#they all had their own inner motivations for what they did and in the case of amanda and mark pretty clearly with their actions and

[spiralstain]

.

[ginkgo-phyta]

Tantalizing / Spencer Reid

PART TWO: Link

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Words: ~8k

Tags/Warnings: SMUT!!! like pure smut, AFAB fem reader, no usage of "y/n", light footplay, light nipple play, humping, unprotected penetration, slight dom/sub themes (nothing intense, maybe more like switch?), secret relationship, extensive foreplay teehee ;]

Summary: You haven't had good, quality, playful time with Spencer in quite a while- the team's schedule having been jam packed with cases. Its been making you antsy, expounded by how good your boyfriend has been dressing lately. You decide late one night that enough is enough, and you had to dig your claws into him. Even if people end up finding out about you two.

Author's Note: inspired by spencer's s7 outfits...they're so good. they make me wanna bark. this is my very first time writing smut! ahhh!! also i didn't know wtf to title this.

“Hi Spencer…” Your alluring voice purred into Spencer’s ears as he held the hotel door open for you, the seductive timbre curling up the back of his neck, brushing against his warming cheeks and flicking the ends of the hair that tickled the shell of his ear.

“C-come in, quickly”. He ushered you in, closing the door swiftly behind you. The stammer caused you to grin mischievously and you watched Spencer pause in the middle of the room- just staring at you hesitantly, taking in your appearance as he played with the hem of his sweater vest. You donned a half-sleeved retro style black dress with a white collar and small buttons going down the front- his favorite on you. The belt hugged your waist beautifully and the skirt that shaped out your hips flared out a bit at the end, falling right at the knee. With it you wore an assortment of dainty jewelry, very sheer black tights and short forest green heels. He had seen you just a handful of times throughout the day, and each time he had to find some excuse to leave your vicinity in order to hold onto even a sliver of concentration on the case.

“I’ve missed you all day, baby.” you start to step closer to him, twirling the ends of your perfectly curled ponytailed hair between your fingers. The soft thuds of your kitten heels sent tingles down Spencer’s spine. “Did ya miss me?” you questioned him with a little pout. Now mere inches away from him you traced your manicured fingers down the lapels of his blazer. Reflexively, his hands shot up to rest ever-so-lightly on the curve of your hips.

He gulped, watching you playfully bat your mascaraed eyelashes up at him, “Of course, I did.” Spencer cleared his throat, trying to gain some sort of composure, “I wished you could have come out into the field with me, but you need to get better first.” His right hand shyly moved up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering to fiddle with the small golden hoop on your lobe. 

A dramatic sigh huffed out of your plump, glossy lips while fixing the knot of his tie, “I knoooow,” tone almost childish in reluctance, “I just love seeing you work.” You threw your arms over his shoulders, flashing him the beautiful smile he loved oh-so-much to see, “Which is why I’m here. Wanna see what you’re up to.” The bite of your lip, the glint in your eye, and the glimpse to his own lips made it clear to Spencer that you held a different motive. “Show me what you're working on?” you turn to make your way to the desk where dozens of papers and multiple files were scattered around. The purposefully enticing sway of your hips left Spencer captivated.

You had suffered a pretty bad concussion a couple weeks ago at the hands of an unsub weidling a copper pipe. The proceeding vertigo refused to relent its choking grip on your inner ear resulting in being “banned” from the field until a doctor’s clearance- or two, if Spencer could have his way. Usually this wouldn’t be all that big of a deal for you, but the case the BAU team was currently working on had Spencer away from you for most of the day, profiling the suspected murderer’s house in an attempt to find details that could lead to the missing victim. You were left twiddling your thumbs at the precinct. Well, not really, but it sure did feel like it at times.

“Ooo, the coded messages. Have my analyses helped you at all?” your voice pulled Spencer out of his debauched thoughts. His gaze landed on your face, all traces of seductive tactics were gone, replaced by eager and adorable curiosity. The unsub had several coded messages in journals scattered around his apartments that were proving to be incredibly difficult to crack. Spencer let out a breathy chuckle as he excitedly made his way over to sit at the desk. 

“Yes, they actually did. I was able to-” and off he went down the rabbit hole of a tangent. Although normally you would have intently listened to what he had to say, this time watching him passionately ramble reignited the little flame in your bosom. You leaned against the desk, letting your eyes wander over Spencer’s expressive hands and fingers as he gestured to different pieces of paper. You interrupted his spiel by sliding into the space between his body and the desk, using the toe of your shoe on the seat to roll the creaky swivel chair back.

“The working day is over, Spencie, don’t you think it's time to focus on better things?” Spencer's head snapped down to where your foot rested on the cushion of the flimsy motel office chair, right between his legs and dangerously close to his clothed cock. He followed the line of your nylon clad leg, over the skirt of your work dress, across the prominence of your chest, up the slope of your neck, and finally to your twinkling eyes. “I don’t deserve any attention, baby?” you tilted your head ever so slightly, your hand coming up to delicately play with the single-pearl necklace resting in the Plender’s gap of your collar bones. A delicious, forlorn sigh passed your lips as your fingers glided over your shoulder, head moving with it to look down and pick at the papers laying under your tush, “You didn’t really miss me, did you? All you ever think about is the bad guys.” And there was that pout again. God, you really knew how to make Spencer a mess.

“That’s not true!” he exclaimed immediately, voice cracking slightly at the end. Your eyes snapped to his offended face. You giggled as his Adam’s apple bobbed- you loved teasing him, it boosted your confidence and only egged you further every time. His reactions would always be your drug of choice. “I’m-I’m sorry.” was all else he could spit out.

“What for, honey?” you leaned back on your hands, head tilting to the other side this time.

“For not giving you my attention. I didn’t mean to…neglect you. I really did miss you. I always do.” Spencer’s hands came up to lightly cup your calf, still very aware of its proximity to certain progressively-aching parts of his body.

“Good.” your voice was matter of fact as you straightened up a bit. Spencer watched you pull at your hair-tie and release your ponytail with a few firm shakes, his lips parted with a sharp draw of breath. The foot between his legs briefly moved as you kicked off your heels before it settled back into its original position, this time inching further under his crotch.

He let out a quiet surprised “Ah-” at the contact, his grip on your leg lowered as he squirmed in his seat.

“You like my outfit today? I picked it out specifically for you.” your words turned breathy as you leaned closer to the quiet genius, “You’ve been dressing sooo nice lately, honey, I wanted to look just as pretty as you.” You picked up one of his hands that had slid down to grasp your ankle, pushing his palm flat onto your led as you dragged it up the limb. Under your dress it went, enticing Spencer closer to you in response until his chest hit your shin. His fingers curled onto your thigh, analyzing the smoothness of your tights before you stopped. Instead, you took his fingers and pressed them into the lacey top of your sheer black thigh-high stockings. Another little move, press, and pause, allowing Spencer’s fingers to analyze. They were latched to a garter belt. The realization drew a soft groan from the back of his throat as his forehead dropped onto your knee. He loved when you would wear these. Spencer placed a few barely-there kisses where he could, using his hand to explore your thigh, taking in the difference between your warm skin and the cool nylon. You relished in the way he dug his fingernails into your supple flesh.

“So beautiful…” his whispers into your silked skin tugged a devilish grin up your cheeks. You felt his eyebrows furrow and you could tell his lips were pursed. You craved for his big hands and chapped yet moistened lips to press all over your body, but the teasing was just too fun to quit so soon. Instead, you wove your fingers through his hair, pushing back and coaxing him to look up at you. His cheeks were flushed clove-pink, eyelids drooping slightly as he gazed longingly at your mouth. Spencer’s body tried to jump closer to you, his hands respectively gripped your upper thigh and ankle in a failed attempt to hoist himself up to your hypnotizing smile. You swore you heard him let out a faint moan as his crotch grazed against your lower extremity. This sparked a match in your head.

Much to Spencer’s displeasure you moved away from him, leaning back on hands placed firmly on the desk. He tried to move forward to follow you, but your clothed foot left his crotch to land on his chest, effectively stopping his movements. Spencer let out a huff as it began dragging down his torso, pushing him back into his chair, before its path ended. Your foot hovered over the obvious bulge in his black trousers. “I love wearing these tights,” you started nonchalantly, “They make me feel so pretty and put-together; so hot,” you added a tantalizing emphasis, as if the word was naughty. Your lightly padded toes circled around where Spencer wanted them the most. Instead they avoided it a little longer, going to trace the design of his belt buckle. He screwed his eyes closed- whether to contain himself or simply feel your movements was uncertain. He let out an impatient whine. “Don’t you think so, sweetheart?” The sole of your foot finally flattened on Spencer’s covered cock.

“Yes, yes, yes” he earnestly groaned out, the hand on your ankle desperately pushing your foot further onto his bulge. That’s what you loved most about fooling around with your beloved- always so eager. You bit back the moan of your own that threatened to spill as Spencer threw his head back. You watched the pads of his fingers dig into your ankle, the other hand slid down the back of your calf to meet its twin as his hips lifted slightly off the chair to grind into your foot. His length hardening and extending could be felt against your sole, slightly ticklish. The scene before you was addictive, the sounds escaping his lips so dirty and provocative. He tugged your leg to press you harder to him, causing you to almost slip off the desk. 

“Tuttutut,” you chided, “slow down, big boy. I never said you could do all that, did I?” As soon as your light scolding processed in his mind, all of his actions stopped. Spencer quickly shook his head while trying to catch his breath. “Answer me.” you tried again. His eyelids blinked open, gaze meek.

“No, no you didn’t.” He removed his hands from your leg, running them through his hair before plopping them onto the arms of the chair as he panted, “I’m sorry, baby, you just feel so good,” he paused to look at you, swallowing hard. “God, I’ve missed you.” His words were smile-inducing. You dragged your foot off of him, deliberately using extra pressure to earn a deep and husky groan. Spencer’s eyes briefly rolled back into his head before they closed again. You could see tiny glistening beads of sweat forming at the edges on his hairline. His eyebrows furrowed and his Adam’s apple shifted a couple times, miniscule twitches plucked the corners of his mouth.

“What are you thinking about now?” you were clearly amused, feet slightly kicking out like a giddy schoolgirl. Spencer didn’t miss a beat in responding.

“You. I’m thinking about you. I’m thinking about h-how good you make me feel and how much I want you to touch me more,” another gulp. “How much I want to touch you.” His hands gripped the plastic chair arms, causing them to squeak. You giggled at this. To Spencer, you sounded wicked. 

“You want to fuck me, don’t you baby.” Your words immediately caused him to squirm, whines leaving his throat. He didn’t dare open his eyes yet. It wasn’t a question, you knew for a fact that’s exactly what he’s thinking, even if he won’t say it like that. Not yet, at least. The team had back-to-back cases for the last month and a half, and the two of you haven’t had a chance to actually have sex in the same length of time. You snuck cuddle sessions in each other’s hotel rooms a couple times, but kept them to a minimum as to not arouse suspicion from your teammates. You couldn’t take it anymore, especially with how good he looked today- how good he has looked the last few weeks, really. 

It wasn’t always that you showed your dominant side in bed, but it was all you could think about doing lately.

“Say it. Tell me you want to fuck me, Spencie.” 

Another squirm. Eyes squeezed shut. 

“Be a good boy, baby. Look at me.” your voice was sterner this time, though the playful edge hadn’t fully dissipated. It took a couple seconds but Spencer’s eyelashes finally fluttered open, “There we go,” you cooed. Spencer swallowed in anticipation, still worming a bit in his seat with arms glued to their spots. “Now, tell me what I want to hear.” you leaned your body forward, hoping to come off a bit more domineering. 

Spencer took in a deep breath, eyes flitting around the room in an attempt to avoid your gaze. You didn’t want to ask again, residing to clearing your throat to get your message across. He understood what that meant- you were getting impatient and if you didn’t get what you wanted you would simply stop. He didn’t want that. It’s not like the statement was incorrect, it just wasn’t something that was ever in Dr. Spencer Reid’s ordinary vernacular and he wasn’t yet in the headspace for it to come out without a second thought. He didn’t want to sound stupid. But, oh, he wanted you. Thus, he swallowed his doubts and began,

“Yes,” he nodded his head vigorously, eyes closing just for a millisecond, “I…” His gaze finally locked with yours, “I want to fuck you.”

Damn, the words sounded so incredibly, completely filthy dripping from Spencer’s innocent lips and you wanted to lick up every drop. Your pussy reactively clenched around nothing, and you wanted to surge forwards and push your mouth onto his in a hot kiss- half what Spencer himself expected (and wanted) you to do- but you controlled yourself. Instead, you remained calm, sliding off your desk and toeing your kitten heels back on your feet all while maintaining eye-contact with Spencer. You prowled towards him. His saliva hitched in his throat, heart skipped a beat, breathing quickened. He remained still while you leaned down towards him. Your minty breath fanned over his face, and Spencer wished you would just kiss him already. Of course, you knew that was what he wanted and so you wouldn’t let him have it just now. He watched your face as you brought your hand to his jaw. Your thumb dragged across his bottom lip and down, moving to pull the tie out of his sweater vest. You used it to pull Spencer closer to you, his chin tilted up, reaching out to connect your lips. Just as they were about to touch…you stopped. “Come here,” was all you whispered. And in a flash, you were standing straight up, using the tie to move him up with you. Backwards you walked, returning to your original position on the small desk. As you scooted up a bit, disregarding the important papers you were most definitely damaging, you hiked up your dress to allow your legs to fall open. Spencer moved to stand in between them, but much to his dismay you were too far on the desk for him to be able to feel the warmth radiate from your core. Obviously, that was done on purpose. 

Spencer knew he shouldn’t touch you yet, so he rested his hands on the desk close to your hips, only using the tips of his thumbs to brush back and forth between the lace of your stockings and the skin of your thighs. Good boy, you thought, but kept it to yourself. You slowly, yet deftly unbuttoned the cuffs and folded up the sleeves of his shirt, licking your lips at the sight of his hairy and veiny bare arms. You brought them each up to place a light kiss on the inside of his wrists, shifting up the watch on his left, before returning them to their original position. Spencer watched with bated breath and a parted mouth as you then began to seductively undo the top few buttons of your dress, pushing the fabric to the sides to allow Spencer to gaze down at the cleavage hardly contained by your lacy, deep green bra. (It didn’t escape him that they matched your heels). This enticed a moan from the disheveled man. He threw his head back, looking up at the bright ceiling lights in an attempt to grab his bearings, “You’re going to kill me.” he whispered. 

You held his face in both your hands, pulling it down to look at you again, “Good.” you whispered back in delight. Fingers traveled to the back of his neck, playing with and tugging at the ends of his hair for a minute before moving to push the dark gray woolen blazer off his shoulders where they then replaced the material with massages. Spencer's eyes shut at the pressures of your ministrations, forehead dropping to rest against your own as a feeling of peace and warmth flooded his veins. He almost forgot how horny he was- almost. He whined at the lost palpations as your hands changed course to loosen his tie. You left it on, opting to unbutton the top of his button-up. Your fingernails scratched at the exposed skin at the base of his neck and top of his hair-sprinkled chest before they danced up to trace his Adam’s apple. 

“I want you.” Spencer moaned.

“I know, baby.” you held his face between your hands again, firmly so he couldn’t move, “I want you, too,” Your face inched closer to his at a worm’s pace, and all Spencer could do was watch in impatient anticipation. “You’re just so fun to play with.” You nudged your nose against his, leaving a ghost of a kiss on his lips. 

“More, please.” He groaned, head straining against your grasp, his eyelids falling shut. 

You giggled sweetly, “Just a bit more, since you asked so nicely,” and you began to press more light kisses where you wanted to- on his top lip, the corners of his mouth, the little dip of his chin, his cupid’s bow, and finally the tip of his nose- your own lightly knocking against his with each proximal peck. Spencer sighed as you leaned away from him. 

“Please,” he breathed out. Spencer leaned into your right palm, eyelids opening to reveal a contented, dazed look.

“You said you wanted me to touch you, didn’t you, baby?” your hands started to move, down the front of his chest to creep under the hem of his dark blue sweater vest.

“Mhm…” he nodded excitedly, a content sigh leaving his nose. You pulled the light-blue button-up out of his trouser, the feeling of your cool hands splaying against the warm, bare skin of his lower abdomen had Spencer reeling. You dug the tips of your fingers down a path along his hidden abs and happy trail before curling them around to his lower back where you scratched long horizontal lines. You loved touching him, just feeling his skin. But, Spencer wasn’t the only one losing a little bit of patience. 

The sound of his belt buckle clinking undone caused his stomach to somersault. You roughly undid the button and zipper of his trousers before pushing them down just enough to grant you access to what you wanted. Spencer’s forehead thumped lightly against yours, finding its favorite spot again- well, second-favorite if we’re being honest. His breath quickened. You weren’t done teasing yet, though. Peering down, the outline of his hard cock straining against his boxer-briefs, a wet spot accumulating in the gray cotton, sent a jolt to your gut.

“Look at you,” your head tilted up, “so hard for me,” you whispered against his lips. Fingers snapped the waistband of his underwear against his stomach. “What a good boy.” Spencer’s brows furrowed against yours, prompting you to plant a kiss between them, leaving your lips there for a second while you dragged a single deep-brown-polished nail up the length of his covered hard-on.

He whined out your name, his voice hiccupping, “Please, please. Touch me.” The sound of paper crushing told you his hands still sitting by your sides were crumpling the files on the table. Spencer tried so hard not to move his hips, fearing you would stop everything. He resided to fist his hands and nudge his head against yours instead.

“Where?” Could you be any more cruel? Spencer groaned in frustration. Yes, you definitely could. He shouldn’t fight it.

“Please! My-my c-cock.” He swallowed hard to stop his stuttering. “Please touch my cock!” More sounds of paper rustling.

You giggled at his desperation, “Oh, honey, you’re so filthy.” Though, if you were being honest, you were just about getting there, too. Your swollen clit was pulsing in excitement, thin underwear increasingly dampening in your slick. If Spencer wasn’t standing between your legs, you’d be pressing your thighs together in an attempt to get yourself off. “If that’s what my baby wants...”

Finally, your right hand descended into his boxer-briefs, quickly using his ample precum to coat your palm before wrapping your fingers around his length. You gave him a good squeeze, prompted by the deep moan he let out, and started to jack him off. 

“Oh, my god.” Spencer groaned, head dropping down to your shoulders. His hands flew up to tightly grip the fat of your hips. His hair tickled your ears, hot breath summoned goosebumps across your chest. 

You hummed in response, hooking your heels around the back of his calves as you continued pumping. Your other hand moved to cup and press into his balls through his underwear. 

“A-ah!” he tensed up a bit. Spencer’s balls were always a very sensitive spot, almost as if he was biologically wired to be afraid of any touch there. It was your favorite thing to do though- especially wrapping your lips around them.

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” you whispered in his ear, nipping lightly at the lobe, “I’ve gotchu. It feels good, doesn’t it?” Your coos against his cheek immediately soothed the tension in his back and you could feel it radiate off of him in waves. 

“Yesss,” He mumbled through a groan, pushing his face into the side of your neck and moving his grip up to your waist, “So good.” He let his hips move now, and so did you. He lightly thrusted up into your fist as much as he could with what little leverage his narrow stance afforded him. 

You swiped a thumb over the head of his cock and lightly squeezed his engorged balls, causing him to gasp as his hips involuntarily bucked up. You felt his blazen, wet mouth drop open against your skin. Your hand turned and pushed, twisted and pulled, squeezed and tugged, Spencer’s moans growing louder and louder in your ear. Your eyes remained shut, relishing in the sounds he was making and the feeling of his burning skin against yours. Now, it was your turn to want more.

Suddenly, your hands left his dick. Before he could complain, you pushed his briefs down to fully expose him to the crisp air and pulled yourself closer to him in one motion, ignoring the crinkling of paper beneath you. He could feel the heat of your clothed core press up against his impossibly hard dick, causing the both of you to moan in unison. You rested your hands back on the desk and leaned away. 

“Touch me, baby.” you breathed out. 

Fuck, yes. Spencer thought as his hands surged forward, quickly undoing the last few buttons of your dress before roughly pushing the barrier open, fully exposing your cleavage. With a groan, his fingers pulled down the cups of your intricately designed bra to expose your perky nipples and his mouth immediately descended on them. Your head rolled back. The gasps and moans he was finally able to pluck from your throat were like music to Spencer’s ears. He sucked, nibbled, licked one areola while he pinched, twirled, and rubbed the other. His thumb rolled over the peak of your left nipple, pressing and dragging into the miniscule dip just how you liked it, causing the pit of your stomach to drop and your body to squirm. “Shit!” you hissed out, head snapping up to get a look at him. Spencer looked up at you in response, his eyes glinting with ferocity. His free arm wrapped tightly around your waist, fingers dug into your side, holding your body up to him. One of your hands tangled in his hair, tugging at the strands to make him moan around your nipple, the other gripped at the knitted fabric on his back. He continued moving from breast to breast, catching his breath only for half-a-second while he pawed at them before latching onto the next. Your squirming movements increased, moans becoming more high-pitched as your hands pulled at his hair in an effort to get his head off of you. It signaled to Spencer: you were becoming overstimulated. His mouth pulled off of you with a pop! and you gasped in response. 

He let you catch your breath for a moment, watching the rapid rise and fall of your tits while you watched his face through smiling eyes. The corners of his mouth were slightly wet, lips swollen from all the sucking, hair incredibly disheveled from your man-handling. You couldn't help but bite your lip and hum. So pretty. Just as you were about to speak, Spencer leaned down again and began kissing all over your chest and neck. His big, warm hands moved from your ribs to splay over your back, still holding you up to hover over the desk- one in the middle, the other between your scapulae. Your own moved to wrap around his shoulders. He pressed sloppy, damp kisses along the tops of your breast and over your collar bones before moving to the column of your throat. His lips dragged to each side, stopping to nip and suck here and there. Even in his fevered motions, he remained careful not to leave visible hickies, no matter how badly he wanted to fixate on a single place. Once he was thoroughly satisfied in covering your entire neck with kisses, he focused on the sweet spot on the right side, exactly where your pulsepoint was. “Oh Spencer,” the honeyed words caused him to groan, egging him on even more. Your fingers dug into the back of Spencer's own neck, legs wrapped around his ass, bringing him further into you. One particular suck and bite had you twitch your hips up, successfully rubbing your pussy against Spencer’s poor, neglected cock. This spurred him on. He was doing so well, using all his willpower to focus on pleasing you. To be a good boy for you and not rut his throbbing, leaking dick against your hot, wet cunt, but you finally did it yourself- you started it- which meant Spencer could now lose himself in his desires. The pressure had him nuzzling his face into your neck once again, lips open to breathe heavily against your warm skin.

One of his hands left the middle of your back to travel down your body, moving to grip your thigh and pull you to wrap your legs tightly around his waist while his legs spread further apart. The heightened angle and gained leverage allowed Spencer's cock to drag up and down the entirety of your cunt with greater pressure, drawing out even more noises from the both of you. 

“Oh my fucking God, Spence. Feels so good..” your choked out words caused him to dig his nails into your skin. You’d definitely be greeted with little crescent shapes tomorrow morning. You leaned your head against his, hands flying to grab onto wherever you could- tangling in his hair, bunching up in the shirt of his broad shoulders, scratching against his neck. 

The pleasure seeped into every crevice of Spencer’s brain, consuming any thoughts that didn’t revolve around you. He held onto you as if letting you go meant sending the world into ragnarok. “God, I..” he mumbled, shifting his grasp on your thigh to firmly cup your head in his palm. He couldn’t stop rutting into you, hunched over your body like a crazed animal, even though it was impeding his ability to speak. He licked his lips, readying to speak.

“I wanna fuck you so badly, baby.” 

The intensity of his words, his piercing gaze, and the particularly long and deep drag of his bare cock against your dressed clit practically had you cumming. Your head rolled to hang back in the air, almost hitting the desk if it weren’t for Spencer's other hand on your neck holding it up, thumb draped lightly over your jugular. Your eyes tightly screwed, bottom lip pulled in by your teeth in a sorry attempt to heed the salacious noises leaving your mouth. The light feeling of your pussy fluttering almost had Spencer pulling your barely-there panties to the side and shoving his cock into you. 

The man should be lauded and awarded for his self-control, but the need to please you triumphed over every biological impulse or desire Spencer would ever feel. He knew what you wanted. He knew your favorite part about teasing him- playing with him, stringing him up- was the burning, fervent, feral kiss it resulted in. Even though it used all his willpower he stopped his thrusting, pulling a drawn-out whine from the back of your throat. “Nooo,” you huffed and pouted. 

With force, Spencer yanked your head up to bring your eyes back to his level. He stared into your wide, surprised eyes for a moment, breathing fast and hard before he pulled you forward. Your lips met in an impassioned embrace, hot and heavy. Greedy mouths wide as if to gorge on each other’s impurities. Both of Spencer’s hands grasped your head, fingers digging into the back of your scalp, almost pulling at strands of your hair. Yours rounded his torso, pulling him as close to you as possible. The feverish kiss was messy, loud, and erotic. Tongues wrestled, teeth clashed, noses collided. The taste of Spencer’s saliva was addictive, your mouth pushed into his to gain as much of it as it could. You swallowed his moans, he happily lapped up yours. The motions of your hips started up again, adding to the delectability. 

Spencer tried to pull away from you, but you wouldn’t have any of it. You locked your ankles around his waist and bit his bottom lip in an effort to keep his swollen mouth of yours. He rested his forehead against yours again, thrusts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated. The feeling of your panties rubbing against your clit was almost becoming too much. 

“Please,” he breathed, “I want to fuck you. I need to fuck you.” 

“We c-can’t,” it was your turn to stutter, too overcome with desire to be cocky anymore, “they’ll hear us, we’ll…we’ll get in trouble.” Moans cut into your words. What utter bullshit. The sounds of your debauchery filled every corner of Spencer’s modest hotel room and both of you knew in the back of your fucked-out brains that it was all already dancing down the hallway for everyone to hear. The continuous crumpling of papers; occasional thwap of files hitting the carpeted floor; the consistent thunk, thunk, thunk of the wooden desk beating against the wall; the sharp sound of your kitten heels wrestling with one another around Spencer’s waist; and, of course, the melodiously lewd octaves crawling up from each of your vocal chords.

He hated that answer. You swear you heard Spencer growl as he adjusted to roughly throw each of your legs over his shoulders, always keeping one hand behind your head, before bending over you once again. Your hands flew down to hopelessly grasp at the papers under you. He loved bringing out that surprised look on your face.

“A-ah, Spencer!” The new angle was intoxicating. Every single sensation was overwhelming your senses. The pinches of your dress still bunched up around your upper thighs and creasing in your elbows. The fabric of his vest was rubbing against your hardened and sensitive nipples. Spencer's right hand rested on the base of your throat while the other twisted in your hair. The back of your thighs and calves stretched at the unwarranted position. The smell of musk and sweat proliferated the air around you two. The friction of his stubbled balls chafed your reddening ass. Your bra cups and wire dug into your ribs, the thick belt of your dress pressing your stomach. And of course, the heavenly feeling of his burning, heavy cock rutting against your core. “I think I’m gonna-” you couldn’t finish your exclamation, voice cut off by a sharp gasp of pleasure. No, you weren’t, not yet. You wanted more, too.

Spencer was emboldened by the mixture of oxytocin and endorphins rushing through his veins and the entirety of you engulfing his senses. He gripped your hair tighter as his confidence grew and pushed his forehead harder against yours to look deep into your watering eyes, “I need to feel your tight pussy, baby.” His voice was quiet, yet stern and full- no hint of hesitation or embarrassment. No stuttering or stammering. Your head reeled. 

“Fuck me, please!” was all you could say before reaching down and hurriedly grabbing your panties, clumsily pulling them to the side- no toying, no dirty talk, no teasing. Spencer took the cue, using the hand on your throat to instead guide his dick into your entrance. 

Finally, he thought while he pushed into you as he straightened up a bit, letting out a guttural groan. The beautiful tone of your sigh tickled his ears. Your pussy was so wet, and in turn so was his cock. You sucked in the entirety of his length with little problem. The thick, pudgy walls of your cunt enveloped Spencer’s dick deliciously, warmth causing his eyes to roll back into his head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so tight.” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. He still held up your head, but his right hand moved down the outside of your thigh, fisting the lacy tops of your tights with a moan of your name

“Ah! You’re so big, honey.” You groaned in response, hands grabbing onto each of his wrists. It’s true, he was. Not the biggest cock in the world, but he stretched you out so incredibly every time. The perfect size.

You were so close to orgasming- you knew with just a few little movements you’d be pushed over the finish line. Nothing had to be said, though, Spencer was fully aware, but he wanted to savor this a bit more; give you a taste of your own medicine, if you will. He leaned in, pulling your head closer to his to envelope your lips with his again. Your legs sandwiched in between your torsos burned at the stretch, but you paid it no mind. 

“Please,” you begged shamelessly against his bottom lip. Spencer let out a small, breathy laugh, pushing your messed up hair out of your face. He pulled away from you to stand up straight, not without gaining a whine in response. You tried to keep your head up to watch him better, but you were losing your strength. With a light thud, you let your head fall against the wooden surface, the wall pressing against the top of your hair. He still wasn’t moving yet, and your orgasm ebbed slightly away. Spencer rubbed his big hands up and down the legs resting on his shoulders, massaging and kissing them wherever he felt like it. He took in the sight of you squirming and whining below him, fingers grasping at any of the random papers left on the desk they could reach, chest heaving. Your pearled nipples stood at attention, compelling him to ghost his fingers over them. He was barely touching you, but the moans and sighs would not stop leaving your throat. With a last kiss to your right calf, Spencer spread your legs open, toes of your kitten heels pointed out towards either side of the room. You watched him through hooded eyelids, hands going to support your legs for him. He tickled his nails deeply up the insides of your thighs, the light pain had you squirming and gasping even more which doubled as your movements had you shifting on Spencer’s cock. It felt so good, but the doctor held his own noises in, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“You said,” you pouted breathlessly, “you wanted to fuck me. Hurry, hurry!” You need to cum so badly.

“Isn’t so fun on the other side, is it?” his mischievous smirk mocked you. It was a lie, it was most definitely fun on the receiving end, but it was even more so on this one. His right hand slid up to cup your chin, thumb pressing onto your lips mirroring your earlier actions, “So desperate,” he murmured, hands moving to grab onto your waist. You huffed and shut your eyes, head rolling to the side. You tried to just focus on Spencer’s touch and feel, but he stopped further motions.

You were so beautiful; in every moment of your lives, but especially like this. Spencer paused for a minute, eyes boring into every centimeter of your figure to burn the image of you into his brain. Your hair splayed over the desk, reminiscent of an angel’s halo; eyes screwed shut with smeared mascara at the corners; glossed lips parted in desire. Oh, how delicious they’d look wrapped around his dick. Your inviting, stocking-clad legs held open just for him, manicured fingers digging into the back of your knees. Spencer’s cock excitedly twitched inside of you once his gaze reached your glistening, swollen pussy, the puffy lips gripping the base of him. His hands wrapped around your own, gripping tight, using them and your legs for balance as he slowly pulled his cock out of your entrance, leaving just the tip inside. He was mesmerized, it was a sight he’d seen many times before and was sure to see much more of in the future, but it hypnotized him anyway. He watched as your pussy clenched around him in a failed attempt to keep him in or pull him back, but Spencer wasn’t going to let that happen just yet. His tip pulled out just a bit further before pushing back in a centimeter, repeating the sequence a few more times, playing with your gaping slit. You tried to suck his cock back into you, but Spencer resisted. One more motion and the head of his dick popped out of your clutches with an audible squelch. He reached down this time, grabbing and rubbing his length against your cunt- side to side, up and down. Moans and expletives repeatedly left your mouth, but Spencer continued with a drunken smile on his lips. He slapped the head of his cock against your clit, causing you to twitch and yelp. He loved the reaction, prompting a couple more hits with the same response.

“Spencie…” you whined, ungraciously curling your hips up to gain more friction.

He was about to give in, but there was one other part of you he needed to see. With a single motion, he gripped the outside of your thighs and pulled your body further down the desk, dick sliding against your clit. 

“Oh, shit!” you let out, your head craning to look up at him. 

Spencer roughly pawed at your dress. He first pulled at the top, but it wouldn’t open up more to give him what he wanted, the belt positioned in the way. He moved on, pushing the skirt even high up, bunching it around your waist. He sighed in delight. The delicate filigree of your black garter belt laying right below your belly button stared up at him seductively, begging him to touch her. Spencer’s hands had a mind of their own as they palmed over the fabric, fingers moving over and under the top band to snap it against your skin- just like you did to him. The sound wasn’t as sharp, nevertheless it brought him pleasure. You mewed, lips curled up in a satisfied smile. Internally, you chuckled. You knew he loved the silly little piece of lingerie. 

It was the last piece of the puzzle, the final key to the terminal level. Spencer grabbed two fistfuls of the garter belt and the bunched fabric of your neglected, cooling underwear and, without warning, swiftly pulled you completely onto his cock. You both yelled as he bottomed out, your eyes blowing wide open and jaw dropping slack open. 

“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” Spencer breathed out. The look on your face egged him on. He pulled his cock fully out of you before using your clothing to slam you down onto him again. He stilled for just a second, catching his breath and steadying himself. Before you could utter a single syllable, he began fucking you like there was no tomorrow. 

The initial burn faded into sweet bliss. Your pussy fluttered and clenched around Spencer’s dick and he thrusted into you fast and deep. The bruising feeling of his tip pounding into your cervix gave way to a more intense sensation, your orgasm bubbling back up inside. His powerful motions caused your arms to fly up and Spencer deliriously watched your mouth-watering tits bounce up, down, up, down. Your hands pushed against the wall, trying to prevent your head from hitting it. Although at first you both tried to halter your noises, it proved fruitless. Inattentively, you let your moans and gasps and grunts stretch out to be as loud as they so pleased. The pleasure was so overwhelming, but the desire to watch Spencer fuck you was stronger. His hair flopped around at the sides, the strands at his hairline pasted to his forehead with sweat. He looked utterly pornographic, clothes still on but extremely tousled and uncentered. Sleeves pushed up, collar spread open, tie unevenly loose. His belt buckle clanged against itself, hanging from the trousers still draped around his mid-thighs. You removed one of your hands from the wall, pushing up the front of his body as much as you could, instead. You moved the bottom of his shirt and sweater vest to claw at his abdomen, focusing on the happy trail you loved to lick up. 

Spencer felt the same way as you. He fought to keep his eyes open, gaze flitting all over your body and face instead. You were intoxicating. When your own wandering eyes met his as your hand came down to his lower stomach, he let out a particularly loud moan, pounding into your even harder. The intensity had you latching onto his wrist. Just when you thought it couldn’t feel better, Spencer moved his thumbs down to your cunt, pushing your swollen pussy lips together around his moving cock before shifting them to press against your clit. 

“Holy fuck!” You let out, eyes screwing shut as your other hand left the wall to desperately match your existing hold on Spencer’s wrist. He rubbed in circles with one thumb as best he could, the other pressing into your fatty labia where he knew you had a sensitive spot. You began squirming, nails digging into Spencer’s skin, and you couldn’t even begin to care about your head lightly hitting the wall. “Spencer! I’m gonna come!” 

Spencer rubbed just a bit harder into your clit, earning an enthusiastic, “Just like that!” as your eyes rolled back into your head. He groaned at this, feeling your walls close around his dick. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he huffed, maintaining his pace and pressure, “come for me, angel.”  

Your core tightened up, and with just a few more thrusts your orgasm came crashing down on you. Waves of blinding white light washed over your body as you gushed around Spencer’s cock with a call of his name. The gripping and flitting of your pussy had Spencer groaning and he quickly shifted his arms, letting go of his hold on your garter belt and underwear to hold on to your waist, your limping legs hooking over his elbows. He didn’t let up his thrusts, chasing the orgasm of his own he was so close to reaching. He pushed the impending feeling down, not wanting to give up the sanctity of your hot cunt just yet, but he couldn’t stop his hips. 

As your orgasm began to subside and overstimulation prickled along your nerves, you tried to clench your legs closed, but Spencer wasn’t having any of it. He bent over you to push your legs open and press his forehead back onto yours. “Spencer!” you gasped, staring up at him wide-eyed and frantic. Your hands gripped his flexing forearms, “It’s too much!”

“You’re gonna take it,” he grunted out, fingers digging into the fat of your sides. He shut his eyes and swallowed hard for a second, his thrusts beginning to show signs of faltering. You felt so fucking good he almost wished he didn’t ever have to come, that he could fuck you through orgasm after orgasm without stopping. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

You nodded vigorously, babbling incoherently in agreement through frenzied moans.

“So you’re gonna take it just like this,” he gulped, pushing down a groan at your clenching pussy, “and I’m gonna fucking come inside of you.” His last words came out in a growl, drawing out longer moans from you as his thrusts started to include sloppier grinds. 

Spencer's pelvis grounded into your clit, his balls continued to slap against your ass, his erotic words mushed your brain, and soon the overstimulation pulling tears from your eyes turned into ecstasy and you neared a second orgasm. A strewn out, deep “Fuckk,” crawled from Spencer’s throat as your cunt squeezed him in quick succession, followed by your name being whispered and moaned repeatedly like a mantra.

You wanted to come again at the same time as him, and you were right at the edge, just as you knew he was, so you pushed him further to the precipice, “Spencer,” you pleaded breathlessly, “come on, baby.” You rested your hand on his cheek, urging him to open his eyes and look at you. “Fill me up.”

He groaned in response, head dropping down to press against the top of your breasts. A couple more sloppy, hard thrusts and he started “I’m gonna-”

But just before he could finish, you were jolted into stillness by a deafened boom, boom, boom. What the hell?

Someone was at the door.

You let out a yelp, Spencer’s hand immediately flew up to slap against your mouth. 

“Reid? What’s going on in there?” You heard from the other side of the door. It was fucking Rossi. 

Author's Note: muahaha >:D idk why but this is just how i imagined this piece ending. hope you guys liked ittttt, if you're reading this thanks for sticking to it. should i write a pt.2? i def already know how i'd continue (tho not smutty). did not think smut would be the first spencer fanfic i'd post. thinking of writing a follow up where spencer finally gets his release teehee. i'd love feedback and comments, pls! ty lovelies <3

[sanjisblackasswife]

OP Men Failing No Nut November Headcanons(NSFW)

Black Fem Reader in Mind

Bad Summary: Who last NNN and who doesn’t

Ft. Shanks, Sanji, Zoro

CW: Mentions of Sex, Pussy slapping, Oral, Teasing, Zoro is a complete ass, I may do a part 2

Sanji

He lost before he started

In all honesty he’d probably last…a few days, but that’s because he started touching himself again

You mentioned that you wanted to focus more on your training so you wanted to save your energy for the next month and not have sex

First off he started crying

But you said this because you all were getting into way more close calls than usual with fighting enemies and you wanted to prepare for the worse in case Sanji wasn’t there to save you

He did respect your wishes and so for the next 4 weeks there would be no extreme sexual contact between you both. Sanji even went as far as not jack off to practice self restraint.

After the first week it was painful for him but he managed to distract himself with practicing more recipes and training with you

Second week was a breeze, you both were able to sleep on separate sides of the bed without any issues

Now the third week…was a bit difficult for you both.

You noticed how much stronger Sanji got without having the distraction of sex and it got to you.

A lot.

You didn’t want to go back on your word so you had to do and you went into your shared room with him and you found yourself playing with your clit.

Unfortunately Sanji found you as well.

He’d be a liar if he said he was mentally cheering that you failed instead of how quick you were to cover yourself

“Y/N…. You been cheatinggg??”

“N-No! I—this is my first time I swear!”

He couldn’t even stay mad at you, your legs was spread, cunt was dripping, and he has been fucking his fist for way too long as you slept so you decided to “apologize “ by asking him to join you.

Sanji hovered over your pussy almost immediately

“I wish you would have just told me to at least eat this pussy, sweetheart I miss it…”

“But—-ah—-you were….mmmm doing so good!”

Without missing a beat he reminded you how much you missed his tounge and fingers. Sanji usually ignored his own hard cock for your pleasure but he couldn’t handle the strain anymore

You of course notice this and decide to do a move you never done: sitting on his face while sucking him off

Sanji never came so hard and quickly in his life

That don’t mean he was done though no no no. Sanji has so much stamina to make up for how fast he cums so best believe you both were busy that evening.

you both ended up failing NNN together <3

Shanks

Lmao @ you thinking he is even going to participate.

“No sex?? For a MONTH? The hell did I do—“

“Nothing! I just wanted to challenge us.”

He smirked like ^ and “agreed”

Shanks has been eyeing you the entire day, like a literal Shark watching it prey. For some reason the pure fact that you said “no sex” made him want you even more

You looked even better, your clothes looked sexier, your body looked more curvier and teasing

Shanks wanted you so badly.

He was a good boy and kept his distance though, not even touching you a little when beside you

The day went by completely smoothly until it was time to take a bath.

You were by yourself just about to dip your foot in the tub when you felt his heavy gaze behind you.

“Hey—!”

He insisted to bathe you, he claimed to have “no motive” behind it so he got behind you on the edge of the tub and scrubbed your body

He was such a sly dog grazing his hands through the thin towel over your nipples and just way too close to a certain place when he reached your inner thighs.

“Shanks…”

You moaned out his name, it shocked you both for a second but Shanks being the crafty guy he is he keeps teasing you and teasing you, and you know this but he swears up and down he doesn’t know what you’re talking about

It’s not until he eventually gets in the bath with you slowly scissoring inside you when you finally break and give him what you both wanted.

“You want it bad don’t you…”

Almost like he was amused by your greediness, you head on his shoulder, dark chuckle erupted from his chest turning you on more

“Y-yes please! More!”

“But y/n It’s only been a day? My big girl isn’t giving up already??”

His two fingers teased your clit in the water driving you mad, it was big soft circles that always made you spasm around nothing. Shanks knew your body like the back of his hand so getting you to give up was pretty easy

“‘M sorry Shanks Just…pleaseee…please fuck me…”

“You give up?”

“……”

He huffs and slaps your cunt making you pathetically bite your lip, “….yes.”

“Good Girl.”

It didn’t take long until he turned you around aggressively shoving his tongue down your mouth

He reassures you why the challenge was a stupid idea from the jump.

Zoro

“You’re such a needy little bitch sometimes you know that?”

You both had an argument right after having sex about who’s the most horniest so that’s how you both got here bickering butt naked in the bed.

“Oh because you constantly touching my thighs and ass every single day means you’re a saint—“

You and Zoro always have these arguments on who can last longer without sex so you finally wanted to put an end to this.

“Fine, put ya money where ya mouth is 1 week—“

“What?”

“One week. No pussy, no finger, no oral, not even kissing on the lips and whoever loses does whatever the other person says.”

Of course Zoro being Zoro he couldn’t back down to a challenge, but he had some conditions too.

He just never told you about them

The day goes by incredibly well, you and Zoro treated the rest of the evening normally

Which was good because it was all in Zoro’s plan

The days went by and he began to get more touchy, lingering hand holding, purposely moving against your bottom when he walks past you, he even started walked around the ship more shirtless than usual asking if you can watch him work out knowing how much that gets to you

You weren’t dumb though, you caught on pretty quick to his scheme and so you decided to play dirty too. You only wore probably some of the shortest and tightest clothing you could find, you’d constantly bend over in front of Zoro always hearing a small curse under his breath, sometimes you even whisper in his ear about the dirtest things knowing it gives a chill down his spine.

“It kills you seeing me wearing this, huh? You wanna fuck me that badly don’t you?” Zoro pokes his cheek out and chuckles looking forward ignoring you, you really are a piece of work

The teasing just increased to the point where you both were getting disgusted faces at the crew because you and Zoro THOUGHT you were being subtle in being all touchy feely, but everybody knew from the lewd comments/jokes and constant touching what you both were doing

“Can you both just get a room already!” Nami yelled out of annoyance seeing Zoro practically pin you against the wall. You felt embarrassed as hell not realizing you both were in the middle of the deck doing this, but Zoro didn’t care

Eventually that night Zoro decided to take it further in his teasing because he was tired of your bullshit

“What are you Doing?”

Zoro came into your room with nothing but pussy on his mind. He wasn’t really the type to have a high sex drive, but the simple fact that you decided to NOT have sex with him gave him every reason to want it, but he’d never admit that.

He wanted to break you and make you admit you want it.

He got on the bed shirtless and kissed up your legs and massaged them in between, he never answered you just kept doing what he was doing, if you were being honest you missed his kisses, you nearly fell into his Trap immediately but then your eyes widened

“Hey I said no kissing!—“

“You said on the lips….these are your legs…and these are your thighs….and this is your tummy….and these….are your breast.”

You were wearing one of his thin shirts, you felt your nipples get hard, Zoro of course notices and plants wet kisses through the fabric teasing around your sensitive nipples but you grumbled you couldn’t lose

You push him off and climb on top of him immediately attack his weak point: his neck

“F-fuck! Playing—dirty huh?”

To this day you both swear up and down either of you folded first. You believe Zoro did when his fingers glided against your slit and he says you folded when your hand palmed his cock

Either way that morning you both slept in and couldn’t remember a thing except the amount of times you both came in, on, and around each other.

[gay-robot-boyfriends]

What do you like the most about the bucket head (vava)? Share a headcanon about him to us

(Some art cuz the first thing i thought was "oh, Vile's not gonna like this" asdasaas) Oh man, where do I even begin! rubs hands together You guys have no idea how much I adore this manbot! I love everything about him, from his arrogant asshole personality to his design. The purple armour is my most favourite, but the others are growing on me.

Ohhh oh no i have so many headcanons! help!

Okay, first I'll share my canon HCs. In Maverick Hunter X, we see Vile being arrogant and rude, and he hates X for unknown reasons.

My HC is that Vile is annoyed by X's tendency to see the good in everyone, which I think makes Vile distrustful of him. X is also a rookie maverick hunter, but he has already been praised for being the father of all reploids, having infinite potential, and being a peacekeeper. I can see that ticking off Vile as well; he just sees X as any other reploid and isn't impressed, and over time, he grows to hate him.

The event of Maverick Hunter X takes place, and at the end, when Sigma finds Vile (who is dying), he asks him what he was hoping to achieve, to which Vile responds with: "…What did I plan to do? Thinking about it now, I'm not actually sure…" Sigma is not listening to him by that point he's calling for someone to come retrieve Vile. "I don't care what happens to this world… By defeating X, I've validated my own existence… and that's all that matters to me now. My name… is Vile… I … am… I…" Vile then dies or enters an emergency shutdown mode.

What he says at the end made me think he could have been redeemable in some way because his nonsensical ideas were motivated by the need for an objective (or validation) that he gave himself. I'm sure he was built exclusively for the purpose of fighting.

He has more than just his cannon, which can fire energy lasers and boomerang cutters; his entire body is a weapon. He has bombs, plasma weapons, and flamethrowers in his knees, bullets shooting out of his finger tips, removable armguards that allow him to fire missiles from his arms, and, if that isn't enough, he can projectile fire his entire fist and forearm.

Fighting and war are just what makes sense to him. It's what he's always done and known, and he's very good at blowing shit up. But if he had known more or been built differently (he has a malfunction in his robot brain), he could have been redeemable, and I love me a redeemable asshole villain.

OKAY! Let's get to the brain rot, HCs!

For Vile, three things make sense in life: drinking, fucking, and blowing shit up. He has a bar in his headquarters and can make killer drinks, but no one is aware of it! He keeps trophies and mementos from his favourite battles.

Outside of battle, he is actually pretty clean. His place is not messy at all. His cannons and other weapons are on display on the walls. They've all got names! Since he is also a weapons enthusiast, he sometimes disassembles them to clean and modify them, even if it is illegal, like disabling safety features or just making them more dangerous.

I just love the mental image of Vile alone in his headquarters with a drink, tinkering with one of his weapons or even his own body in some cases, given that some of his weaponry is internal. I don't think Vile can actually remove his armour to reveal a fleshy body, but I think he can detach it, revealing some of his inner workings and ammunition. It's how he reloads bombs, missiles, bullets, and fuel for his different flamethrowers.

I got more HC for my vilex bullshit, but I'll stop here! Sorry for the long response, but I love him so much I can't be normal about him!

[gayofthefae]

Finally feel satisfied with how they're gonna do it, because I realized the common thread of all the failures to execute love triangle endings and it's what I ALWAYS talk about: SHOW. VS. TELL.

I'm gonna use Girl Meets World as an example. They did Maya dirty with that. They TOLD us in the end by having her character "realize" that she hadn't ever actually had a crush on him, she had just been having an identity crisis and copying her best friend. In a rewatch, I didn't find this. Not to mention, it's spelling it all out for us as the first reveal. It doesn't play as a reveal. It plays as forced. You should be able to predict, especially with romance, at least a little bit. You should suspect whatever is true. Because the most credible narrator is yourself. If you never had a single moment where you doubted her feelings for him, then you won't believe her when she tells you they were fake. If you had even one, they're validating suspicions purposefully planted in her behavior.

The other situation is the marketing love triangle that's played too much into the writing. There are too many to count so I won't name one. To digress briefly, though, shout-out to Riverdale for looking like that and then going "what? Oh, no. We were playing all sides because we're ON all sides. They're poly." Iconic; respect. ANYWAYS: what this type does is play all sides so much that it's unclear who the character chooses until they do, almost as if it's a choose your own adventure that doesn't pick until the moment of confession. There is no through line, it's just back and forth, therefore whoever the person chooses, it was not "shown" to the audience that their feelings for them were stronger because they played it completely 50/50.

In both cases, the character isn't shown doing things that divulge their inner monologue and then suddenly tells you what it's been the whole time and asks you to take them at their word. The speech feels unmotivated by the character because you were not witness to any build to it, making the motivation seem to convince you, the audience.

A great example of NOT doing this actually already exists in Stranger Things: Will Byers. Will Byers is gay. Also, Will Byers has never said he is gay. But we know. Because of his behavior. His speech even still qualifies as behavior because it is an action he chooses to make based on the motive of something tied to his queerness. His actions stem from a common, visible motive, but one never spoken. This is quite easy to do and they have shown an ability to in the past.

An important detail to note is that everyone I've seen believes that Will has been gay from the beginning as they tell us, whether it was visible early on or not. They trust the show because they trust themselves, and they're the ones who sussed it out. I'm sure there's SOMEone SOMEwhere but I have been here for two years now and heard nary a peep about Will's gayness coming out of nowhere since season 4.

All season 5 needs to do is show the audience before they tell them. All they need to do is have that moment where audiences go "wait a second....pshh, no.........wait" on their own, so that telling them is confirmation and not surprise. I think people who say it would be forced think we're advocating for an episode 1 kiss. I know damn well that would be as horrible and forced pacing as having Will and Jonathan's scene in episode 1. But doing that wouldn't change the fact that he was gay in season 4, it would just be horrible pacing.

All they need to do is provoke you to ask the question yourself. The consistency in people not believing something is true is a) when a characters tells them without having shown them, or b) when an audience member tells them before the character has shown them. It feels forced because it is - right now. But it isn't happening right now. It's a prediction, not a claim that you should have seen it already.

Every time it's felt forced in anything it was "tell". Everytime people have come around even after invalidating it and believed it was true the whole time, it was "show". It's very simple, really. We trust what we're shown, and when we're not shown anything, we trust the last thing we saw and the things we're being told. If we were told something contradictory to the last thing we saw, even if we last saw something 2 seasons ago, we wouldn't trust it - because we haven't been shown anything since. The last we SAW, Mike kissed El. The last we HEARD, he loves her. Show us something else and it'll remind us that we haven't SEEN anything in years, and that what we see is more credible than what we last heard.

It's very easy. And it's very, very consistent. What a relief.

[brettanomycroft]

incredibly intrigued by your sam thoughts give me more

hooooohohohohohoh *rubs together grubby little raccoon paws*

I am excited to answer this and also don't know how much more I'll be able to say about Sam that I haven't already discussed here and here (though danged if I'm not going to try!)

Something that I think is central to understanding how my brain thinks about Sam is the way I think about Gwen; more specifically-

(Gwen and Sam from @boonsandwhatever 's amazing art, found here)

While I don't truly think they're the exact same character, I believe that what we've seen of them so far suggests that we are looking at two characters who, in their heart of hearts, are very similar in terms of their inner selves and motivations, but who are nonetheless being set up to walk two very different paths.

So how are they similar? We've seen so far that Gwen and Sam are both

goal-oriented

hardworking

stubborn

temperamental (Sam less openly, but it's there)

petty (not as obviously as Alice, but it's soooo there)

curious

seeking validation for their work/pursuits/questions

not in the career/field they had aspired to be in

under tremendous pressure from their families (Gwen's has not been directly addressed, but what we know of the Bouchards and and Gwen's comments about her 'friend' circles seems to suggest this)

driven (Gwen towards power/recognition, Sam towards understanding - both of these tie into that need for validation)

barely holding it together

more sensitive to teasing than they let on

imposter syndrome? (this one may actually be a stretch but all of the above similarities strongly suggest this one)

Of all of the above traits, "curious" and "seeking validation" are the two that I feel are Sam and Gwen's strongest motivators right now - and were also the source of their conflict in episode 18. They are, of course, pursuing answers to their own questions without realizing that, in this case, they are the ants seeing separate parts of the massive and horrible mystery that is pushing into their lives.

Sam's path has him looking out as he seeks to learn more about The Magnus Institute and about the catalysts and victims of the cases they get at the OIAR. Gwen's path has her looking up, as she questions the role the OIAR plays within the government/society, how it is structured and managed, and what employing literal monsters has to do with it all.

In an ideal world, Sam and Gwen would team up to be like the supernatural Wonder Twins. If they're able to see past their misunderstandings and the walls they've put up, I think they could actually get a lot done - but I worry that their insecurities, ambitions, and lack of validation at the right times/in the right places will push them further away from the best possible allies they have: each other.

(If you're fanfiction inclined, I've actually explored some of these team/friendship dynamics in my fic "Pieces of You." Part 2 continues to explore how Sam and Gwen interact when they are seemingly in opposition)

I do think there is a very good chance that both Sam and Gwen end up in difficult, morally challenging, or outright evil situations as a result of their need for understanding, recognition, and validation. I've seen a lot of folks suggesting that Sam could become "avatar-ized" or willingly take on The Powers of the Horrors in order to finally "live up to the potential" that he perceives himself as having been denied when he was rejected from The Magnus Institute. As for Gwen, I think (hope, pray) that her own insecurities and need to prove herself could lead her right into the claws of Lady Mowbray, someone that she has already defended in front of Lena simply for being of a higher echelon, and who has already given Gwen a level of recognition that she did not expect but clearly craves (when Lady M asks about her family line). Of course I would be tickled pink if they both got over themselves, communicated, and worked together to overcome (or at least understand) The Horrors!

Anyway, I know this ended up being more of a Sam and Gwen rant, but I hope you enjoyed, and thanks again for asking!

[rosesloveletters]

muse.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Reader

Word Count: 2,137

Warnings: No major content warnings apply.

Summary: Reader is suffering from writer's block and Wonka surprises them with their very own writing room to help inspire their creativity.

Author's Note: As a writer, this fic is extremely important to me. Also, the photo of Wonka I used for this one is one of my favorites look at him <333

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

The sun began to set, casting a radiant glow across the landscape and saturating the horizon in the warm hues of lingering twilight as it transitioned into the blue hour. The dewy grass in the courtyard below appeared to sparkle with every movement of the wind, as if it were covered in thousands of tiny, glistening diamonds that reflected the palate of colors in the sky. 

You stepped out onto your balcony to take in the subtle beauty of serene night. 

As a poet, you were often inspired by the natural beauty that surrounded you. 

You had a passion for words and a love for language and expression. Your pen was your key to the world and it unlocked possibilities unknown to others and, sometimes, even to yourself. Your writings were an expression of your soul, of your deepest feelings and private, inner thoughts. 

You shared your heart in ink and crafted words that would encapsulate your very essence.

When it came as naturally as the setting sun, you could see the beauty and nuance of life through the lens of poetry, capturing your thoughts in ways as brilliant and as dazzling as light itself. 

Your dreams were just as bright and left streaks of color across the page every time your dared to pick up a pen, even though you could be highly critical of yourself and of your writing; your prose was background noise to your everyday thoughts, but to others, it was the crescendo of consequence, the resonant tones that were so often felt, but rarely put into the right words.

This time, however, you were struggling as anyone else would be, to find the correct words for how you felt. 

You were uninspired and, though you had time to collect your thoughts and clear your mind to make room for new ideas, it seemed hopeless as you were at a loss for where to begin. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind you startled you and you turned, coming face to face with Wonka who was respectfully removing his hat as he stepped out onto the balcony to greet you. 

“I see you’re still experiencing a bit of difficulty coming up with an idea of what to write about,” he said, voice as soft as rain as it blanketed and clung to you like a warm summer drizzle. 

You nodded; you were a bit troubled by the fact that you had been suffering from writer’s block for weeks now. 

Typically, when you wanted to write, you were able to, but right now no such case had been made. You were struggling to find the motivation to create, a debilitating scenario Wonka had found himself fallen victim to numerous times in his life, and one he did not wish to see you suffer through alone. 

His large, warm hand rested on the small of your back as he stood beside you on the balcony he had installed off the back of the factory, unseen by passersby on the main road out front. It afforded the two of you the opportunity to be outside and to enjoy the fresh air without being swarmed by the public. It was risky enough to go down to the courtyard; with Wonka’s worldwide renown, he did best to stay out of the public eye as much as possible, lest anyone decide to sneak onto the property for one reason or another, putting both of you at risk of harm. 

If staying inside of his beloved factory while the rest of the world waited on his doorstep kept him and yourself safe, he would have locked the door and thrown away the key (again.) 

Still, it was nice to have a way of escape from the sometimes-oppressive feeling of being inside all the time and so you often came out here when you felt that you needed more space. 

Privacy was deeply important to the both of you, but it was difficult to come by these days. 

Wonka gazed out across the sprawling complex of his factory.

He had built an empire that stretched several blocks. 

It was an impressive sight, but nothing quite like the way his pupils expanded in the waning light, robin’s egg blue irises spiraling with shimmering, springtime whimsy. 

A small smile spread across your face; if you could not be swayed by the natural beauty of the world around you, then perhaps you should cast your eyes upon the man who had become your whole world and let yourself become delighted by his elegant beauty.

Wonka turned to you and the look in his eye indicated that he had not expected to see you smiling at him, yet without missing a beat, he returned your grin with his own, “you know, I’ve got just the thing that might help you.”

This was unexpected. 

It was not unusual for Wonka to do his best to help you through any tough or difficult situations, especially where and when creativity was involved. 

However, when he offered you anything, you always kept up your guard at first. 

As much as you loved him, Wonka was and always had been somewhat unpredictable. 

“Willy,” you began with uncertainty, “I don’t know if it’s any one thing that might help me, rather than inspiration as a whole.”

Your intent was to discourage him from anything extravagant. 

He was already turning away from the balcony railing and making his way inside. He paused in the doorway and looked at you with a mischievous glint in his sharp blue eyes, “perhaps what I have to give you will spark that very inspiration that you seek.”

He had a point, though you were still unsure, but what choice did you have?

You trusted him perhaps more than you trusted yourself and that was saying something.

Without another thought against the matter, you turned and followed him. 

Wonka led you back through your private living quarters and down the hall, past the library and to a little room at the end of the hall that he had kept you out of under the guise of it being nothing but extra storage space. You had never questioned him on this. After all, this was his space and though you had recently become a permanent resident, you had yet found a reason to explore this particular room and therefore what secrets it held were unknown to you. 

 He paused with his hand on the knob; he was beaming from ear to ear like he was about to tell you the punchline of a joke. 

“Are you ready, my dear?” he could barely contain his excitement. 

His energy was infectious and you found yourself on the edge of your seat in terms of anticipation as you nodded and waited for him to open the door. 

He turned the knob and pushed the door inward. As it swung open, you let out a little gasp at the sight you beheld: it was a perfect, quaint and quiet little space with hardwood floors and several rugs of various colors and styles that were perfect accent pieces someone like Wonka would have acquired at one point or another in his life. There was a bookcase against the right wall, fully stocked with reading materials, writing guides, poetry collections, anthologies and dictionaries. 

Several small shelves had been installed which housed candles of various shapes, sizes, colors and scents as well as a few succulents and houseplants, one of which you noticed was a string of pearls with strands stretching near to the floor. A plush-looking armchair took up residency in the left corner near the door, along with a modest little end table and a lamp that looked like it had been brought straight from the nineteenth century. 

What caught your eye much more than any of the décor, however, was the writing desk which sat against the far wall in front of a large picture window overlooking half the Wonka factory complex and half of the city it occupied. 

The desk itself was unobtrusive and plain, wooden, with a small hutch above for storing papers and documents. It seemed almost like a schoolteacher’s desk and perhaps it had been at one time, yet the most noticeable aspect of its structure was that the desk appeared to have been sawed in half. 

All the air left your lungs…could it be?

As if he could hear your thoughts, Wonka spoke up, “I knew I had kept the other half of my desk, but I couldn’t remember where I had put it. The Oompa Loompas were clearing out one of our storage rooms when they discovered it. So, in the greatest of secrecy, I had them help me bring it in and design the perfect writing room for you. Now, you have your own quiet space to work and perhaps a little inspiration could be born from this new environment.”

You were utterly speechless, yet your mind was a trove of questions and curiosities as your eyes scanned the room; you tried to take in everything at once, but there was far too much in your immediate line of sight everywhere you looked that it was impossible to focus. 

How had he managed to do all this right under your nose, without you having ever been the wiser? 

That was, perhaps, what made him who he was. 

Wonka was a mystery, a whimsical force of nature who did as he pleased and laughed in the face of any nay-sayer. He could achieve any impossibility, regardless of impracticality.

He was also a diligent worker and was devoted to his ideas and whims. When he decided to do something, somehow, it always got done. 

Knowing that the Oompa Loompas had helped with this project warmed your heart. 

The sweet little elfin creatures who ran Wonka’s factory were more like family than mere workers and you could tell that they had lovingly created a space that would feel safe and cozy for you to work. Your mind was already buzzing with ideas of how to properly thank them for their contributions. 

“So, do you like it, my dear?”

Wonka’s gentle voice garnered your attention and your loving gaze landed on him for the first time since you had entered the room. A smile as bright and as warm as the sun split across your face, “oh, I love it! It’s perfect! I can’t thank you enough, Willy. How can I ever repay you?” 

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that,” Wonka amicably placed a hand on your shoulder, “your joy is payment enough. I sincerely hope that this will help spark some creativity, since you’ve had a bit of trouble lately.”

“I know it will,” your tone spoke of reassurance, for him and for yourself. 

You were certain you would feel inspired here, not just within this room, but inside the entire Wonka factory. 

You had perhaps put too much pressure on yourself to get inspired out of your own desire to create when there was a whole little world here in which you could draw inspiration from, if not from the factory itself, from the man who had made it all a reality. 

Wonka was truly magnificent in many ways, yet you were the most enamored by just one: he loved you so much that he would do something so simple, yet so profound, for the sake of helping and to bring you happiness, never asking for anything in return or making you feel guilty for accepting the help and gesture of kindness.

As a small child, your dreams of romance included the most basic of needs being met, but also of someone, a nameless, faceless partner to be filled in at a later date, showing deeper interest in you beyond that which was surface level, born not out of selfish motivations, but rather of a deeper desire for connection and an interest in who you were. 

Someone with no familial connection or obligation, who wanted to love you because they chose to, despite everything that you felt made you unappealing and undesirable. 

Wonka made you feel seen in ways you hadn’t known were possible until he enlightened you and now.

He was much more than what you yearned for in the past; he replaced your idea of romance with a real one.  

You were finally chosen. 

Never had you been so grateful to have such a unique existence. 

“And I know exactly what I’m going to write about first.”

Wonka looked at you with a hint of surprise on his face, “is that right?”

You nodded. 

“And what might your subject be?”

You looked at him lovingly, heart practically beating out of your chest as you uttered, “Us.”

How different things might have been had you known that this entire time, you were waiting for him. 

[lycorogue]

Latest Story: You Pretended Not to Care

HOO BOY! THIS STORY! (And by that, I mean the source material) I've barely written 3k words of fictional prose since 2022. Then I read through episode 20 of the webcomic adaptation of Not Your Typical Reincarnation Story (aka I Thought It Was A Common Transmigration), and I churn out a 7200-word BEAST to fill in that "fade to black" we got.

I did try to write this so even if you don't know/remember the source material you can still (hopefully) enjoy this sweet bit of smut. Hope I did right by all of you!

Oh! And btw, it wasn't until after I had this story edited did I go back and find the English translation of the original Korean webnovel. I'm pleasantly surprised at how close I was to the character's motivation and inner monologue. It was so cool to find out that I was able to pick up on the crumbs the author (and adaptor) left for me.

Also, in case it isn't clear, any italicized text between two chevrons (<>) is Killian remembering passages from Edith's diary. Also, for any who may be unfamiliar with the source material, or who might need a refresher, the reason Killian had Edith's diary in the first place was because she used it as a handwriting sample to prove papers were forged in her hand.

Finally, I tried really hard to make it evident when I switched POVs. If any part (or the whole thing 😬) feels "head-hoppy" please let me know.

OK! Enough stalling!

Summary: When Suna Choi reincarnated as Edith Rigelhof, the villainess of the novel Suna read the night before she died, she knew she had to do everything possible to avoid Edith's cruel execution at the hands of her own husband. Seemed easy enough to avoid the pitfalls that led to Edith's demise. She attempted to befriend the novel's protagonist Rhyse Sinclair. She refused to be her despicable father's spy. Most importantly, she wouldn't fall in love with her husband Killian Rudwick. His heart already belonged to Rhyse, and his arranged marriage to Edith wasn't going to change that. Despite her best efforts, Edith is still being forced down the same path as the original novel's plot. At least, that's what it seems like. But when Edith finally waves the white flag and decides to just follow the plot after all, the novel again has other plans. Edith steels herself for the next main plot point: a failed attempt to seduce her husband… except… this time it isn't going to fail…. **A more in-depth look at Episode 20 of the Webtoon adaptation that doesn't shy from the smut** Rating: Mature/Explicit (due to description of a sex scene) Word Count: 7,228 Status: completed one-shot Continue reading below, or find this story over on AO3 or on DA.

You Pretended Not to Care

Dreading what she was about to do, Edith cracked open Killian's bedroom door. She hated this. She hated it all. She hated that she had no control over this life either. She hated that her fate was locked in. She hated that she had no choice but to have the entire Rudwick family despise her. To have Killian hate her.

Worst of all, she hated how she didn't hate him in return. She wanted to. She needed to. It would make everything easier. Despite the past three months, though, she didn't hate her husband. What's worse, there were those quiet moments where he didn't seem to remember that he was supposed to hate her as well.

Those quiet moments -- those glimmers of hope that he could maybe learn to love her -- were the cruelest parts of this new life. Those breaths of fresh air where she truly believed that she might have found a home where she could relax and enjoy life. That she found a loving family. That someone could maybe fall in love with her. That she wasn't destined to have her own husband cut her down while she begged for his mercy.

She didn't want to advance the story to its next plot beat. It was too painful to be so vulnerable, and for that vulnerability to be twisted into manipulation and used against her. She had no choice though. That was now clear. Despite how much she fought to not be the Edith Rigelhof she had read about, despite showing kindness and humility and making every strategic move she could think of to avoid Edith's downfall, the story marched on exactly the same.

Edith purposefully didn't pick out dresses for herself while the dressmakers were at the estate, and she was still accused of being rudely disapproving, unappreciative, and entitled. She graciously accepted the dainty ruby necklace Rhyse picked out for her, and yet Killian's older brother Cliff still bought all of the other jewels for Rhyse in order to make a point. Just like in the novel. Edith wanted nothing to do with espionage and smuggling information to her father. She even sent him a letter stating precisely that. She was then framed and accused of espionage nonetheless. It didn't matter what she tried. The story was already written. There was no way to change it. The plot would just correct itself to keep following the path already carved by the novel.

Tonight, Edith will attempt to seduce her husband. There was no getting around it. The story would find a way to make sure of that. Even if Edith never left her room again, she'd probably still be accused of it; hated for it. She'd lose Killian no matter what she tried. She might as well lean into her fate. She could at least enjoy getting one kiss.

Edith stood beside Killian's bed. She stared at his beautiful face; his bangs fallen into his eyes. His white shirt was loose and partially unbuttoned, leaving a tantalizing view of his strong, broad chest. A chest she wanted to lie upon; to be held against. Edith knew she was doomed the second she set eyes on Killian. Not just because he was destined to literally kill her, but because – aside from his older brother's mesmerizing golden eyes – Killian was the most breathtakingly beautiful human she had ever seen.

She knew the deal. Killian was madly in love with his family's ward: Rhyse Sinclair. He'd spend his whole marriage to Edith loathing the arrangement and resenting his wife's very existence. It was impossible to win her husband's affection, especially away from the gorgeous and charming little Rhyse. There was no point in falling in love with Killian.

She couldn't resist no matter how hard she tried, however. Even before being reincarnated as Edith, Suna Choi had preferred Killian. He was the secondary love interest of the novel Stop Obsessing Over Me, Brother! She knew that his attempts were hopeless, that Rhyse and Cliff were end-game. Still, the way Killian loved Rhyse and supported her felt so much more sincere. Suna had wondered what it would be like for Killian -- or, really, any man -- to love her the way he loved Rhyse.

And then she was reincarnated as his wife in an arranged marriage. She saw him pine over Rhyse instead of her. Suna didn't fault him, though. It was that devotion towards Rhyse that Suna had fallen in love with Killian for in the first place. She didn't begrudge Rhyse for making Killian smile so brilliantly. She just wished he would smile her way now and again as well.

After tonight, there was no hope that she'd ever see Killian smile again.

Good, she thought, I can't keep pretending this marriage will ever work out. I can't keep holding onto hope. After this incident, please hate me like you're supposed to. So that I can resolve my own feelings.

Edith brushed her hair back and out of her face as she leaned down towards her husband. His soft lips were temptingly parted as he slept; beckoning. It would be the last bit of fun Edith would be able to have. She could give herself a treat. Make what she was about to do worth it.

Even with how cruel Killian had been to her, though, she couldn't do that to him. She knew that he was saving every part of himself for Rhyse. He was going to hate Edith either way, but she couldn't bear to take that away from him. She wasn't the villainess they had all decided she was.

Instead, her lips drifted to his forehead, softly brushing his bangs out of the way without use of her hands. She soaked him in best she could; inhaling his scent as her lips tenderly kissed his smooth skin, the tension of his daily scowling at her relaxed as he slept.

Her lips lingered a bit longer than they probably needed. She didn't want to pull away and give up the only loving contact she'd probably ever have with her husband. Edith needed it all over with, though. She retreated slightly, but still stayed close enough that her face would fill Killian's vision as he opened his eyes.

Now, when he wakes up, Edith thought, he'll look at me with disgust.

She wanted to avoid this next part so bad. She feared seeing what true disgust would look like carved on Killian's angelic face. She knew she'd seen close, and it pained her each time she remembered each of those cold, heartless looks. This would be a new level, though, and she struggled to not cry in anticipation.

Killian stirred oh-so-slightly. His breathing shifted. His lashes fluttered.

Here it comes. Get it over with, Killian. Prove to me that you will only ever hate me.

Edith expected a scowl upon him seeing her. Shouting. Shoving. A demand for guards to take her out of his sight. A berating for her vulgar behavior.

She did not expect Killian's right hand snatching hold of her left wrist.

Edith jumped back, tugging slightly against Killian's tight -- but still gentle -- grip.

“You pretended not to care this whole time.” There wasn't any grogginess in his sharp tone. It was as if he had been awake the whole time. Edith panicked that he had somehow known about her seduction attempt and had faked being asleep.

She wiggled to break free, but Killian tightened his grip. Edith was startled not by his strength, but by his control. His grip was firm, unrelenting, and a bit ravenous. But it didn't hurt. The tension made it seem like he wanted to hurt her, and yet his grip never once clamped down enough, as if something inside him was able to stop his muscles just before breaking that thin line.

“Are you now so overwhelmed with lust,” Killian continued, “that you can't pretend anymore?” He was sat up in bed. His head was tilted forward, knocking his bangs back into his eyes, giving him a mischievous, fox-like stare. He finally smiled at Edith, but it wasn't the warm, beaming, kind smile he would give to Rhyse. This was a lecherous smile full of cunning and the satisfaction of a successful hunt.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen! Everything else had gone exactly how Edith had read it in the novel. No matter how she handled the situation, the end result was always the same. Edith was still accused of being vulgar and entitled after the dressmakers visited. She was still left with just the dainty necklace while Rhyse received the rest of the stock the jewelers brought to the estate. Edith was still accused of espionage, put under house-arrest, and eventually let go. It shouldn't have mattered what she did that night. Killian was still supposed to awake disgusted with her seduction attempt.

Killian's look was anything but disgusted though.

“No,” Edith choked out in fear. Her mind raced as she tried to sort out what Killian was planning on doing with her. “I just--”

“That's fine,” he interrupted. With the elegance and strength only gained from years of sword mastery, Killian yanked on Edith's left arm, pulling her towards his bed while also flipping her onto her back. In an instant, he was straddling her knees.

Edith's long, red hair billowed out behind her like a messy halo; pinned beneath her body. Her left arm equally pinned to the bed by Killian's stern grip still on her wrist. Her right arm was free, but it felt too heavy to move as Killian looked down on her with that mischievously lustful grin.

“Satisfy me, Edith. Seduce me like the Rigelhofs taught you.” Killian started undoing another button on his thin, white shirt. His eyes drilling into his stunned bride beneath him. “Who knows? I might end up attached to your body.” His voice got deep and had a voracious gravel to it.

What is he doing? This isn't right! This isn't how it was supposed to go at all!

“W-wait! Killian!” Edith willed her right arm to move, and she pried Killian's hand off of her. Without him pinning her down, Edith sat up best she could. Her eyes flashed with worry, panic, and confusion. She knew this wasn't what Killian wanted. It couldn't be. The novel version of him had no interest in Edith. He would never fall for her seduction attempts. He was too devoted to--

“Are you sure...” She took a deep breath. She didn't want to ask. She didn't want to hear his answer. She didn't want him to change his mind. She knew she had to be certain, however. “You'll be alright with me?”

Killian stopped undressing himself. The passion and thrill of the hunt flushed from his face as Edith looked up at him in full earnest.

“...and not Rhyse?” she finished.

A pain shot through Killian's chest and his stomach twisted slightly. Does she truly not care, he wondered, enough to bring up my feelings for Rhyse?

He pulled away, stepping off the bed and allowing Edith to sit the rest of the way up. Her eyes were so huge and sincere. It was hard to not recognize the surprise painted across her face. It made Killian want to both retreat from her and devour her.

Even if we were forced into a marriage of convenience... she really doesn't expect anything from me, her husband....

Her lack of expectation from him infuriated him. She was fully aware of his love for Rhyse, and she had resigned herself to a loveless marriage. Even so--

<His face is glowing and his body is so hot! I can't stop drooling, just thinking about him....> <I really think Killian is more my type than Cliff.> <I happened to see him wave at Rhyse-- I thought I might be blinded by his smile.>

Killian was giving himself to Edith, and yet she stopped him. Even when he thought he was offering her exactly what she desired she still expected nothing from him.

Killian wanted to satisfy her. He demanded that she satisfy him, but he knew he wanted it the other way around. He wanted to reward her words in her diary. He wanted her to keep watching him and desiring him. He didn't want her to give up her fight for his affection. He yearned for her to crave him.

He rested a hand beside her leg on the edge of the bed, then made it creak slightly as he leaned towards her. She leaned away, giving him space as she studied him and tried to figure out his angle.

His angle was lust.

With the blinding swiftness he used before to catch her wrist and pull her onto the bed, Killian pinched Edith's chin between his thumb and forefinger. Halting her retreat instantly, Killian leaned closer, bringing her face inches from his. He stared intensely into her large, uneasy eyes, and delighted in how his boldness caused those doe-eyes to soften and close slightly.

They were the furthest from Rhyse's eyes. Edith's large breasts -- raising and lowering in quick, short breaths -- were far from Rhyse's as well. Edith's full, supple thighs and curved hips were the opposite of Rhyse's slender frame. Her wavy, fiery red hair equally foiled the elegant fairness of Rhyse's straight golden-blonde locks.

Killian loved Rhyse. It was true. He'd do anything for her. He wanted to spend every waking moment with her. He delighted in her smile. He wanted to protect such a gentle and delicate woman. She was sunshine personified. He had wanted to give her his all.

Edith was the farthest from Rhyse that he could think of. Yet he also wanted to give her his all. In a different way. In a more primal way. He wanted to gift himself to Rhyse. He wanted to lose himself in Edith.

And yet, Edith hesitated when he offered precisely that. If this was what she wanted, why would she care if Killian would regret their night together?

“I should be asking you that question.” He whispered. Soft. Firm. Challenging. Playful. Aloof. Yearning. “Aren't you the one who was so confident in yourself that you would crawl into my bed in the middle of the night?”

She wouldn't believe him if he told her he wanted this. He wasn't even sure he could say those exact words.

Edith...

He'd get her to accept his offer. To forget Rhyse the way he did. This wasn't about her. This was about a man and his wife. This was about quelling a fire. This was about finally letting go and truly going for something he desired without hesitation.

Killian pressed his lips against Edith's.

Her eyes stayed wide; frozen in shock. Those lips weren't supposed to be hers, as much as she wanted them to be. They were Rhyse's. Killian had waited the last four years for her. He had never before felt the touch of a woman. Never tasted another's mouth. And yet he was pressed against Edith's.

It was a bit awkward. A little innocent, but still very lustful. Suna never felt this level passion before in her life. Either of them. It shot warm shivers through her core.

Killian ravenously pushed on her mouth with his own, trying to force her down. Edith retreated across the mattress, and he pursued her, crawling his way back onto his bed. His left knee wedged between her legs.

Edith's fear of the consequences and misconceptions of this night vaporized as Killian's kiss drained her brain of oxygen. This night alone didn't cause her eventual death, so why not enjoy the bliss?

With a gasp and slow exhale to steady his breath again, Killian pulled away. He towered over Edith as he remained kneeling with their legs interwoven. Before Edith could regain her own senses, Killian brusquely snatched her wrist once more.

<His face is glowing and his body is so hot!>

“After all the snooping and sneaking glances,” Killian aggressively teased, “now you can touch me all you want.” He finished unbuttoning his shirt and pressed Edith's right hand against his tight pectoral. With a shrug his undone shirt slid off his shoulders, revealing them to her as well.

Edith fiercely blushed as she remembered that Killian had read a portion of her diary when she used it to try to prove her handwriting was forged; that she wasn't the one who sent insider knowledge to her father. Her face and ears burned as she tried to mentally recount exactly what she had said about Killian; what he could have possibly read. How lustful had she been in her writings? Was he just toying with her to teach her a lesson?

“N-no,” Edith stammered in a panic, “that's not what I...” Her eyes darted from her hand on his chest up to Killian's deep, dark eyes. The puckish grin and challenging stare had both fallen; softened. Killian almost looked defeated; pleading. He couldn't have possibly wanted -- genuinely wanted -- Edith to lust after him, could he?

His chest beneath her hand was firm and silky, but it rose and fell in uneven, subtly quivering breaths.

That's right. Killian didn't know the touch of a woman before now. He wouldn't possibly go this far just to mess with me, right?

“What I mean is...” Edith relented. She pressed slightly with her finger tips, and Killian's grip loosened, more cradling her wrist than actually holding it. He gently directed her to follow the crease separating his pecs. Edith's fingers quaked against the soft ridges of his chest. Before her mind could catch up with her body, her fingers slid down to his abs. She outlined each one with her nails, memorizing the sensation as it shook through her.

Killian's muscles were all the more defined as he directed Edith to explore them. He flexed each one as her fingers wandered. He had to. It was the only way to keep himself from shivering at her touch. He wasn't expecting the tingles along his skin. He didn't anticipate how much his body would miss the delicate tickle of her fingers as they roamed to a different part of him. He wanted to collapse into her. He wanted to give her everything she desired of his body. He wanted to devour her in kind. He wanted to tear the nightgown she was wearing. Ruin his sheets. Decimate his mattress.

He had always been able to keep his desires in check before. He was able to have full control of himself. With Edith, however? With her feather-soft touch? With those fierce quips? With those saucer-large inquisitive eyes? With her quiet lusting for her husband? With that porcelain skin? He was becoming a beast and he needed to rein himself in.

“Are you happy now?” He asked her barely above a whisper. His voice strained as he struggled to contain himself. They hadn't even done anything physically strenuous, yet sweat already dotted his temples. He hoped Edith didn't hear him gulp down the sticky saliva making his mouth dry and his teeth hungry for her skin.

<I really think Killian is more my type than Cliff.>

He had never been preferred over his brother before. He was either Cliff's equal or he had fallen behind at some point. Killian knew his father would never overlook Cliff and name him heir of the dukedom instead. He also knew that it was pointless to think that he could ever win Rhyse away from Cliff. There was no world wherein Killian got what Cliff desired.

Killian didn't need to fight for Edith though. She was all his, and she preferred it that way. He wanted to make sure she would always choose him over his brother.

As he stared down at her, Edith melted at Killian's soft, flushed face. His tight voice rattled in her head; otherwise empty due to her brain traveling along with her fingers across Killian's exposed stomach. His hand giving her the guided tour. Happy? she thought, I could spend the rest of my life just touching this man's waist, stomach, arms, and chest...

Suddenly, she realized he had asked her a question that she didn't answer. Blushing harder, she focused on her hand traveling back up to his left pectoral. She was acutely aware of what she had been doing, and how humiliating it was that he had read her diary and then called her out on what she wrote via... this! She couldn't look at him. Not into those soft, pleading, lost eyes.

She tried to ignore the quivering in her voice as she answered. “Huh? Oh... I-I...”

Killian used his right hand to continue directing Edith's fingers as they skated across his chest. Meanwhile, his left hand found her ankle and started venturing its way up her leg, pushing up the skirt of her nightgown slightly as he did. His nails dug tantalizingly into the back of her calf just below her knee.

“Yes...” Edith breathed, finally answering Killian. Yes! Good Power Almighty, yes! In both this life and her previous one, she had never been more happy. She wanted this to go on endlessly.

Screw restraint. Edith's breathy “yes” was all Killian needed. That single word was filled with tension begging to be released. It broke Killian's willpower. He needed her now. His hand snaked from outside her gown to under it, feeling the silky lines of her bare legs. A fever raced through him and his groin twitched.

Like a taught fishing line, Killian's eyes darted to the nape of Edith's neck. That obscene lure that snagged him their wedding night. With an invisible yank of the line, Killian's lips crashed into her neck.

Edith gasped and twitched at the touch, which just made Killian linger there all the more. His teeth gently scraped across her collarbone and his lips brushed against her skin in phantom kisses. Each inch his mouth crawled caused her to squirm and gasp again.

This was a fun game. He wondered how many times he could make her quiver. Was it infinite? Would she eventually numb to his touch? Could he turn that gasp into a squeak or a moan?

I can't believe I find Edith Rigelhof adorable...

Her chest heaved in shaky breaths against his bare chest, and his heart raced knowing how undone he was making his fiery bride. His hand crept higher up her thigh, his forearm pushing the skirt of her nightgown up and over her knee. All of his slow, methodical, gentle touches made her shift and squirm, and it excited him all the more.

“K-Killian!” she gasped as her leg twitched against his touch.

There must be something wrong with me, Killian mentally berated himself as he shifted his weight forward, creaking the bed again.

Then it happened. Edith groaned. It was strained, like she was fighting against letting the lewd sound escape her lips. It was soft and deep and rumbled out of her chest.

Killian ripped his arms out of his sleeves and tossed his shirt to the floor. He then crashed right back into Edith, concentrating on her right collarbone this time. His hand reaching her bare hip as he rested more of his weight against her.

Edith's mind went blank. She knew she needed to keep her wits about her. She needed to strategize. She had to deduce how this act would be twisted by the story to keep the plot on track. Prepare herself. Find a way to at least lessen the blow.

Instead, her mind was filled with Killian's lips on her skin and his hand on her hip; wordlessly instructing her to strip. She was more than happy to comply.

Shifting her weight, Edith slid the back of her nightgown up to her waist so she was no longer sitting on the skirt. Lightning shot through her as her fingers entangled briefly with Killian's. She then squeaked out his name as his hand followed hers and he caressed her ass.

“What's wrong?” Killian roguishly chuckled into Edith's ear before nibbling on it. “No final words for me tonight?”

He was right. It was mortifying for her to be his putty like this. She needed to take charge. Just as she had always done with him. She had never allowed him the upper hand before. Every time he had pushed her she would push right back.

First, she needed to regain her bearings.

Edith arched her head to try to pull away from Killian's insatiable mouth. It backfired and instead left more skin for him to explore, making her squeak with surprise. Her nails scraped across the sheets, and she gathered whatever loose cloth she could into her tightening grip. Her toes curled. Her stomach flipped. She had failed. She didn't want Killian's lips to ever leave her skin. She panted his name once more as she submitted to him.

Shifting his weight to better balance himself, Killian kept his left hand exploring Edith's leg and hip. His right hand then traced its way up her spine, searching for the tie to her nightgown. Upon feeling the soft ribbon tail, he tugged. Her gown loosened. The neckline instantly drooped and slid off her right shoulder, granting Killian more real estate to traverse. As his lips and left hand continued their private expeditions, Killian's right hand traveled back down Edith's spine, making her shiver at his touch.

His middle finger caught the buttons along the ribbon at Edith's waist. It was a bit more work to slide them back through their restrictive loops than he expected. Despite normally being a very dexterous person, Killian was clumsy with his unbuttoning, and he growled his frustration about it into Edith's shoulder. Gasping, Edith grabbed the back of his head and held him against her skin. Her hips shifted in his grasp as well. Her left leg pushing against his right, spreading herself more for him.

Killian's chest tightened. His nails pressed against her hip. He slid his left leg over, shifting her leg as well. A new fragrance wafted into the room. It made his head spin and his heart race. Cradling the back of Edith's head, Killian broke from her grasp and collided with her lips.

Running on an autopilot she didn't even realize she had, Edith massaged Killian's lips with her own, demonstrating the proper way their mouths should dance. Her tongue gently tapped against his lower lip. He instantly granted her entry, and she gingerly ventured into his mouth. He greedily pushed back, nearly choking her.

She pulled back with a gag, and Killian instantly stilled. Heat billowed off of them both as they stared each other down, studying their partner for their next move. Cradling each side of his face, Edith gently pulled him down to her. She gave him a cautious, closed-mouth kiss. He allowed her to set the pace, so she tested the waters with her tongue again. His lips parted hungrily and welcomed her inside. She gently pushed against his tongue before trying to wrap her own around his. Understanding, Killian responded in kind. Softly this time. He let her take the lead as his mind instead focused on her buttons again.

Edith rested her head against the bed, and pulled Killian down with her. She left her back arched for his hands to undo her buttons. The new angle helped him, and they unfastened all the easier. Each time she felt her nightgown loosen a bit more around her waist, Edith ran her nails across Killian's back. Finally, the third button was released.

Realizing his task was done, Killian sharply inhaled Edith's scent. Pulling away from her mouth, he slowly let his breath back out with a ravenous sigh. His hands roamed her bare legs. Her hands explored his back. His heart pounded in his ears. He couldn't believe the next step he was about to take. There would be no undoing this night. He would never be able to pretend it didn't happen.

“Killian?”

Her voice was too gentle. Too breathy. Her eyes were too wide and pleading. Her hair looked too enticing sprawled out behind her on his bed. Her skin was too soft. Too warm. Too welcoming.

“Tell me what you want, Edith.”

“I--” She studied him. This was her out. She could escape before this whole thing went any further. They'd regret this in the morning. She knew that much. At least, Killian would regret it the moment his lust was satiated. She just needed to tell him no, and he'd probably let her leave.

She couldn't deny what she wanted though. The weight of his body pressed against hers was too sweet. The slight roughness of his swordsman-calloused fingers sent electricity through her. Her body was feverish and her mouth was dry and starving. She'd break if they stopped now.

“I want you, Killian,” she whispered.

That puckish smirk returned, along with a glint in his eyes.

“What do you want from me?”

“Whatever you are willing to give.”

“What if I already did that?”

Edith's face fell. Of course he was just teasing her, playing with her. Her face burned with embarrassment and desire. She curled in on herself, and nibbled her thumbnail to try to release some tension.

“Do you wish for me to leave then?”

Killian's stomach flipped as Edith looked up at him with a little pout. Watching her bite down on her fingernail made him instantly miss her mouth. He wanted to hear her pant again; moan again; to gasp out his name again. He would never sleep again if he didn't know those sounds by heart.

He leaned in so his lips were tantalizingly close to hers. “I wish for you to tell me specifically what it is that you want from me.”

Her gasping breaths tickled his lips. Edith's mind raced for the right answer. She knew this was a test of some sort. Her brain was too full of lewd thoughts though. Now wasn't the time for strategy. Before she could finish calculating, her mouth blurted out, “I want to feel you.” Her eyes darted towards his waist before blinking back to match his gaze. “All of you.”

Killian's crotch twitched. In an instant, his tongue was in Edith's mouth again, and his hand was tangled up in her hair. His free hand scrambled for the bottom hem of her nightgown, and he was startled to find her hand already pulling it up for him.

They broke away from each other, and he hurriedly peeled her gown up and over her head. He didn't look at her skin as it was exposed. Instead, his eyes followed the cloth as it slid up her body and through her long, thick hair before it dropped to the floor. When he turned back to his bride she sheepishly had her arms over her chest and her knees pressed against his leg still wedged between them.

Could Edith Rigelhof be shy about her body?

With a tenderness Killian didn't understand, he brushed his fingers against her exposed collarbone. He then played with her shoulder for a second, drawing a few circles and causing Edith to shiver at his touch. He then traced her arm down to her elbow, and then across to her wrist. His hand never ventured towards her breasts, instead concentrating on the goosebumps growing on his wife's arms.

Edith squirmed beneath him. Her breath quaked in anticipation. She fought the urge to just grab him and do whatever she needed to satisfy herself. She felt so close to the brink as it was already, it wouldn't take long.

What is he doing? she thought as Killian's feather-light touch skated across her skin. Why is he so--? It kept her a second to realize the word she was looking for was sensual.

She was still nervous about letting him fully see her. True, he had watched her in the tub their wedding night, but she was able to partially cover up, and the rose water obscured his view slightly. Killian's room was dark, but this was still different. He could destroy her at any second.

She didn't take her eyes off his face from the moment her nightgown was tossed to the floor. That fox-like mischievous hunger he first had when he caught her in his room was gone. As his hand traced her arm his eyes had a soft concentration to them. He focused on exploring every inch of her skin with genuine curiosity. His upper teeth brushed his lower lip, as if fighting against biting it. He gently pressed his knee against her bare crotch, and Edith resisted grinding against it.

Why isn't he simply taking me?

Then Edith remembered how new Killian was to all of this. As flustered as she might be, she still had some experience in her previous life. Killian didn't. When his hand reached her wrist she relented to his touch and let him pull her arm away with ease. With her free hand, she cradled his face and brushed his cheek with her thumb.

“Edith.” He whispered her name. He had no clue why. It was like a prayer. Like a confirmation that he wasn't actually asleep. She was there. She was waiting for him. She was gorgeous.

He started at the nape of her neck, then kissed down to her cleavage. He tasted the faint salt pooling along her skin. He felt her chest shiver at his touch. He focused on her soft panting. Her breasts were so velvety. He never imagined how pillowy they actually were. As his lips and tongue explored her chest Edith moaned again.

“Killian--” She sharply inhaled as he switched to the other breast. “Please.” She whimpered slightly, but held his head in place.

Hearing her plead with him awakened the animal instincts in him once more. In a flash, his pants were off and on the floor. He then grabbed behind each of her knees and angled her so he was pressed against her soft flesh. She gasped at him simply knocking on her door. Her heat engulfed him. Juices already welcomed him.

“Do it again,” he growled. It wasn't malicious. He meant to demand this of her, but his voice came out wanting.

“Hmm?”

“Plead.” He hoped she didn't hear the pleading in his own voice.

Edith's nails dug deliciously into Killian's upper arms as she weakly tugged on them. She looked up at him with her large, saucer-wide eyes, her eyebrows pinched in yearning. “Please,” she whimpered. “Keep going. Don't stop.”

Killian's crotch twitched again in response, and he thrust forward, causing Edith to cry out. His angle was off and he instantly knocked into bone.

Edith winced, but truly didn't want him to stop. She pulled his hands down to her hips. Then laced her legs around his waist, holding him in place so he couldn't retreat. She then shifted her hips and arched her back. As she readjusted around Killian he rubbed against her clit and she cooed.

“Are you okay?”

Edith blinked up at him.

Did he seriously ask me that?

She nodded. “Slow. Please?”

He complied. At an achingly slow pace, he slid out of her until just his tip remained inside. He then slid back in just as slowly, allowing Edith to shift and readjust his angle as he crept back into her. He watched every inch of her shifting body and blushing face.

“Like this?”

Edith whimpered out an affirmative as she bit her lip.

Killian gave her a couple more slow thrusts to memorize the proper angle. He felt like he was going to burst at this pace though. His whole body vibrated as he ached to build up the pressure faster.

“I can't keep going this--”

“Faster,” she interrupted. “Please.”

He gladly complied. Noting the angle he needed to be in, he shifted them both so he could thrust his hips faster. Edith cried out once more, and Killian instantly paused, nervous that he hurt her again.

“No. Please. Keep going,” she panted. “Like that. Please.”

He did as his wife asked of him, causing her to squeak and moan some more. It was becoming Killian's new favorite sound.

“Killian.”

No. Hearing her pant out his name like that. That was his new favorite sound.

He leaned in and kissed her neck and along her jaw. She shuddered at his touch and ran her fingers through his hair.

Suna had boyfriends in her past life. She had slept with them before. It wasn't terribly frequent, but she wasn't inexperienced.

Nothing felt as good as Edith felt in that moment, though. Her body was feverish. Tension was knotting in her stomach. Her mind grew foggy. Her skin tingled. Killian's body was the exact weight to counter the pressure building inside her.

Maybe it was the learned vigilance of a swordsman. Maybe it was because Killian was a virgin. Maybe it was because he was exploring and experimenting. Maybe it was because he was subtly looking to Edith for direction while pretending he was still in charge himself. But Edith had never known a man so attentive. Every changed note of her moans told him where to press. Every shift in her breath directed him where to kiss. Every mew that escaped her lips informed him of how fast he should be going. A few sharp gasps instructed Killian on where to focus while inside her.

“Killian,” she panted again. She was cresting the hill. Her whole body felt so tight. She didn't realize that sex could feel so amazing. She wanted more. She didn't want Killian to ever let her go.

His back was clammy against her greedy hands. The sweat from his chest mixed with hers. His primal grunts and growls only made her body heat up faster. His face remained buried in her neck and chest.

“Edith,” he gasped, causing her heart to skip. She didn't want to admit until that very moment that she had been wondering if he was just picturing her as Rhyse. That he was ignoring who he was actually sleeping with. That he was using her as little more than a sex doll stand-in for his true love.

“Edith, moan again for me.”

He quickened his pace again. One hand anchored him to the bed. The other wrapped around Edith's back and latched him to her. He rocked his hips, trying to remember to grind against her slightly as he thrust into her.

Edith's chest tightened as her breath became harder and harder to catch. She bit her lip and groaned against the tension. She whimpered with longing and pinched her eyes tightly closed. The pressure in her crotch increased, but the one against her stomach lessened.

“Edith.” Killian's voice shook as he struggled with his own tight chest. “Look at me.”

She did. She released a breath she forgot she was holding, and opened her eyes. He wasn't pressed against her anymore. He had pulled far enough away to look at her; watch her face again. He grunted as he quickened his pace once more, slamming hard into her. She didn't care. She needed that extra pressure as well. She winced, trying to trap a scream inside her throat.

“Don't.” He brushed her lip with his thumb. “Don't hold it in.”

He grunted and gasped as he climbed to his own climax. With an animalistic drive, he did whatever he needed to finish. He barely slid out of her, keeping the pressure of her vagina firmly wrapped around him.

Every inch of Edith felt too weak to do anything but let him use her. Still, she wanted to repay him for his efforts, so she tightened herself best she could. She instantly felt him pulse against her, and she screamed out. She didn't try to muffle herself this time.

Her constricting around him, followed by her crying out in ecstasy was the final push for him. Loudly moaning himself, he released all of that built up tension inside his wife. She responded in kind. Her back arched and she rocked onto the back of her head. Every muscle within her tightened like a rope about to snap. Her toes curled and her nails dug into his back. He felt her hips shift and her walls pulse around him; squeezing him dry. She cried out with a high pitched scream of pleasure, and her legs shook against his hips.

Both spent, Killian collapsed against Edith's chest. Her legs flopped to either side of him, and she melted under his weight. They both struggled to catch their breaths, but Edith had little problem running her hand through Killian's hair, petting him.

Killian was the first to even out this breathing. Gently, he lifted himself off of Edith and brushed his sweaty hair out of his face. Her hand rested against his chest, not ready to separate from him.

“Edith,” he whispered once more.

She couldn't respond. Her own breath was still too shaky.

Tenderly, he untangled himself from between her legs.

Here it comes. Edith looked away from him. He was satiated now. His senses would soon come back, and he would throw her out of his room; instantly regretful for his lapse in judgment.

Killian took her in. He watched her start to curl into herself again, her eyes tightly closed against him.

Is she nervous that I will want to go again before she recovers?

Killian brushed her hair out of her eyes and kissed her forehead.

Edith's eyes shot open, and she turned to face him. “Killian?”

He didn't say anything. He simply snuggled next to her and rested his head on her shoulder. He then pulled the sheets up around them.

“You should stay here tonight.”

She blushed as she nodded, then rolled onto her side. Killian's arm snaked around her waist and pulled her close to him. His body heat wrapped around her was soothing, and it wasn't long before she fell asleep in his arms.

Killian felt Edith's breathing slow as she dozed off. Her body relaxed against him. Her scent filled his nostrils, making him feel a little dizzy. He didn't hate the sensation though. Despite common sense screaming otherwise, he didn't hate anything that happened that evening.

He had been relieved to find out that Edith had woken up earlier that day, but didn't know how to approach her. He had feared that he was part of the reason she had fainted in the first place. He had assumed that she no longer wanted anything to do with him.

His heart had danced when he caught her in his room. She looked so earnest and innocent it had overwhelmed him.

Then he was inside her, and he never imagined a feeling so amazing. It took all of the willpower he had earned from years of training to not climax after that first corrected thrust. He couldn't let that opportunity go by so quickly. He focused on Edith instead of his own euphoria as best as he could to make it last.

Besides, after everything, didn't he owe Edith that much?

Killian kissed the crown of her head and pulled her in tighter.

What am I going to do with you, Edith Rudwick?

He buried his face into her plush locks, and fell into one of the deepest and most restful sleeps he remembered having.

[another-danganronpa-fan]

What if the Ride the Cyclone choir was in a Danganronpa killing game?

This is my guess on what they'd be like, their talent, their deaths or if they survive, etc. Name: Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg

Ultimate: Senator

What they would do: Ocean would definitely be the one to take charge, like the Ishimaru of the game, but her speeches would be similar to the ones she had in the play.

If she were to be a victim, she'd probably be a victim to someone who's tired of her self-centred views. Or Noel.

If she were to kill someone, the motive would have to be really tempting. Or she might crack under the pressure of the killing game.

If she were to be a traitor or a MM, it would probably be because she wanted to use a twisted way to prove that what the world needs is people like her, and only people who work hard and are ambitious should be able to live.

If she were to be a survivor, she'd definitely see how her worldview was wrong in the end, and get the development she got in the play.

Misc. Things:

I see her participating a lot in the trials.

I can't really imagine her dying early...

Name: Constance Blackwood

Ultimate: Baker

What they would do: Constance would cheer everyone up with treats while Ocean does her speeches. She'd try and get along with everyone. She definitely wouldn't want any deaths.

If she were to be killed, I think someone would've taken advantage of her kindness...

If she were to be a killer, she'd be fed up with everyone acting as if being nice was all that there was to her. She'd snap just like she did in the musical. Or it might've been a motive that put her loved ones in danger.

If she were to be a traitor or a MM, it'd kinda be like Sakura, where she was practically manipulated into working for the MM or running the killing game. That, or she wants to prove through the killing game that she's more than just the "Nicest girl in town".

If she were to live, I think she'd have gotten through with her positivity and acceptance of being a nice girl, while proving to her peers that she's more than her title.

Misc. Things:

She gives me survivor vibes, but no one can say for sure.

She'll probably let her hair down in the end just like in the musical.

Name: Noel Gruber

Ultimate: Poet

What they would do: Definitely faints dramatically whenever someone dies. He might try and sacrifice himself for his friends. Passes out at the first execution.

If he were to be a victim, he'd probably have set up a death for himself. Either like a Nagito-style case or he worked with his killer so he could die in a tragic way instead of just getting a knife to the gut.

If he were to kill, I think he'd probably have tried to set up a heartbreaking murder. He would want his case to be like one of those tragedies he loves so much.

Or, the motive could've been tempting. I'm not sure what motive would tempt Noel, though. Maybe one that puts his loved ones in danger? He might also be channeling his inner Monique, and stab someone 10 times in the back.

If he were to be a traitor or a MM, he'd want this to be like a story. Like a French New Wave cinema-style story. People sobbing as their loved ones bleed out. Noel himself getting killed or being driven to kill, or seeing his loved ones die, it would be exhilarating for traitor/MM Noel. Or his loved ones are in danger, so he gets roped into the killing game. I don't think Noel would actually have the heart to do this for his own twisted enjoyment, but he might...

If he were to survive the killing game, he might write poems to honour the dead students. He might also realize maybe a tragedy wasn't what he wanted, after all.

Misc. Things:

Either he or Constance would slap Ocean over one of her rants.

Name: Mischa Bachinski

Ultimate: Rapper

What they would do: He'd also cry at the dead bodies, especially if his friends were to die. He'd try and kill the host of the killing game at the beginning. He'd be trying to text Talia through his MonoPad.

If he were to be a victim, he'd get killed from being reckless. Either provoking someone to the point of them snapping, or getting killed in self defence. Another possibility is him choosing to sacrifice himself. If he were to kill, the motive would have to endanger his loved ones, or have something to do with Talia. Maybe the motive shows that Talia was hurt, or in danger. Maybe his friends in the killing game would get hurt. Or his mom back in Ukraine would only be saved if he chose to kill, the list goes on...

If he were to be a traitor/MM, he'd more likely to be have been coerced into it. He might be trying to save his mom, who he can't physically be with. He might be trying to protect his friends from worse things. Talia might be in danger. Or he might want to get revenge on the world. He's tired of constantly getting isolated. He's tired of his adoptive parents keeping him in the basement and showing him no love.

If he were to be a survivor, he'd dedicate his raps to his dead classmates. He'd mourn every single one of them, and at the end, he's especially respectful to them.

Misc. Things:

He might try and stop an execution like Fuyuhiko.

Definitely breaks down at least once.

Name: Richard "Ricky" Potts

Ultimate: Writer

What they would do: He'd be using an AAC device to talk, or using sign for the people that know it. He's good at comforting people. He tries to participate as much as he can in the trials. Since he can't walk, people tend to think of him as an easy target. But he might have people with him at all times, and Ricky is canonly wise. Since he can't talk without his device or signing, he would pay more attention to things like if there's something off about a body, or a case, or something.

If he were to be killed, it'd be someone taking advantage of him, and outsmarting him. It's also possible that he would sacrifice himself for the group. He concedes in the musical and he says he knew he didn't belong in this world. He probably wouldn't try and defend himself if someone were to attempt to take his life unless there was something important he needed to do.

If he were to kill someone, he'd need an accomplice if the death is gonna be from external injuries. Or he would poison someone, or set up a trap. His motive would be protecting loved ones.

If he were to be the traitor/MM, he'd be tired of people constantly speaking over him and him getting ignored all the time. He'd want people to see him as more than just the "disabled kid". More than just the kid who can't talk nor walk. He'd see them all as the "Count Dogulus" in the story. It would probably be because he wants to finally be treated normally, and in a killing game where everyone is helpless from the outside world at first, he'd be taken seriously.

If he were to live, he'd add his friends to his Zolar universe. He'd be surprised he made it out in the first place, and decide to live the rest of his life to the fullest.

Misc. Things:

Good at calming others down after a death.

Might not even bother locking his door, but who knows...

Name: Jane Doe (Penny Lamb at the end)

Ultimate: ??? (Penny Lamb as the Ultimate Drug Trafficker)

What they would do: As like in the musical, Jane would start out as a complete mystery, having no idea who she is and not being able to remember her talent. This time, the students all just assume it's because she got knocked out a little too hard at the entrance, and names her Jane Doe for the time being. She won't have a doll for a head, but she'll still have the appearance of when she did in the musical. Probably at the end, either the host, the mastermind, or the traitor would reveal that she is Penny Lamb. They'd show some pictures of her, but everyone would be confused on why they look so different. Maybe some Hajime-type stuff happened where they got brain surgery to fuse their personalities together, or maybe they'll get the surgery after either surviving the game or dying in the game. Whether Jane was Penny to begin with, or if she became her after, is up for debate, just like the musical. If she were to be a victim, she might have her head cut off...but in all seriousness, someone might find her suspicious and assume she's the one behind the game. They might trick her, as they believe she's gullible due to the memory loss.

If she were to be a blackened, it might be out of desperation for an identity, or out of despair over her amnesia. She's unlikely to kill, but if she does, she goes all out.

If she were to be a traitor or MM, it would probably be that for some reason, her identity got fused with Penny's, or she became Penny. Maybe she lost her memories long before the killing game, maybe she got into a roller coaster accident, like in the musical, survived, but got amnesia. She only survived because she was fused with Penny, and in order to regain the memories of her, and not just Penny, she maybe...puts herself and some classmates in a life-or-death situation to see if she can trigger the memories?

If she were to survive, she'd accept her identity she had all along or her new identity as Penny Lamb. Or she might finally get some answers.

Misc. Things:

She doesn't show a lot of emotion, even through deaths. She's a lot like her canon self here.

[modzilla07]

Jade Shadows update/story impressions

Story aside I actually really like the new gamemode it's like Hijack but fun

As for the story my thoughts are "That's all?"

Story spoilers below

The story's pretty short(despite the warning it took me like 10min) and I believe it's to it's detriment.

When Jade faded I was flabbergasted as I didn't expect her to supposedly be one of the focuses and not get more than a single line or scene with her as the focus before dead wife syndrome hit her.

Also I feel like it does muddy the waters on Stalker's previous motivations as I assumed he hated the Tenno for his misplaced loyalty, but it's clarified here he hates warframes specifically. I feel like the parallel he had with the Tenno in the Second Dream makes less sense now. The only way I can justify it is he couldn't bring himself to hate children for reasons he only now understands.

Jade as a concept raises logistical questions for me than anything. The way warframes are made from what I gather are people are Infested by technocyte and then further augmented with tech then armor/skin is slapped on, but the baby isn't an infested fleshball it has warframe skin. Did the Orokin warfame-ize the baby separately they did make her stomach see-through after all? But if that's the case they would have accounted for that and had an equivalent power source for her so why is she running out now? Was it in a prior fetal stage before and she's been using her power to gestate it further over the hundreds of years? Shouldn't she have had more than enough energy to stay alive once the Operator transfered into her and directly had a link to more power? She's a supporter whose abilities can heal herself. Wait we were transferenced in her when she dissolved did we feel ourselves disintegrate?

Is Sister Xeto dead? She mentioned what happens if you fail and she let Stalkeeboy go. I expected her to be in charge of the new game mode to make up for it but it's just Parvos.

--Side bars--

Love how Stalker got his shit rocked so hard by a default Excalibur with Skana his pregnant wife came out of hiding to save his ass

Love how much Hunhow(who saw his own wife's corpse get turned into a superweapon after his kids get mind controlled only for one to die) badgers Stalker into just asking for goddamn help

"Doesn't fight like a Tenno" Bitch this is exactly how I play Ash or Loki

BIRTH MINIGAME

"...My void barren womb." Not the trans character we expected but good for you grandpa

"I AM STILL THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE HUNHOW. Anyways here a new warframe, access into my inner sanctum where my roommate just moved out, and your allowance :)"

Acolytes trying to take care of Orion/Sirius sitcom when

If Xeto wasn't killed and fired instead is there gonna be a Tenno-Hunter baby fanclub?

[tenebris-lux]

“That night I had come to the fatal cross-roads. Had I approached my discovery in a more noble spirit, had I risked the experiment while under the empire of generous or pious aspirations, all must have been otherwise, and from these agonies of death and birth, I had come forth an angel instead of a fiend. The drug had no discriminating action; it was neither diabolical nor divine; it but shook the doors of the prison-house of my disposition; and like the captives of Philippi, that which stood within ran forth. At that time my virtue slumbered; my evil, kept awake by ambition, was alert and swift to seize the occasion; and the thing that was projected was Edward Hyde. Hence, although I had now two characters as well as two appearances, one was wholly evil, and the other was still the old Henry Jekyll, that incongruous compound of whose reformation and improvement I had already learned to despair. The movement was thus wholly toward the worse.”

~ The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson

I still think this implies that, in a very literal sense, someone else taking the drug might not necessarily reveal their “inner evil.”

You know who I think would “come forth an angel instead of a fiend?”

Gabriel Utterson.

True, it would depend on the circumstances of taking the potion—his state of mind and motivation, for example. And, as he is human, he is not perfect. But the book shows that he’s definitely a good person. He shows concern for his friends, and tries to help one of them. He’s sincere in his actions and speech. I won’t go so far as to say he has no evil bone in his body, but only because of my personal beliefs that no one is perfect. But his actions and motivations were all for the good.

Still—I can’t quite imagine what difference the potion would have on him.

“… That which stood within ran forth. At that time my virtue slumbered; my evil, kept awake by ambition, was alert and swift to seize the occasion…”

Whatever evil would be in Mr. Utterson, during the story at least, it was slumbering in him.

The very first paragraph that introduces him seems to portray him as a typically impartial kind of guy. Yeah, he’s curious about what it’s like to get completely drunk and cut loose, but not enough to actually try it. (If he drank the potion while dwelling on that, then yeah, the evil would come forth.) Also…

“But he had an approved tolerance for others; sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and in any extremity inclined to help rather than to reprove. ‘I incline to Cain’s heresy,’ he used to say, quaintly; ‘I let my brother go to the devil in his own way.’”

Which means he generally minded his own business. If he felt disapproval at all, he wouldn’t voice it.

In the case of Henry Jekyll, he did interfere a bit. He wanted to know what kind of hold this Hyde guy had over his friend. This included staying out late trying to catch Hyde, and trying to talk to Jekyll, even pressuring him to talk to him. He let it drop when Jekyll told him to, however. Could be part of that impartial nature of his, or more likely courtesy. It’s hard to make your friends uncomfortable and keep the pressure on, even if it’s in their best interest.

His saying that he’d look after Hyde should anything happen to Jekyll also shows how much Utterson cares for Jekyll. How many people would agree to look after their friend’s friend, one whom you’re sure is BAD NEWS and creeps you the fuck out?

So anyway… if Gabriel John Utterson were to take the potion, I believe there’s a good chance his evil side would not be the one to manifest.

[warpedlegacywrites]

Happy Friday! From the platonic intimacy prompts - sender suddenly hugs the receiver for Theresa and whoever among her inner circle might be most surprised by a hug!

Happy @dadrunkwriting! This ended up being super cute, so thank you for this! Theresa explains hugs to Cole, though not in so many words.

“Inquisitor.”  “Hello Cole.” Theresa is hardly surprised anymore when the spirit makes his sudden appearances, merely considers herself grateful that he’s learned not to do so during inopportune moments. The last time he popped in on Bull and Dorian, she’d been saddled for days with his endless questions about aspects of her friends’ sex lives that were, frankly, none of her business.  This time, the only thing he’s interrupting is her nightly ritual of reading the day’s reports. And that’s a task she’s always more than happy to be distracted from. So it’s without malice or annoyance that she glances up from the letters in her lap to meet his questioning eyes.  “How can someone be starved of touch?”  Ah. “You’ve been listening to my thoughts again, have you?” “You said I could.”  She smiles at the wary defensiveness in his voice, as though he expects her to retract her permission at any moment. “That I did. Don’t worry, you’ve done nothing wrong.”  Truthfully, she considered it good practice for herself, to remember to clear her mind before sleep. It didn’t prevent all her nightmares, but it did help her sleep longer and deeper. And she had more motivation to have a clear mind if she knew someone was listening in. And when Cole still managed to slip through, well, better her to answer probing questions than her other companions.  “We mortals are social creatures,” she explains for his benefit. “If we go too long without physical contact with others, our bodies begin to miss it just as much as our hearts.”  “I understand, I think.” He tilts his head to look down at his palms, brushing his fingers over one with a thoughtful frown. “You become demons. But you stay yourselves.”  Theresa blinks, then smiles. “Yes, it’s a bit like that. Everyone will react differently, and it will take longer for some than others. Some may never feel it, or will feel it less. And some…”  “Some feel it more.” He looks up, glassy eyes seeing through her. “You don’t let yourself feel it, because you’re afraid of missing it too much. Afraid it will matter more than the light that burns you.”  Theresa grits her teeth and blinks back tears, forcing a smile. A face comes to mind, the one she’d been picturing while reading his words, when Cole had interrupted her. She’s holding his words in her lap still. Blunt and honest script, to match his language.  “Golden words, golden eyes, golden hair,” Cole intones. “He shines, and you’re afraid to dull him.”  “Yes,” she whispers, harsher than intended.  “Why is it in your heart?” he asks, and in her confusion, her heartache is temporarily forgotten.  “Why is what in my heart?”  “The ache. If you’re starved, shouldn’t it be in your stomach?” He lays a hand over his own stomach, frowning down at it as though it will explain things for him.  Theresa laughs. A sudden surge of affection pulls her to her feet, and in a flash she’s wrapped her arms around Cole’s shoulders and hugging him fiercely. He makes a surprised exclamation, and she releases him, just in case. But he’s not upset. In fact, he’s smiling.  “Is that what you miss?” he asks, almost shyly.  “Yes.”  “I think I understand better, now.”  She returns his smile. “I’m happy to help.”  “Me too.”

[zootzbootz]

ykw fuck it. putting my mudkip ramble here rrghhhhh

cw for murder (fictional) also spoilers for typomaniac and rare candy below the cut

starting off with his speech around the beginning of typomaniac. or inner monologue rather.

"Motivation. There's that word I've come to love so much during my existence. And a word I probably don't even understand. Look at this guy. Trying to sympathize me with his life story. What will motivate me to care? Key words, connections? I dunno. I'm not even sure why I'm here in the first place. But it'll never get a word out of me. Not to talk is not the smartest thing to do, they could jump to conclusions, and then haul me off to prison. Or send me to the chair! Whatever, I don't mind. What motivates me not to talk? I don't know, what motivates the Pokemon around me to talk? I'm not listening to him, HE even knows that. What motivates everyone here to try to get an answer?! But, what really motivates someone not to do anything at all? Is it the food they eat? The crap they watch? The job they work? The life condition they're in? Sometimes, that's not even the case, if you ask them yourself, they probably won't even know the answer! Hey, I don't even know what motivates me to do what I do. You see, I'm a scientist. I dissect Pokemon to see how their bodies work. Is it the fascination I get to see how everything is put together? Or is it the thrill killing these Pokemon, because they're usually mostly the ones I hate. It's okay, it's all for the research!

Look at this, got this guy's element of power! The power we aren't even allowed to FRICKEN use because it's against the law! What motivates one to follow the law? You can get away with it, if you're smart enough, like me. But like I said, I don't even know why I'm here. It isn't about the hundreds of Pokemon I dismembered. NOPE. What, do you think I'm lying to you? What would motivate me to lie to you?! come up with your OWN conclusions! But what would motivate you to care? You don't know me personally. Motivation is just a part of our lives. It helps us to do stuff, and it helps us to NOT to do stuff. Looking around me, I can see a lot of Pokemon lack motivation.

Except for one... Which is the reason why I bring up these sort of questions, and it's the reason why I bring up this story”

during this monologue he claims not to know what motivates him to do what he did- to kill those pokemon. but typomaniac *SHOWS* us his motivation. and rare candy further confirms it.

see, mudkip only has one friend. *one* , and he doesn't have parents either. he's around 12-13 and living completely on his own.

that one friend in question, being chespin. and it's incredibly obvious that chespin is somebody mudkip cares DEEPLY about. and possibly admires. as chespin is an incredibly positive and GENUINELY kind person. he *seems* annoying and clueless but it's shown multiple times as well as outright stated (by MUDKIP no less) that chespin is probably more intelligent and observant than most of them are.

meanwhile, mudkip himself seems to be.. rather pessimistic. he's typically quiet. doesn't tend to talk a lot outside of situations he deems necessary or when he's alone with chespin.

when fennekin comes into the picture- mudkip is INCREDIBLY jealous right off the bat. at first, I thought it was because he was afraid of his ONLY friend being taken away. finding someone better than him. but I firmly believe that's not the case. I feel like, honestly ... mudkip would have been just fine with fennekin being friends with chespin. or even being friends with fennekin himself had he managed to push past the jealousy. but that's not the reason he wanted her out of the picture. the REAL REASON was a fear he had- which was fennekin *hurting* chespin. physically, emotionally, mentally- it didn't matter. he's seen his best friend get BULLIED RELENTLESSLY by the majority of the other students at their school. save for a small select people. he's seen him get treated horribly. so of course his automatic assumption would be that he's getting used.

now.. skipping ahead a bit to rare candy. when mudkip is in prison. they're trying to make him talk- to get him to demonstrate how he's able to remove pokemon's elements while keeping them alive. dr. sylveon ends up threatening chespins life right in front of him- and keeping chespins life on the line becomes his ONLY motivation to give them the demonstration

and now.. here in lies mudkips exact motivation.

chespin was ALWAYS his motive.

he was the entire time.

even before mudkip was caught. it was always chespin. making sure he was safe, or at least alive- he was the only person mudkip feeled cared about him and the only person mudkip probably really cared about.

because even after learning mudkip was a killer. he STILL remained friends with him. he still visited him regularly in prison. he still showed him genuine kindness and compassion.

and I firmly believe him dissecting the pokemon was just something that came along with it. perhaps out of curiosity. or to give himself a more "interesting" or deeper motivation than just... trying to protect a friend.

he tried so HARD to keep chespin from getting hurt.

but it was mudkip himself who ended up hurting chespin more than anybody else did. (aside from Dr sylveon but like. tbh I'd argue what happened with chespin and mudkip would have hurt chespin MORE since they were FRIENDS.

and then after it's revealed chespin was the one who turned mudkip in. this fucking destroys him. his ONE friend. betraying him like this, especially since going to prison was his number one fear. the act in his eyes was unforgivable enough for him to outright tell dr. sylveon to make sure chespin sees him dying while being granted "freedom"

.

.

.

I'm normal about this series (lie)

[themattress]

The Infinity Saga (No, not THAT one)

It really do be like:

I love the Infinity arc of the manga, and even moreso its Crystal adaptation. In some ways it's darker and more intense than the preceding Black Moon arc, but in other ways it's the most shining case of hope and idealism in the series. Whereas in the Black Moon arc the darkness of the setting and within the characters was a major focus, this one is about the light within the darkness. It's shown through the conflict between the Inner Senshi and the Outer Senshi, the Inner Senshi's trip through the Infinity Labyrinth, Hotaru's relationship with Chibusa and the dichotomy between her, Sailor Saturn and Mistress 9, and of course the resolution to the final battle. The expanded lore around things such as the Three Talismans and the Holy Grail is great, I love all the merging of science and magic, and while Pharaoh 90 is a pretty boring Big Bad, the rest of the Death Busters are standouts who are almost on par with the Black Moon Clan in terms of villainous excellence. It's some of Naoko Takeuchi's best work.

The 90s anime's Infinity arc is a different beast altogether. I first must say that I feel it started on the wrong foot and should have had a much different framing for the anime formula than it did: one which had Infinity Academy as a location from the start, had the Witches 5 as rotating episodic villains selected for missions by Kaolinite and equipped with Daimons by Professor Tomoe, and more gradually paced out Hotaru and her story. But judging it on its own merits rather than what I wanted it to be, it's good....for 22 out of 38 episodes; the ones Sukehiro Tomita was head writer for. Once Yoji Enokido took over, things went south quickly, with Hotaru and all connected to her, a resurrected Kaolinite, the other Witches 5, Infinity Academy, Mistress 9, Pharaoh 90, and Sailor Pluto's belated time freeze-induced death crammed in and rushed without the breathing room to leave the impression that they should.

Among the arc's biggest draws, its depiction of Sailor Uranus and Sailor Neptune that put a far greater emphasis on their personalities and romance with each other, abruptly turned into one of its biggest flaws once Sailor Pluto rather nonsensically comes in to join them. Whereas before they had been morally gray and antagonistic but still likable and nobly motivated like in the manga, they suddenly turn into nigh sociopathic jerks who dislike the Inner Senshi and refuse to work with them because they hate their idealism and arrogantly consider themselves and their cynical edgelord methods of saving the world to be superior, turning what was a great story with a great message and resolution into a fight against a group of strawman Magical Girl genre haters. Until Stars, this was the anime at its worst.

....But I can't hate this series even with its bad second half, because God damn it, it has Professor Tomoe! The best Goddamn villain the anime ever had, who actually only got better in said second half! He's a radically different interpretation of the character from the source material, arguably going opposed to what said character's original purpose was. But not only did the series at least run with this opposing take from the beginning rather than adapt him faithfully only to swerve at the last minute, that take is just that good at being as funny, hammy and morally nuanced in addition to being creepy, competent and maniacal. Just...look at this guy! He steals every scene he's in and single-handedly picks up the slack of the other anime Death Busters. So if not for him alone, the anime's Infinity arc is recommended.

[sporticus1234]

So, I finally managed to read through what Trystan and Marguerite describe Astrid (I apologize that I have a lot to say and for that, I apologize but I love talking about this mystery since it's the only good thing to come from Choices in a long time)

I also managed to do a read-through of Lydea's description from Trystan and Marguerite, and Astrid was brought up as well when Trystan and Marguerite were describing Lydea...interesting...

Also, Gregor, Astrid's ex-boyfriend called her a certain nickname-Songbird. The only other mentions of a bird were back in Chapter 1, when Bird's name was highlighted as being the jewel thief and when the killer used a distinct Bird Call to signal that they were present, a sound Juliana was well acquainted with.

The only real motive I can find for Astrid is outright revenge. Looking back at Chapter 5, it really seems like no one in her family particularly likes her, nor does anyone seem to care for her antics. I mean, her ex-boyfriend dumped her and no one cared to console her. But Marguerite saying that she's not allowed to be mad at the Queen, so Lydea was the target makes me wonder...could that potentially mean that her and Juliana were seeing each other, and when the Queen arranged the marriage, did Astrid potentially get mad at Trystan and Juliana leading to her death? Was she upset that Juliana had to break off their courtship if they had one?

Another potential motive is that she actually wants the crown. Trystan mentions in Chapter 5 that when Lydea was promoted to Captain at the age of 22, it was through her own merit, not with the Queen's help. Looking at the other siblings, they all have some type of credit, infamous or not, to their names. Lydea is Captain of the Royal Guard. Sebastyan championed change with Juliana. Kaspar is a well-known jewel thief and obviously knows the inner circle given that he knew who Ricochet is. Marguerite has her own fashion house and is the ambassador to the US. I'm sure Vasili has his own credentials as well, same for Emika. But when it comes to Astrid...there's really nothing there. What if Astrid's way of reaching the crown was to get it by default by pushing the others out of the line? What if she wanted to have something to her name like everyone else to be taken seriously or respected by her family?

Juliana's note mentioned that the person who was harassing them seemed to be charming and special, but they're actually possessive, controlling, and positively delusional. The delusional part really seems to sum up Astrid since she thinks she's the main character of the story, yet no one cares about her.

Kaspar and Emika are still my number #01 suspects for this case, followed closely by the Duchess in the #02 spot, but Astrid seems to be flying more under the radar at this point in the story. It makes me wonder if there was something lurking beneath her ditzy, princess socialite presentation...

[spoonietimelordy]

OK I've finished watching Loki s2. I liked it, I think they really did a great job with the loom being a metaphore for the system. I was scared of where they were going with it but Loki going through all of the possible ways to safe the system to finally understand that the system was inherently a tool of destruction that should not be saved, was very well written. I have nothing to say about this, his arc is exactly what I wanted it to be and it was executed very well.

Now to the negative, because yeah, I have things I'm not very happy with. And of those things can be resumed to: the women's arcs have been absolutely glossed over. And I'm really disappointed.

First let's go with Sylvie: she was here more to be a symbole then to be her own character, she did not evolved in any way shape or form. To put it blankly, she did not have an arc this season. While she was also used as a reflection for Loki's inner conflicts in s1, she still had her own motivations and her own story. It wasn't the case this season, she was only here to be the anti-system symbole. And yes just a symbole of it because she did nothing this season except for being Loki's moral compass. I wanted more for her, she is an amazing character and I wanted her to build herself a life.

B15 now, to be honest it's not much different than for Sylvie. She did not have her own arc, she was here as a narrative device for Mobius' arc and that's pretty much it. She did not even learned her own name, she is still b15, like come on, Mobius got his life back.

Its more complicated for Renslayer. Because I feel like her story got cut because of irl stuff which impacted the whole MCU story line and she was caught into that mess. Since her character is connected to HWR, the fact that the MCU is going into an other direction mean that her story is falling short. But this take us back to the main issue of the women arcs being tight to the Men's ones.

To conclude, I really liked how Loki was both the hero and the villain of this season, his internal conflict having the power to either save everything or to destroy everything was an arc he needed to go through. I just wished the women of the show had individual stories that did not revolve around men.

@queen-of-meows