#fingers crossed we get that renewal and spin off

[kazz-brekker]

the book ice court heist has big group project involving people who don’t like each other vibes but the tv version is just going to be forced couples counseling via trying not to die together

[ncisfranchise-source]

The NCIS franchise recently aired its milestone 1,000th episode following the Mothership's Season 22 renewal and Rocky Carroll shared his thoughts on the big achievements with PopCulture.com. The actor has portrayed NCIS Director Leon Vance since Season 5, but even with the series already well on its way when he joined, Carroll admitted he never predicted how big NCIS would get, which is in its 21st season, with four spinoffs under its belt and two more on the way.

"When I came on at the end of Season 5, there was no spin-off, there was no NCIS: LA, there was no mention of a spin-off," Carroll shared. "And I literally thought to myself, 'If I'm lucky enough that this show goes to a Season 7, I will at least say I've been a part of a hit show.' And so I was counting; I was crossing my fingers for seven seasons. And now I'm about to start my 17th season."

Now that NCIS has branched out into much more, with 1,001 episodes across five series, the franchise is continuing to be the best of the best. It's rare to reach that type of milestone, and for Carroll, he's still trying to wrap his head around it. "It's a little surreal when you hear that when it's said out loud because we've been just so immersed into doing it and doing the shows," he explained.

"We worked all pretty much throughout the pandemic," Carroll continued. "So, to now come up for air and to realize just how many episodes and how much we've achieved, it's still kind of hard to wrap my mind around. Because our way of working is, even when we celebrated it, even when the studio and the network that we all got together on our set to celebrate it, about an hour later, we went back to work and started making the next episode. So that's sort of how we feel. I think once this is all said and done and once this series is no longer in production, the weight of everything that we've accomplished will start to resonate with me."

Since the NCIS franchise is only continuing to grow after 20 years, could there be another thousand episodes? You never know what could happen. Rocky Carroll recalled that every time they've "jokingly talked about hopping where we have, we end up doing it. When NCIS celebrated its 200th episode, Mike Weatherly jokingly said, 'I'll see you guys when we get to 400.' And everybody laughs because 400 episodes, that's crazy. Well, we celebrated our 400th episode last season, so I've learned now don't doubt what we might achieve."

While 2,000 episodes really seem far-fetched, Carroll doesn't "doubt the fact that we might get to another 1,000 episodes in the universe because it's possible." It might be a bit early to think about another thousand episodes, but the franchise doesn't seem to be slowing down any time soon. Assuming NCIS: Hawai'i snags a renewal, the franchise will see four shows on CBS, plus one series on Paramount+ for the 2024-25 season, which is very impressive for a franchise 20 years in.

[merrilark]

Honestly I'm surprised we get any extras at all given how much this "fandom" complains about absolutely everything. From the very first piece of information we get about a new season, you get all the negative Nancies shouting their opinions about how much they hate certain storylines or distrust The Writers or expect the new material to suck because they had a prophetic dream or whatever. (Maybe I’m overly dramatic but I’ve wanted to quit this fandom so many times because of all the negativity, it’s not even funny.) And this doesn’t just happen here on Tumblr but also on Twitter and Instagram (and I’m sure TIkTok as well), on the official Netflix and TUA accounts' posts. If I were on the marketing team I’d not be super enthused about engaging with the fans, either. There’s actually just been an article on Business Insider about how Netflix’s data analysis team kind of runs its creative decisions (/how-netflix-uses-data-creative-decisions-renew-tv-films-analytics-2022-9?r=US&IR=T). They advise on which shows to acquire, which to renew, and how much money to spend on them by analyzing performance but also audience insight. I wouldn’t be surprised if that included social media even though the article doesn’t outright state it. And this practice is contentious, sure. To quote the article: "Sometimes it was helpful and sometimes it was totally useless," [a former exec] said of Netflix's analytics. "If something is really unique or a risk, they're not going to say, 'Go with God,' or 'Take that risk.' They'll say, 'Our data does not support [it]." So if you’re wondering why some of Netflix’s decisions seem really random or stupid maybe it’s because someone listened to an algorithm rather than using their own brain, which is definitely a flaw Netflix needs to work on, especially for a show like TUA that does fall under the “completely unique” category imo. On top of that, ST is a Netflix-only production while TUA is actually co-owned by NBC Universal. So the reason Netflix’s own social accounts aren’t as active in advertising the show is likely because some of that responsibility falls on NBC. And the reason we don’t get more tie-in media for TUA as ST does could very well be due to Dark Horse being involved in the whole business – they gave us the S1 “making of” book and the Klaus spin-off and the National Comic Book Day poster but could definitely do a lot more in terms of cross-advertisement. So the lack of content and merch doesn’t entirely fall on Netflix’s shoulders, I think. TUA is very different from ST not only in audience appeal but also in the amount of copyright holders, businesses, and decision makers involved.

Ahh, darn, the article is behind a paywall! But just from what you said, that’s fascinating. I find it heartening that Netflix seems to want to listen to fans and what they’re saying, and yet troubling that it seems it’s largely done through an algorithm. They’re missing the mark by this much! 🤏

A lot of big corporations seem to be leaning that way--that is, toward using algorithms rather than putting in all the elbow grease themselves, which, yeah, is rarely good. Algorithms can be clunky and they never work as well because they aren’t capable of understanding nuance. But if the algorithm is picking up a lot of negativity from people complaining about the show, then I can see how Netflix might decide pumping more money into TUA is less worth the risk.

As for the whole TUA and NBC/Dark Horse thing, yeah, I was wondering something similar about that! ST is a Netflix original, but TUA is a pre-existing IP so I would think that even if Netflix has the license to stream TUA, they would have to go through more paperwork to do the things that they do for ST, and how NBC or Dark Horse prioritizes franchises is a whole new can of worms. It’s hard to point fingers at any one responsible source, but then I also don’t really think it’s necessary to point at all. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth” and all that.

[yenvengerberg]

yes you're right sorry, don't know what i was thinking! i love the part where helnik runs away together and lives happily forever with their love and endless waffles <3.

i never thought i could warm up to zoya with how she was in the first book (look i know alina isn't everyone's fave but i hated mean zoya was to her) but she became one of my absolute favorite characters. the friendships she forms with alina and genya, the romance will nikolai, it's amazing.

i'm honestly worried that we haven't heard anything about s3 being renewed but i'm hoping so much it happens cause we need the rest of the story, we need the crows spinoff, and we need king of scars adapted so we get all the zoyalai goodness.

living with their love and endless waffles was my favourite bit for real<3

her development was just so good! i never warmed to her in the first book either, but she really was that typical embodiment of a girl who gets it wrong but worked to do better, and i loved her journey. i'm always here for stories of growth, of complex characters who make mistakes but learn from them, and zoya became such a great character with so many multi-faceted layers. it will be a disservice if she never gets her moment to shine because she truly deserves it, and as you say, the interactions she forms! the care she comes to hold for others! they were just such a delight to read and i can only hope we get the chance to see more of them.

i think it's quite usual to wait a while for renewal news. i was hoping we might hear rather promptly after the month of release was up, but that was more hope than expectations. there's shows that have dropped a lot earlier than shadow and bone still waiting for news of a next season so i think we just need to give it time. i still bounce back and forth on whether we'll get a spin off/s3, on the one hand social media engagement seems high which netflix likes, on the other viewing figures don't seem as high as they would want, but really we don't know what they're thinking and it's impossible to speculate. i so want to see those stories come to life so i feel all i can do is cross my fingers and hope!

[at-the-sign-of-the-fox-n-phoenix]

TW: Suicide attempts mentioned, suicidal ideation mentioned, the boundary set by the suicidal ideation havng person might be interpreted as ableist - but they are trying to prevent their own end in setting it.  Life sucks sometimes. STAY SAFE. NOTHING GRAPHIC.  RED FLAGS by Phoenix M.T. Noah

Back from the dead years after I heard him drown after I heard the waters rise well over his head a ghost awakes

that mourning period long ago did come and pass a heart deconstructed & rebuilt in the meantime

five years later that ghost arose, acknowledged he’d fucked up, but he was alive

and

Would I take him back? Would I be his friend again? Would I risk my heart again?

Would I?

Yes, but - but, I say only if you

NEVER

put me through that again

I ask him:

Do you know what it was you did to me?

Do you know?

Are you ABLE to make that promise?

Can you even try to hold that rule?

OH YES!

He says, all confidence, a toddler screaming his sense of invincible power to the wind

(red flag, that, wish I’d noticed sooner)

INDEED! I WILL NEVER SUICIDE ON YOU AGAIN

the unspoken, uneasy subtext dangerous whitewater beneath his words fingers crossed behind his back

all italics

at least not on the phone with you while you desperately, fruitlessly try to save my life with nothing but your words flying across an ocean in a flurry of compassion and terror

with my active resentment of your love, my refusal to even try to seek a path ahead

or through

or even to take just one more breath hauling every other suicide related trauma you’ve ever endured to the surface causing your very soul to spin out in pain and rage the flashbacks feeding your own self-destructive tendencies . . . oh yes, you will react and I will be fed because only poking the wounds of another til they bleed makes me feel life is worth living

aloud, he said

I WILL NEVER PUT YOU IN THAT PLACE WHERE SOCIETY WILL BLAME YOU FOR MY DEATH

(his words drip honey)

WHEN IT’S MY CHOICE TO OFF MYSELF AND TORTURE YOU SPECIFICALLY WHILE I DO SO

it was all a lie, you know,

this time, perhaps it was not our Holy Mother Thames he sought union with, but Grandmother of the Great Sea just past Dover

after all the protestations that he chose to heal, would fight for his own survival

That mental illness I’ve come to understand is only slightly less complex than some

but at its core is an inability to accept

that life involves big feelings and discomfort

that pain is an absolutely normal part of every life -      the issue is what you do with it

that it’s nobody else’s job to babysit one’s feelings

nobody’s

not even those we most adore and whose adoration we long for so

no one but our lonesome self is responsible for managing our heart for we are the only ones capable

I am no one’s savior, nor do I wish to be

within a year of this false hope’s renewal of this tasteless crust’s poor reformation

it crumbled

precisely as I feared it would.

TELL MY WIFE

he typed

I’M SORRY FOR THE DEBTS

no. you broke the last contract, sir

I never signed an NDA even so, your name will never pass my lips again

I live with the slow drip of constant death-luring thoughts in ways you never have and yet I fight to stand before the world and sing my truth to the four winds to stand empowered before those who seek to disenfranchise

I have compassion for the pain of big feelings you never learnt to process

but over you not being the only one those you love engage with?

I have nothing but contempt for an ego so fragile you must throw a deadly temper fit every time you are not worshipped as a god by those you claim to love.

Should another ghost awake I will report identity theft

my heart will not be manipulated again by someone who chooses to weaponize their suffering

or by a catfish trying to get me alone in a strange land

oh no. this error will not be made again. ~FIN~

[calpalirwin]

Spotlight

Summary: Ashton gets back to his craft

Word Count: 2.3k

And away, and away we go!

__

To say that watching Ashton under a year and a half of quarantine and uncertainty was difficult would be an understatement. Watching him ride out his lowest lows as he chased for the slightest high broke your heart in ways you didn’t know were possible. Sure, there were the moments when you thought he was pulling himself out of his personal pit of hell- the immediate release of CALM a week into lockdown, the creation of Superbloom and its release, along with the mini virtual concert. But oftentimes your usually happy-go-lucky sweetheart of a boyfriend was incredibly short-tempered, the smallest of things igniting a wildfire of frustration that tested both your patience and relationship with him. 

It was a tense year and a half, filled with screaming matches, tears falling like broken glass, and slamming doors. But it was also a year and a half of heartfelt confessions, new routines allowing for renewed intimacy, and selfish desires that the time would stay stopped.

Oh, but the way he lit up like the sky on the 4th of July when he learned the news that he could go back into the studio with his boys? Worth every damn thing watching his grin as he circled the date on the calendar in a wide streak of black Sharpie. 

And when those studio days turned into rehearsal days? You thought he’d fall apart as he tried to spit out the words. 

“BABE!” Ashton’s voice boomed the second the front door opened, loud with excitement.

“What?” you asked, coming to greet him.

Your own cheeks hurt looking at the grin plastered across his face. “Rehearsals!” he whooped.

“Are you serious?!”

“Yeah!”

“For tour?!”

“Yes and no. We have a show!”

“ASHTON!”

“I KNOW!” His arms were around you in a flash, picking you up and spinning you around as both of your laughs bounced off the walls. 

“Dizzy, dizzy!” you called out to him still laughing.

He set you down on your feet, and then his lips were on yours in a bruising kiss. “FUCK!” he couldn’t stop laughing or smiling. “Baby, I’m so excited. I have a show. With the boys. It’s real. We’re back. If we get to do this show… God, baby, it changes everything. I- It means we really get to go back. We won’t have to keep postponing our tour. We can put out the new album. And…” the words fell in a flurry as the reality of what he’d been missing for so long being within arm’s reach again set in. A rogue tear rolled down his cheek. “Fuck, I’ve missed this feeling.”

“I’ve missed seeing you this happy,” you smiled at him, catching the tear with your thumb before brushing his wild hair from his face.

“You’re coming right?” he asked, his smile faltering as his voice took on a note of fear. 

“To the show? Of course, babe. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

His lips curved upwards again, but it didn’t quite match the smile he’d been wearing when he first came bounding through the door. “And tour? If we get that far? If we get that lucky?”

“Stop,” you said, holding his face in your hands. “Stop the spiral. Let yourself be excited.”

“But-” The doubts were beginning to rear their ugly head. He had already allowed himself to believe the covid shit was behind him once before. 

“I don’t want the rug pulled out from under you either,” you told him softly. “But allow yourself this moment, Ash. And we’ll deal with the rest later.”

His eyes fluttered shut for a second as he leaned into your touch. When he opened them again, the kaleidoscope of colors that were his hazel eyes were soft. “I-” he started, words of how sorry he was for all the times he snapped harshly at you, how grateful he was for you toughing it out with him, and how he selfishly wasn’t ready to start missing you again a trapped jumble on his tongue. “I-” he tried again.

“I know,” you interrupted, stretching upwards to nudge your nose against his. “I know.”

~~~

While he hadn’t been able to get the words out, he found a different way of expressing himself in a way that left you both breathless and at a loss for words. 

And when you woke the next morning, rolling over to find his side of the bed empty, despite your excitement for Ashton, your heart ached for the reality of what was to come of him stepping back into the spotlight. 

But the bed was still warm, suggesting it hadn’t been long since he had left, and when you stumbled downstairs, you easily found him standing in the kitchen, his back to you as he poured coffee into two mugs. “Morning,” you greeted, wrapping your arms around his bare waist and pressing a kiss between his shoulders.

“Oh, hey,” he said, turning in your arms to kiss the top of your head. “You coulda stayed in bed. I was bringing up the coffee.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he giggled. “What? Did you think I’d left already?”

Your shoulders shrugged as you let go of your hold on him. “Yeah.”

“Without saying goodbye, first? C’mon, you gotta know me better than that.”

You shrugged again, reaching around him for one of the coffee mugs. “Well, thanks,” you murmured, taking a sip.

He frowned as he grabbed the other mug. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N… C’mon, we’ve been stuck together in this house forever now. You think I don’t know when you’re hiding from me?”

“I- It’s nothing. When do you gotta meet with the guys?”

“Not for a while. Stop deflecting.”

You sighed. “The bed was empty, okay? Let’s face it. For the shitshow that’s covid, it gave us a lot of time. A lot of time we don’t normally get to share because of our jobs. And that’s all I want to say about it because I’m happy, Ash. I’m happy you have studio days and rehearsal days again. I’m happy you have shows again.”

“But you can be happy for me, and pissed about an empty bed. You can be both at the same time.”

“Yeah, but it makes me feel fuckin’ lousy, Ash. Like this is the reality of your job. We’re not strangers to it. I’m just being selfish.”

He chuckled, taking your coffee mug from you and setting it along with his on the counter. “I’m not ready to miss you either.” Then his arms were pulling you in close to him, his hold both strong and gentle. “Wanna be selfish with me before I have to leave?” he asked, his breath hot on your neck, the kiss hungry as it traveled up the column of your throat to your lips. “Be selfish with me until we can’t.”

And how could you deny Ashton’s request when he held you, looked at you, and loved you the way he did?

~~~

A couple hours after Ashton left for rehearsals, you left yourself to go surprise him. The house was too quiet without him, and rehearsals were different from regular studio time. More special in a way you couldn’t put words to. 

For some reason you were nervous as you pushed your way into the studio, his head snapping up at the sound of the door. “Baby!” he grinned up at you from where he was sitting on the floor next to Calum. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d surprise you guys. Bring you all some lunch,” you said, holding up a food bag as proof. 

“You’re the greatest,” he beamed, pushing himself up onto his feet and crossing the room to you. 

“So you rehearse on the floor?” you questioned with a teasing smile.

“Well, we were taking a small break,” he told you with a sheepish smile.

“We were actually ordering food, but this is way better,” Michael chimed in, taking the bag of food from you, and giving you a quick hug hello. “Ash is right. You’re the greatest.”

“Yeah, best surprise ever, especially for Mike,” Luke laughed and Calum nodded in agreement.

Happy chatter ensued as food was passed around, Ashton sitting as close to you as he could, his nerves making the tips of his fingers shake. “You okay?” you whispered, gripping one of his hands tightly in yours.

He nodded. “Yeah. Just nerves about getting back into things.” He gave you a quick kiss before getting up to go sit at his drum kit. And how he could manage to look both so at home and so vulnerable at the same time was beyond you. 

You looked over at the other guys, wondering if they were seeing what you were seeing, and Calum nodded knowingly at you while Luke and Michael offered up sad smiles of confirmation. Sighing, you got up and made your way over to Ashton, wedging yourself between him and his drum kit. “Talk to me,” you urged softly.

“It’s been a long time.”

“It has,” you agreed. “But you didn’t stop being a musician. You still played. You still made music this whole time.”

“What if we mess up? What if I mess up?”

“What if you don’t?”

He scoffed lightly. “I’m being serious, Y/N.”

“I am, too. Look, Ash. These are your boys. Playing music with them is what you were born to do. And I’m pretty sure they’re having the same worry as you about messing up. And it’s okay if you guys mess up. That’s why you’re having rehearsals.”

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah… Suppose you’re right.” He pushed his hands through his hair, taking another slow breath. “Okay. Okay, I can do this. Muscle memory.”

“Muscle memory,” you smiled reassuringly at him, draping your arms across his shoulders and leaning your forehead against his. “You got this, baby.”

“Will you stay? Having an audience… having you… It might help.”

“Of course, babe.”

~~~

The night of the show, you stood off to the side and out of the way as Ashton and the guys talked with the press about being back after almost two years of not playing a show together. You watched with a smile at the way Calum and Luke started humming their responses, and Michael took over the conversation when Ashton started fidgeting with his hands, giving Ashton that brief pause to collect his thoughts and settle his nerves. 

“Muscle memory,” you reminded him softly when they all came back to prepare to go on stage.

“Muscle memory,” he nodded, shrugging out of his jacket. But his hands still shook as he draped it over a chair. So you grabbed them, holding them still in your own hands. “Fuck, I hate this,” he whispered in defeat.

“You’re allowed to be nervous, Ash.”

“I know. I just hate it. Of all the feelings I’ve missed, this isn’t one of them.”

“So focus on that. Focus on how great it feels knowing that there’s a crowd of people out there waiting for you guys. And fuck the rest.”

“It really helps that you’re here, you know that?”

“I wouldn’t miss this moment for anything.”

“I-” he started, but a stagehand came rushing through, ushering them towards the stage.

You kissed him swiftly. “I love you, too. Now go be amazing.”

Again, with a smile plastered on your face, you watched them from the wings. It was effortless how easily they fell back into performing live with each other, as if covid had never stopped them. The perfect team of brothers. 

Ashton’s eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree when he came backstage, a sweaty smile on his own face as he hugged you tight. “That was amazing!” you beamed.

“That!” He pointed a finger towards that stage. “That I’ve missed!”

“This!” You grabbed his face in your hands. “This is the Ash I’ve missed.”

“I was trying to tell you something before I went on. Something I’ve been trying to tell you for a while now actually.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah… I, um… Fuck, I dunno why this is so hard for me. But I wanted to say thanks. I know I haven’t been the easiest person to love lately. I know I’ve been more moody than usual under covid, and I know I’ve taken a lot of my frustration out on you.”

“Ash-”

He held up a finger, cutting you off. “Lemme finish. I- I know I hit some of the lowest lows I’ve hit in a long time because of covid. And I know this shit’s far from over, and there’s probably going to be more rough moments as we get back into the swing of things after so long. But thank you, okay? I dunno what I would’ve done without you.”

“Ash-”

“Hold on. There’s one last thing. When we go on tour, I want you to come with us. If you can, of course. I just… I’d rather not miss you if I don’t have to. I- I need you. In a way I never thought I’d need someone. And for reasons I don’t think I’ll ever understand. But I need you.”

“Can I talk now?”

“Yeah.”

“For as much as covid has sucked, it gave us a lot of time to be together. A lot of time we didn’t have before.”

“You told me that already.”

“Shush. It’s my turn. We’ve seen the best and the worst of each other. And for all the times we could have given up, we didn’t. Every unlovable moment, we just loved each other harder. And for a while I wondered why that was. And it’s like you said. For whatever reason, I need you the same way you need me. And getting to see you get back to being this happy again… I wanna keep seeing it. And I wanna keep seeing it in ways that don’t keep us apart. So… I was talking with my boss, and with the band, and your team. And this was supposed to be a surprise but…”

“You’re coming on tour?” he interrupted, voice full of hope.

“I’m coming on tour,” you grinned.

__

Tag List

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[qslovebot]

Midnight Escapade: Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer Reid and the reader have been crushing on each other since they met, but neither of them cared to admit it. When doubled up in a hotel room for the night, reader tries to convince Spencer to go with her at 12:30am to get frozen yogurt to cheer him up and it turns into much more than a snack run.

Pairing: Spencer x Fem!Reader

Warnings/Includes: Swearing, mutual pining (a long time of pining leads up to this fic), food, mention of Sept 11, 2001, self-doubt, fluff, kissing

Word Count: 4533

The case was solved, closed, and finally, your eyes could rest. The case you had just finished was particularly stressful to not only you, but your fellow BAU members as well. You all hadn't slept for nearly twenty-nine hours and Hotch decided it was best you all got the rest you deserved at a nearby hotel.

The ride there, you struggled to keep your eyes open, but Spencer Reid was on another greatly interesting rant about a show he liked, so you figured you would try to stay awake to hear it. You always listened to him because a lot of the time, the rest of the team dismissed him and his oddly accurate monologues. They grew tired of Spencer talking so much about things they didn't understand but you were rather the opposite- and that's probably because you liked Spencer so much.

The two of you met when he was introduced to the BAU. Praised for his mind, he introduced himself to you with a shaky voice and a meek handshake. You instantly admired him from his geeky personality outwards to his tall, thin self with a face sculpted by artists. Little did you know he did the same, but immediately thought of you as out of his league, so he stayed quiet.

You had been friends since then, pairing up on cases as your minds seemed to work like a perfectly oiled machine when together. Like Penelope and Derek, you two were known for the science jokes no one understood and shared looks of adoration that the both of you somehow didn't recognize as romantic. But everyone else saw it.

Derek Morgan teased a lot. He talked to Reid about working with the 'pretty girl' every day, poking him in the side and messing with his hair. The geek and the girl who was smart as hell, but didn't make it her dominant trait.

A doctor and the outgoing agent who matched the loudness of Penelope Garcia at times at karaoke night. You brought more liveliness to the BAU- more music, more spinning, more levity in dark cases. Spencer was always trying to hide a smile when you walked in, trying to pretend he hadn't been waiting for you to bring him coffee each morning. You didn't need an eidetic memory to remember his order and that, for some reason, always sent him over the moon.

But you were here now, listening to him wrap up his story as you fought the sleep that was looming over you as the car came to a stop outside the hotel.

"-And that was the end of it all. I think it's so fascinating how they wrapped everything up into this intricate timeline of interactions and moments and backtracks. We should, uh, watch it sometime." He said as he hopped out of the back, holding his small bag and yours.

You sleepily hopped out after him, hoping you didn't look like you felt, because you truly felt like hell. "Yeah, I'd like that," was all you could really mumble out. He passed you your bag and you smiled your thank you.

Emily held you up by the shoulders as Hotch sent through the check-in information. "Some case, huh?" She laughed as you rubbed your left eye. "I suppose we can't make this a girl's night of post-case celebration if you're dead asleep."

You groaned, "You wanted to do that? Damn it, Em, I'm sorry-"

"You need beauty sleep, (Y/N). I'm not mad or anything, I'll just take a bath and pull out an adult romance novel." A smirk played on her lips as she raised her eyebrows. You chuckled tiredly. "Seriously, no worries."

"Did I hear talk of a romance novel?" Derek shuffled over. "Which one are we reading? 50 Shades of Grey?"

Spencer stepped in, "Did you know that 50 Shades of Grey is actually fanfiction written about Stephanie Meyer's Twilight Saga? If you go further back, Stephanie started Twilight as written alternate universe fanfiction where the emo-slash-hardcore band My Chemical Romance were all vampires. But My Chemical Romance was started by musician and comic book creator- who published a series of comics called The Umbrella Academy in 2008, unrelated, his name was - Gerard Way, who created the band to make music that expressed the trauma he was given from witnessing the twin towers falling on September 11th, 2001."

Emily looked at him, jaw open. "So Nine-Eleven essentially created a badly-written and toxic sex novel, years later?"

Spencer nodded, eyes flickering to you for a brief moment. Derek grinned at Emily, "So you have read 50 Shades of Grey, huh?" He teased. She swat at his wiggly fingers away as Hotch walked over, brow furrowed.

"Rooms need to be doubled up tonight. Morgan, you can come with me. As much as you may hate it, I feel like (Y/L/N) here might collapse on the spot, so we can't go anywhere else." He handed Spencer and Emily a key, expecting them to make their own choices. Of course, Emily knew exactly what she needed to do when Hotch walked off. You were about to turn and go with her, but she bolted off, reaching for JJ.

You looked up at Spencer Reid who had his mouth in a shy, straight-lipped smile. You both knew what this meant, but you were glad you'd get to crash somewhere, floor or not. The room was on the fifth floor, so you took the elevator with Spencer in silence that you were sure he was granting you until you reached the door of your room.

"I will... take the floor tonight," he said, sticking the key in the lock. "You're tired and I'm just going to get dinner and um... read."

His watch read 4:34 pm- it was so much earlier than you had thought, but you were almost collapsing. "I'm sorry," were the last words you could reply with before you walked into the room, got into the bed, and you were out, cold.

You had never had such a fulfilling sleep. You woke up feeling clean, fresh, renewed and restored. There was no groggy feeling that you had accidentally travelled to another dimension while asleep. The room was dim, except for the lamp that was on in the right corner.

When you peered over the edge of the bed, there was Spencer, laying on his stomach with few pillows under his chest and elbows, a book in his hands. He looked peaceful, quiet, calm. "Spence," you whispered. He practically jumped out of his skin and you couldn't help but laugh. "Oh my god, I'm sorry." You grinned.

He smiled sheepishly, setting down his book. "You're awake."

You nodded back, "How long was I out?"

"Since 4:34, so... 8 hours and 20 minutes. It's only 12:22am." Spencer sat up and against the wall while you adjusted yourself to sit cross-legged. You were still in your clothes from earlier and it surprised you to see Spencer in less preppy clothing.

Well, less preppy for him. No cardigan, no dress shirt, just a t-shirt that read 'math is as easy as pi' with the pi symbol made of cherry pie and his regular khaki pants. "Aren't you tired?" you asked, smiling from his shirt, back to him.

"No, uh, I actually got about four hours in the middle of your eight. I usually don't dream anymore but I actually dreamt I was falling, which is a sign of..." he stopped himself, but he was with another profiler, what was the use, you could already fill in the blanks. He continued, "Which is a sign of insecurity and inferiority, but I don't believe in dream analysis..."

You furrowed your brow, watching his eyes look down at his hands. "Are you feeling insecure and inferior, Dr.Reid, because need I remind you that 99% of the time, it's your brain that leads us to solve the cases."

He shook his head, "Thinking myself over, I'd-I'd say it doesn't revolve around work." The stutter was back. He hadn't talked to you with a stutter in months, you'd assumed it was just because he wasn't as comfortable around you then, but now it was back. Spencer Reid needed to be cheered up, something was wrong.

"Well you know you can tell me anything, right? I've kept secrets about my friends since grade one, I can keep yours." You slipped off of the bed and walked to your bag on the table in the far corner. You could feel Spencer's eyes on you as you went, so you shot him a smile over your shoulder. He reverted back to looking at his hands.

Through situations and being friends, you knew Spencer was insecure. He was bullied constantly as a child, some going as far as to strip him down and beat him. Disgusting, self-esteem-ruining acts you wished you could remove from his eidetic memory.

You took off your button-up blouse to stay in your white t-shirt that lay underneath. You hadn't the time to remove it before falling asleep. Thinking about that- you probably had bedhead too. Your balled-up shirt was shoved into your bag and you pulled out a brush in exchange, to get the knots out of your hair.

"I could really go for frozen yogurt right now," you said, running the wooden brush through your hair. Spencer narrowed his eyes at you, a little confused. "I haven't eaten dinner."

"It's nearly 12:30 am..." Spencer said. It looked like he was running through his vast mind to find a scientific explanation as to why you might have wanted frozen yogurt at half-past midnight. You let him, a teasing smile on your lips as you pulled the top bit of your hair up. "Are you pregnant?" He asked, out of the blue, entirely serious. Seemed like the only logical explanation he could find. You nearly choked on the air.

"No, Spencer, I am not pregnant!" You laughed. His face tightened as he went back to searching his mind. "I just want frozen yogurt. Regular cravings, not... pregnancy cravings. Are you coming?"

He looked at you, oddly surprised he was invited. "Why?"

"Why not?" You picked up his jacket from the hook and tossed it to him. "Nobody has to see your cheesy math shirt."

He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck, but went right back to being analytical, a mumbling rant with hand gestures.

"The average half-cup serving of frozen yogurt alone has about 17.3 grams of sugar and plus various toppings, the sugar is upped to at least 25 grams. But, versus a half-cup serving of vanilla ice cream, the sugar is only about 14 grams and with toppings can be upped to about 22. Fat-wise-"

You interrupted him because this was seemingly the only way to lift his mood and he was making excuses to stay here and wallow. "Come on, for once, let's be able to act like the youngest members of the team. Once, Spence. I don't need a play-by-play on how much sugar is in it- though I did find that interesting-I just want frozen yogurt and I would like you to come with me. I'll pay for yours if you want any, just... please?"

He met your eyes with a curl falling down his forehead and quickly looked back at his hands. You'd been friends for nearly a year and four months and he still couldn't look you in the eyes for long. He really wasn't good at refusing you at all, either.

Spencer nodded and you practically beamed. Maybe this would help to take his mind off of what was bothering him, even if the distraction was brief. You jumped on the spot and slipped on your own jacket and grabbed your wallet, ready to go and by the door.

He had a small smile when the two of you stepped out, his hands behind his back. You locked the door behind you and the two of you walked silently to the elevator, careful not to accidentally wake anyone else in case they decided to peer out into the hall.

In the elevator, you turned and looked up at Spencer who was fiddling with his hands. "You look nervous, Spence. It's frozen yogurt, not a pretty girl."

"Well I'm with-" he stopped himself again and actually started laughing his breathy laugh, squeezing his own hand so hard his knuckles turned white while his cheeks and nose went a little pink. "You..." He finished, rocking on his heels.

You scrunched your nose, shaking your head. Though you mentally disagreed with him sometimes on your appearance, you smiled and looked back up at him. "Thank you. You're pretty too."

He shrugged himself further into his jacket, hands still wildly fidgeting. "Thank you..."

You both stepped out of the elevator the moment it got to the ground floor, looking for air that wasn't filled with odd tension neither of you could explain. You two walked through the lobby and into the cool midnight air outside, where things were open, dark, and still.

You shut your eyes for a moment and opened your arms to face the gentle, cool wind that blew your hair and hit your face gently. Inhaling deeply, you opened your eyes again to Spencer in a similar state, but much less relaxed looking. Instead, it looked like he was trying to calm himself down.

"Spence, you look out of it," you said, folding your arms over your chest. You had gotten him outside, now maybe instead of distracting him from whatever it was, you could help him through it. It was part of being a friend- profiling wasn't needed to see he was thinking long and hard over something that bothered him. "You can tell me what's wrong."

He started walking down the street toward the neon lights that shone bright with the word 'fro-yo', you stepped quickly to follow. "If I like a girl.. h-how am I supposed to go about telling her?" He asked, not even looking at you. His forehead was creased and his hands in his jacket pockets.

So this was about a girl he liked. Spencer Reid had a crush. Of course, you were oblivious it was you, but Spencer Reid was romantically interested in someone!

Yay?

An odd feeling of happiness came with finding this out and there was an uprising feeling within you like the first drop on a rollercoaster, but it lingered... and it was much less happy. You ignored it, of course, letting your outer emotions display themselves.

"Dr. Spencer Reid, the human encyclopedia- have you finally found a girl that puts you at a loss for words?" You teased, pressing the back of your hand to your head for dramatic effect, struggling to keep up with him.

His mouth twitched, "Maybe."

"Well, to be honest, Spence, just... tell her. Just go at it- ask to kiss her, maybe, then confess after. Or... or, you could confess, see how she takes it, then you can see if you should or shouldn't kiss her based off of if you get rejected or not." You told him, catching him by the shoulder to get him to slow down at the entrance of the frozen yogurt place.

He was much taller than you, so that came with him being that much faster, but that didn't matter now, he had stopped. Spencer looked at you, concern in his eyes, panic. You smiled kindly, "She won't reject you. I don't know any girl who would even think of it." Reassurance, because he needed it.

His eyes trailed to the ground and he ran a hand through his hair, opening the door for you. "And w-what do I say?" Spencer asked when you both went inside. You were the only two there and the cashier must have been in the back room.

You hopped over to the flavours, "I mean, whatever feels right, Spence. If you feel like going on a long, romantic, poet-written rant about how much you like her, do that. If you're afraid to bore her, you can wait for her to speak, but the truth is if she can't listen to you rant, she probably isn't worth going for."

He evaluated your words while you casually got yourself vanilla frozen yogurt. He also scanned the flavours, probably mentally shaming the company for marketing this as somewhat healthier. You giggled watching him try to figure out how to get the yogurt out of the machine as you put raspberries in yours.

"(Y/N), uh..." he said quietly, gesturing you over. The genius's mind was scrambled enough to miss the lever in front of him. You took his cup from him and pulled the lever, to which he made an 'o' shape with his mouth and nodded comprehensively.

"Chocolate mocha," you smiled, handing it to him as he stood there sheepishly again. "Good choice."

You spun back to your yogurt, adding a bit of honey over the top of it all. He followed, choosing raspberries as well, silently adding them. He still didn't seem at rest with the girl thing, you noticed by the way he was failing to open the scoop-box of cookie crumbs. He had long fingers, usually nimble ones, but not so much right now. Spencer was too stressed to work properly. Error in the system, you may have joked if things weren't so bad with him.

When you were both finished, Spencer tapped the little service bell on the desk and a little woman, maybe mid-30s came out wearing the merchandise of the shop. You both placed your cups on the scale and she weighed them for the price, but both you and Spencer pulled out your wallets.

He put his card out faster, so you swat his hand with your card and paid while he mumbled "Ow..." Of course, you checked to see if he was really hurt, but he had his small, crooked smile back on his face. He was okay, maybe he was feeling better?

Saying good morning/night to the lady, you both stepped back into the midnight air, starting to walk, but not back toward the hotel. You'd think with what cases you two had worked on you'd be a little warier, but with each other, you both felt safe. You walked a few steps, eating your yogurt, before Spencer spoke up again. "Is it a bad thing I'm so clueless as to what women like? Everything I know about women is scientific. Chocolate releases endorphins, flowers are associated with beauty and love, but... other than that... I don't know anything."

You swallowed your bite as Reid took his, waiting on your answer. Just as you always listened to him, he always listened to you. He probably valued your opinion over Derek's at times. You waved your spoon in the air when you spoke, "I wouldn't say bad. Everyone starts somewhere for everything. If anything, a man who is willing to learn is more attractive than one who wings it and doesn't ask comprehensive questions to up the relationship quality."

"Asking questions, got it. Should my confession include a gesture, though?" He spoke with his mouth full. Spencer really wanted to get this right- it was admirable. But there came that uneasy feeling again. It was more like an ache this time. Perhaps it was the awkward hours of sleep throwing you off?

You sucked it up, shoved the feeling down. "Really, Spence, it depends on the woman. Do I know her? Maybe I can help- that is unless you want to profile her to get her interests? I can help with that too-"

"No, I-I don't want to profile her, I want to stay away from that, we do that on a near-daily basis."

"We?" You questioned. Reid froze, but kept walking, looking a little petrified. He put more frozen yogurt in his mouth, maybe to shut himself up. You grinned, "We as in you and her are both profilers or we as in you and I profile others together, so you don't want to profile her with me?"

"I don't want us... to profile her," he cleared his throat. "Yeah..."

You sighed with a breathy laugh, "Good, because I was starting to think you were after Emily."

He chuckled, "Oh, no, not Emily. She's too scary for me anyway. Uh..." He swallowed hard, the way he always did was he was anxious or nervous. I saw in his face he'd come to some sort of conclusion. "Don't... don't yell at me for this, alright?"

"Yell at you? Spence, I wouldn't..." You were confused. He set his frozen yogurt down on the bench he had stopped in front of and stood back in front of you, pushing his hair behind his ears. He looked at you with his doe eyes and the wind blew his curls back in front of his face, he looked to the ground. His forehead still creased between his brows, but his eyes were soft and sweet, his nose was slightly scrunched and his mouth was twisted to the side as if he was once again mentally calculating something. You granted him back the silence from earlier, wondering what was going on in that mind of his. That was... until his eyes met yours and he looked so desperately lost and longing and like he ached inside... and you no longer wondered.

You let out another long sigh. She was you.

This girl that he was trying to understand how to win over, she was you. He asked you because he needed to know what you wanted. He was nervous because he was practically confessing to you and you, a profiler, were too blind to see that.

He watched your face for your reaction, waiting for something good, but you were too shocked to react right. He unfroze, hands flying to the roots of his hair and he spun away from you. He started rambling, obviously thinking everything had gone wrong. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, (Y/N). That- that wasn't how I had things planned and I was so certain that maybe you-hm- liked me too."

His words made it true. This was, in fact, happening at 12:56am in the middle of a foreign city. Your words spilled out, stern, focused, serious. "Kiss me then."

He spun around again, "What?"

"Confess, then kiss, remember?" You recounted carefully, looking directly at him, stepping closer.

"But I didn't get to do my whole monologue thing-" He was grinning pretty hard now, all signs of stress removed from his face. He looked brighter than the neon froyo sign, in happiness and disbelief right down at you. You were pretty sure you looked similar as all the pieces fell in place in your mind. It all fit.

"I don't care." You beamed back. "Do it after."

So without wasting another second, he grabbed your face and kissed you. He kissed you with a year and four months' worth of frustration, lust, confusion and past jealousies. His hands holding your jaw, his fingertips in your hair and your hands on his chest, holding fast to jacket. The kiss was a little messy the first two seconds, but every second after it was enjoyable and sweet and oddly powerful. He also tasted rich, like chocolate mocha, but you knew where that came from.

He pulled away first, which surprised you, but he didn't move very far, in fact, he mumbled against your lips as he tucked your hair out of your face. "I think I've liked you since you and I first met. You didn't hate my science jokes and instead of being annoyed with my informational rants, you listened to me. I wasn't expecting you to be so involved with me since you're, well... you're you and you're loud and fun and sweet and beautiful, but we worked so well together how could I ignore what I felt?"

His hand was a little shaky still, but his fingertips on your cheek were gentle. He continued to quietly ramble, "I decided maybe I'd do something with myself that wasn't devoted to the BAU so I thought maybe I'd- I'd tell you this. That I think you're beautiful and smart and talented and maybe you'd understand and feel the same way and now that I know maybe you do, I feel oddly put back to how I'm supposed to be. And... I think I'm supposed to be with you. If this is too soon or... ruins our friendship, I'm sorry and I'll slow it down, but I won't stop liking you."

You couldn't believe that in a three-minute span you had gone from painfully oblivious to so extremely wide awake. But it was in the best way possible after a year and four months of you also being painfully crushed by your secret feelings for Dr.Reid.

"It's fine, Spence," you said quietly, smiling at him with the most happiness you had found in months. "More than fine, I can't believe this is real."

He tucked the other side of your hair behind your ear, "You might have DRC, then. It stands for dream-reality confusion and is a difficulty or inability to determine whether an event or experience occurred during the waking state or whether it was part of a dream. I can assure you that you aren't dreami-"

You reached up and pulled him onto your lips by the back of the neck, smiling into it. This would be the first time you've ever shut him up. He welcomed it by kissing you back again, softer this time. Now that he was sure you wouldn't hate him for it, it felt a lot more natural, a lot more at ease. His passion was still there, as was yours, but this was how things were supposed to be. There was no longer a rush.

The two of you started laughing after it all. Both of you laughed at how painfully oblivious you both were and he went on a small explanation as to why we don't see our own tells and how feelings of romantic relation cloud the judgement. You went over every time the rest of the team had made a comment you both secretly loved or some you dismissed because it was an ache to hear.

Spencer opened up about his fear of rejection and you did the same and that too resulted in more laughing because here you were, so afraid, but you had both been in it for so long. You deserved to have each other after all this time not only because you fit, but because everyone saw it too, far before either of you did.

An innocent, fun, midnight escapade to cheer Spencer up turned into him finding a truly happy state of mind. You took that as a win and success as you tossed frozen yogurt containers in the garbage and found your way back to your room where you told Spencer it was okay to sleep in the bed as long as he was nice.

So he let you turn out the lights and lay next to him, your head on his chest in the way you had done before when it was only an achingly platonic move. He played with your hair, stared at the green walls, ranted about the history of the colour green and soon after, the both of you went right back to sleep, entirely happy.

Tagged: @ellyhotchner @softhairedhotch

[lavenderfluorite14]

Such Sweet Delirium

Reiji Sakamaki x Fem!Reader

Summary: Laito Intrudes on an experiment gone wrong. Reiji loses his cool.

Explicit, 18+ |TW: Dubious Consent/Non-Con, Drugged Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Slut Shaming, Blood Sucking, Ownership Kink, Female Reader, Breast Worship, Hickeys, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Begging, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Possessive Reiji, Light Edging, Canon Typical Reiji Cruelty, I couldn’t just write porn I had to write a character study too lol, Slight Laito x Reader, Tagging non-con for the consent issues surrounding drugged sex, Reader is conscious and responsive but very high

Word Count: 2331

A/N: Please be mindful of the tags! This is the most explicit thing that I have ever written lmaoooo 🥂

Read it on AO3!

Reiji’s lab spun in a nauseating carousel of color. The last thing you remembered was drinking a beautiful, shimmering liquid that Reiji said he had brewed himself. It fizzed all the way down your throat, an insistent warmth quickly spreading throughout your body. Now sprawled across his sofa, you surrendered to dizzying oblivion. Somewhere above you, Reiji scribbled furiously in a black notebook, tutting irritably.

“Tell me what you are feeling. Be specific.” You swallowed thickly at the order, begging your tongue to move.

“The…...the room…..the room is-”

“Spit it out, I don’t have all day.”

“S-spinning. The room….is spinning” you slurred.

“How fast?”

“Fast.”

“I said how fast?”

“I….I can’t….”

Reiji tsked angrily, snapping his notebook shut. Flinching, you tried to turn away from his sharp gaze but a cold hand pinned you flat against the couch. Your delayed reaction time was no match for his vampiric strength.

“I can feel your heart racing from here,” he said, curling over you, pinning your wrists above your head. “Had I known you were such weak prey I would have given you a smaller dose. It isn’t as fun when you can’t fight back.” You wriggled underneath him, jerking weakly against his cruel grip. Reiji laughed, amused at your feeble attempts to escape.

“Although, I don’t hate this delirious expression,” he murmured, lowering his face towards yours. You squeezed your eyes shut, overwhelmed by his hungry stare. “I suppose this isn’t bad every once and a while.” His rich baritone rumbled in your ear, his proximity making you tremble.

“I didn’t think I’d interrupt this so soon,” interrupted a dark chuckle. Laito lounged against the doorframe of the lab, eyeing your entwined forms. “You must really like this one, Reiji,” he teased. Reiji’s iron grip tightened around your wrists and you whimpered pitifully. “It’s rude to enter someone’s room without knocking,” Reiji spat imperiously. “I knocked, but you didn’t answer!” Laito insisted, his eyes glinting with mirth. “But now I can see you were a bit distracted.” You lolled your head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the intruder. Laito’s smirk widened.

“Christ, what did you do to her?”

“Such language is atrocious. You shouldn’t speak that way.”

“You fucked up the dosage, didn’t you?” Reiji shot up quickly at the accusation, swiping his notebook from the couch as he crossed briskly back towards his desk. Laito’s smirk cracked into a grin.

“Do you need something, Laito?” Reiji asked coolly. As Reiji began tidying his work space, Laito sauntered over to the couch, his green gaze boring into you. Crouching down, he gently brushed his fingers across your cheek. You shivered under his cold touch. “I came for the aphrodisiac you promised me,” Laito said, trailing his fingers down your neck. He stopped to trace the hollow of your throat, caressing it with his thumb. “But if you don’t have it, I’m sure there are other ways we can pass the time inst-”

“Of course I have it,” Reiji scoffed. Plucking a vial of blue liquid from his stores, he crossed the room and offered it to Laito. “Now please take it and leave.” Reiji’s words hung in the air like frost. Laito rose languidly, like a cobra rearing back to strike, then swiped the vial from Reiji’s gloved hand.

“Maybe next time, Bitch-Chan,” Laito said, winking at you. “And Reiji,” Laito called, pivoting in the doorframe for one last jab. “I know it can be hard to control yourself, especially this close to a full moon, but try not to tear this one up like the last one, ok? You should save some for the rest of us.”

“Get out!” Reiji snarled, storming across the room. Laito darted off, disappearing as quickly as he had come. Reiji slammed the door behind him.

The ceiling swam before you in lethargic swirls of periwinkle. You had no idea what Laito meant, but you could feel Reiji fuming in the doorway. What was he talking about? Reiji never lost his cool. You couldn’t imagine him doing something like that. “You let him touch you,” Reiji seethed.

“Reiji, I...I didn’t….I didn't want-”

“Please be silent.Your behavior today has been dreadful.” Reiji prowled towards the couch, his long shadow casting a dark pall across your face. You closed your eyes, terrified to meet his furious eyes. “You couldn't do a thing?” He queried, towering above you. “You couldn’t cry out? Or swat him away?” His voice was ice.

“I…..I froze….”

“I suppose that’s to be expected from a woman like you,”

“I’m so-sorry,”

“How should I punish my little harlot?” Finally bending down towards you, Reiji cupped your face firmly with his gloved hand. “Your pupils are still so dilated. I doubt you’d feel my whip at all.” The thought made you shiver, and not completely out of fear. Reiji thumbed your lip idly as he thought.

“Suck….my blood?” He tsked at your suggestion.

“You ask for it so brazenly, sometimes I think you enjoy it. Hands up.” You heaved your arms up over your head as Reiji smoothly rolled your top up your body, tossing it aside once it was completely off.

“I suppose it’s my fault. I’ve been too lax with you,” he mused, settling firmly on top of you. You were particularly aware of his pelvis, pressing insistently against the cradle of your thighs. He cupped your face, drawing you close. “I need to teach you exactly who you belong to,” he said, his gaze drifting down hungrily to the column of your neck. “I’ll remind you so thoroughly of your place that even a dumb whore like you will be able to remember who owns her,” he promised, sinking his teeth viciously into your throat.

Reiji’s first bite was hard and precise, the sharp pain briefly thrusting you into lucid panic. But soon you were left with the warm afterglow of pleasure in the wake of its pain. It never stopped hurting, not entirely, but his bites always left you with a fluttering warmth. Reiji’s mouth was on you. You couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Reiji began a fast, desperate rhythm that pulled blood from you quickly, sending you reeling. You whimpered as your world whirled impossibly faster. When darkness began to flicker at the edges of your vision Reiji pulled away, burying his face into your neck. “You bring out the worst in me,” he sighed. Mouthing along your throat, he continued downward towards your collarbone. You braced yourself for another bite, but recoiled sharply when Reiji placed a delicate kiss upon your chest.

“Look at me, jealous of that pervert.” He kissed your chest again, skimming his fingers across the delicate skin of your décolletage. “Arch your back.” Curving your spine upwards, your body brushed against Reiji’s lean frame. You trembled as his hands ghosted along your back, making their way towards the clasp of your bra. Reiji unhooked it with quick ease then tossed the lacy fabric away, greedily cupping your naked breasts. A thin, breathy gasp escaped from you as Reiji dipped between them, kissing your soft curves. You tangled your hands in his hair, humming your approval. In response he tweaked your nipple harshly, sending a jolt of pain through your cloud of pleasure. You yelped at the enticing contrast.

“Let me remind you of your place. You are nothing more than food to me,” he said, pinching your nipple again with a renewed vengeance. You drunkenly brought your hands back to push him away, but he easily pinned them back above your head. “You are meat. Your blood is the only worthwhile thing about you.” Reiji sunk his teeth into the swell of your breast, drawing deep from you. Crying out, you tried to ignore the pleasure his bite ignited in you, trying to focus only on the pain.

“I can taste your arousal,” he groaned between mouthfuls. “Does your masochism know no bounds?” Reiji’s insults didn’t last as he dove back down again to litter your chest with angry bites. He’d kiss you, so tenderly it was almost painful, then pierce your sensitive skin with his sharp, pointed fangs. Once satisfied, he’d lick, suck and kiss the abused spot until an angry mark began to form. He left bruises everywhere in his wake, a garden of purple hickeys blossoming across your breasts.

The drug made it nearly impossible to meaningfully fight back but you didn’t really want to. Reiji’s words stung, but you so rarely had his attention like this. Was it because the full moon was close? You knew vampires had trouble controlling their urges when the moon was full. And Reiji so desperately wanted control: of his brothers, of you, of himself. Was this frenzied beast the real Reiji, or was his protesting, rigid persona the real him? Impossibly, you knew he had to be both. Both enraptured and repulsed by his own desires and completely unable to hide it. That was really why he was mad. Reiji’s wet tongue interrupted your musings as he lapped against your sore nipple, sending a shudder through your entire body. Unable to remove your wrists from his grasp, you retaliated by wrapping your legs around his hips, trapping him against you. Now it was Reiji’s turn to shudder, rutting himself against your core. He was hard.

“My, you really are out of it,” he murmured, grinding himself against you openly. “It’s the only explanation.”

“Explanation for what?” You panted, trying to match his thrusts. Reiji released your wrists, propping himself up on his left arm. Delicately biting the fabric across the tip of his pointer finger, he slid his glove from his hand. Ripping it away, Reiji’s bare hand skimmed down your body and over your curves. Flipping up your skirt, his fingers slid between your thighs.

“For this,” he says, tracing your wetness through your panties. Your eyes fluttered shut. “Reiji,” you breathed, arching towards his fingers.

“Say my name,” Reiji ordered softly, dipping underneath the fabric and rewarding you with long, firm strokes. You called his name again and he moved up towards your clit, circling it once before quickly pulling away. You whined at the loss.

Reiji begins a vicious rhythm, rubbing your clit with firm circles, then backing off when your pleasure mounts. He only returns to your clit when you beg him to, crying out for him. Fisting your hands in his shirt, you whine in frustration as a needy ache builds inside you. Reiji just smirks down at you, enjoying your torment. When tears start building in your eyes, he finally slides a slender finger into your heat. Beckoning upward along your inner wall, he firmly massages your g spot. Mindlessly, you grind down on his fingers, chasing your pleasure.

“Who makes you feel this good?” he asks, his ruby eyes alight with lust.

“You do,” you gasp.

“I asked you who,” he demanded, cruelly massaging your inner wall. You jerk at the pressure, almost cresting over the plateau.

“Reiji! Reiji Sakamaki!” you cry, desperate for release.

“Good girl,” he smirks, thumbing your clit. You gasp in delight, the rough, consistent circles of his fingers finally hurtling you towards your peak. “You don’t deserve this,” he growls in your ear, his deep velvety voice bewitching you. “But when I see you like this, I can’t stop myself. You’re mine.” Your orgasm hits you hard, squeezing Reiji’s fingers in hot contractions. Pleasure washes over you in a wave, your entire being gently pulsing. Reiji smugly guides you through your orgasm, only stopping his ministrations once your twitching has ceased. You sigh, melting back into the cushions of the couch. Above you, a belt buckle clinks.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Reiji says, gripping your thighs and yanking you forcefully back towards him. As he settles above you, he presses the tip of his member against your eager entrance. Pushing forward, Reiji sinks into you with ease. “My little harlot is so wet for me,” he teases, before setting a ruthless pace.

Reiji fucks you selfishly, chasing his own pleasure now that he’s satisfied yours. You lay back, still enjoying the lingering effects of his drug. His thrusts pull soft, pleasured moans from you as he plunges desperately into you. Closing your eyes, you revel in the sensations, happy to let him use you. Occasionally he’ll sheathe himself all the way inside of you and grind desperately against your cervix, trying to get as deep as he can.

“I can’t believe you like this. That you like me,” he pants softly, definitely to himself. Reiji lets you pull him down so that he is completely flush against your body. “I do. I like you, Reiji.” A groan rips from him and he stills, spilling himself inside of you.

You stay that way for a moment, holding each other tenderly in the afterglow of your love-making. You wish you could stay like this, enjoying the feeling of his body as it presses you into the cushions, gently stroking his back as both of your breathing returns to normal. But Reiji recovers faster than you do. “I’ll clean you up,” he offers, his tone clipped.

Reiji cleans you thoroughly with a warm wet towel, which feels strange but is not unenjoyable in your impaired state. It’s deeply intimate in a way that is definitely uncomfortable, but you think it’s his way of taking care of you. You close your eyes, pliant. His large hands drift over your body, tugging your top back over you and righting your skirt. Once he is finished you curl on your side, completely spent and ready to sleep. As you begin to drift off, you feel something warm and soft envelop you. A blanket? Maybe. Where did he get a blanket?

Reiji watches as you snuggle into the blanket he has recently taken to keeping in his desk, a genuine smile flickering across his stern features.

[softyoongiionly]

Moonlight

Just a night at the studio with Yoongi

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: fluff, smut (18+ only plz) I love yoongi so much omg

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: This can be read as a stand alone or as an extension of the FnD series. I am so in love with yoongi it’s insane and, I’ve missed him so much my goodness. I wrote this in like two hours so I really hope you like it ok bye :D

Warnings: explicit smut

“You look good.” You note simply from the pull-out couch in Yoongi’s studio, growing disinterested with the pile of work sitting on the table in front of you

Yoongi looks as though you’ve just shook his hand with a prank buzzer, his body subtly jolting in his desk chair.  

“Me? Why?”

His response makes you laugh as you prop your elbow on the arm of the couch, “You just do. I like watching you work, you look cool.”  

Yoongi is unable to help the new color present on his cheeks nor is able to help the flutter of desire in his gut.  

But all he does his smirk, glancing towards you and then back at his computer screen whilst his long fingers card through his black hair.

“Thanks.” He mutters but there is a renewed sense of light in his eyes as he hits enter on the keyboard.

The sound pulls you towards his fingers, which you have an unnatural obsession with.  

They look graceful settled on the black keys and yet agitated all at the same time.  

They are unsure of exactly where to go, unflexing and flexing against the plastic before Yoongi drags them slowly back to the surface of the desk.  

You’ve been here for hours.

He asked you to accompany him this morning and you eagerly obliged, wanting nothing more than to spend the day with him, even if you weren’t interacting.  

The blue light emanating from your phone lets you know what time it is and you have to admit, you’re a little shocked.

12:07am.

You hadn’t even remembered seeing 9 o’clock, how did time pass so quickly?

As if on cue, you yawn, quickly covering your mouth with your hand to avoid alerting Yoongi.

You’re too late.  

He sees you out of the corner of his eye and immediately takes out one of his headphones, his eyes holding a bit of regret.

“Yah, I’ve kept you here for so long haven’t I?” His voice is tender and warm, seeping in through the fabric of your hoodie and down into your skin, “I should take you home...I’m sorry jagi. I didn’t even realize how late it was.”

“No no-” You cut in, shaking your head, “You don’t have to be sorry at all- you've been working your ass off. I’m just happy you ask me to come, I’ve never gotten to see you work before.”

Yoongi’s heart skips a bit a little at how genuine you sound. He can’t understand why you’d want to just sit here with while he produces but, he’s touched regardless.

“You’ve been working hard too though.” He points out, nodding his head to the mountain of paper on the table, “I don’t want to keep you up all night.”

“I like staying up late.” You insist, crossing your legs and tucking them up on the futon, “Besides,” The tone of your voice lowers a bit as you feel quite shy about what you’re going to say next, “I don’t like sleeping without you...”

Yoongi is almost certain he made out what you said because the grin on his lips is involuntary. However, he decides to mess with you anyway.

“What was that last part?” He asks, brows raised playfully.

He spins slightly in his desk chair with his legs spread out in a way that shouldn’t be attractive.

But it absolutely is.

With a roll of your eyes, you slump against the futon, shoving your hands into your lap, “I said I don’t like sleeping without you.”  

His grin widens, his pretty teeth practically blinding you as he does.

“That shit is cute...” He chuckles more to himself than to you, his teeth securing themselves to his bottom lip, “You wanna stay with me then?”

Yoongi calling you cute makes you want to squeal like a schoolgirl but thankfully, you’re able to refrain.  

With an assured nod, you return his grin, “Yes please.” Your reply is delivered musically which causes him to chuckle again.

He shakes his head, practically exploding with fondness before using his fingers to gesture to the screen in front of him.

“I shouldn’t be too much longer, maybe like an hour or so, then we can go to bed.”

With that, your plans for the remainder of the evening are set in place and you decide that you’re going to put away your work for the night and scroll on your phone.  

You can only work on something for so long before your brain is fried.

Another hour or so passes and you find yourself growing sleepier and sleepier.  

However, your brain quickly finds itself attaching to the only thing in this room that could distract you from the heaviness in your lids:

Yoongi.

He’s dressed head to toe in black: black hair, black sweats, black hoodie and black vans.  

The only thing that stands out in terms of color are the many silver earrings adorning his ears.

The way he hunches over the desk, transfixed on the screen shouldn’t be sexy.

The way he manspreads in the chair shouldn’t be sexy.

The way he chews on the tip of his thumb shouldn’t be sexy.

But it is.  

Because he is.  

You find yourself growing uneasy with the lack of attention.

Not in an emotional way but, in another way entirely.

You can’t help but stare at him and wonder how the hell you got so lucky.  

It would be incredibly easy to stare at him all night, marveling at all of the little things that make him beautiful.

However, he doesn’t allow you to because his heighten sense of awareness has finally caught onto the fact that you’re staring at him.  

Turning towards you, he smirks and shakes his head playfully, “Yah- “ He jerks his chin at you, “What are you looking at?”

Shamelessly, you giggle and prop your chin up on the palm of your hand, “My insanely hot boyfriend...”

He waves you off, wrinkling his face in mock disgust, “Aish, stop all of that.”

“Why don’t you ever let me compliment you?” You protest, your voice heightening slightly, “If I want to say you’re hot, I’m going to say it- whether you like it or not.”

The apples of his cheeks turn a dusty rose color, his teeth finding purchase on his bottom lip as he forces his eyes to stay put on the screen, “I never said I didn’t like it...”

He smirks at the end of his confession, tapping his index finger against the space bar, letting the beat fill the room for the 1000th time.  

It sounds good so you honestly didn’t mind.

Getting to hear Yoongi’s music as it was being made was a privilege you did not take for granted so, you certainly didn’t mind if you had to hear it 1000 more times.  

A few more moments pass as the two of you settle back comfortable silence. You don’t refrain from stealing more glances of your boyfriend but, you decide to stop pestering him until his ready to call it a night.

Then it’s fair game.

During a stolen glance however, you notice him wincing a bit as he adjusts himself in his chair. Yoongi has a bad back that he frequently sees a chiropractor for but, it doesn’t stop him from hunching over for hours on end anyway.

“Is your back hurting?” You murmur, trying to keep the concern in your voice at a minimum.

He hates when you worry about him and, you expect him to tell you no but instead he brings a hand around his shoulder to rub at the likely tense muscles.  

“Yeah- it’s really sore. I need to get with a posture coach or something because, I’m sure sitting in this chair for hours on end only makes it worse.” He winces again, trying to straighten up in the rickety old desk chair.

You make a mental note of looking into buying him a new chair for Christmas; maybe one of those fancy gamer chairs with all the padding.

“Do you want me to rub it for you?”

Keeping your tone casual is easy enough but it doesn’t stop the excitement from brewing in the pit of your stomach. You and Yoongi often indulge in physical affection (and by often, you mean OFTEN) but it’s been a busy few weeks which has unfortunately lessened the amount of time you were able to spend wrapped up in one another. This has been starting to get to you of course but, the reasonable side of your brain tells you that it’s perfectly normal/healthy to go without sex for a few weeks. However, the less-logical (ie the ridiculously in love) part of your brain tends a signal to the entirety of your nervous system that makes you literally ache for your boyfriend.  

The way he’s been acting this evening is only worsening that ache.  

Besides, you don’t like the fact that he’s hurting so really massaging him would be a win/win scenario.  

A small smirk forms on his lips, as he putters around on his keyboard. He still doesn’t look at you but, the glint in his eyes tells you he likes the idea.

“I wouldn’t mind that - I just need like 15 more minutes.” He murmurs, straightening his back once more, his eyes showing a bit of discomfort.

“You don’t have to stop...” You offer, keeping your voice nice and sweet, “I can just sit behind you while you work.”

He licks his lips, shifting in his chair before finally glancing over at you, the smirk still lingering on his lips, “Is it my birthday or something? Why are you trying to spoil me?”

This makes you roll your eyes, “Because I’m in love with you and I want to make sure you feel good, is that alright? Why are you being so difficult?” You gripe, quite matter of factly.

Yoongi breaks out in a fit of rickety laughter, amused by your annoyance.  

The softie in him wants to love on you 24 hours a day but, the brat in him secretly gets a kick out of riling you up.

Plus, annoying you sometimes comes with an added bonus that fuels the less orthodox side of Yoongi’s desires.

“Come here then-” He says in the midst of his laughter, “My aching back needs you...”

You push yourself off of the futon, grumbling to yourself, “This is why I always say you’re like a cat because, I’m trying to love you and you’re asking me if I permit or something...”

Yoongi laughs again, shaking his head and before you can sit down, he’s turning in his chair and grabbing your hand. Despite you pretending to wiggle your hand out of his grip, he interlocks his fingers with yours and places a kiss to the back of your hand.

“I love you.”

These words have been spoken a thousand times but it doesn’t stop your soul from ascending to the tippy top of heaven anyway.

You don’t think you’ll ever tire of him being soft for you.

“Whatever.” You pout, pretending to jerk your hand away once more which causes him to flash that brilliant gummy smile of his. “Just make your stupid, beautiful music, pretend I’m not even here...”

He kisses his teeth and shakes his head, “That’s literally impossible but I’ll try.”

His words may be sarcastic and subtle but you know very well that they have 100 different meanings.

That’s kind of your favorite thing about him.

It’s the fact that he can say so much whilst using his words sparingly. Yoongi has a way of letting you know how he feels without pouring his heart out. Although, there are plenty of times when he does that too and, you love it all the same. But, he’s the type of person to love in secret and, it’s not because he’s ashamed or emotionally unavailable; it’s because he understands how precious love really is and you’re the only one he wants to be vulnerable with.  

You bite your lip to avoid smiling and as you try to move away, Yoongi jerks your hand towards his body gently, his pretty chestnut eyes widening a bit.

“Say it back.” He insists, his voice softening to a specific tone that seems to rot your resolve from the inside out.  

You can’t tell if he knows what he’s doing or if he is unaware he’s using the same voice he uses when he begs for you but either way: you give him what he wants.

“I love you too.”

This satisfies him beyond belief, his grin returning whilst he tugs you down to his level, his sweet lips awaiting yours.

Despite what he wants to do, Yoongi just pecks at your mouth a few times before releasing your hand.

He knows if he kisses you the way he wants to, it will be game over so, thankfully he manages to control himself.  

“This track is called Moonlight right?” You inquire gently, as you take your seat behind him, doing your best to find the right position that won’t limit his movement.  

He grins to himself, delighting in the fact that you remembered something he’s only told you once.

“Yeah.” He clicks over his keyboard, trying to prepare himself for your touch. He takes a deep breath, his eyes fluttering a bit when he feels your palms smooth over his aching back.

He knows it might sound excessive but it really isn’t his fault.

The way you touch him has devasting effects on his ability to think clearly. He knows being in love intensifies things yes but, it’s the way you seem to know his body, the way you seem to treasure him and the way you seem to seek out the areas of his skin that are the most sensitive that drives him up the wall.  

Yoongi has a feeling that you’d be able to touch anyone this way but, he counts every single lucky star in the sky that he’s the one you want to touch.  

“Do you like it so far?” You lower your voice to the precipice of a whisper, not wanting to disturb him too much.

As he readies his reply, you begin gently massaging the parts of his back that you know bother him the most: his shoulder blade, the center of his spine and base of his neck. The close proximity allows you to take in the way your boyfriend smells: like clean laundry and the summer berries. You resist the urge to take a bite out of him as he replies.

“I do but it needs a lot of work still.” He realizes how quick he is to downplay his progress and he amends his response in order to give himself some credit, “I got a lot done today though and I’m excited to see where this track goes.”

His answer makes you happy as it’s not often Yoongi outwardly expresses excitement towards his current projects.  

“Do you like it?” He asks you, keeping his tone casual as he turns down the volume slightly, wanting to hear you clearly.

With a kiss to the back of his neck, you smile, “Honestly? I’m already in love with it. It has such a cool vibe. It’s very old school but also very modern at the same time, the lo-fi elements are sending me. I can’t wait to hear the vocals when you’re done with the lyrics.”

Yoongi grins, his features swimming with pride at your compliments. He is addicted to your praise in normal situations but hearing you compliment what he is most passionate about sends him into another world.

“Thank you.” He mumbles warmly, relaxing further into your touch, “I should be starting on vocals tomorrow I think. I don’t have the second verse done yet, but I think once I have everything recorded, it will give me more inspiration.”

You’re working at the tenderness surrounding his shoulder, not pressing too hard but insuring that your fingers are gently working all of the knots that have formed within his muscles. You wonder if it’s helping him at all but the way he sighs and presses against your hands tells you all you need to know. Before you’re able to continue the conversation, your boyfriend chuckles in front of you, almost in disbelief.

“What?” You prod, smiling at the sound of his laughter.

“Nothing it’s just-” He leans back against his chair fully causing you to remove your hands from him for moment, “if you had told 15 year old me that one day I would be working on my music, in a real studio, while the most beautiful girl in the world rubs my back for me, I would have told you to fuck off and stop messing with me.”

Your smile broadens as you lean forward, draping your arms around the back of the chair and resting them on your boyfriend’s chest. You place a kiss on his temple which makes him smile, his hands coming up to rest on top of yours.

“I wish 15 year old you didn’t have to endure so much but,” You kiss his cheek now, your heart filling with joy as his gums once again make an appearance, “I’m glad you’ve let me prove him wrong.”

He turns slightly, his lips brushing against your whilst he does and rather than say anything, he just places a soft kiss onto your mouth.

Despite the awkward angle, you reciprocate, allowing your lips to melt against his, kissing him slowly but deliberately. He tucks his lips between yours, nibbling gently at your bottom lip, a shaky breath escaping his nose. The hands he placed over yours intertwining messily with your fingers, squeezing softly whilst he cranes his neck to continue kissing you. Freeing one of your hands, you trail your fingers up the side of his throat, eliciting a shiver from your boyfriend as you cup his cheek.

It’s not an ideal angle to start making out but something about his throat and chest being exposed to you, makes it 10 times hotter. The beat of his song is still playing softly in the background until his hand suddenly moves from yours to hit the space bar. He doesn’t stop kissing you all the while, only seeking to deepen the motions between your lips. You allow your fingers to run up the side of his neck again as they tuck themselves into his hair, scratching tenderly at his scalp. Yoongi seems to sigh hopelessly into your mouth, unable to resist how weak you make him.  

You want to feel his tongue but just as you trace yours against the inside of his lips, he pulls away, a bit of shared saliva still connecting the two of you.

“Let’s go to bed...” He whispers shakily and you know very well what he means by that.

Seconds later, your back is pressed against the sheets covering the futon, your boyfriend quickly descending over you, his lips eagerly seeking yours again.  

He resumes his earlier motions with slightly more enthusiasm, sucking and licking into your mouth, his hips pressing down against yours. You can feel how hard he’s gotten, his erection straining painfully against the denim of his jeans. He doesn’t seem to mind though, his focus is on kissing you right now.  

You allow your hands to travel to the hem of his t-shirt, slipping your fingers beneath the material to explore the velvety texture of his skin. Yoongi’s hips and stomach are extremely sensitive, he’s told you before that touching him there is almost immediately going to get him hard. Given the fact that he’s already hard, he has no choice but to twitch around in his jeans while you touch him.  

In order to distract himself from the possibility of cumming in his pants, he pulls away from your lips momentarily to sit back on his knees. He stares down at you with an intensity he only reserves for performing and fucking, which to Yoongi, they are often one in the same. He pulls his t-shirt off hastily, throwing it behind him and revealing the beautiful expanse of his body to you. The sight of him makes you reach up with grabby hands, wanting nothing more than to feel his weight on you again. Instead of coming back down however, he merely smirks and shakes his head.

“Uh uh, it’s your turn...” He murmurs, his voice deep with the heavy arousal weighing on his tongue.  

You pout but otherwise oblige, pulling off the hoodie you’re wearing to reveal the black sports bra you had thrown on before coming to meet him here.  

Its nothing fancy or intentionally erotic but it gets Yoongi going anyway, merely because it’s your body.

He makes a small grunt in the back of his throat as he rushes back with his lips. He begins kissing over the swell of your breasts, biting and sucking as he does, his eyes shutting.

“How are you so fucking beautiful hm? Did they make you in a lab or something?” He accuses in his raspy voice, grinning when he hears you giggle.

“Yes actually they did- I've been meaning to tell you for awhile now but, I wasn’t sure how you’d react...”

He bites down harder on you playfully, sucking the skin between his teeth. The delicious sting causes a sharp intake of breath on your part and the sound makes Yoongi even harder. Licking over the purple mark he made, he pulls back to admire his work. With wet lips and dark eyes he looks up at you, a smirk on his mouth,

“I can see why you like giving me these so much...” He raps, his tongue poking out to lick at his bottom lip, “I want you covered in me now.”

His proclamation makes you sick with lust and you’re quick to pull him back over your completely, capturing his lips in a kiss once more.  

Yoongi is eager to reciprocate, his technique a lot sloppier now as the need to be inside of you slowly over takes him.

With one hand, he finds the button of his jeans and pops it open, sighing in relief as his dick is allowed the room it needs. Your hand is quick to cover his, searching for his swollen length mindlessly, desperate to touch him.

“Can I fuck you?” He whispers, nudging his nose on the tip of yours, “Please?”

You nod, kissing at his lips still, your breath uneven, “Yes please.”

The giggle that leaves your mouth shouldn’t spur him on but it does and after finally riding. both you and him of the rest of your clothes, Yoongi is lining himself at your entrance.  

He pushes inside of you, letting another shaky sigh out of his mouth before covering your body with his once more.  

It’s a slow but powerful fuck, leaving no room for the outside world.  

He kisses your face, your neck, your chest, your breasts and tells you how much he loves you.  

He rubs on your clit when you tell him how close you are, encouraging you to let go.

“Ah there it is- is that good jagi? Is it good? Are you gonna cum for me?” He whispers, his face tensing up with pleasure as you contract around him, “You’re squeezing me so tight, you’re doing so good. Just cum baby, I’ll cum too...I just wanna watch you.”

With choppy breath, you arch your back, your hands clawing at his free arm desperately, clining onto him as your orgasm begins crashing over you.

“Yoongi, I’m gonna cum- fu-fuck, fuck I’m gonna cum...I’m gonna cum, oh god...please don’t stop.” You moan softly and the sweetness in your voice drives Yoongi crazy, his pace against your clit increasing. He stares at you, a small but fucked out smile on his lips,

“Oh I’ll never stop sweetheart, not until you cum those pretty brains out...”

His words send you over the edge, your toes curling against the mattress as you whisper his name once again.  

The sight of you cumming is too much for him and although he normally cums inside of you, your post-orgasm haze has a different plan.

“Cum in my mouth.” You plead, tugging at his hips.

Yoongi swallows thickly, nearly blowing his load right then and there, “Really?”

“Yes.” You urge, tugging his hips again, “Please? I want to taste you. Remember you said you wanted me covered in you- cover me. Cover my face please.”

Yoongi’s brain literally short-circuits as he tries his best to process how fucking hot you’re being, his dick twitching inside of you.

“Anything you want remember baby? I’ll give you anything you want...” He grunts, his black hair sticking to his forehead with sweat as he pulls out of you, both of you pained by the loss of contact. He is quick to scoot up the bed until his soaking dick is positioned near your mouth, “I’m going to cum so fucking hard for you- are you gonna swallow it all?”

You nod, wrapping your hand around the length of him, licking at the slit, tasting the mixture of you and him together.  

“Until my stomach is full of you.” You promise before sucking him into your mouth

Yoongi finally breaks, whimpering for you as he usually does, his body jerking as the pleasure overtakes him,

“Holy fucking shit-” He whimpers again, his eyes rolling back as he gives you rope after rope of his release.

It’s a lot but you don’t care, you want every last drop of him. Your hand coaxes out the rest of his cum, your mind high off the taste of your boyfriend; there really is nothing better than this.

Yoongi tucks his fingers into your hair tenderly, grounding himself but also because he wants to touch you.

“Oh my god look at you ah- that's my fucking girl isn't it? You’re so pretty down there you know that? Made me cum so good.”

His voice is pitchy and fucked out and his praise makes you wet all over again, despite your need for a break.  

Immediately Yoongi leans down, kissing you with everything he has, licking at your mouth as if he wants a taste of himself.  

The kissing lasts for another minute or so before Yoongi lays down beside you, pulling you onto his chest.  

You burrow into him, soothing yourself with his unsteady heartbeat as he holds you.

Yoongi smiles down at you, despite the fact that you aren’t looking at him, taking a moment to thank all of his lucky stars once again.

You place a kiss to his chest before turning to look at him, rubbing a thumb over his reddened cheek, “I love you.”

He kisses your thumb, “I love you too.”  

[alby-rei]

What Goes Up, Must Come Down (IkeVamp)

a/n:  In which MC continues her reign of mildly infuriating terror upon the Greatest Men in History. No one is safe. A continuation of “Piano Heist” and “Sorry, Not Sorry”.  Happy reading <3

[Main Characters]: MC, Mozart, Dazai (with minor appearances of everyone else)

[Series]: MC Pranks the Ikeboys

[Genre]: Comedy, slight (?) crack

~*~

On her way to the last task of the day, MC passed by Mozart’s piano room, where she could hear him experimenting with different melodies. She stopped to enjoy the music, leaning closer to the door with each second. She closed her eyes, and her mind wandered to the time when her fingers danced across those keys freely. She leaned forward against the door, except her head did not land on a door. It landed on something much... softer and fleshier.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

MC instantly recoiled her head back, meeting Mozart’s glare.  

“Nothing! I was just on my way to clean the—”

“I never did punish you for your little theft, did I?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Uhhh… what theft?” She feigned ignorance.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Mozart scowled.

He narrowed his eyes down on her, elevating his intimidation threefold. If looks could kill, she’d have lasers shooting through her skull right now.

“Ok, Ok, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I just wanted to play on the piano once!”

“That’s no excuse for damaging my prized piano.”

MC closed her eyes, shielding herself with defensive hands.

“The scratch was taken care of, wasn’t it?! No harm, no foul…?”

She lowered her hands slightly and peeked one eye at him. He continued to glare at her for another minute. Then he sighed tiredly and stepped away, allowing her some breathing room. He turned to face his neglected piano inside the room.

“I heard you playing in Arthur’s room. At the time, I couldn’t confirm if it really was you or not.”

“And… what did you think?” She treaded carefully into this conversation.

His murderous intent had somehow subdued. Silence settled between them while his eyes seemed to stare off beyond the piano.

Suddenly, he turned back to her with a huff, fixing his icy lavender gaze on her once more.

“Surely nothing that could compare to my music,” he scoffed.

He was about to turn away and shut the door behind him, but MC called out to him.

“Wait! Herr Mozart!”

She grabbed him by the shoulder, to which he clutched and twisted her arm off of him.

“Don’t touch me,” he seethed. She nursed her assaulted wrist and took a deep breath.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about what I did. To be honest, I’ve always loved the piano, and so when I saw yours, I couldn’t help it.”

“You… couldn’t help dragging it across the hallway and wasting all of our time?”

“…That was more of a heat-of-the-moment kind of plan,” she laughed sheepishly.

She took a deep breath and started again, “If I may be so bold, can I… ask you to teach me to play the piano... the way you do?”

The hallway fell silent again. A silence so heavy, it felt like it lasted an eternity.

“Can you sight read?”

“Yes.”

“Know your scales?”

“Yes.”

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

MC spoke with a renewed confidence, “I can prove it if you’ll let me.”

She tipped her head in the direction of Mozart’s prized possession. He shook his head, already walking back inside, but his gaze remained fixated.

“Meet me here tomorrow after breakfast. Be late and the deal is off. You’ve been warned. I don’t take kindly to tardiness.”

He turned on his heel, punctuating his declaration with a door slam.

...

...Did that really just happen?

‘I don’t know if I should feel honored or threatened? ...or BOTH??’

After a few seconds, the sound of the piano returned at full force, breaking MC out of her reverie. Whatever she was feeling was replaced with a sense of pride in getting herself out of his anger’s reach. Her worries slowly melted into excitement for tomorrow.

Feeling absolutely giddy, she almost forgot her last task of the day. ‘Dining room!’ She picked up her cleaning supplies and made her way to the kitchen, where a row of windows were waiting.

Just as she was done wiping the last one, a hand popped up on the windowsill, followed by another. MC jumped from the suddenness of it, taking a step back as she anticipated the intruder’s next moves. She replaced the towel in her hand with the sturdy mop as her weapon of retaliation. Holding the back end to the window, she prepared herself to attack.

“Oh, hello, Toshiko-san! The weather is lovely today,” he greeted cordially.      

Eh?      

“Dazai?!”

With a huff, he gracefully hoisted himself up and into the dining room.

“Thank you for opening the window for me, it can be such a troublesome thing sometimes,” he shot her a serene smile, one that she couldn’t trust whatsoever.

“You scared the crap out of me! Why did you just climb through the window??”

“Hmmm… Simply put, it’s fun!” He stated with his unwavering smile.  

“W-well, don’t do that. I won’t hesitate to fight you, next time.”

“Ah~ Yoshie-san. You’re so cute when you’re commanding. And what if I do it again, hm?” He challenged with a carefree smile. 

Before she could respond, he walked away with a casual wave behind him, like he didn’t just crawl through the window and scare the soup out of her.

After he turned the corner, MC stared long and hard at the window. Her gaze shifted between the windowsill where Dazai’s hands were once perched, and the archway to the kitchen, where a stick of butter on the counter caught her attention. 

“I guess I just have to show you then...” she mumbled with a wicked cheshire grin etched on her face.

~*~

MC washed her hands of the evidence of her latest scheme, whistling a cheerful tune as one does after applying copious amounts of slippery butter a set of dining room windows. 

She was tidying up the kitchen when Sebastian walked in, ready to make dinner preparations.

“You’re here early, excellent! You’ve been doing well to keep up lately.”

“Why, thank you. I learned from the best,” she mused with a wink.

“Everyone is coming to tonight’s dinner, so we better get started right away.”

Oh, perfect.

And so MC busied herself with dinner preparations, anticipating Dazai’s next unsuspecting climb.

Le Comte de Saint-Germain was happy to see the dining room full of his dear residents. Even Jean was dragged behind Napoleon, who had insisted on the former soldier’s attendance. Le Comte wondered if there was any special occasion that gathered them all, and he voiced his question to his old friend. The polymath shrugged, letting out a puff of smoke from his cigarillo.

Chatter was scattered in the room, Isaac and Napoleon were conversing with Jean. Mozart sat next to Jean with arms crossed, tapping a rhythm with his fingers. Arthur and Theo were bickering about their latest bet with Vincent appointed the mediator of their quarrel.

Le Comte looked on fondly at his residents before his eyebrows knit together in concern. He glanced at his pocket watch while MC and Sebastian made their rounds to serve everyone.

“Where’s Dazai?” Asked a concerned Momte.

Everyone glanced at the window of the dining hall, waiting for his entrance.

“Do you guys smell… butter?” Isaac asked, face scrunched up and confused. 

As if on cue, long slender fingers appeared from the darkness onto the windowsill, but they failed to maintain a firm grip.

“He’s not gunna make it!”

Try as he might, the window fought back.

Dazai’s life flashed before his eyes as time seemed to slow down.

Is it my time, already? Betrayed by my own window-chan. 

Well played... Toshiko-san.

 [Bonus scene]

Back in the dining room, Vincent and Theo, who were nearest to the window,  stood and peered over the edge to search for the eccentric novelist through the darkness.

MC had to excuse herself to avoid laughing out loud in front of them all.

“Not so fast, MC,” Sebastian blocked her escape. 

A thousand flicks were her punishment that evening, on top of a lecture about harming the esteemed residents of the mansion.

“But he’s a vampire! He’ll be fine~.”

Try as he might, Comte could not bring himself to punish MC.  

Arthur had his head thrown back in laugther, enjoying the unexpectedly eventful dinner. Once his laughter died down, he wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to catch his breath. 

He glanced Isaac, who looked far from pleased, “Hey, Newt, do you reckon Dazai’s fall carried enough force to leave a hole where he landed?”

“Is this really the time to inquire about a hole in the ground when Dazai MIGHT HAVE JUST DIED- well, maybe not died,” Isaac’s hand latched onto a lock of his hair twirling it as he continued, “based on the height of the fall and his weight, the gravitational force may not end up large enough to cause fatal damage, but he could still end up with a concussion or what if he landed on a sharp end—that is, unless—"  

Frantic rustling leaves could be heard from the garden below.

“He’s fine! I spotted his head pop out of the bushes,” Vincent announced, and Theo tsked in disappointment. 

“Oh, or… that is also… a possibility.”

“DAZAI-SENSEI, ARE YOU OK?” Sebastian rushed to the window next to Vincent, having finished lecturing MC. Dazai’s head was spinning, but he didn’t seem bothered by the fall at all.

 “I’M FINE, I’M—” 

...and he fainted. 

Everyone turned to MC, who was laughing despite the earlier scolding and the bright red mark on her forehead.  

She simply shrugged, “I said I wouldn’t hesitate.” 

[meetmeatthecoda]

Now that I’ve had some time to cry & mourn & actually think about that horrendous excuse for television... I have... some thoughts.

Firstly, the pace of that episode was insane. I mean, the season itself felt like we were slowly & tortuously hacking our way through a tangled rain forest, trying desperately to see the forest for the trees, but instead stuck cutting vines & branches down one by one... until we got to that finale, which felt comparatively like finally cutting away all the dense foliage only to immediately fall off a fucking cliff. You could just tell they were using the least amount of dialogue they could to move through so many weird emotions at fucking breakneck speed. I mean there was... the brief aftermath in Latvia, the 4 second plane ride to re-introduce Red’s illness after how many eps, Liz’s 3 second long recuperation, the awkward attempt at humor with the helium followed by a crash landing into solemnity at Red’s talk with Cooper, the abrupt & unsatisfying discussion with Red & Liz where he makes his rEqUESt, all the different “heartfelt” one-on-ones with Liz’s people, the fucking forced af “romance” with K**nler, the shoe-horned “chance meeting” with Beth Ryker, the most Agnes has ever talked in the history of ever, the weirdly morbid & fucking heartbreaking walk in the park, the choppy restaurant scene, to the unmentionable... end event. It went all over the place, which is very unlike TBL imo, which usually seems to stick to a theme or emotional center for an entire episode, whether blacklister or mythology driven. I think it was painfully clear how poor their planning was (when they have literally no excuse bc they knew this was coming the whole season???) & just how much shit they were trying to squeeze into one episode.

Secondly - & this may seem obvious, but I think it’s worth talking about anyway - Liz should have gotten her answers. And I’m not just saying this as a Lizzington shipper (I mean, mostly I am, but there are other reasons also!) Primarily, I think bc... literally everyone expected them. Not just bc they were advertised (it’s certainly not the first time they’ve delighted in false advertising in promos when it comes to the all-important AnSwErS) but bc THEY MADE SURE EVERYONE KNEW BEFOREHAND THAT IT WAS MEGAN’S LAST EP. It might have been mildly acceptable to play coy for yet another season finale IF she was coming back in some capacity later to eventually wrap things up, but - given that they fucking slammed the door on that possibility - THEY SHOULD HAVE GIVEN US ANSWERS. I don’t think anyone considered the possibility that they would KILL her & NOT give us answers bc it makes no fucking sense. Additionally, Liz should have gotten her answers simply bc SHE!! DESERVED!! THEM!! They’re literally the thing she’s been fighting for for eight seasons & she fucking died without them? WTF??? But, most importantly to us Lizzington shippers, Liz not getting her answers ruined the park fantasy. I think we all imagined (BC IT WAS MEGAN’S LAST EP) that Red & Liz would finally talk & Red would give her the answers she wanted. I think we all expected from the (misleading) promo that he would make some sense out of the potentially jumbled memories/visions (?) from 8.21 &, most importantly, there would be SOME KIND OF EMOTIONAL TURNING POINT, SOME CATHARSIS, AN UNDERSTANDING & RENEWED LOVE BETWEEN THEM DRIVEN BY THE AFOREMENTIONED REVELATIONS (& LOVE OF WHATEVER KIND, MIND YOU, WE WEREN’T PICKY, JUST SOMETHING FOUNDED ON RECONCILIATION & PEACE.) But - bc they denied us that - Liz was still in the dark & waiting on answers for the entire ep, unable to forgive or reconnect with her true feelings for Red (whatever you believe them to be) & this made her reaction to Red’s rEqUeSt ring very hollow & detached, the whole park bench conversation stilted & awkward (on Liz’s end) & - THE WORST PART - it made the whole park fantasy feel FALSE. It cheapened it. Like she was just indulging him, letting him walk with her & play with Agnes & enjoy one more day of life before she indifferently killed him. The one thing we expected to get, should have gotten, & THOUGHT WE WOULD HAVE NO MATTER WHAT ELSE HAPPENED IN THE FINALE was ruined. With the assisted suicide talk beforehand, the almost begrudging acceptance from Liz, the obvious morbid mindset from Red, the song in the background, the context of it all. It put an awful spin we completely didn’t expect on what should have been our beautiful Lizzington park fantasy. And I think that may be the part that hurts the most - the fact that I can only look at gifs of that scene - bc the music & dialogue & context completely undermine what Liz’s fantasy should have been, that she got for just one afternoon, when she was supposed to be happy & at peace with Red & Agnes.

Thirdly, (anyone still there? lolz) the whole “plot” of this episode was fucking nonsensical. Chiefly - & many other people have pointed this out before now - Red would never ask Liz to kill him. I simply call bullshit. No matter how hard they tried to justify it (& boyyyyy, did they try) Red has never wanted Liz to be a killer, criminal, or have to live a life like him. He has canonically said as much. I could maybe buy the whole “taking over his empire” thing as the seasons progressed, but asking Liz to live with the guilt (however slight or delayed) of killing him, after everything they’ve been through together, after she told him she loves him (seasons ago, but the feelings are still there, albeit buried deep)? And thereby launching her (& by extension Agnes) directly into harm’s way as the “new” Concierge of Crime (?), without him there to guide her from the shadows? No way. Bullshit. Also - & @iwouldlovetoeatyourtoast mentioned this first, I believe - the whole idea of it was stupid anyway bc Liz has spent the entire season chasing him, has repeatedly gotten opportunities to take the big shot, & has always been unable to kill him. It wasn’t even an engaging tWiSt to throw in at the very end bc - even when she agreed to do it - we all knew it wouldn’t happen, also bc Megan was the one leaving & not James. So, it wasn’t a surprise when she broke down at the end & said she couldn’t, so wtf was the point?

Fourthly (almost to the end, god this feels good) & this was a huge tell imo - everyone was OOC. Now you might say that’s the bitterness talking & you might be right... but you fucking try & tell me that 1) Red all of a sudden decides he’s ready for death after how long of not accepting it or mentioning it & absolutely must be killed by Liz & no one else within the next 24-48 hours 2) Liz would willingly go along with that for even a second 3) Dembe wouldn’t try his damnedest to talk Red out of assisted suicide in general & especially coercing Liz into doing it 4) Ressler would be the one to fucking figure it out & hightail it out of bed AFTER BEING ON DEATH’S DOOR WITH A BUSTED LUNG & SEPSIS FFS 5) Wolf Man Van Dyke would even know where to find Liz on a random fucking street corner outside a random fucking restaurant 6) Red wouldn’t see him behind Liz taking aim 7) THERE WOULDN’T BE A DECLARATION OF FEELINGS/LOVE CONFESSION BETWEEN RED & LIZ IN THE 14 MILLION OBVIOUS PLACES THERE COULD HAVE BEEN *PRIMARILY AFTER SHE SAYS “I CAN’T DO IT, I DON’T WANT TO” I MEAN, HELLO????? WTF, WHY WASN’T THERE AN “BC I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU TOO, LIZZIE” LIKE HOW HARD WOULD THAT HAVE BEEN, IT WAS THE PERFECT PLACE, THE LAST CHANCE, & WE FUCKING DESERVED ITTTTTTTTTTT *ahem* & lastly, & most importantly, & I’m definitely going to cry typing this... 8) if you fucking try to tell me that Red would allow himself to be pulled away from Lizzie’s dead body for a second time by Dembe or anyone else (especially when it was only the stupid task force arriving???) without simply crossing the street to load his gun with trembling fingers, pull the trigger, & join her... you’re fucking crazy.

In conclusion, bc this has gone on long enough, this was just... a hasty, sloppy, rushed, unprepared, careless ending on all fronts, no matter how hard they tried to convince us it was totally-100%-on-purpose-of-course-why-do-you-ask? (And I’m not even touching on the Redarina bait bc fuck that shit.) Like, did anyone else feel like when Red was telling Dembe that he was sure & this was what he wanted & really he’s positive so please stop asking, and when he was explaining things to Liz in almost too much detail, and when he was telling Harold this was absolutely necessary... that it was really the writers trying to convince us? It just felt so sudden & forced & heavy-handed & absurdly preventable & at the same time ridiculously unstoppable... I mean, look, whatever drama clearly went on behind the scenes? I think we can all agree that they did a terrible, awful, shit-tastic job on all fronts. And it’s just such a shame that that’s how it ended 💔

[vpyre]

From Above and Below, Face to Face and Behind (Grelle x Reader)

Anticipation. That was the feeling coursing through me, setting my nerves alight and sharpening my focus. My heart pounded in my ears and I grinned as I brandished my weapon -an elegant, double-bladed scythe- and dropped into a wide ready stance. I faced down a smirking Grelle and watched as she adjusted her scarlet coat with a flourish and readied her own weapon. I could’ve sensed her smug confidence from a mile away. She did, after all, have more experience than me since I’d only been a Reaper for a decade or two. I wasn’t about to chicken out though. I'd scored mostly A's in my intro training, and besides, you should never underestimate those with something to prove.

There was a second of charged stillness. Another. Then a flurry of movement as she surged towards me.

I ducked, and her roaring chainsaw came swinging through the air right where my head had been. I felt my pulse spike with the sudden rush of adrenaline, and my grin widened. Rolling with my momentum, I sprung up and went for a headbutt, but she spun away with graceful agility. As she turned; eyes shining with excitement, scarlet hair streaming out behind; her scythe followed in a streak of gleaming silver, arcing downwards at me.

There was no time to dodge it. Instinct kicked in and my own blade came up to meet it. The resulting CLANG sent a shockwave up my arms, but the sound itself was almost lost amid the cacophony of murmuring spectators, blows, grunts, and clashing Death Scythes echoing off the pale sparring room walls. Grimacing in discomfort, I angled my weapon down and away, which sent hers sliding off with an excruciating screech of metal on metal, overbalancing her. She stumbled and I swung down at her exposed back, but in a blur of speed, she recovered and snapped her chainsaw around behind her, intercepting my strike with another ringing crash.

Grelle's vibrant chartreuse eyes met mine over her shoulder and she languidly turned to face me as she held my scythe away with hers; a casual display of the immense strength her lithely muscled figure held. I saw my own ardor mirrored in the fire of her gaze, and there was a wildness to her razor smile as she drawled,

”I’m impressed, my dear! It’s only been a moment since we began and I very nearly fell head over heels. Though, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait if you want me on my knees for you.”

My racing heart skipped a beat at the thought, but I forced my mind back on track. If she thought she could throw me off with innuendo, she was mistaken (though I wasn't complaining. Seeing her on her knees would be a pretty picture indeed). I jumped back and out of reach before she could push her advantage.

“Don’t get too cocky. Pride comes before the fall, after all”, I snarked back as I lunged towards her, my scythe swinging. We matched each other blow for blow, dodging and leaping and whirling around the sparring court in a dangerous dance as the other reapers looked on. Gradually, I let my movements slow. I let dodges become near misses. I let her shove me back. But just as she wound up for a powerful swing that likely would have sent my scythe across the room, I dropped my act, dodged the hungry blade, and shoved it harder along its trajectory. With the combination of surprise and force, I sent her sprawling in a heap of limbs, fiery hair, and red fabric.

As soon as she hit the ground, I was looming over her. I pinned her to the ground, hands on her wrists to keep her from fighting back, knees straddling her hips to stop her from getting up.

“I told you you'd fall,” I said, narrowing my eyes and huffing out a quiet chuckle. “Don’t let your guard down, Darling, and don't get too confident. Things usually won't turn out the way you think they will.”

I took a moment to just look at her, her flushed face, her sultry gaze and smirk, and my confident air died on the spot. I shivered ever so slightly. Seeing her like this, blushing and trapped beneath me, was intoxicating. Her hair shone like the most priceless of rubies in the pale light of the room, her smooth lips were gently parted and so so inviting. Without really noticing, I tightened my grip on her wrists and pressed closer. The added pressure elicited a delightful little breathy whine from that enchanting mouth as she tilted her head back and shifted against me, back arching ever so slightly, body seeking out just the slightest bit more contact. The spectators became a distant memory in this haze of lurid heat. Distracted by the whole scenario, I didn't register right away that she was moving again. With two quick twists, she freed her wrists from my grasp, then tucked her legs and kicked me off.

Shit!

The moment broken, my ears reddened in frustrated embarrassment as I rolled away and to my feet. I had just chastised her for getting cocky! How big of an idiot did I have to be to forget my own warning? She'd played the whole thing up knowing full well that it would distract me, and it showed in the smugness that permeated her tone when she spoke,

"You really should take your own advice, Dearest. Pride comes before the fall, as they say, and it seems that you fell in more than one sense of the word. Besides, I'm not quite ready to be subdued yet, since I'm having so much fun with you!"

Oho. I'd show her.

Letting the threat of my intentions show with the tenfold return of my devilish smile, I felt a renewed vigor well up inside me. I had an ace up my sleeve, and now was the time to show my hand. Grelle's smug smirk faltered for the briefest of seconds, but it was enough to show me she knew I was up to something. Not giving her a chance to speculate or prepare, I sprung at her; but this time, instead of just lashing out with my double blade, I split it in half at the handle. This was my secret weapon, one that had served me well in days gone by, and one that no one knew about save for the dead. Two scythes gave me a singular style, a unique advantage, but that was not all. No, not at all. When using two blades that were usually one, I, naturally, needed to ensure that one half of my weapon couldn't be lost or knocked from my hand. The simple, rather useful solution to this problem was connecting the two with a chain of adjustable length. This chain seemed almost to respond to my thoughts, changing length as the situation demanded. It could be used as a simple convenience, as a weapon, or as a restraint. It truly was one of the finest made scythes I'd yet encountered (along with Grelle's and Undertaker's, of course).

Now as I sailed through the air, bearing down on a dumbfounded Grelle, the long, silvery chain flew out behind me, glinting in the harsh lighting with a delicate scintillation that belied its strength. On seeing the chain, she must have made a certain sort of connection, likely rather indecent, judging by the color of her cheeks. I huffed a small laugh. How prophetic. After I win, we’re definitely going to get some use out of it. I slashed down hard with my scythes, catching her off guard and forcing her a few steps back. She shot a glare at me over our crossed weapons, and I responded by giving her my biggest, most innocent smile. It probably came off as more of a shit-eating grin, but it did the trick.

She shoved her scythe harder against mine in an attempt to throw me off, but being caught off guard and in a flustered sort of state, she hadn't thought far enough ahead to realize she'd be leaving herself open. Seizing the opportunity, I brought one of my blades around the other side of her chainsaw and yanked, wrenching it from her grasp and sending it spinning away over the ground. She staggered, and I landed a well-aimed kick to her stomach, likely knocking the breath out of her if the huff she let out was any indication. To keep from falling, she leapt backwards, and I pulled out another surprise. Literally, I pulled one end of the chain off its handle. As she flew back, I lashed out with it, fully expecting her to block it, but she made no move to defend herself before it whipped her across the cheek. I might've imagined it, but I thought I heard a yelp underneath the noise and chaos of the sparring area. I flinched as her head jerked to the side.

Oh god, I hope I didn't hurt her!

She landed on her feet, but she remained hunched over, trembling, with one hand on her poor cheek and the other holding her stomach. My energetic fervor evaporated and rained down as worry.

What if she's really injured?!

I'd just taken a step toward her to check when she lifted her head slightly. She certainly didn't look pained. In fact, she seemed to be blushing. Her gaze was intense, yet unfocused; and as I watched, she ran her fingers across her cheek closed her eyes. It looked very much like she was fighting valiantly to hold back something untamable; and though she was trying to hide it, her breathing came in wavering gasps as she struggled to compose herself.

Ah. Uhm... Fuck. I knew where this was going.

I tried to back off a little, unsure if I should risk keeping this up while there were other reapers watching, but Grelle seemed to sense my hesitation, and she was having none of it. Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed and refocused. She darted past me, snatched up her scythe, and took a wild swing at me; one that I batted aside easily enough, but she kept coming.

Oh, so that's how you want to play it. Time to put my knowledge to good use.

My "knowledge" stemmed from something she'd told me one night when I was tipsy and she was dead drunk. We'd simply been friends then (though that had changed soon after), and we'd gone out drinking with Ronald and Othello after work. Ronald disappeared an hour in; probably to go throw up, and Othello wandered off to poke at this newfangled "radio" thing. We were talking about our experiences as trainees, and it sent her off on a spiel about her first reaping with William. She told me everything. Including every detail of her fight with him and what it led her to discover about herself. And alas, as is wont to happen, since she was blackout drunk she forgot pretty much the entire night and woke up with, "One of the most awful hangovers of my life. I felt like I was dying!"

I remembered though. At the time, I was insanely jealous, but now... Now I had a plan. And I was feeling downright devious.

So she wanted to play it rough? I'd give her rough. She wanted to continue, even with reapers there? I'd give them a show. Smirking, I threw all my weight against our locked scythes, forcing her back for a moment, then pushed her chainsaw away with one blade and swung the other at her unguarded torso. She just managed to catch my arm in time, but in one quick movement, I broke her grip and grabbed both her wrists. Through pushing her backwards, we'd ended up near enough to the wall for me to slam her into it, pinning her wrists above her head. The feigned defiance on her face might've been intimidating if her every mannerism wasn't contradicting it.

"I know what you're trying to do, Darling," I intoned, reveling in the way I could feel her knees weaken at my tone. "You get off on the passion of battle, the pleasure of pain, the high of being brought low. It shows. You might be able to fool them for a while," a discreet gesture to the small crowd, "but you aren't fooling me. Now fight back so they don't get wise to your predicament."

Helpless desire dancing in her stare, she murmured, "Oh, y/n Darling, you really know how to get me fired up!"

With a grunt, she freed her wrists, braced her back on the wall, and shoved me off with a solid kick. I sprung back to keep from stumbling, then rushed at her, scythe raised. We traded rapid blows, but I never let her put me on the defense, and I never let myself waver. Hers was a doomed endeavor from the start. Knowing what I knew, there was no way I'd let such a chance slip through my fingers, and I think she felt the same. She was barely putting up a fight at this point, and it felt so good to see her just aching for me to take her down. With every swing, a bit more of Grelle's composure was chipped away and a bit more of her desperate need bled through. The sight of her coming undone was wearing my own restraint to the bone. The lustful miasma welled up again; dense around us, within us, permeating the air and every particle of our being. I wanted to drown in it, surrender to the frenzy it promised, let it grow until it was all that existed.

Unable to hold off any longer, I called on what she'd confessed to me that hazy, drunken night. I slowed my attacks, lifted my scythe, and swung hard from above. When she intercepted it, she let out a small sound of distressed want that only fueled the fire in my core. I let my blade glance off, then brought it back from below. She was panting hard now, and one look at her face was enough to tell me that she wasn't going to last much longer. With a thrill of excitement, I locked eyes with her and struck; first from the right, then the left. I saw the exact moment she realized what I was doing, her electric green eyes widened as I moved to dash around behind her. I poured all my pent-up passion into my kick, striking her square in the small of her back.

Time seemed to slow as she sailed through the air in a graceful arc, the elegant arch of her back strikingly erotic. She threw her head back and let loose a ringing cry of pure, exquisite ecstasy that dug needle-sharp claws into my last shred of self-control and tore it to useless pieces. Thank the high heavens the other reapers had taken the hint and made themselves scarce, because goddamn if the palpable steam of lust in the air and that sound (Oh god, that sound) didn't absolutely destroy my inhibitions. I strode towards the trembling goddess on the ground in front of me, wave after wave of raging heat crashing through me in anticipation of what was coming. Her half-closed, yearning eyes wrapped a tether around my soul, drawing me ever nearer.

As soon as I got close enough, I was on her. I dropped to my knees bestride her hips, pinned her slender body with my own, roughly tangled my fingers in her hair, and yanked her into a desperate, hungry kiss. At the sharp pull of my hand through her hair, she groaned in pleasure against my mouth, a noise that had my already spinning thoughts careening out of control. When I nipped at her lip, she whimpered and my mind went blank. I tried to undo the buttons on her shirt with my shaking hands, but I couldn't get a good enough grip. This is taking too long!

Pulling away, I let out a frustrated growl, grabbed the sides, and ripped it open. Buttons popped and clattered free and fabric gave way beneath my fingers until I could toss what was left off to the side and run my hands over her tantalizingly smooth skin. No matter how many times I saw it, her body never ceased to steal my breath away. All slim, firm muscle and soft angles, hard lines and curves. She was a contradiction in every sense of the word, and she was beautiful.

I pressed my mouth intently against hers again as I slid my hands up from her hips and over her firm stomach, exploring every inch of her flawless skin as heat welled up in me. I couldn’t get enough of the sensation of touching her, of running my hands over her body, of just being able to touch her anywhere and everywhere. My desire was an irresistible force, guiding me higher and higher; as I went, I dragged my nails over her skin, relishing the way she shivered. I palmed her breasts through her bra and squeezed ever so slightly. She squirmed beneath me, pressing into my hands as she entwined her fingers in my hair, intensifying the kiss. Teeth clacked and tongues brushed, and it was electrifying.

I slipped my hands beneath her bra, searching desperately for any and every scrap of contact, of closeness. Anything. Everything. I stroked my thumbs over the tips of her nipples and she whined, a delightful little sound that brought buzzing, blazing lust surging up from where it pulsed in my core. I needed more of those sounds, needed them like I used to need air to breathe. I needed to hear her wail and moan and gasp and scream, needed to hear my name on her lips at the very height of her pleasure.

It was with these thoughts in mind that I broke our kiss and propped myself up, silencing her noise of protest with a smoldering stare that held the promise of everything I’d just imagined. I eyed her chest, watching the way it rose and fell with her rapid breaths, then looked back up. We locked eyes as I snaked my hand under her and undid the clasp of her bra. I held her gaze as I slid its straps off her shoulders and tossed it away, then lowered my head.

As soon as I started running my tongue over her nipple, she let out a ragged gasp and grabbed fistfuls of my shirt, spurring me on. I licked and sucked and worried it with my teeth, sending shivers through her body and eliciting whimpers from her mouth. I knew I’d found a sensitive spot when she cried out and arched her back, digging her fingers into my waist. I kept at it -all the while letting my hands wander lower and lower over her figure- until she was shaking like a leaf and I could feel the wetness of her arousal through her pants. I fiddled with the zipper, having a hard time functioning in the consuming blaze of my desire; but stopped when Grelle grabbed my hand.

”Wait.”

Anxiety cascaded over me like a bucket of ice water and I sat up abruptly. Oh shit, oh fuck, did I do something wrong? We’ve done this before, but did I somehow misread the situa-

“I want to see you, to touch you, too.”

I blinked down at her, then relaxed with a relieved huff. I guided her hands to my chest, to the buttons of my shirt. As she finished undoing them, she leaned in and brushed her lips against my throat, right over my racing pulse. Her touch on my neck and my chest was like fire, and I nipped at her ear in response, shrugging out of my shirt and bra. The sinful heat sunk into my skin and suffused my voice as I whispered,

”Now would be a good time to put my chain to good use, don’t you think? Don’t worry, I won’t tie up your hands, you can still touch me. What I’ll do is restrain you in a way that won’t let you close your legs or interrupt me while I have my way with you. Would you like that?”

Her eyes fluttered closed. “Yes, love,” Grelle breathed out as I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her pants and began to work them off, along with her panties. Her arousal was plain to see, and I couldn’t resist brushing my fingers over her slick skin; slowly, sensually. Her whole body twitched in response and she ground into my hand, letting out a breathy moan. If she was already this sensitive, I couldn’t wait for what was to come. With no small effort, I dragged my hand and my attention away then slipped out of my own pants, basking in her attentive, hungry gaze. I reached for the chain that had so conveniently wound up nearby. For a moment there was no sound but our lust-heavy breaths and the clinking of the chain links as I wrapped them around her spread legs and bare torso in an intricate pattern, watching the goosebumps rise on her skin in response to the touch of the cold metal and the thought of what it meant for her. When I finished, I tugged at the chain to make sure it held.

“Does that feel alright?” I asked. I didn’t want to hurt her any more than she wanted me to.

“It feels wonderful,” came the breathless reassurance. “Being exposed and helpless before you... it's thrilling.”

“And seeing you so eager for this is thrilling for me too, darling,” I murmured darkly before pulling her in for a kiss that emanated passion, caressing her face then continuing down. Down over her shoulders and chest and stomach, down to where she wanted me most. She cupped my breasts and thumbed my nipples, sending tingles of pleasure through my body, spurring me on. No more hesitation. I plunged two of my fingers into her soaked cunt and was rewarded with a muffled groan of pure rapture, sweet against my mouth. I stroked my fingers over that one spot I knew would absolutely undo her, my thrumming arousal consuming every inch of me at the torturously salacious sound she made. I reveled in the way her whole body shook as I pleasured her, in how wet she already was for me, in the way she threw her head back with each movement inside her. I kept up a steady rhythm, then I brushed my thumb over her clit and began rubbing circles around it, denying her the complete pleasure of my touch on the more sensitive center, but giving her just enough to intensify her bliss to the point of near delirium. I tugged sharply on her hair with my other hand, and she cried out, nails digging into my back and leaving marks on my skin.

Almost at the edge, at the peak of it all, her noises of rapture were music to my ears. A wild symphony, a rhapsody, my feverish magnum opus. Her legs strained at their bonds and her skin glistened with sweat, so close, so desperate. Nearer and nearer, nearly there. I brought my head down to pleasure her with my tongue. I needed to be closer to her, to taste her euphoria as she came. I slid my tongue in and out, finally stroking directly over her center the way she so longed for. Each brush of my tongue sent a shudder through her. Her legs twitched and trembled and her breath came in sharp, ragged, appetent gasps.

"Darling, plea- aah! Please! I'm going to-!"

She came with a wail of unadulterated ecstacy, spasms rocking her entire body, legs jerking in the throes of her climax. Her come was ambrosia on my tongue, sweet and heady as I took it all, working her through her high until she was just on the verge of oversensitive. I raised my head, gaze travelling up her body, limp with exhaustion and satisfaction, to rest on her flushed face. The look in her eyes about melted my heart with the amount of pure affection and deep passion it radiated, and I poured every ounce of my own emotion into a slow, sincere kiss. When we parted, I rested my forehead against hers and closed my eyes, just savoring the stillness and affection that suffused the air. She was so beautiful. No matter how hard I tried -and I tried- I could not find words worthy of her. She was indescribable, and I could only hope she could see and feel my reverence in this moment. This moment, and every other moment of every other day. Her eyes told me she did. In them, I could see my feelings reflected back at me, could see that she understood and that she loved me just as much as I did her. Where words failed, our bond did not.

She smiled a bit, just a small upturn of her mouth, and said,

"That was wonderful, love, but you can't expect me to take so much pleasure from you without letting me return the favor. I want to show you just how much I adore you."

[magalidragon]

a bird on the wire drabble | #59. “How do I put up with you?” 

This one is for @aenarsnow​ who sent me an “OR” ask and I already wrote one for when the sun sets in the east but I couldn’t help myself and did a flangst one for bird on the wire!  Someone check my temperature, I’m in an angst-writing mood lately.  🤣🤭👀

They were married once before in the Winterfell godswood, but this was different.  This was something of a…renewal.  With the family.  The Entire Family, in all CAPS because that’s what she thought of them as.  It was The Entire Family, complete with Kingsguard and all the assorted accoutrements.  She had simply asked them to make their footprint as quiet as possible.

It had been Jon’s idea, one which she had thought was lovely.  A vow renewal, for her family to attend.  A few years in the making, their little Aly could participate, carrying a sprig of flowers in her small hands, trotting down the aisle.  A white dress made specifically for her, a lovely filmy creation from her favorite designer Ellaria Sand, her back exposed with small cap sleeves and embroidered vines throughout it.  

She stood in the window of their rented house, one of Drogo’s, which he’d lent them for the few weeks they had decided to stay before and after the wedding.  The breeze coming off the Shivering Sea was cool, the home in the far North of Essos, on the very northern edge of the Dothraki Sea.  It was secluded, the nearest city almost four hours away.  They would not need to worry about paparazzi or other press crashing in on the event.  The Kingsguard, per her request, were as far away as they dared to be.  

It was lovely this morning, she thought, holding her cup of coffee in her palms, watching the waves roll lazily along the sand.  In the distance she could see her mother walking with Aly, both of them kneeling every so often and picking up a shell, placing it in Aly’s bucket.  Her daughter would be four soon; where did the time bloody go?  

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement, and caught sight of Viserys rocking out on the veranda, seated like a strange black bird on the stone wall, one arm around his knees, which were almost in his face, sucking on a cigarette, his silver hair in a knot on his head.  He’d been good; he tended to do better in Essos than he did in Westeros.  Rhae was with him, sitting on the opposite side—normally—with a cup of coffee and a cigarette himself.  

Don’t let the public know you have a vice Rhae, she thought, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.  He had been on his best behavior since his arrival a few days ago.  He was still dealing with her departure, secret wedding, and move to the North.  Even if she hadn’t really left.  She was still the Princess Royal, she still worked officially for them, but it was on simpler terms.  She was in love, the man she loved was “less than” according to her brother, and that was unacceptable.  

She was tired of pretending to be other people just to have the man she wanted.  

The love she wanted.

The hot coffee scalded her tongue and she swallowed it, regardless, enjoying the warmth.  She turned away from the window, spotting her husband in the large four-poster bed, hugging her pillow and watching her through hooded eyes.  “How long have you been staring?” she asked.  

“Not long.”  He smirked.  “I like watching you.”

“Pervert,” she teased, walking over to offer him her coffee.  He took it and she crawled back onto the bed, drawing her legs beneath her, and hooked her arm around her ankles.  

“I made my living watching you.”

“Yes, you did.”  She smirked, finding it something of a relief and yet also a slight achy pain at the memories.  She linked her fingers in his, playing with them on the soft, silky sheets, watching them slide together.  They were a perfect fit.  “I know we’re already married, but I still think this is a little chancy, seeing the bride before the wedding.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Dany, really?  I think we can handle whatever comes our way.”

True, she figured.  She exhaled hard, slumping down, head knocking against the headboard, swallowing the lump in her throat.  After a few seconds, she opened her eyes, picking a spot on the ceiling and staring.  “I just want to run away.  Why do I still want to run away?”

His hand squeezed in hers.  “It’s habit.  Too many years of it.”

They’d been married for almost five years now; they had a child.  She had her foundation, her charity, and she was one of the hardest working royals.  The public said she was happier, they could see it in her eyes, and they wanted her to be their queen.  Rhaegar had seriously misjudged things, he’d been too consumed in his own grief and fears to realize that she was the future of the Targaryens.  She was miserable before, now she was free.  

Dragons did not belong in cages.

And yet…

Yet there were days where she still wanted to disappear into a wig and contacts, to pretend she was someone else, and while she did that as a coping mechanism, while she hated it and wanted to cry each time, she did it, in a sick, twisted way she missed doing it.  She slid away from him, getting up and padding towards the closet, stepping in and opening up the garment bag with her wedding dress.  She fingered the silky, filmy material, letting her mind wander.

It shouldn’t work.  They had never been allowed to be <i>normal</i>.  She didn’t understand it most days.  

He came up behind her, feet padding on the hardwood floor.  She pulled the bag shut, spinning around on him, scowling.  “No peeking!”

“I wasn’t peeking,” he lied.  He leaned against the door frame, crossing arms and ankles.  His eyes narrowed, whispering.  “What is it Dany?”

She shifted, shrugging.  “Nothing.”  Lie.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.” Lie. He arched his brows.  After a few seconds, shifting on her feet, she huffed, pushing her fingers through her hair and didn’t know what to do with her hands.  “I don’t…I just…” She was confused.  She didn’t know why.  Meeting his comforting gray eyes, she whispered, “How do I even put up with you? How do I do this?”

He frowned.  “What do you mean?”

“I just…I still don’t know…how do I do this with you Jon?  How do we do this life still?  I know it’s stupid, we’re already married, and we have our daughter and our lives and we…we make it work, but maybe it’s Rhae being here or my mom or Viserys but…” She groaned.  It made no sense, picking this fight, dragging these emotions into everything when they had no business being taken out from the chest, she’d locked them up inside when she’d finally broken out of that cage.  Hair tugging in her fingers, she dragged her hands down over her cheeks and cried.  “Sometimes I just don’t know how I’m doing this.  If it’s all going to slip away again.  Like one of the dreams.  Like those days we had together, and all went away.”

It must be what people felt like when all they knew was turmoil and everything started going right.  When would the carpet get ripped out from underneath her?  She knew she shouldn’t feel that way, but she still did.  

He reached for her, wrapping her up and she buried her face into his shoulder, hugging him tight.  She didn’t cry; it was more just a wave of fear than it was anything worth truly sobbing over.  He stroked her hair, his fingers tangling in the curls.  “This is real Dany, this is all real, and nothing is going to change that.  We have each other, we have Alysanne, and I know you wanted to do this for your family, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

She shook her head.  “No, I do.  I want to.”  

“Rhae isn’t going to do anything to stop this Dany, he can’t.”

“I know, I just…it’s just leftover…” <i>Trauma.  Fear.  Nightmares.</i> She touched the fading scars on his chest, from so long ago, and lifted her face, smiling through unshed tears.  She loved this man so much.  “It will be fine.  I’m just…”

He touched his forehead to hers, whispering, “Healing.  It’s healing.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, holding him tight.  She stood with him in the closet for a while, not feeling ready to let go just yet.  

That was, until the door opened, and a little dark-haired girl with her father’s frown came flying into the room, dragon temper on full display, shouting about how Uncle Viserys broke her seashell and just what exactly did they plan to do about it?  

It’s real, Dany repeated, pulling away to grin at her daughter, who didn’t sense the heavy emotions she’d walked into, too busy presenting them with evidence of her uncle’s treachery.  She blew out a hard breath, watching Jon lift up their little girl and carry her off to deal with it.  She closed her eyes and hugged herself.  It’s real and I can do this.

[quirklessthot]

kinktober: day 9 | begging + orgasm denial [overhaul]

warnings: 18+

word count: 897

⤿  kinktober masterlist

The slick sound of a dildo being worked in and out of your body is drowned out only by the sound of your pants and moans. You tremble and squirm on the silky soft sheets of Overhaul’s bed as the man himself watches from the chair positioned at the foot of the bed with a perfect view of your body laid out before him.

While you’re stripped bare and naked, he’s still fully dressed in his usual attire, save for his feathered jacket which hangs over the back of his chair. The sleeves of his black dress shirt are rolled up to expose his muscular forearms. As if that wasn’t enough to tease you, he also has the first two buttons undone to give a peak of pronounced collarbones and a broad chest. One gloved hand is propped up on his knee, balled into a fist under his chin as he eyes you under lowered lids.

“Stop.”

At the sound of his deep voice, your hand immediately stops moving, leaving the toy halfway inside your still clenching hole.

Despite the seemingly bored look on his face – from what you can see anyway, the lower half of his face is covered in a black dust mask – Overhaul is deeply engrossed in the scene playing out in front of him (if the prominent tent in his slacks in anything to go by).

A few seconds pass without another word from him while you keep up eye contact, as per his demand when you started this little game.

After another moment Overhaul leans back, crossing one leg over the opposite knee and folding his hands in his lap. “Continue.”

Right away, you begin working the toy in and out of you, keening loudly as the renewed pleasure makes your head spin and your toes curl. You really hope he’ll let you cum this time. What he’s been putting you through for the past hour should be considered torture.

Not even ten seconds later he’s commanding you to stop again.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you still your movements, chest heaving with each ragged breath. You allow your head to roll back, eyes closing as you try to calm your body. With how worked up you are, you don’t doubt that you can cum right now from a particularly strong breeze but that would warrant a punishment that you’re in no mood for.

“Look at me.” There’s an annoyed edge to his words.

It takes a significant amount of energy to lift your head up. Dazed, unfocused eyes meet the impassive golden stare of the yakuza leader.

“Remember Angel,” Overhaul says, not so subtly adjusting his erection. “Eyes on me or we stop, and you don’t get to cum for the next week.”

Shuddering – because you know he has no problem fulfilling that promise – you bob your head in a slight nod and readjust your hold on the toy, obediently awaiting his next command to continue.

When it comes you gladly follow his instructions, setting a slow, measured pace so as to not accidently overwhelm yourself and bring your fun to an end. Overhaul doesn’t seem too pleased, however.

“Faster,” he orders in a low growl.

With a huff, you obey but he still isn’t satisfied and continues to order you to fuck yourself faster and harder until you’re pistoning the dildo in and out of your sopping cunt, legs trembling and spread wide. You let out a pathetic little sob out every time it hits that special spot deep inside of you.

You can feel your end beginning to creep up on you and you want nothing more than to throw your head back and fuck yourself to a creamy, wet orgasm, but you dare not take your eyes off of Overhaul.

You’re close. So, so close. You pray that he’ll have mercy on you. Just a little more, you need just a little more and you’ll—

“Stop.”

You cry out in frustration; loud enough that you’re sure the others in the compound heard but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Overhaul watches you, thin eyebrows raised in clear enjoyment of your frustration. Sadistic bastard.

“Do you want to cum?” he asks, as if the answer to that question isn’t written clearly on your face.

“Yes!” you nearly shout, eyes wide and pleading.

His next command is simple. “Beg. And make it convincing,” he adds offhandedly.

“Please, sir,” you whimper, voice and body trembling. “Please let me cum. I’ll be so good for you. I’ll do anything you want, please!”

From the way his eyes wrinkle in the corners, you can tell he’s smirking beneath his mask. “Continue.”

You start back up at the same rough pace you left off with in the hopes of appeasing him. When he instructs you to touch your clit, you gladly begin rubbing the hard, little nub, naively believing it to be a sign that he’ll allow you to cum this time. You’re already moaning out your thanks, dopey grin in place as you bite your lip and swirl your fingers faster.

You really should know better.

“Stop.”

“Noooo,” you whine. Your mounting frustration is beginning to be too much, and you can’t stop the tears from spilling down your cheeks.

“Don’t pout, Angel,” Overhaul coos, cruel and mocking. “Be good for me and I promise I’ll give you what you want.”

[honestsycrets]

The Phantom I: Think of Me | Ubbe x Reader x Ivar

❛ pairing | ivar x reader x ubbe

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | you're used to a life with the phantom. his company feels like home.

❛ tags | slight violence, phantom of the opera au, love triangles, original characters.

❛ sy’s notes | this piece has been a long time coming. each chapter will be named according to soundtrack pieces. the introductory scene is probably reminiscent of the movie, i really want to recreate those feelings for me. @alicedopey

The Opera was loud today. Usually, the flutter of shoes downstairs, the rush to change costume, or the giggles from flirtatious girls was typical. Sigurd would lower backdrops as beautiful ballerinas crossed him, dreaming of life not as the keeper of backstage: but as a musician. He loved the dancing girls. You rushed down the stairs to the bottom floor and binding it with soft ribbons passing rich crimson curtains of the stage. Madame Gunnhild reprimanded you for your heavy steps, reminding you that this was not folk music. This was ballet. Powerful, yes. But not unnecessarily loud.

The only loud one was the star whose voice rattled the stage. Her presence incited the glamour of a fat cat. Not that she was plump; perhaps she would be happier, rather than hungrily scrounging and screaming and howling for more and more. Signora Stella was insatiable.

“It’s because someone is coming for tonight’s gala. She wants to make sure he knows who she is. Didn’t you hear?” Adeline whispered. “Bjorn sold the Opera.”

“Is that really true?” The dancers convened on the stage for a final run-through of the opera Hannibal. For which your pink gossamer silk slave piece so appropriately draped off your hips while she stood donned in gold and red, strutting around the stage.

“It’s not FAIR!” Her eye was squarely upon manager Halfdan. His soft eyebrows bundled together as she berated him with her latest complaint. At his side, his brother stood with his hand settled nicely into the taupe pocket of his slacks. You recognized them. Bjorn brought them in the deep quiet of dance rehearsals. Harald especially loved the dancers. He loved to watch them spin along the stage like a top.

“Signora,” Halfdan’s sweet voice consoled. You rushed around her stony body, her beautiful blonde hair wrought in delicate curls. “La mia Stella,” he crooned. There was a softness to the way his dirty blonde hair framed his gentle eyes.

“I am the star, me! Me, me, me!” her foot cracked down on the hardwood floor. She gestured toward your ruddy-haired friend, then you, biting out her complaint. “Not one of these-- these dancing girls can sing like I!”

“We know, Signora.”

“Then who dressed-- them?”

Harald crossed his arms over one another, glancing toward his boots. It could never just be the voice. It was an experience. For a man like Harald, whose artistic expression was about in line with that of a straw doll, it meant costume.

“You will be the focus. We will give you a solo. Just for you!”

“A new song?” she turned, the wheels of her brain suddenly spinning again. She ran her ringed hand down Halfdan’s pressed deep blue suit, drawing her ruby nails up to tap him on the nose. “What kind of song?”

“Think of Me,” said Harald.

“Think of Me!” she squawked. “That is perfect. Perfect for a girl like me! Can you imagine me-- a childhood lover-- in Paris?”

No, you couldn’t. Even Paris was too muted for her taste.

“Well?” she looked toward your group. “Get off my stage. Especially you,” she pointed her finger between Adeline and you. You’re not sure who she’s talking about. “Fat little frog.”

It’s better not to push. You take Adeline in one hand and, with the other, the sheer fabric. The orchestra wretched alive again as the awful vocalizations filled the auditorium, reverberating your ear. Think of Me never sounded worse.

Still, it must be nice, you think, to be an opera star by virtue of birth. Sour with embarrassment but saved by the prospect of dance, you delighted in knowing that Stella would soon leave after her songs were sung to a T. A woosh of air hair threw your hair over your shoulders. It was compounded by her harsh scream and filling the auditorium. You glanced from the floor to the upper stage where, if you looked closely, you might have seen a shadow flitting across the bridge with the aid of the banister.

“Up up up up! Get me OUT FROM UNDER HERE!”

“Sigurd!” Halfdan boomed. “What are you doing up there!?”

“I wasn’t up there.”

Your fingers left your locket when Sigurd hiked up the stairs beside you. His dark trousers were stained with paint, as was his crisp white dress shirt, pulled apart with a pretty blue smear across his chest. You peered over Sigurd to see the black drop clattered over Stella’s back, pressing her chest to the ground and chin quivering in horror.

“So it fell on its own?” Harald accused belligerently.

“I never said that. Signora. The Opera is full of strange magic.” he stood upright, helping her stand on quivering heels, shouting in awful pain. He quirked his head. “Oh, she won’t be able to perform on that.”

She jabs her finger into Harald’s chest, deliberately on his fine silk tie. Then Halfdan, whirling a curse. Stella squealed with renewed vigor. “You see what you’ve done! I hate you! I hate you! And I hate this-- this phantom!”

“Not that again,” Harald rolled his eyes.

The light in her eyes burst, soaring through the surface like an explosion across the surface. How awfully she punched him, shouting about his indignation in not paying the Phantom his salary-- before flitting down the steps on a beating heel. She would be back. Maybe not today, but another. Sigurd dragged the fallen backdrop to the side, inspecting the thick-cut rope and all its seeming imperfections.

“Can we reschedule for next week?” said one.

“We need a new star,” said the other. “Every day is the same.”

Adeline leaned her aquiline nose into your curls, “Do you think it was him?”

An awful warmth flooded your belly. Should you rejoice in a woman’s abuse? No, but at the same time, it meant she would not be here to berate the ballerinas. There was no one there.

“She can sing it for you, Harald.” At that moment, Madame Gunnhild hooked her arms under your arms. Harald turned on his boot to Gunnhild, a sultry smile playing on his lips. “What? Her?”

“No, Madame. Please.” You choked on your own words in the attempt to process what she meant. She wove her spindly fingers in your hand, jerking you toward the middle of the stage. For a moment, your heart seized to beat, blood ran still, and you might have fainted by the curiosity in the brothers’ eyes.

“Shh,” she whispered into your ear. “I know you can sing Think of Me. I’ve heard you sing with him.”

If you ever have a moment, spare a thought for me.

Your stomach leapt with uncertainty in the silence of the room. Outside, gossip ran like a bolt of lightning across the sky. Stella’s replacement was never a position you hoped to have. Not for a day, nor an hour but here you were, dabbing your lips with a pink product after intermission in your father’s old room. His picture sat framed by photos of your family: Thyri, Siggy, and him. Your hand trembled as you seized it. Then, falling away, you looked toward the letter that sat square in front of you.

“You have a letter from the Opera Ghost,” Gunnhild had said. Usually, those words would have inspired anyone with fear. Instead, it filled your belly with fervor, a soft pinkness that dusted over your cheeks soften than any blush you could apply. “Open it when you’re alone.”

You fluttered your eyes, hoping that the excitement in your belly was just a built-up from this corset that restricted your breathing. Breath swelled in your chest. You hooked a letter opener under the blotchy gold seal.

“Bellisima.”

The voice echoed through the room. Your physician Athelstan told you it was nothing: a figment of your imagination that you ought to hush about-- or they would send you away. Your angel was a kiss from God and nothing more. Your chest swelled with a heavy breath, fixing the earrings into your ear. They looked like the very stars that shone on the rooftop of the opera house. The voice filled the room, a soft sing-song that bounced from wall to wall and filled you with something like peace.

“Open it, my sweet.”

“It frightens me,” you murmured.

“Don’t be frightened.”

With a flick of your letter opener, you forced the crisp letter apart. In it, a square of parchment sat nestled between a glimmering gold chain. It was a glorious gold chain and, at the end of it, a singular heart locket. There was a knock at your door just as you inspected the inscription etched into its surface.

“May I come in?”

Whether or not you’d agree, Harald already came in. He was a man of tall stature despite his height. Wherever he carried himself, there was respect. You knew him to be in love with Gunnhild, and though she gave him no attention, you knew his intentions for her.

“Do you want to sit down?” you offered. Harald drew off his taupe jacket to figure with a tucked letter in his black breast coat. He held it out to you. You took it, bracelets jingling and saw that inside was a wealth of currency.

“Oh-- this is…” you murmured. “More than I can accept.”

“You knew the viscount, don’t you?”

The viscount Ragnar, you recall. Your cheeks warmed with his memory—a thin child with honey brown hair and a big heart. Harald kneeled before you, running his hand on top of your fluffy pink ball dress.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“It has been a while,” you gesture to your photo of your father, reminded by the memory of the land you left behind in Scandinavia. “He probably wouldn’t remember me.”

“I’d wager you’re wrong. Put in a good word for us. He’ll be hard-pressed not to notice you,” he pauses. He rolled his finger through your long curl. It slipped away from his finger as he took his bunched-up suit jacket and opened the door. “As beautiful as you look tonight.”

“I-- thank you.”

The door clasps shut. You didn’t need this money, you murmured. But perhaps the children could use bread. Your attention fell to the necklace around your neck. If you turned the gold pendant over and over again between your fingertips, you could calm the racing of your heart. Today, you would be Elissa. Tomorrow, maybe a chorus girl once again. It was your time. The Ubbe from your memory was just that: a memory.

“Sing it again.”

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071​ @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer​ @medievalfangirl @sallydelys  @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor @strangunddurm @superwolfchild-fan

[itsmeevie01]

Before A Moment in Time

ok! this is a LOT of information, but i wanted to make it easier to understand whats going on in my head when i write over the next bit!

MASTERPOST

this is Before A Moment in Time. Enjoy!

Three years before A Moment in Time. One year after Hawkmoth appeared.

Marinette Dupain Cheng is sitting at her desk. Second row back left side. Making her way up the stairs is her friend Alya Césaire. The two girls have been practically inseparable for the last year.

Fuming one row down on the other side of the aisle is Chloé Bourgeoise. Her eyes are glued to where Marinette is smiling at Alya. Nino Lahiffe is sitting in front of Marinette. His headphones are on, and his hand is moving over a sheet of paper that has a music staff on it.

Adrien Agreste can be seen bounding up the stairs, his eyes alight with the joy of going to school, even a year after he started. Behind Marinette and Alya are Rose and Juleka. Across from them are Ivan and Nathaniel. Behind the boys are Alix and Kim, who are across from Mylene and Sabrina.

Max is sitting behind the two girls by himself. In the empty seat next to him, the tech genius has a computer running through a code that he is trying to double-check.

As their classmates greet each other during the first day of school, Madam Bustier can be seen enter into the room, one Lila Rossi walking behind her curiously.

As Bustier called the class to attention, Marinette shared one more smile with Alya before spinning around. When she was facing the front, the teen blinked.

Standing there was a girl who looked vaguely familiar. It took the teen a moment before she realized that this was Lila Rossi. This was the girl who had been sued by both Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale. This was a gold digger that they had warned her about.

Chloé must have made the same connection because Marinette’s phone started to blow up.

 Mariii + Chlo

Chlo- OH HELL NO

Chlo- M this chit cannot sit with me

Chlo- Dad sued her over the summer

Chlo- MARINETE

Mariii- Chlo

Mariii- hey chill

Mariii- I got this. If you can sit with Alya.

Chlo- anything

Chlo- MY WONDERFUL NONCOFFEE DEALER KEEP ME AWAY FROM THE FUCKING DEVIL

Mariii- on it, queenie

 Marinette looked up as the bell rang. Alya gave her a concerned look. With a smile, the younger girl bumped her friend’s shoulder. “Hey, Als, since I’m class president, I think it would be best if I welcome the new girl. Could you go sit with Chloé today? I promise that we can go back to normal once we get her settled.” Alya flashed her friend a smile before giving the girl a side hug.

“of course, Mari! You have such a big heart!” the girls traded smiles before Alya packed her stuff up and moved to sit with the haughty blonde. The noirette saw her teacher give her an approving smile for diffusing the situation so easily, without conflict.

Inwardly, Marinette scoffed. Outwardly, the girl gave her teacher a glowing smile in return.

 Marinette truly tried to be nice to Lila. Really, she did. Early on, the girl had learned that being nice was a better route when interacting with people who she didn’t know. Even if it was just a small smile, the noirette had always found success from kindness.

Lila was a sweet girl who had batted her eyes at her and given Marinette a small smile. The two had spent the first period of school passing notes and getting to know each other.

In all honesty, Marinette had no idea why the Italian girl next to her was branded a manipulative liar in her world. Then, during the break, Marinette saw what was going on.

When the rest of the class gathered to introduce themselves, Lila panicked. Then, Lila shifted her posture just slightly. She smiled a blinding smile that stood out to Marinette as obviously fake. She started interacting with the class, sickly sweet and subtly guiding them to beliefs.

Shaking her head, Marinette turned away. She had time during her break to call a certain someone. She needed more answers.

 “Clara! Hey… do you have a moment?” through the phone, Clara Nightingale, giggled.

“Of course, Marinette! What is going on with my favorite little cousin? Is everything ok?” the young teen hesitated, before shaking her head.

“I need you to tell me more about Lila Rossi” the dark look that crossed the singer’s face confirmed many of Marinette’s worries.

 When she sat down next to Chloé in the hotel restaurant for lunch, a look of pure disgust was dancing on her face. “this girl has filled a level of malice that I have never heard of. Chloé, she has manipulated every person of interest under the sun who doesn’t have the common sense to not listen to her bull shit. Chlo…this girl is vile. Clara told me what they had to do to sue her. One of the requirements of Lila not going to prison for a long time was getting a psych eval. Chloé…this girl is only fifteen! This is insane...” Chloé raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“Today it looked like you two were good friends. Or on the way there at least.” The noirette shook her head in disgust.

“she has some good traits, but as soon as she gets in front of the crowd…she abandons everything for power. I can't trust her, but it seems that she is under multiple restraining orders. I get the feeling that as long as we stay out of her webs, we should be fine. Jagged texted though. He said that Lila can be vicious if she is provoked.” Here, Marinette looked Chloé dead in the eye. “do not cause trouble. I don’t want you to have to go toe to toe with her, Chloé.”

 Six months later.

 Marinette is settled at her desk, the swivel chair reclined as she looked at the Blonde who was in her room, grinning.

“did she really ask you out?” Chloé’s excitement paired with her nosiness was making Marinette steadily turn Lady Tyche red. Turning back to her desk, Marinette tried to hide her flaming face.

“she asked me if I wanted to go out…like a date…before my birthday.” The noirette tugged slightly on her hair. Her anxiety that had been manifesting more and more at school was not helping her now. “I told Aurore yes. We haven’t set a date yet, but it’ll be soon.” Chloé raised an eyebrow.

“are you two going on your first date on Valentine’s day? Because Mari…I refuse to be best friends with someone so cliché.” The girl flamed a darker red if that was possible.

“I really like her Chlo. But…no. she asked about the 14th. I told her that I was going to spend time with my parents that day. Plus,” here, Marinette turned back to her friend with a Cheshire cat grin. “We,” She gestured between her best friend and herself, “have a standing date. we have for the last three years. Why would I break a pact we made when we were ten, over a girl I haven’t gone on one date with yet?” Chloé’s face broke into a matching grin.

“oh, hell yea. Then, I guess I could help you get ready for that first date of yours…” the friends broke down into giggles and started debating the merits of each of the outfits the young designer had in mind.

 That night on patrol, Lady Tyche alighted on the roof of one of the local lycées.

Her blonde hair whipped in the wind that had been howling all afternoon. Across the streets, the spotted hero was able to see a pair of blue luminous eyes. Using her yoyo to pull herself over the street, the girl smiled at the younger miraculous wielder.

When her red boots hit the roof, Apate handed the girl an unmarked bag. Inside was a pastry and a hot chocolate. Both girls knew they were in for a long night.

 Apate stood noiselessly and moved to the edge of the roof. As she stood there, profiled against the ridgeline, Lady Tyche smiled to herself. Her partner could be as vicious as she wanted when they were fighting Akumas, but the girl who stood in front of her was very kind.

The Cat vigilante, as she insisted she was no hero, had a pair of ears on her head.

They were flicking to and fro while she listened to the night below. Her hands were resting on her hips, one hand toying with the baton that was usually kept in a holster on her leg. The girl’s other hand was fiddling with a ring she had slid off her finger. The skintight black pants blended into the night. The black top she was wearing also seemed to disappear when Lady Tyche wasn’t looking for her partner.

Even now, with Apate being backlit by the city lights around them, the Tyche was the more visible of the two.

“She’s coming.” Apate��s voice broke her partner out of her thoughts. “Let’s hope tonight goes the way we want it to. Otherwise, we could be royally screwed.” The Hero nodded in agreement.

 “I trust Alya. She has been a good fit for Trixx so far.” Apate hmmed in response.

“I fear that our…favorite Italian…may be too close to her. I don’t our fox’s head full of lies and manipulations if I can help it at all.” Lady Tyche winced. She had heard all about Lila’s renewed attack on the allegiances of the class that her crush was in. the past few weeks had not been pretty.

  “No! That’s…you told Lila that I was going to be your first partner! Why did you lie to both me and your best friend! Everyone knows that Lady Tyche can’t do this alone anymore! She NEEDS Miss Vixen!” Lady Tyche closed her eyes and Alya’s rant ended with a yell. The anger simmering on the reporter’s face was worrying the hero.

“Alya. I have not told anyone about you. A few people have seen you training and on patrols. You ran the ‘exclusive’,” the disdain in Lady Tyche’s voice had Alya wincing. “but no one has confirmed anything. There is a good reason. The hope,” here, the Blonde teen’s voice turned cutting, “was that you could work in the shadows. There is only one visible member of this team, but I have never been alone. Tonight, and this attitude. Well, Alya, it has proven that you are not ready to be a holder of the miracle stones.”

The ladybug holder looked over to the roof next to where she and the trainee had been standing. There, in the shadows, were a pair of blue eyes. “go ahead, Apate. Wipe her memory of all of this.”

Seven months after Alya’s Miraculous is taken away. Two years after Hawkmoth started. Two years before A Moment in Time.

Aurore smiled at the girl holding her hand.

The two were walking home from their first day of Lycée. Aurore’s blonde hair fell around her shoulders as she turned to look at Marinette.

The 14-year-old, a certified genius, was glowing at the excitement that their first day of school had brought. Although she no longer was friends with Alya, there were no real hard feelings. The rift between the former classmates had made it easier to integrate Marinette and Aurore’s social circles. Claude, Allen, Chloé, Aurore, Mireille, Nino, Kim, Kagami, Felix.

Their group was full of laughter and life. They spent most of their weekends together, even over the summer. To everyone else, the group was the picture-perfect group of teens. Inseparable for life. Aurore had loved it for so long, had loved watching her girlfriend grow. Tonight, however, she had a feeling that the last half-year was going to be left in the past.

She and Marinette needed to have a talk.

 Chloé held her best friend as the girl cried.

The two had been sitting on the floor of the heiress’s hotel suit for the last hour and a half. When the small girl had shown up, wearing an old pair of Chloé’s sweats that had disappeared years ago, sniffling into the sleeves of the hoodie she was swamped in, the older girl’s big sister senses had gone off.

Now, as her friend started to calm down, Chloé shoved a pile of clothes at her friend.

“put these on, we are leaving.” Marinette glanced at her friend in confusion, before taking the clothes and slowly changing into the skinny jeans and loose grey top. A moment later, a green corduroy jacket was being flung at her by the blonde 16-year-old who had changed as well.

Quickly catching the jacket and sliding on the matching converse that Chloé had given her, Marinette stood to join her friend. Chloé picked up her purse and looked over the two.

While she had given her best friend a simple outfit that be comfortable for the train ride that her friend didn’t know was coming, Chloé had taken a minute longer before deciding to match her friend. Her jeans were light wash as opposed to dark, and she wore a fitted white t-shirt with a cartoon spider hiding in a red chrysanthemum. The red corduroy jacket was the same color as both the embroidery and her own red converse.

“Let's go, Minette. We are going to the country house. You can truly cry there. Horses await.”

 After Marinette and Aurore broke it off, the friends drifted apart. Kagami, Felix, Nino, and Kim refused to let the others blame the split on Marinette. Mireille, Claude, and Allen claimed that Marinette was more likely to be the cause. They couldn’t imagine Aurore doing anything to hurt the teen.

Chloé, Aurore, and Marinette kept their mouths shut over the whole debacle.

Chloé hadn’t heard the whole story, but she knew that Aurore had hurt her friend, and it had led to a discussion that led to the girls both walking away in tears.

It would only be years later that the girls would reveal that they had broken up because of the confusion around their secret identities.

 A week after the fateful breakup, Adrien Agreste pulled Marinette off to the side after class.

“Adrien are you ok?” the girl asked, confused. while usually, the two didn’t interact, Marinette had noticed that all day Adrien had been pale and shaking.

“I need help Marinette. Usually, I would go to Chloé, but last time she almost got Akumatized and I just…I need help. Please.”

“what’s up?” he glanced over his shoulder, to where a group of their classmates stood gathered around Lila.

“Not here, she can't know.” Marinette blinked in shock before grabbing the model lightly on the arm. After glancing at him with a raised eyebrow, silently asking if it was ok to hold onto his arm, she took off through the halls.

 By the time the two had made it to the home of one Gina Dupain just outside of what Marinette knew to be Hawkmoths reach, the blonde was bewildered. “you know the city so well. How?” she giggled slightly at the older boy before leading him to the kitchen and dropping her bag on one of the breakfast seats.

“I get stir crazy and spend a lot of my time exploring the city. Alix and I go and do Graffiti on the weekends sometimes. That means I’m pretty good at evading sight when I don’t want to be seen.” While her statements were technically true, Marinette had also left out a great deal of information in her response.

She had spent most of her time exploring the city as Apate. She grew up on the streets and would forever feel comfortable slipping into the shadows. She did go out with Alix to do graffiti, but the two also spent a good amount of time jumping into burrows to fix world-ending events.

“now, Adrien, what is going on? If it's bad enough that you don’t want Chloé upset, I expect it to be worth the trip out of the Akuma line.” Adrien nodded nervously, before going into an explanation of what had been happening in the Agreste family home.

 Three years into Hawkmoth’s reign. Marinette’s 2nd year at Lycée

 Adrien spent as much time as possible with Chloe and Marinette.

He had shown up more than once during their girls’ nights. Now, he was expected to be there.

When they had left for the weekend, Adrien had disappeared from the Agreste Manor. When had reappeared in time to get in the car that Monday, he learned that the only person who had noticed he was gone was his bodyguard. The man had called him, before joining the teens on the outing.

While the friends were getting Adrien out from his father’s thumb, Marinette was launching her brand.

She had a discussion during the branding process because the symbol that she had chosen, a chrysanthemum, was incredibly complex. Her grandmother thought it was too much. Marinette had told the older woman that she was going to use the flower because that was the one with meaning to her. She spent three weeks fending off the woman, who sent her a different flower every day, until the girl told the woman that she wasn’t going to change her mind.

Her Grandmother, her Nona, had laughed and told her that she was very stubborn, but that this time it had worked in her favor. The teen had come home that evening to a leather Jacket lying on her bed, with her named arching over the back where a chrysanthemum was embroidered in full bloom.

At the same time that Marinette was officially launching her brand and Adrien was embracing his teen rebellion, Chloé was becoming an influencer on social media. On any day that she wasn’t spending time with her friends, the blonde was working to cultivate her social media image. At 17, she started to model on the side. When she was gone, her friends would get calls during every free moment she had.

Fourth-year of Hawkmoth's Reign. 

The three were friends with the other outcasts from their college class.

Kim and Nino were often seen with Marinette when she was out on a shopping spree or seeking inspiration. 

Alix and Marinette were close, and after she became guardian at 14, Marinette had given the Pinkett and crash course on the miraculous, since she had inherited one. The two would always be fond of jumping through time and space to face world-ending events.

Kagami had insisted that Adrien and his cousin Felix make up, and now the three were a force to be reckoned with. As they entered their last year of Lycée, the friends felt like they were on top of the world.

 There had been a project due that morning that Marinette had forgotten about until the night before.

She had been up all night and had gone through three different super coffees. She had been running late when she burst out the door of the apartment.

There was a mug of coffee that was clutched in her hands, and she wasn’t looking where she was going. The guy that she collided with looked how she felt.

While he was in a suit, they were both clutching coffee mugs that they had moved out of the way on instinct before throwing apologies over their shoulder and going on with their days.

Neither thought anything of it. They had other things to worry about.

Tim Drake and Marinette Dupain Cheng had no idea that their lives had changed permanently with that one interaction that had lasted less than a minute.

AND...3000+ words later, here we are! let me know if yall have any questions.

I wanted to get this out sooner rather than later so that I can start to build with other characters now. I had a lot of fun writing the backstory, and I have thrown Cannon out the window...obviously lol.

tag list!

@moonlitceleste @redscarlet95 @ultimatetornshipper @mochegato @liquid-luck-00 @maskedpainter @trippingovermyfeet @nathleigh  @susiej1118 @t1dwarrior-of-earth @sassakitty @remy-289 @laurcad123  @iamabrownfox @m0chick0furan