#cool with darker themes

[rp-partnerfinder]

What's up, dudes!!🎸

I know this request is pretty niche, but I wanna try my hand at it anyway.

About me: 22f, she/her, EST

Writing preferences: Lit (at least, please), would love rapid-fire responses, prefer to write on Discord, descriptive and multi-paragraph responses (but I'm also ok with shorter responses if need be), cool with darker themes

Looking for: • An active, long-term partner (21+) to write as Yandere!Ted "Theodore" Logan against my Bill S. Preston, Esquire from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure! I just love the idea of a sweet, puppy-like character going absolutely crazy. They will both be aged up to 18.

• I don't have a preferred ratio of plot/smut, but an estimate would be an even 50/50 (this can change later on depending on the story if you'd like). We can discuss general triggers and kinks as well before we start. Although I am smut-fishing just a little lol

• I would prefer to write Bill as the bottom since I'm more comfortable with writing bottoms. This WILL contain 🕊 such as noncon/dubcon, kidnapping, violence, murder, obsession, stalking - your usual yandere behavior.

General Idea: Set sometime after Excellent Adventure when they've passed their history report but haven't graduated from high school yet. There's still the worry about prom, and Ted doesn't take it too well when Bill rejects his promposal. Bill likes Ted, maybe as more than a friend, but he's not sure if he can accept that fact just yet. Ted's gonna help him out.

If you're interested, leave a like, and I'll reach out!

.

[local-fire-dumpster]

I love how One Piece takes place in a world where Government corruption,slavery and genocide are the norm and yet rather than make the Revolutionaries the main characters the focus lies on Pirates. Not only are the main characters Pirates but the story implies multiple times that in order to make the World Government fall, Pirates are NEEDED. (See Whitebeard stating that a massive war will follow once someone finds the One Piece).

Pirates are the antithesis of the WG.They follow no rules,no laws and no societal norms. They are uncaring of what the World Government demands, free to do as they want and chase their dreams.Unlike the Revolutionaries there is no structure,no root to pluck,no leadership to kill, in order to make the main organization fall.

Roger with his dying words inspired thousands, if not millions to set out and find his treasure because if there is one thing the government can't control it's people's dreams. He started an Age in which Pirates stand opposed to the WG with the hopes that one day a Pirate would appear, who has the power and allies to take a stand against the WG.

[honeydewsblue]

hello new mootie, showering you with booping kisses

hello hello!!! i see that hehehe 😭🤍 thank you for all your booping kisses!!!

[not-so-ori-ginal]

lil beans i made [greenhorne team]

[percyjacksonfan3]

Okay I will admit I was nervous going into Chalice of the Gods but I did love it

[wimpy-imp]

of the available themes you can give tumblr goth rave is unequivocally the best and there's not a single thing you can say to change my mind

[ssreeder]

Sreedy. Are you into the owl house?

Is your fav Hunter?

Sreedy if both answers are yes this is like the best thing I can ever hear because that means literally the best writer in the WORLD might consider writing something about that loser in the future.

(ofc no pressure! just think very highly of your writing!!)

I DO LIKE OWL HOUSE!!! (I was super late to the party)

(I still haven’t seen the finale!!!!)

Of course my fave is hunter haha I have a soft spot for scarred boys with tragic backstory’s ;)

Ahhhhhhh you can’t compliment me like that!! I’m in my feels right now & idk how to handle it!! <3

idkkk if I’ll ever write anything for TOH just because I’ve only ever written avatar fanfic (this is my first fandom) & im not sure if I’m ready to branch out yet, I still wanna kick around my avatar boys a little more before I leave them <3

[nfnfnfnfndnfkfjfndksjsndnxjsojsn]

wip

[wibble-wobbegong]

Wibble, an anon in @heroesbyler blog was talking about the possibility of Virginia csa'd Henry. Maybe you, @aemiron-main and @laozuspo would like to check it.

oh yeah i saw that earlier today i think!! i’m not sure if james or em have already commented on it and i know em is working on a thing rn that has to do with what you’re talking about

i’m gonna be honest, i tend to be very off base when it comes to understanding the creel family and the undertones it has so i don’t know how helpful i’d be in that conversation. I’ve noticed surface level stuff and i have a couple thoughts about how virginia and owens and brenner are connected through henry but i think there’s things i’m just not seeing in that stuff, not because they aren’t there but i just haven’t seen them explained maybe? once i learn more from the people more familiar with the creels i’ll probably be able to give some proper thoughts on it though!!

thanks for dubbing me as someone you’d want to reach out for thoughts :)

[teabagboy]

I am having Artist Problems and I fear if I try to make myself render this comic j will never post it. It looks fine(?) without shading so idk. We will see

[awingedllama]

this is a little niche and probably incredibly difficult to try to animate but a cool idea for the nostalgia set specifically in the kitchen is one of those pull out trash cans from the cabinets. We had one in an old house my family lived in, cousins & I would always play in it and hide in it but I was just thinking about older trash can themes while i was using the kitchen set for my current build.

added it to the download folder :)

it uses the tuning for the nano-can, so you'll receive simoleons for your trash

note: sims are able to throw garbage away, and the cabinet will animate, but they won't actually route *to* the trash can first; they just sort of chuck it into the abyss. whenever i try to add constraints to the interaction, the sim can no longer throw away trash, so i've left it as-is for now. trash cans do not like to be edited apparently, and changing any little bit of tuning can make it stop functioning altogether. (if anyone knows how to force sims to route with the trash, please let me know!)

also you'll notice the cupboard is slightly darker than the others. it's using a different shader, because the counter shader prevents the animation from playing. another annoying little thing i'm not sure how to fix

it's far from perfect, but i hope you get some use out of it!

[azrielsrealmate]

if I don’t put my hands over you right now…

azriel x reader

summary: your night in Rita’s was supposed to end with Azriel between your legs, not Azriel beating up your abusive ex.

warnings: suggestiveness, fight, blood, injuries, dark themes if you squint, SLIGHT trauma from an abusive relationship.

word count: 2.7k

Yk when at the High Lords meetings Azriel just snaps when Eris speaks about Mor..? Yeah, I liked that scene way too much. So here this is😸

Rita’s is packed, the heat radiating from every dancing body, the rhythm of the music pulsing through the floor and vibrating in your bones. You've spent nearly half an hour letting yourself go to the rhythm, your hips swaying in time, your eyes half-closed as Mor laughs and pulls you closer to the crowd. You're intoxicated, not just by the liquor you've consumed, but by the power you feel in being so aware of your body, so heated and alive in this dress that hugs you tightly and leaves so little to the imagination.

You spent hours getting ready. Three hours in the bathroom, meticulously shaving, slathering yourself with coconut creams until your skin was soft and fragrant, every detail of you arranged with almost cruel precision. And while part of you did it just to look good, to feel pretty, you know there’s something more. A deeper desire, the real reason you spent three hours locked away like a maniac.

The reason hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he first saw you that night. Azriel. It's always been Azriel.

The push and pull between you two has been constant, furtive glances and subtle touches, half-spoken words and smiles that hide more than they reveal.

You know he’s watching you, you feel it even when you’re not looking, a sensation that burns the back of your neck, and anticipation grows with every passing moment, tingling under your skin. A pang in your gut—intuition, they call it—you think something is going to happen. Naively, you think it might be good, really good, a reward for those three hours in the bathroom pampering yourself.

The music shifts to a slower, deeper rhythm, and the heat in the room seems to intensify. And you really can’t take it anymore, your breath is quick and shallow, and you hate the thought of breathing in the scent of sweat from constantly moving bodies, so you decide it’s time for a break, for a cold drink to refresh you.

You pull away from Mor with a smile and head to the bar, enjoying the slight coolness that the nonexistent breeze offers. At least there aren't people blocking everything in your view anymore.

Just as you're about to order your drink, you feel it. That familiar scent of cedar and mist, an aroma that always makes you turn your head, that wraps you in a feeling of safety, of desire, and something darker. Your heart beats faster with it, urging you to be afraid, but you're smarter than that. And then, the hands. Firm, confident, and so large on your hips that you fantasize about what they could do to you, they settle on your hips and pull you back against a hard, unyielding chest.

Though his chest isn’t the only thing that’s incredibly hard.

You laugh softly, knowing who it is without even having to look. You can feel the strength in him, the tension built up in the way he pulls you so desperately against him. He’s so close, and he leans down so that his mouth is right by your ear, and when he speaks, his voice is a low growl that wraps around every inch of your skin, making you exhale, your skin prickling. You press your thighs together.

“If I don’t put my hands on you right now, I’m going to put them around the neck of every man looking at you.”

The whole world seems to stop for a second. Your breath catches, and the pulse in your throat pounds. You knew there would be consequences tonight, but the reality of it hits you like a punch. Azriel, always controlled, always restrained, is on the edge, and the idea of that control breaking… is intoxicating. You smell it, so thick you can taste it, musky. God, you’d give anything to have it on your tongue for real.

“You don’t have to be so dramatic,” you murmur, but your voice trembles, betraying you. Because deep down, you like it. You like that he’s so close, that he’s so vulnerable with you, that he feels something so fierce that it drives him to act. Your words seem to only provoke him further because the grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress.

“Dramatic doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he whispers against your ear, his warm breath trailing over your skin. “You… have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

The trembling inside you turns into a wave, and you can barely contain it. It’s an effort not to roll your eyes in pure pleasure, not to rub your thighs together to get some friction.

“And what are you going to do about it?” you whisper, challenging him. Although to you, it’s not a challenge, it’s an offering. So full of need that you have to mask it.

Azriel doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he turns you, gently but firmly, until you’re face to face with him. His eyes, as dark as the night itself, are lit with a mix of emotions that make you tremble. Slowly, his gaze lowers to your dress, the slight leopard lace that gathers at the top, just enough to give him a tantalizing view of the skin you so carefully prepared.

“This dress…” he murmurs, his voice deep and laden with meaning. “It’s on purpose. You knew what it would do, what it would do to me.” His hand moves up, slowly, from your hip to the small portion of bare skin on your shoulder, brushing it with a tenderness that contrasts with the fire in his eyes. “If you wore it for me, then I have the right to take it off you.”

Your lips part, words trapped in your throat as you try to process the intensity of what he’s saying. But before you can respond, his mouth is on yours, stealing your breath, demanding more than you thought you were willing to give.

The kiss is hard, fierce. His tongue claims your mouth as his own, exploring and savoring; you barely have time to keep up with him.

His hands roam over your body, exploring the skin you’ve prepared for him, and you cling to his shoulders because your knees are trembling. It’s as if the world around you disappears, leaving only Azriel, his mouth on yours, his body firm against yours, and the fire that heats your skin and spreads to his.

When he finally pulls away, you’re both panting, and he looks at you as if he can’t decide whether he wants to kiss you again or carry you out of Rita’s right then and there.

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice more of an order than a request, and although his tone is firm, there’s a plea in his eyes. A need that mirrors your own. And it’s completely overwhelming, you can only nod. And your legs move when your mind is still dazed from the kiss, his hand on your waist as if he can sense that.

Azriel comes to a sudden stop, just before you can cross the threshold of Rita’s, when a cold, venom-laden voice rises above the club's noise.

“Already got another man?”

Your heart stops for an instant, the heat of euphoria fading as you recognize the figure approaching. Tall, dark-haired, and gray-eyed, who used to look at you with something you believed was love, but now only shows resentment. Your face hardens at the sight of your ex, and a familiar tension settles in your chest, a reminder of the scars you still carry.

Azriel notices immediately. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin possessively. You can feel the tension in him, the way his body prepares to act, to protect you. Azriel’s shadows, always lurking, slip across the floor between you like snakes, dark and threatening until one of them coils around your shoulders.

“We broke up over a year ago, get over it,” you say, your voice tense but firm, maintaining your composure despite the turmoil inside you. You have no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing how much his presence affects you, how much Azriel’s grip on your waist is doing for you.

But he laughs, a bitter, hollow sound that makes your stomach churn. He takes a threatening step toward you, and though your body wants to retreat, you stand firm. You know this game. You know he’ll drink and get drunk on the slight fear in your eyes, he’ll go crazy if you back away, he’ll think he has more power than he does, so you force yourself to stay still.

His fists clench, and you see Azriel’s gaze turn lethal, a flash of cold fury that he barely contains.

Your ex doesn’t give you time to respond, the gray of his eyes fixed on Azriel, and his voice comes out filled with disdain, as sharp as a knife. “You’ll find out soon enough, she’s not worth it. All that pretty face, and she’s not even going to suck your…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He can’t. Because the moment those venomous words leave his mouth, Azriel moves, faster than a blink. You feel the heat of his body leave you for an instant, and then, the sound of impact. A dull, heavy thud reverberates in the air, and you see your ex stagger backward, blood spurting from his nose.

But Azriel doesn't stop there.

The wild gleam in his eyes tells you everything you need to know: he's not going to stop. He doesn't want to stop. With lethal efficiency, he launches himself at your ex again, his fist finding its mark over and over, with a fury that has been simmering for too long, now unleashed in an unstoppable torrent.

And you... do nothing to stop him. You could always say you were paralyzed, that you didn't know what to do, that it caught you by surprise because you remain there, your feet rooted to the ground as you watch Azriel destroy the man who had hurt you time and again. You should scream, you should intervene, but you don't. Because a part of you—that dark and wounded part—feels a perverse satisfaction watching him get what he deserves. Each blow seems to erase one of the invisible scars he left you, each groan of pain he emits sounds like justice for the years you lost with him.

Blood splatters the ground, and your ex tries to cover himself, but it’s futile. Azriel is unstoppable, his face transformed into a mask of pure rage, his shadows swirling around him like frenzied beasts, hungry for more.

But then, a giant figure bursts onto the scene, a whirlwind of muscle and strength. Cassian.

In an instant, the General of Rhys’s armies is upon them, his arms encircling Azriel and pulling him back with brutal force. But Azriel fights, his body trying to break free, desperate to keep punishing that man, to make him pay for every word, every insult, every wound he caused you.

"Azriel, stop!" Cassian’s voice booms above the chaos, laden with authority, but also concern. Cassian tightens his grip, his wings spreading to block everyone else’s view, his expression hardened as he uses all his strength to contain his brother.

You barely see it, but you hear him growl, a sound that doesn’t seem human, and for a terrible second, you think he might even turn on Cassian. His shadows swirl, dark and violent, but then, in an almost imperceptible movement, you see Azriel close his eyes, taking deep breaths, struggling with himself, fighting to control his rage.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Azriel relaxes enough for Cassian to release him, though his eyes are still blazing with that fury that makes you tremble. The shadows slowly recede, as if they still want to attack but obey their master.

Your ex lies on the ground, gasping, his face barely recognizable from the beating, but you know he’s conscious. You feel the weight of everyone’s gaze, but you can only look at Azriel. At Azriel, who continues to look at you as if you’re the only person in his world, as if his vision had narrowed to just you.

Cassian holds him by the shoulders, keeping him in place, though it’s no longer necessary. The fight is over, but the air is still charged with tension, so thick that if anyone decided to push too far, it would shatter with the sound of another broken bone.

Azriel steps away from Cassian, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a step toward you, then another, until he’s standing in front of you, so close you can feel his breath on your skin.

"Are you okay?" His voice is a whisper, rough from the rage, but also filled with that unshakable concern he’s always had for you.

And for the first time in what seems like an eternity, you feel you can breathe again. You nod.

Cassian steps aside, giving one last piercing look at the man on the floor before giving you some space. Azriel remains unmoving, his eyes scanning every inch of your face, searching for any sign that this has affected you more than you admit. But all he sees is your determination.

"Let’s go," you finally say, your voice louder than you expected. You take his hand, his bloodied and bruised knuckles against your skin, and guide him out of Rita’s, away from the curious gazes and the chaos left behind.

————————————

The silence is almost overwhelming as you close the door of your apartment behind you. Azriel stands at the entrance, his eyes still dark with fury, but now the exhaustion and guilt begin to show in his expression. He says nothing, just watches you as you head to the bathroom and fetch the first aid kit. The sound of running water fills the space, but the tension between you is almost tangible.

When you return, you find him standing in the middle of the living room, his gaze lost on the floor. You don’t say anything as you gently take his hand, guiding him to the couch. Azriel allows himself to be led, his wings drooping and his posture relaxed now that the adrenaline has worn off. You can feel lighter yourself.

"Let me see," you whisper, barely a breath. You hold his hand with a softness that contrasts with the brutality of what you just witnessed. His knuckles are bloodied and his hands tremble slightly, though you’re not sure if it’s from the fight or from what he feels now.

He says nothing as you clean the blood, his gaze fixed on your hands, watching every move as if it’s the first time someone has cared for him this way. As if he’s never experienced tenderness before, and the way you’re wiping the blood from his knuckles is presenting it to him on a silver platter. It’s not the first time you’ve done this, but the intimacy of this moment, after what happened, feels different.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs finally, his voice barely a whisper. "I shouldn’t have lost control like that."

Your hands pause for a moment, your eyes meeting his. You see the guilt there, mixed with that smoldering rage that never seems to fully disappear.

"Don’t apologize," you reply firmly, resuming your task. "He deserved it. And... I’m not going to lie, Azriel. Watching him get what he deserved... it wasn’t so bad."

He looks at you, surprised by the confession, but something in your words seems to calm him. He accepts your response, though you know a part of him will always blame himself for losing control. It’s what makes him who he is.

When you finish cleaning and bandaging his knuckles, you keep his hand in yours for a moment longer, savoring the warmth you’ve always found in him. Azriel, who has always been your rock, your protector, now allows himself to be cared for, letting you see that vulnerability he so rarely shows.

"Thank you," he says softly, meeting your gaze with eyes now velvety as he looks at you without worrying about anything else, and his other hand reaching to caress your cheek with a gentleness that contrasts with the brutality of the night.

You don’t respond because there’s no need. Instead, you lean into him, allowing yourself to rest in the warmth of his embrace, in the comfort only he can offer you. Outside, the world keeps spinning, but here, in this small corner of your life, everything is calm.

[inseasofgreen]

Calling all active writeblrs!!!

I'm in dire need of more people to follow!!

Things I love and want more of:

Fantasy

Darker themes

Character driven stories

Romance

Dragons (I go feral for those puppies!)

Mainly original work, whether it's a wip you're wanting to publish or just for fun. Fanfiction is cool too, but doesn't peak my interest at much (idk man, i've tried. trust me)

Silly shit posts about oc's

If any of those are you please interact with this post! also reblog it so I can stalk more lovely writers!

I can only offer you my love and affection, but I hope that is enough.

[mercy-burning]

A Kindness You Can't Afford

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: Something that started out as 'stress relief between co-workers' is now a little concerning to you, but for some reason you can't help but keep letting Spencer walk through your door... Rating: Mature (18+) Content: Strong language, unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering, blink-and-you'll-miss-it choking, squirting (As always, let me know if I missed anything!) Word Count: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: @imagining-in-the-margins sent me lyrics to Hozier's It Will Come Back to entice me to write something for her monthly challenge (which is themed Friends With Benefits), and then this happened. You can thank her for this. And also Emily Henry, because I read Happy Place and Beach Read back to back recently, and DAMN IT if I wasn't itching to do some romance-writing of my own. Sure, this one is less romance and more porn without plot, but I digress. The inspiration is there and that's all that matters. Plus I've started working on something else that probably won't see the light of day for a long while, but it's nice to feel the motivation. I'm starting to feel like myself again :) I don't know how long this creative sparkling cloud of dust is going to last, but I'm grateful to be living in it, if at least for a little while. It feels good to be there again <3

Enjoy!!

*******

There's a small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. A chill permeates your nervous system and sends you off on shaky limbs until you reach it, and as your palm comes in contact with the cool metal of the doorknob, you're disappointed to discover that the contrast does nothing to comfort the hot and clammy skin. Unless the person behind the door turns out not to be who you think, you will not know that comfort.

You open the door anyway, already used to this feeling of unease. It's a feeling you've come to tolerate, and sometimes even crave in desperate moments. Tonight has not seen one of those moments, but you suppose that doesn't really matter because you've already agreed to his terms, and unless you call it off, you're stuck. You've seriously considered doing it a few times, but something deep inside tells you he might not like it very much, and you're unsure of how he'll react.

It isn't a risk you're willing to take.

And so, you meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm. He looks a little sleep deprived, but it's nothing new. Your work is exhausting. It was a major deciding factor and is the driving force behind your agreement in the first place. A way to relieve stress. Somewhere along the way, it seemed to have turned into something darker, though in retrospect that darkness has always been there. You often think back to the first time you initiated intimacy— how excited you were that he seemed willing to take you up on the offer... How your head swam through glittering mist and your heart beat quickly at his words.

"God, Y/N, I need you to be sure... Because once we go there, once you let me in... Even after I leave, I'm always going to be there... You're going to feel me everywhere you go, and that's a promise..."

In the moment it even sounded romantic, and in some twisted way, it might still be. But you don't want to let your brain misconstrue this whole situation. You've promptly decided to take it for what it is and accept the fact that he has some deep desires he needs to expel, and you're just a convenient companion for the journey.

"Spencer, you're here late..."

He exhales through his nose. "No later than usual."

"Right... Come on in." You widen the door and confidently step aside like you wouldn't know any different.

Rather than let you close the door, he'd taken your words as an invitation to make himself at home, pushing it shut with his foot and jolting you forward with it, subsequently pulling you towards him. His hands are quick to guide your face to his own, and without a second more in passing, the night has officially begun.

Electricity is immediate, sizzling through your core at Spencer's drive. It's true that when you're alone, it's difficult not to overthink the situation and rope the emotional and logical side of it to the forefront of your mind. But being with him like this dissipates the thinking entirely. All you know is that it feels so good, and it's absolutely worth all the turmoil you put your brain through.

It's worth it when his tongue possesses your own and coaxes the most sinful, desperate noises from the depths of your chest, and when your delicate fingers find purchase in his hair. It's worth it when your back is up against the door with his knee wedged between your thighs. It's worth it when his hand glides down your jaw until each finger curls around your neck, not choking you but simply resting there like a necklace would. He squeezes gently for a second each time you twitch your hips, desperate to feel friction, and you whimper.

You've come to learn that the more noises you make, the more he rewards you with... well, more. So it doesn't take very long for him to decide that enough is enough, and he pulls away from you to turn you around. You brace your arms on the door and lean your head to the left so he can work.

Warm lips attach to your neck as nimble fingers snake around your front and dip below the band of your lounge shorts and underwear. Your insides hum to life, and your legs naturally spread apart a little further, making Spencer laugh against your skin. You half expect him to tease you, but the surprise leaves your body in the form of a rather whorish Oh! when he spreads you apart and glides his fingers through your warm cunt. He explores you thoroughly, circling and spreading and plunging his fingers inside you, until eventually he continues a slow and steady pace running up and down your clit. You can feel it in his breath, in the way it stutters over your neck— He's about to give you your first orgasm of the night. If his skilled hands wouldn't do it (which you know they will), his words definitely would.

"Mmmm, I love how warm you are, Y/N," he slurs into your neck. Then he lightly nips at your shoulder and quickens the pace and pressure on your clit. "And how fucking messy you get for me..."

You know what he wants, but even if you hadn't, it still would have happened. The first time he made you squirt, he'd been determined to do it again. And again. In every different way possible. Over the course of your stress-relief-escapades you've come to learn that this particular way (with his hand down your loose-fitting shorts) is his favorite. He never strives to do it anymore unless you're wearing a pair. Perhaps it's the sounds, or the feeling of your damp clothes and the desperate need to peel them away in favor of something more solid, but it's become your favorite way, too.

Your nails scratch at the door as you pant and sigh your way through an intense building orgasm, and Spencer leans forward with you, using his free hand to assist in holding you up as he furiously works at your clit with the other. His chin rests on your shoulder as he huffs out, "Go on, baby, let it out..."

He knows you're close, and those final encouraging words seem to snap the coil tightening inside you. Your thighs tense for just a second before you feel every wave of pleasure crashing into every limb. And then, you're able to relax and ride it out, letting him hold you up and pull the orgasm out of you like magic. It's wet, it's warm, and it's fucking sensational...

You can practically see the wild look in Spencer's eyes even if you couldn't actually see him at all. His presence is always, as promised, so inherently there, that even now it's a vivid image. His pupils are an empty abyss, and if you look too closely you're sure to fall in. Hell, you're not even positive that you haven't already fallen in, because the thought of calling it all off when it feels this good seems, simply put, wrong. Why would you ever want to deprive yourself of this feeling? His possessive, damn-near monstrous way of loving you as concerning as it is, had taken you to the highest places you'd ever known. Even if it isn't 'love' on paper, you certainly love it anyway. And he must love it, too, otherwise he wouldn't keep coming back.

He only comes back because you let him in in the first place, the rational part of your brain tries to reason, though it can't quite break through the fog of lust. At this point, it's so thick that you aren't sure it's ever going to clear.

Not that, right now, you'd mind...

Once your breathing slows and your legs gather the strength to pivot, Spencer removes his hand from your shorts and gently guides you to turn around. His lips are on yours immediately, and he's tugging at your shorts and underwear to pull them down. They drop to the ground and without a second to spare, he tugs you along through your living room and over to the couch. It's practically a straight shot to the bedroom from here, but apparently time is not a luxury he can afford this evening, because you barely have time to anticipate what his next move might be before he makes it.

Mouths still attached, the two of you nearly fall on the couch, and Spencer's weight covers you like a blanket. His hips pin yours down and his arms have taken to pinning your own above your head. He nips at your bottom lip and pulls away for a moment, but you chase him, trying to lean up and keep kissing him and whimpering when you can't.

A low laugh exhales from his chest. "And I thought I was the needy one in this relationship..."

He shifts then, getting up and kneeling between your bare legs to start undoing his pants. Meanwhile you lift your shirt over your head, grateful you'd already ditched the bra earlier in the afternoon. Less time to waste.

Seeing you completely bare from head to toe and ready for him seems to amplify that animalistic quality in Spencer that's so unlike the aura of the boy you met years and years ago. Whether he had that quality before he'd met you is unknown, but it's hard to imagine. You like to think that you and you alone have single-handedly created this primal sexual being simply by expressing interest in what youcould offer him amongst the joint understanding of the daily hardships that leech onto a BAU agent. Regardless of the truth, the sheer sense of power it fills you with... In every deep stroke of his cock, in every mark left behind, and in every praise sung, there is this irreplaceable strength that you cling to long after he's gone.

No hard truth would ever take that feeling away, and so you can't help the grin that manifests at his urgency. You can tell he wants nothing more than to sink into you immediately; he visibly struggles for a moment before opting to fully slide his pants and underwear off together until they're tossed over somewhere into the abyss. You half-expect him to whip his shirt off to join them, but instead he lunges forward and covers you again, muffling your whimpers with his mouth as one hand guides himself into your slick cunt.

You can feel the rumble in his chest the moment he's all the way in and you clench around him. He rests his forehead to yours and kisses you deeply before asking, "You ready for me, Y/N?"

The low echoing tone in his voice seems to answer in the momentary silence that follows.

You better be... 

It sends a chill down to the marrow of your bones.

You barely whisper out, "Yes," and before the last letter leaves your mouth, Spencer has pulled back and snapped his hips forward, starting a slow and brutal pace inside you. Your legs spread wide naturally, giving him all the room in the world to position himself to handle you however he wants. He opts for holding your breasts in his palms, holding himself steady and pinning you down firmly to the couch cushions.

It doesn't take long for your eyes to start their descent to the back of your head, until they flutter shut and you're seeing stars behind closed lids. His pace quickens, still hard and determined, and yet you know he has more in him. Part of you itches to whine and beg for him to go farther, to push him to his limits and make him fuck you until you're nearly unconscious and delirious. And truthfully, that's still a high possibility, but you also wouldn't mind staying like this forever.

Then, one of his hands shifts and glides up to your neck again. You open your eyes and find Spencer staring down at your body with hair falling down in front of his face and sweat forming on his brow. His mouth hangs open and then grins when he catches you staring, the sight making you sigh out and grip the bottom hem of his shirt with your fingers for any kind of stability.

You're teetering on the edge of another orgasm, and by the way his face is slightly scrunching you can tell that he's not far behind you.

Just the flash-forward thought of him filling you up sends a jolt through your body, and before you know it, your legs are tensing again, and you're yelling out his name in broken syllables as a flood of warmth spreads through your body. For a split second you wonder if you've both come undone at the same time, but this feeling is different and more intense. Familiar.

The sounds filling the room only confirms your conclusion, and then Spencer's words as he pauses and feels you twitching around him.

"Twice in one night, huh?"

You force yourself to look at him, to see the unhinged pride pooling in his eyes as you finish and wait for him to follow suit. It both empowers and frightens you at the same time, an odd combination of feelings that you're sure to have a crisis about in the morning. But for now, you can't help but lean back and watch the ceiling as Spencer grips your hips and starts fucking you relentlessly into the couch.

Finally, he pauses at the hilt inside you and holds himself there, stuttering out expletives and coming. He pulls back and then forwards a couple times, gently rocking himself through it, and then his grip on your body loosens and you're able to pull him down to you.

You wrap your legs around him to keep him still, unwilling to let go of this feeling quite yet. It's there— that strength that he gives you, whether he knows it's there or not.

And in about an hour after you wash up and go to bed, he will be gone, and that strength will slowly fizzle out overnight, and like clockwork, you'll long to feel it again some time after the concern runs its course— After you replay the night in your head, over and over, analyzing every look and every touch and every reaction. After you frighten yourself into believing that he must be in tune with some level of evil to use you for rough sex and then leave you alone during the day and act like it never happened, even though it's literally what you agreed to.

The back and forth will only make living harder, and so you'll push it all away and focus on work. Until Spencer eventually brushes your arm with the back of his hand as he passes you, or hands you a cup of coffee with a kind smile, and then you'll come right back to wondering how such a gentle soul could hold such intensity. It will unnerve you until you tell yourself that it's just the complexities of the human condition and that every soul contains multitudes. You see it every day. It's not uncommon. It's completely normal.

The thought will calm you enough to get you through the rest of the afternoon, and when you get home, you'll settle in for the night without a second thought. You'll make dinner, watch a show, read a book, endlessly scroll online, or talk to Penelope about whatever show she's watching... You'll keep yourself busy.

And then the sun will set. Your house will grow quiet. You'll start to feel it: the small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. You'll meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm.

So, yes. For now, you will hold onto him a little longer and bask in the afterglow of this exercise in 'stress relief'. Because even if it doesn't mean anything greater, and whether there's even anything within Spencer's motivations to decode in the first place... This moment in time, each time, is the most relieved you ever feel.

Your fingers flex gently over his shoulders, and through the soft, even exhaling of his breath across your cheek, you know for certain he feels the same.

*******

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[cipheramnesia]

Ryoko Kui is freakin hilarious, because she gives everyone in Dungeon Meshi all these personal internalized biases and forms of racism none of the characters ever think about for themselves because they're so used to those biases that they don't recognize them as forms of bigotry. And it's really cool, because through the lens of fantasy it's relatively easy for a reader to have enough distance and perspective to understand how all of the characters, whether protagonists or antagonists, experience these biases. It's a nice piece of world building that doesn't take away from the story if you happen to miss it, but adds a lot once you begin to pick up on it.

Then she introduces Kabru, a dark skinned protagonist, to readers who are in their vast majority from counties with a large amount of baking in racism towards darker skin, and is like okay now you the reader are invited to be a part of experiencing your own internalized biases and to become a part of this theme of unconscious bias subtly or overtly misdirecting how people understand each other. I think it's very funny of her to drop that in there and see how many of us self reflect about it. And of course he's just as much part of the story and plot, so we don't have to do any of that or even notice it, but it's a more enriching experience if we do.