You rocked back and forth on your heels as Tom slid his hands into his pockets, “This isn't weird, is it?” you questioned in a light tone.

“What? No!?” Tom chuckled nervously. He crossed his arms in front of his chest in an attempt to be nonchalant while the elephant of the deed you two had done remained between you both, “Wh-why-why would it be weird?” he stammered.

Leaning in a bit closer towards him, you narrowed your eyes in on Tom, “We had sex,” you whispered as if somebody else was in the room and could overhear your entire conversation.

Tom copied your motion and leaned in in the exact same way, “I don’t think it’s a secret now,” he teased you with a playful smirk, making you laugh as he pulled away. He gave you a nudge against your shoulder, “It’s only weird if we make it weird, right?” he reminded himself.

Lots of friends sleep together and continue to be friends. This was nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, you were more neighborly than friends. So it was a completely different situation than what typical friends had dealt with in the past. Tom was right, you reminded yourself.

“No weirdness on my end,” you told him with a smile as you held out your palm as if you were swearing in a courtroom, “Promise,” you added with a playful wink.

Tom smiled back, leaning forward to get the door for you but you accidentally mistook his gesture for a hug and wrapped your arm around his neck. You cussed under your breath at your embarrassingly stupid moment while you apologized profusely to Tom as he tried to save the awkwardness by giving you a half-assed hug in return. You tried to hide the wincing your eyes were making from the hug but you knew he noticed. Of course he noticed.

Looking down at the floor because you were now too embarrassed to look in his direction, you said your goodbyes as Tom promised to swing by this week with his usual pizza while you began walking faster towards your apartment. But you didn’t want Tom to think you were that flustered by your interactions that you quite literally ran away to hide out. 

You finally got inside your door and realized everything remained untouched since you had kicked Justin out last night. The bottle of wine was still open and sitting on the counter, the television was still on in the living room and there were still a bunch of clothes he had left behind that you needed to desperately get rid of.

Everything in your apartment remained frozen in time while you felt like you jumped lightyears ahead of it from your one night spent with Tom. It was a strange feeling as you walked over to turn the television off but you didn’t feel angry like you had felt last night. You weren’t exactly over the events that took place with Justin but you were on the path to accepting it and you weren’t sure if Tom had something to do with it or not.

There was no denying that you were still hurting from everything. It was still a fresh wound and you had felt so betrayed from it all, you weren’t sure how you would bounce back from it or if you even would. You never dealt with a breakup as ugly as this one so it was a new feeling for you that you were still trying to wrap your head around.

And even though when you were with Tom for the brief time that you were, it felt like it was almost exactly what you needed last night. You didn’t hold back from him and you were comfortable enough around Tom telling him exactly what you needed. Letting your frustrations and anger out on him and Tom letting his feelings out on you led to an explosion between the two of you that surprisingly left you possibly wanting more.

Wanting more from Tom.

Changing into a fresh outfit from last night, you continued to replay the night over and over again in your mind. It was unexpected to say the least, but not in a bad way. Not by any means. If you thought it was bad or awkward, you probably wouldn’t be standing in front of your closet still thinking about the things Tom made you feel.

He made you forget about the drama, if even for one night. But he still managed to make you think that you didn’t need Justin anymore. Maybe you didn’t need anyone right now other than a simple fix here and there to make you feel good. Maybe something without any strings attached was what you needed right now in order to move on and numb your pain for a bit.

You knew Tom was dealing with his own commitment issues and neither one of you were looking for anything complicated. It may not be the best idea in the world to be thinking about something like this but clearly neither one of you knew how to be alone at the moment. You didn’t really want to be fully alone anyway, and you were both comfortable enough with each other where you could be honest about this stuff. Maybe Tom was right, there shouldn’t be any weirdness between you.

Maybe some great sex and not an ounce of attachment was the elixir to the chaos Justin caused for you. No formalities. No planned out, stuffy dates. No mingling with friends and their significant others. No justin. And certainly no types of feelings that would get you in a mess you clearly weren’t looking for right now.

Just good fucking sex. And...it didn’t hurt that your neighbor might be looking for the same type of thing that you were. At least you had hoped.

And when the thoughts and memories and god, downright blissful remembrances of his touch kept invading your mind, just standing there in your apartment thinking about it wasn’t enough. The anxiousness vibrated through your body and you knew what you might be needing from down the hall.

You pulled on a new t-shirt before grabbing your keys. You had never done anything like this before, what if Tom said no? Maybe it should just remain a one time thing between the two of you. Your nerves were attacking you relentlessly as you locked your door, slipping your key ring around your finger and securing it tightly.

But if Tom could do things like this, what was stopping you? The pure rush of anxiety and adrenaline...but it was stupidly guiding you right back to his door. This was insane. Completely stupid. He’d never agree to this. 

Your mind was telling you to turn around and go back home. But that side of you that you never let come out was saying ‘fuck it. Have some fun for once. You’ve been through enough heartbreak and this is something for you.

The safe way got you hurt. More than once. And as you lifted your hand to tap your knuckles against the door, you knew you were done playing it smart. 

Barely getting through the first knock, the door swung open. You let out a yelp as you practically hit Tom in the face while he almost walked right into you. The two of you running into each other as your bodies slightly crashed into one another.

“Oh shit!” Tom exclaimed as he pulled back with an awkward laugh. He ran a hand through his still messy curls, “I was actually on my way to see you,” he admitted, pressing his lips together as he looked at you in the doorframe.  

You reached up and crashed your lips against Tom’s without warning, “Let’s make a deal,” you told him through your hungry kiss as you began to feel Tom start to kiss you back. He moaned into you as he captured your top lip in between his.

“W-what?” Tom mumbled against your lips once again, bringing you inside of his place as he kicked the door shut. He was surprised this was happening so suddenly. Especially since he was just about to be on his way over to your place to ask you for just about the same thing. He knew it didn’t feel right when you left this morning and it was because he wanted to feel this way again. With you. 

“I can still help with your horrible conquests but...in the meantime, we make up for our shit love lives with damn good sex,” you explained while catching your breath from your last kiss. You stood in the living room with Tom’s hands resting on your hips with lust for you in his eyes. 

He pulled back from his embrace with a quirked brow, “You’re serious,” he noted as he smirked at you. He was honestly surprised considering he never saw this side to you. You were always with the same guy for as long as you lived here. It was strange and new to him to see you wanting something that he did.

“No strings attached, of course,” you added. The words sounded ridiculous but you ignored that thought. 

“I...christ, Y/N. I can’t say I haven’t thought about having endless mindblowing sex with you,” he said as his eyes rolled over you. 

“Mindblowing?” you chuckled, “Someone’s cocky,” you teased. 

“Rude. But back to the point...are you sure about this?” Tom got serious. His focus on you as he stepped back to give you some space. He didn’t want to be overbearing or act like he was trying to just get you back in bed. Even though that was basically what he was doing regardless of the situation.

The bottom line was, he had an amazing time with you. And unlike the random girls he brought home, you knew him. There was an understanding between you and him that he knew you got. And he could be open with you by saying he didn’t want anything serious. He wouldn’t need to find a way to get rid of you in the morning. He could distract himself from the nonsense he would think about while ravishing you in the process. It was the perfect idea.

You took a moment. Wondering again if you were just crazy to suggest this. But the way his brown eyes were studying you, it just felt right. 

“I’m sure if you are,” you finally answered. 

Tom was silent but it didn’t take him long to make his mind up. Taking a few steps forward, he picked you up in one swift motion and brought you over towards the couch where you straddled his hips before going in for another kiss. His hand was already slipping underneath your shirt and up your back as he helped you remove it along with his, tossing it towards the empty side of the couch you weren’t using.

Helping you out of your leggings, you found your way back towards Tom’s lap and grinded your hips against him in between your kisses. The cravings you both shared for one another grew wilder as you continued, “We’re really doing this?” you muttered against his lips with another gasp as you helped release him out of his already bulging boxers.

“Think so,” Tom laughed against your skin, trailing his lips down to your neck as he pushed your hair to one side, “Unless you want to stop?” he pulled back for a minute, not wanting to overstep if you were having second thoughts.

Biting your bottom lip, your hand went down to Tom’s hardened length and ran along it. Rubbing the pre-cum seeping from his tip as you watched Tom throw his head back against the couch with a low moan, “Does it look like I want to stop?” you asked him with a playful grin.

“Fuck, Y/N…” Tom hissed as his hands gripped your sides to release some of his frustration. He breathed out a laugh as his fingers went to your clit, beginning to circle you slowly, “Let me give you what you came here for. Hm, darling?” his voice grew raspy as he looked you in the eye, his pupils black the longer he waited.

Your eyes went down towards Tom’s waist, gasping as you watched him begin to tease your entrance with his tip. Cussing under your breath, you grabbed onto his shoulders tightly as you braced yourself for his impact. Tom pressed his hand against the small of your back as he waited for you to let him know it was okay. You nodded your head silently as you gave him an amorous look, “I want you, Tom,” you whispered lowly.

That was all it took before Tom guided himself into you. Going slow as he took his time to let you get used to him while you clenched around him. You lowered yourself deeper as he filled your core up entirely while you began to roll your hips against his slowly, letting out a moan as Tom hissed against your ear while twitching inside of you.

“Mmm, Y/N,” Tom breathed out a moan as he matched his thrusts with yours. His lips parted, moaning against your neck while he pressed open, sloppy kisses against your skin as he continued to rub your clit with his opposite hand, “You feel so fucking wet,” he praised you breathlessly.

“Keep touching me, Tom,” you cried out to him while you started to ride him faster. Even though you and Tom had just started these escapades, you certainly felt comfortable enough to tell him exactly what you wanted to make you feel good. Pressing the pad of his thumb against your swollen bud, your eyes clenched shut while you pushed yourself deeper into him, “Shit! Yes, right there,” you reassured him with another moan.

Guiding you down on his cock, Tom felt his entire body tense as soon as his lips met yours once again. His breaths getting heavy like yours as your name fell from his lips while he watched you bounce up and down on him, making him feel absolutely incredible as you continued to moan in his ear.

You felt your body beginning to tense as you kept going. Everything inside of you was aching for a release and Tom was giving it to you without a doubt. Rocking your hips into him more, you knew you were getting closer to your edge and you could feel Tom about to release as well.

Opening your eyes, you cupped Tom’s face with your palms and gave him one last fiery kiss. Your tongues finding each other wildly and tangled up before you both finally reached your highs together as you whimpered Tom’s name while you finally let go for him.

Tom cussed as he unraveled from beneath you. His body writhing while he watched you bury your face into the crook of his neck, muffling the sound of your moans against him. The vibrations from your sounds set him off further while he continued to reach his bliss, still thrusting into you while you rode out your tremor together.

“Holy….” Tom trailed off with a heavy breath, finally slowing down while his back hit the couch as he tried to pull himself together. He saw you pull your face away from his body, giving him the same exact look that he knew he had on his face, “Umm...yeah, holy fuck?” he laughed.

“That just about covers it,” you agreed as you kissed his cheek with a smile. You pushed Tom’s now damp and sweaty curls out of his face to capture his lips while you brought him closer to you, “So we have a deal?” you confirmed as Tom kissed you back.

Tom chuckled as his hands fell to your sides, his thumb creating small circles against you while he pursed his lips, “You’re really serious about this? No strings? No titles? Just like...just sex?” he clarified, still trying to wrap his head around you asking for this. It felt like a godsend and that it was too good to be true. Why couldn’t more girls be like you?

Tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, Tom’s eyes went from your eyes, to your lips, and back as he sat there admiring you looking this way. You looked so effortlessly beautiful to him and even just as a friend, he was lucky to have you in his life. But now that he had you in other ways, you felt almost intoxicating to him. He couldn’t understand why that piece of garbage cheated on you. Tom had done some shady things to girls in the past and he didn’t see himself in ways others might but he knew he would have never done what that guy did.

You nodded as you turned your head to the side, “Do we have a deal, Tom?” you asked again, raising your eyebrow at him.

“Justin really did a number on you, huh?” Tom teased with a chuckle.

“We’re not talking about him,” you shushed Tom. Pressing your palm against his chest, you gave him a stern expression, “No talk about exes or...your conquests. We do this,” you gestured towards you straddling his legs before looking back at him, “Whenever we...feel like it. I guess,” even you weren’t sure of the rules but you figured you could make them your own anyway.

There was a pause as you quickly felt like you should add more, “We’re friends. Nothing more, nothing less,” you told him, wanting to be clear of at least one title throughout this whole pact the two of you were about to agree to, “Friends who...happen to jump each other’s bones?” you stated despite it sounding like a question.

Tom chuckled at your timid expression. His hands still at your sides as he leaned up and captured your lips again. “Deal.”

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