#self insertion

[velka-art]

So I made a "toon" self-insert! And I kinda made up a story with it? Or an AU?? I don't know. This is all just sketches because this is mostly for my own enjoyment! 💖💖

(I am sorry if there are any spelling mistakes or weird grammar💦)

The reason Lux wants her around is because of her "inner light". Which is basically a person's drive, personality, charm, talent, happiness, anything! Anything that makes a person, a person! Everyone has a light inside of them, but for some it's bigger.

And that's what he wants. He didn't save her because he wanted to. But because of his own selfish reasons. He wants to grab that light for himself to make him more powerful.

But since this has been a traumatic experience for Toon-Velka, the light shrank and almost became nothing. So, Lux has to find a way to make it grow big again. And that means spending time together and getting to know each other, and making her happy again. But that will be a challenge since he has other plans for her. Can he keep to his plan? Or might something else grow between them?

[broadwaybalogna]

I, a Zutara shipper, would have way more fun self inserting on Mai

So why don’t I?

A short essay on self inserting, what it means, my experience, and why it shouldn’t be a problem.

So the ‘problem’ of me self inserting recently arose again with discourse surrounding a post of mine. I’ll spare you the details, but someone, in an attempt to make me look like a bad person (I assume) said that I was a “self insert”. At first, I was confused because I don’t understand why something like that would be used as an insult. Then I remembered the horrible stigmatization that self inserting has had on the atla fandom.

So I’d like to bring light to what it truly means to self insert.

For this short essay, I’ll be using the term “self insertion” as defined by Wikipedia:

“Self-insertion is a literary device in which the author writes themselves into the story under the guise of, or from the perspective of, a fictional character. The character, overtly or otherwise, behaves like, has the personality of, and may even be described as physically resembling the author of the work.”

First, I would like to go over why I would personally prefer self inserting on Mai, since it’s technically the clickbait for this post.

I had a very large emo/goth phase a few years back. I loved wearing black, chokers, being depressed, etc. while I don’t necessarily identify with that version of myself anymore, I still hold high praise to any and all people who are emo/grunge/goth/fall under that kind of category. Now, I’m not saying that Mai is emo, she’s actually the exact opposite as she doesn’t display much of any emotion, but she is a badass female character who has space buns, a fiery personality, and really cool weapons. I actually like the idea of her a bit more than Katara, and it would certainly be easy to self insert onto her since her character was never really fleshed out.

(Look at her… she’s so cool. I can’t decide if I wanna be her or be with her…) this would probably also be a great time to say that I don’t feel here nor there about Mai in fandom spaces. There are many anti Mai people out there, but I honestly don’t care much for her at this point other than what I’ve already established.

I can relate to a good portion of her problems (being the face of her family, holding their reputation, not having many friends etc.) so self inserting on to her would honestly be no problem for me. So why don’t I do it?

Because my characterization as a shipper doesn’t revolve around myself. If it did, I’d totally okay into that sarcastic brooding gf because I think it’s kinda badass.

I ship Zutara not because I personally wanna be with Zuko, but because I want Katara to be with Zuko. Does that mean that I don’t self insert onto Katara? Hell to the no.

Self inserting helps me understand a character to the best of my ability. In order to figure out how a character might act, react, or approach a situation, I have to put myself into their shoes, that’s just how I work. I don’t think this is a mindset that is personal to just me either, there are plenty of other people who self insert onto Katara and Zuko in order to best convey the realism of their stories.

Now, I’ve self inserted onto BOTH Katara and Zuko, (which probably won’t stop the haters any more than before since I am attracted to both men and women) and in each of those times, I am sure to always stay true to the original characters. I am always considering how the characters were brought up, what they have experienced that has shaped their personality and how they have behaved before.

But I can’t just rely on that to help me tell a story. I have to feel the characters. I have to know what they’re feeling and how it affects them.

This may seem weird, but when writing, I’ll often close my eyes and imagine myself in a scenario much like what the people I’m writing about are experiencing.

This is how I became well known for some of my writing.

I’ve written monologues for characters to say that reflect my own experiences to help give myself and others peace of mind.

I’ve written relationships based on flaws I’ve had with people in my life.

And I’ve written hate. Because I feel hate, and I know that Katara and Zuko do too.

Self inserting shouldn’t be viewed as something that’s horrible for authors to do, it should be embraced. There shouldn’t be a world where people can’t share their experiences through people they relate to.

If you can’t see yourself agreeing with me, I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ll ever see eye to eye. This is something that I am passionate about, and I will not be thrown off my stance because of a small insult.

In conclusion, I could very easily self insert onto Mai, you could even say it would be lemon squeezy, but self insertion isn’t the only thing that drives me to ship characters, and it never will be. I am a complex person with complex emotions that have led me to look at Katara and Zuko and envy their relationship. Yeah, I want it, and there shouldn’t be anything wrong with that.

[paulgadzikowski]

Perhaps the reason I don't go in for self-insertion in Arthur, King of Time and Space or The Hero of Three Faces, despite the prevelance of self-insertion in the classic romances and in fanfiction, is that I don't want to give cause to anyone - or at least not the ghosts in my mind of those who disapproved of my joys in my youth - to think I can't tell the difference between fiction and reality.

[baroness-jade-zemo]

Promise

If you want to see more of this AU : click here

When the war will be over, we will escape together where our love will have the right to exist. I will be your wife and you will be my husband, happiness is waiting for us.

I choose you, you and your smile, your soft golden hair, your gentle voice, your bright blue eyes. You and your invisible scars, your fears, your brilliant mind and your pink lips. I choose you over everyone or everything else.

I'm afraid of the idea of missing out on the love of my life. But soon, we will be reunited together. I will be waiting for you under the tree, I will be waiting for you to finally start living.

I don't have enough than one life to show you how much I love you.

Do not copy, retrace or use my art without my consent !

[rm6y7m6]

yeah,happy birthday to myself(7/6)

[white-poppie]

𐙚 ‧₊˚ Thinking 'bout Older!Toji <33

Older!Toji who very clearly needs reading glasses but refuses to wear them because "he doesn't need it." So he's just squinting his eyes trying to read whatever is written on the newspaper.

Older!Toji who's your biggest hypeman; you'll find him whistling "damn mama" at anything you wear, sweatpants, large ugly t-shirts? He's hyping you up like you're wearing designer clothes, his hands constantly on your butt, smacking whenever he has a chance. And if you whine cutely, he'll just chuckle and do it again!

Older!Toji who just refuses to fight with you even if it's for valid reason. You'd be screaming at him, and he'll wait till you tire out and just look at you with a coy smirk and say, "You done, baby?" ugh, he's so annoying.

Older!Toji, who has this weird thing where he squishes your face and then leans down to kiss your puckered lips with an audible smooch.

Older!Toji who's super clingy in the morning (contrary to popular belief) and just sags half of his body weight on you, and you can barely move. " 'jus five more mins ma," he'd whisper in his hoary voice and you'd have no choice but to relent.

Older!Toji who doesn't have the energy he used to have in his younger years, so after particularly tiring days, he just wants to lay his head on your lap and have you run your fingers through his hair and he's out like a baby...except the fact his snores could wake up the entire neighbourhood.

Older!Toji who loves wearing the black compression shirt and grey sweatpants combo just to see you salivate over him. He pats his thighs and gestures for you to sit on his lap before burying his nose in your neck and pressing a kiss on your shoulder.

Older!Toji fell in love with you all over again when he let you shave his face after you insisted. He just looks up at you with his intense eyes, being so silent you can't even tell if you accidentally hurt him or something, and after you're done, he grabs your hand and whispers out, "I swear to god, I am gonna marry you again."

[magical-reid]

The Soldier and His Mission

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Summary: When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Bucky went still.

One second, the mission was wrapping up—just another Hydra facility wiped off the map, just another set of goons taken down. The next, something triggered him. A phrase muttered in Russian over a radio, the faintest crackle of a long-dead handler’s voice. You saw the shift in his posture before he even turned around, the telltale tightening of his jaw, the blankness overtaking those usually warm blue eyes.

Bucky Barnes was gone.

The Winter Soldier stood in his place.

And yet—he didn’t hurt you.

Not when he turned to face the team, his body language bristling with danger. Not when Steve hesitated before stepping forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. And certainly not when you cautiously called his name, your voice softer than the others.

Instead, the Soldier moved between you and everyone else.

A shield.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Tower, you thought the episode would pass. That maybe, after a few hours, after enough familiar sights and sounds, Bucky would shake it off like he always did.

But the Soldier wasn’t leaving. And he had decided you were his mission.

Not to eliminate.

To protect.

At first, it was just hovering. You moved—he followed. You sat—he stood at your back, ever watchful. The others gave him space, exchanging worried glances when they thought you weren’t looking. Steve was tense, obviously trying to figure out how to break through, while Tony was less patient about it.

“This is a problem,” Stark declared after the first few hours, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “I mean, I hate to be the one to say it, but we have a fully armed, brainwashed assassin in the Tower again, and we all know how that went last time.”

“He’s not attacking anyone,” Natasha pointed out.

“Yet,” Tony shot back.

You ignored the argument as best you could, focusing instead on cooking something for Bucky—something normal, something familiar, something that might ground him. His eyes tracked you the entire time.

Then you miscalculated the heat on the stove.

The oil in the pan hissed and spat, and a second later, you hissed too as a sharp sting bloomed across your palm. You barely had time to react before there was a sudden blur of motion.

Bucky was on you instantly.

His flesh hand gripped your wrist, his metal one hovering protectively over the stove, as if it had personally attacked you. His face was unreadable, but his grip was firm, his hold gentle as he examined the burn.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, but he wasn’t listening.

Instead, he took the cold pack you hadn’t even reached for yet and pressed it carefully to your palm, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed in focus. You exchanged a look with Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, and the Captain exhaled, something like relief flashing in his eyes.

He was still in there.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Soldier continued shadowing you for the next two days, much to Tony’s frustration. But as Natasha had pointed out—he wasn’t hurting anyone.

Unless they posed a threat to you.

That was something Steve learned firsthand during a sparring session. You had barely landed a hit before Bucky, watching from the sidelines, had moved. The next thing you knew, Steve was on his ass, blinking up at the ceiling, while Bucky stood between you like a human wall, eyes cold and calculating.

“For the record,” Steve grunted as he sat up, rubbing his ribs, “I was letting her win.”

Bucky wasn’t convinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t until you needed a medical checkup that things really came to a head.

“Barnes, I have to actually examine her,” Dr. Cho said patiently, eyeing where Bucky stood between you and the med bay’s equipment.

“No,” he replied flatly.

“Bucky—” you tried.

“The room is secure.”

“That’s not the—”

“She does not require assistance.”

“I do require assistance,” you corrected. “Because I burned my hand and twisted my shoulder thanks to a certain super soldier overreacting in the gym.”

Bucky didn’t move.

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” you said, shifting tactics. “Then stay.”

That got his attention.

“If you want to make sure nothing happens to me,” you reasoned, “then you can stay here. But you have to let the doctor check me out.”

His expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity—

“…Understood.”

Progress.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When it finally broke, it wasn’t dramatic.

There was no grand trigger, no huge revelation.

Just a moment of quiet.

You had fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion finally winning after two days of Bucky’s overprotective hovering. When you woke up, it was to warm hands gently brushing over your wrist—both flesh and metal, but softer this time, as if relearning the feeling of touching you.

And then you heard it—his breath hitching.

A tiny, barely-there sound, but one filled with something raw.

You blinked sleepily, looking up.

Bucky was staring at you. Not the Soldier. Bucky.

His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes wide—his real eyes.

“…Doll?” His voice cracked over the word, like it had been caught in his throat.

You smiled sleepily, shifting so your fingers curled around his. “Hey, Buck.”

His exhale was shaky. His shoulders sagged. And when you tugged him down to you, he didn’t resist.

He just buried his face in your neck and held on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” you murmured later, your fingers absentmindedly running through his hair as he rested against you.

“I know,” he admitted, voice rough.

“You threw Steve like a ragdoll.”

“…Yeah.”

“…Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

A laugh. Quiet, but real.

And just like that, Bucky Barnes was back.

[nenoname]

the duality between six shooter and lil stanley still makes me lose it

even stan's drawings of himself being badass are adorable which contrasts with ford's dramatic as hell ones

[angelbitezzz]

Pick him up and move him like bowling ball

[kakushusband]

Robot characters who are given names like SL-308-62 but instead of their human friend going Well let's call you Sally for short, they instead ask the other if they Like their current name.

"Do you like your serial number?" they ask. "Yes, quite. It reminds me of who I am" the robot replies. "I have heard others like me go by different names after some time, and maybe one day I'll choose one for myself, too. But right now that is my full name, yes" they continue.

Because it's not your decision to make whether or not the robot will receive a new name. It should be theirs only. What's the difference? One is more complex and the other is simplified. They were both given by strangers instead of themselves.

"62 will do," they conclude. "It's my model number - there will be no other 62 after me."

[nereidprinc3ss]

bambi

in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!

You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there. 

How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that. 

So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for. 

He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”

You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips. 

“Fuck—I said slow.”

You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”

“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”

“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more. 

Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it. 

“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling. 

It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching. 

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”

By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”

You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air. 

“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”

Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.

“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”

Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact. 

“Please can I go faster?”

Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out. 

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for. 

Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—

“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”

“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”

“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon. 

“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion. 

Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it. 

“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”

“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm. 

“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him. 

“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline. 

So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”

“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits. 

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles. 

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”

“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”

And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time. 

Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest. 

“I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment. 

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”

“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”

“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”

“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”

“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble. 

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling. 

“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees. 

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind. 

The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him. 

Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway. 

“Was that on purpose?”

“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact. 

Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair. 

“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs. 

He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”

The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.

And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.

Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long. 

The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind. 

In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved. 

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed. 

You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles. 

“Shaky?”

“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly. 

“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”

“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”

When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”

[personaglitch]

"Self insert characters are cringe"

Bro I'm trying to survive capitalism with maladaptive daydreaming. Leave me alone.

[baroness-jade-zemo]

Happy Birthday to my dearest man and lover, Samuel Ludlow ♡

Do not copy, retrace or use my art without my consent !

[rm6y7m6]

I feel deja vu draw this theme?

[hansoeii]

The Doctor!