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luveline · 3 months

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(𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞) 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

Steve hears you wrong, thinks he’s your boyfriend, and begins to act accordingly. You try your best to go along with it until you can’t anymore. 3k, fem. requested here ♡

cw shy(ish)!reader, misunderstandings, steve being a huge sweetheart, fluff, hurt/comfort, bonus fluff scene

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The arcade is loud and brisk this evening, doors thrown open to allow for the constant ebb and flow of younglings, the machine music turned up to account for so many voices. You’re lost in a sea of rainbow flashing lights and the ticklish smell of sugar. Without Steve’s hand behind your shoulder, you’re pretty sure you would’ve gotten lost and trampled half an hour ago.

A candy necklace pinwheels past your heads like a torpedo, forcing you closer together, your shoulders tight with a flinch.

“We can leave,” Steve says immediately. He’s weirdly thoughtful. Before he asked you out you had no idea he thought so much about other people, but he’s always thinking about other people. You could argue he thinks a little too much, like you.

“I wanna see Max.”

“She has to be here somewhere.”

That theory proves less and less likely. Steve’s hand falls away from you, tugging through his hair in a marker of stress as you circle the Palace Arcade for the tenth time. “Maybe she quit?” you suggest.

Steve’s eyebrows pinch together as he gives the arcade another sweep. Max’s rough patch freaked him out, as it freaked you out, because ‘rough patch’ is a kind way to describe it. She could’ve got a whole lot worse; she was suffering, capital S. It’s nice to see her returning to society, but not if she isn’t actually settling in. That’s the whole reason you’re here.

Steve frowns at you worriedly.

“Who died?” asks a new voice.

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Max!” Steve cheers.

“That’s me,” Max says, looking at you both sceptically. Her ginger hair is pulled into two tight braids either side of her face, her cheeks flushed red. Mascara paints her usually pale lashes a darker brown, and a rosy tinted chapstick shines on her lips.

“Hey, the uniform looks good on you,” he says affectionately. “You look like a valued member of society.”

“A society in need of better labour laws. I’m pretty sure this is child abuse.” She rolls her eyes.

“Is it awful?” you ask.

“It’s fine. Better when your stupid friends aren’t here making themselves sick on candy like they’re nine years old,” she says pointedly to Steve. “Are you going to throw up too? You look–” she grimaces in place of insult.

“Who’s throwing up?” you ask.

“Dustin. He’s outside.”

Steve sighs and gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “I’ll be right back,” he says, squaring his expression. “Goddamn kids.”

He sounds like an old man, you think to yourself with a small smile. Disgruntled, he still goes to make sure everyone’s alright. He’s nice, even when that nice is begrudging and tiresome and plain gross sometimes.

“Why are you smiling at him like that?” Max asks.

You school your impression. “Like what?”

“Like you like him.”

You shake your head. “Tell me about work, Max. What’s it like here? Are they giving you your breaks?”

She drags you over to the counter to sit in the seat waiting behind. She glares at any kid who approaches, but besides that she seems in good spirits. The job isn’t hard, it’s just a job. She’d much rather be at home reading, but wouldn’t everyone? “And I get this sweet uniform,” she says, pointing at the embroidered icon on her shirt pocket. “What’s with you and Steve?”

“Nothing,” you say, though it’s something. You’re mortified to have been caught having feelings.

“Looks like something. Are you dating?”

“I mean, this is a date,” you say, almost whispering as heat floods your face. “But we’re not together.”

“He was touching you a lot.”

“Max, he’s really nice. He’s a really nice guy,” you say gently, “and we’re not together, but if he does ask me out eventually, maybe I’ll say yes.” You realise what you’re saying and attempt to backtrack —you do like Steve, but Max doesn’t need to know that. “It’s not like he’s my boyfriend,” you say strangely.

“Ew,” Max says with a laugh.

“Not ew,” you correct. You hadn’t meant it in a bad way, it’s—

“Not ew,” Steve says from behind you, his arm a heavy weight across your shoulder.

You look wide-eyed up at his face, surprised by his huge beaming smile, an intense loveliness about him as he gives you a half hug.

“What’s ew about that?” he asks you softly.

Oh, boy, you think.

As it turns out, being Steve’s girlfriend is kind of nice, but you aren’t ready.

From that afternoon at the Palace Arcade onward, he treats you like you’re made of gold. And it’s great, he’s so kind, he brings you flowers and takes you out for breakfast, where he pays the tab without any flourishes and talks to you as casually as always. You almost hope he hasn’t got it wrong at all, and that his soft tone a few days ago had been down to a brief overwhelming fondness. You’d get that. You have your moments with him, you’re falling for him, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re desperately in love, you’re sure, but then the waitress asks if you need anything else and he says, “Just a water for my girl,” and you realise you’re not getting off easy.

Dating is sort of like being good friends; you’d planned to spend the day together anyways. You enjoy his company. It’s clear he’s eager, optioning off the day’s agenda as you return to the car, the bottom of your face hidden in your bouquet.

“We could go to the movies,” he says, opening the passenger door, his smile seemingly permanent as you climb inside. “No science fiction, I promise.”

“I kind of like sci-fi.” Petals press fragrant to your top lip.

“Well, we don’t have to go to the Hawk. We could go into the city. I bet they’re playing any movie you wanna see.” He checks that your leg is properly inside the car before he closes the door, jogging around to the driver’s side and practically throwing himself inside. He’s giggling like a kid. “Shit, I’ll see anything you want to.”

“Steve.”

“Or we can go do nothing? Until dinner.”

“Steve,” you say again, thinking you’ll tell him. Nothing good ever comes from dishonesty.

“What?” he asks.

His eyes are so brown. Billions of people with brown eyes and you swear you’ve never seen anything like it before, their centres like hot honey, the sweetheart shape to them when he smiles

You sigh. His smile is contagious, even while your stomach hurts. “Nothing. Let’s go see a movie.”

“Are you okay?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, what? You sounded weird.”

“I sounded weird?”

“No!” He winces. “I mean, yeah, you sounded weird for you, like you… I don’t know. Sorry.”

You feel bad, then. His apology is earnest, his hand resting open on the console for you to take if you could manage the flustering heat of it.

“I wanna go to the movies,” you say, ‘cos you really do.

“Alright, good. It’s just, I think my last relationship, I– I didn’t pay enough attention, and I want to do that better this time around. So yeah. Sorry.”

Oh, Steve, you think. How are you supposed to tell him now? You’re gonna have to pretend to be ready for a relationship with him until you really are, it seems. He doesn’t deserve to have his heart played with twice.

“Don’t be sorry,” you say gently. “Let’s go watch a movie, okay? I want to go, with you, we’ll watch a shitty daytime flick and then get dinner after. It’ll be fun.”

You aren’t lying to him about what you want. It’s clear to everybody, Steve and his friends and especially you, that you like him, that you want to be around him and make him laugh. Maybe being his girlfriend won’t even be that different to being his something.

After all, what’s romantic about seeing a movie?

“You good?” he asks, half an hour later, your agony prolonged.

You’re at the back of the movies where the seats have the most leg room, more popcorn and candy than you could ever eat at your feet and a litre cup stuffed into the armrest between you. Steve is tucking his shirt back into his jeans, his head parting the light of the projector and leaving a silhouette in the previews.

“Steve,” you advise, gesturing for him to lean down out of the way.

He leans down, further and further, face to face with you with his hands on his hips. A flirtatious teasing makes its way onto his lips. “What?” he asks, amused.

“You were in the way of the light.”

“That what it was?”

“Seriously!” you whisper-shout, laughing despite yourself.

��You’re so cute,” he whispers back. “Want to take your jacket off?”

Your lips part at his good suggestion. You hold your arm out and start to peel from your jacket, but he takes your sleeve and helps you out of it before folding it and sitting in the seat next to you, your jacket on his thigh. “How’s that, babe?” he asks.

“It’s good.”

“Okay, perfect.” He beams at you. He’s always smiling when he’s with you, like you’re the best thing since sliced bread. Like he loves you. “Tell me if you need something, yeah? I know you’re kinda shy.”

He settles back in his seat with your jacket still in his lap and no indication that he might want to move it. Your knees touch as he relaxes, your knuckles as he puts his arm on the rest between you, a picture of contentedness as the movie begins and the opening credits play. “That’s us,” he says without looking at you.

Two people walk down the street holding hands as the title of the movie blazes in yellow font with thick red outlines. A Day In Paradise!

You bite down on a slither of the inside of your lip until it stings. You try to fight it off but the longer you sit there, the more your eyes burn, thinking about Steve and what he deserves and how unfortunate this whole thing is, and yeah, you’re overwhelmed, too. You aren’t ready for so much sweetness all at once. You don’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve this.

You force the tears away. The movie goes on and on, the lights low, the chatter of moviegoers and the occasional popcorn crush not nearly loud enough to cover the sound of Steve’s breathing.

He pushes his hair out of his face. Somebody on screen makes a joke, his hand brushes against yours, and then takes it gently as he laughs.

You pull your hand away and tip your head down, a frantic tear flicking from your lashes.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You try to answer. You whimper instead, a terrible, sorry sound stuck to your throat —you can’t hold it in anymore. It’s too much.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble tearily, looking up, a tear rolling fast down the bump of your cheek.

Steve sits still in moderate horror. “Why are you crying?” he whispers.

The thing about Steve that people tend to forget is that, while he takes care of people the best that he can, he’s really young. He doesn’t always know what to do. He stares at you now like you’re a foreign object, hand tucked back into his abdomen.

A tear drips onto your lip. It tastes salty. “Sorry,” you say.

“Why?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“I really like you, Steve.”

He stares at you. “…But?”

“But I–” His frown hurts your heart. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this, I never– never had someone like me like this, I don’t know why I’m crying.” You say that last part to yourself rather than him, scrubbing your cheeks with your hands roughly before hiding your face completely. “It’s not you.”

“I thought…” And of course he did.

“I know,” you say. “I’m sorry, Steve. I thought it wouldn’t matter but everything’s going so fast.”

He touches your arm gently. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought you wanted this. You– you said I was your boyfriend, to Max? I thought you liked me.”

“I do like you,” you insist, meeting his eyes.

“Can I wipe your tears away? They’re everywhere,” he says. You struggle to read his expression, but there’s no resentment or anger there for you. He looks quite serious.

“Yeah.”

Steve bends in his seat to wipe your tears off of your face gently. They really are everywhere, on your cheeks, your top lip, your chin, even down the arc of your neck. “I don’t understand,” he says, going back to your cheek for a missed streak, “but you don’t have to be upset. Please. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, I promise.”

“Steve, when I was talking to Max, I said,” —you wince— “that it’s not like you’re my boyfriend. She was asking me about you, and I got all panicky because I like you, but I’m too weird about this stuff, I’m panicking now–”

“Don’t.” His hand lingers on your face, before a sorry flash of dejection passes over him, and he drops your face altogether.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please believe me.”

“Of course I believe you.” He grimaces at you, and the heartbreak turns to something more manageable, like he’s brushing himself off. “I’m sorry. For getting the wrong idea.”

“I like you,” you whisper. Your voice is nearly lost to the rustle of popcorn and drinks.

“I like you too!” he says loudly.

A few seats down, somebody turns, an angry whirl of hair and clicky nails. “Can you guys shut up?”

You and Steve leave your mountain of snacks behind to stand in the theatre hallway, where the winter air is cool on your flushed skin, and the silence is stifling. You lean against a wood feature wall and try to calm down, because he’s the one who should be upset (or maybe he’s not that fussed about you). He stands a half foot away with his arms crossed, looking down at his shoes, though occasionally he glances at you for a split-second and looks away again.

“You okay?” he asks tightly.

“I’m sorry.”

He pokes his cheek with his tongue. “So you don’t want to be together?”

You don’t know. He deserves the truth, even if you barely understand it yourself, and it stings to say. “I do, I like you, but I… I want to take things slowly.”

He stands there without talking for a while. When he does talk again, he’s laughing, that achy awful sadness he’d worn a far off memory. “You’re this upset because you want us to take things slow?”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“You haven’t,” he promises. “That would never hurt my feelings. I knew when I heard it that it was too good to be true.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I guess I gotta earn the title like everybody else does. Is that… cool?”

You nod vehemently.

Steve blows a relieved breath of air up his face, his hair ruffling off of his forehead. “I thought I was gonna lose you completely,” he says, smiling. “This is fine. I can work with slow. Slow’s my middle name.”

—♡—

The sun is a blistering heat today. “Can’t believe it’s only spring,” you murmur, eyes covered by the back of your arm.

A weight sits down on the blanket beside you, the sound of dry grass crushed underfoot. He brings the fresh scent of lemon slices with him, the zest sticking to his hands.

“I think I might melt.”

“I’d never let that happen,” Steve says, laying down beside you.

“You can be my parasol.”

“Your what?”

“It’s a sun umbrella.”

“Like this?” he asks, gently laying himself across your front, his face on the slip of your stomach that’s bare, his arms sneaking behind your thighs to hug them as you bring them up.

You reach down to stroke his hair, taking your fingers through the silky lengths of it, fingernails scratching ever so slightly at his scalp. “Thanks,” you say.

He kisses your naked leg. “You’re welcome, honey.”

If he’d done that at the beginning of your relationship, you’d have frozen up; not because he would’ve done it differently, not because he wasn't always your handsome sweetheart, but because being comfortable with someone this intimately takes time, and that’s okay.

“Your face is digging into my hip,” you murmur.

He shifts back, his ear above your belly button. “Is that better?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Are you falling asleep?” he asks softly.

“No… I’m thinking.”

“Nothing good ever comes of that.”

“I have something I want to talk to you about.”

“I love talking to you,” he says. He sounds as though he might fall asleep himself, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

You stroke his hair away from his face by touch alone. Long, warm minutes pass without conversation. You aren’t scared to tell him how you’re feeling. He’s proved to you over time that he’s someone you’ll always be able to trust, and that whatever you have to say will hold weight.

“It’s a question.”

He turns in your hold to face you. You raise your arm, greeted by the image of him sun-kissed and lazing, laid out across you without a care in the world.

“Don’t tell me then,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, you’re terrifying.”

“Would you wanna be my boyfriend?”

He narrows his eyes at you. A myriad of emotions pass between you both, until he’s smiling, and you know he’s sitting up for a kiss seconds before he actually does. He presses his lips to yours carefully. “Baby,” he says as he pulls away, voice as mild as his soft kiss, “I think we’ve passed that point.”

“I realised I’d never asked you, is all.”

His hair falls down into his eyes. You tuck it behind his ear. It’s pretty clear now you’re together, even after such a bumpy start.

“Can I get it in writing this time?” he asks, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours, your eyes fluttering closed in tandem.

“Give you anything you want if you kiss me,” you murmur.

His laugh fans over your lips. He cups your cheek, your heart a hummingbird drilling at your ribs as Steve moves in to kiss you properly. Your lips part under the pressure, your head tilting a touch to one side to accommodate him as he searches down for you, melty hot pleasure and nerves that never seem to fade arising as his thumb moves up your cheek, a semi-circle of touch. It promises undulating care whenever you want it.

You tip your head aside to catch your breath.

“Better late than never,” you joke.

Steve talks into the soft skin beside your mouth. “You weren’t late, babe. I was early, and I didn’t mind waiting.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank u for reading!! pretty please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed cos it means so much to me and inspires me to write even more!!! but either way i hope u enjoyed❤️❤️❤️

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington drabble

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smallfrenchstudyblr · 1 year

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"The biggest issue is students using it, me spotting it and having no recourse whatsoever to do anything about it." can you elaborate a bit further

Hello !

So to explain a bit more: we [aka your lecturers, teachers, teaching assistants, etc...] know that some students will use ChatGPT.

And there is a discussion to be had about how to work with this, how to design assessment which allow students to leverage something which may simply become a fixture of writing in a workplace environment, but that is not the discussion we are having here. Because that is not what we are worried about.

The defensible, problematic situation is: a student straight up entering the essay prompt on ChatGPT, and using the grand skills of Ctrl+C / Ctrl+V, submits it as their own paper.

And our main worry, I think, was for a long time that we would not be able to catch it. That students would, actually, be able to fool us and that we would actually think this was a student who understood the course, who put in the work, and who deserve to be rewarded for their grade. That was the main fear.

But here is the thing.

And listen up, students :

Essays written by ChatGPT :

Suck

Are spotted from a mile away from the person reading it

For real. They suck.

I cannot stress enough how easy they are to spot. You are NOT fooling anyone. I do not need the platform's AI-detecting tool to know when an essay was written by Chat GPT. It is so, very painfully obvious when that's the case.

But the problem then becomes : ok, I have spotted a student who cheated.

What am I even supposed to do with it.

It is one thing to KNOW that an essay was AI-generated, it is another to defend it to a plagiarism committee. First of all, does it actually count as plagiarism ? Second, how do prove, with certainty, that the student did not write it ? How to I convince the plagiarism committee that this is worth looking into ? I am in the role of a police officer, who needs to convince the DA that this is a winnable case, that prosecuting will not be a waste of their time. But I don't have a Similarity Percentage to rely on. I don't have an original source to say "look, this is the exact same wording!" like in a classic plagiarism case.

Best case scenario, I can make my case for thee student to actually be called to the plagiarism committee, where we probe into how, exactly, they wrote their essay, until they fold. Unlikely, morally questionable, and in all likelihood, ineffective on students already so confident in their bullshit that they have the audacity to submit a fully AI-generated work for their finals.

Now, students, gather up, especially if you have considered using Chat GPT this way. Because right now, you might think it means you can get away with it.

But let me tell you something. First, that essay is getting the shittiest grade we can give you. Because you know what is more difficult than a lecturer proving that a student used AI to generate their essay ? A student proving that they deserve a better grade. Once we give you a grade, burden of evidence is on you to prove that you have not been graded properly. And we can come up with 15 reasons why an essay is a shit essay. We put on kids' gloves, when we lecture and give feedback. We give the simplified version of most theories, we give the basics of how to structure an essay, the bar we set is spectacularly low, because students come in good faith, they are learning, they will not be held at the same standard as academics. But if you try to argue that you need a higher grade, when you had the audacity to not write a single word of your work, the kids gloves are going to come off real quick, and your lecturer will be able to very convincingly explain why, actually, giving you a passing grade was a mercy in the first place.

Second. Academics, especially angry academics, are a gossip machine.

You may get a passing grade, and there may be no official note of it in your file whatsoever. But I can guarantee you that your lecturer will chat with their colleagues. That every single one of your essay that year, and the years to come, will be looked at with so much scrutiny I hope your referencing for every single work reaches perfection. Every single paragraph will be looked at with the knowledge that you are likely to have had it AI-generated. Lecturers will tell their TA to look at for That One Student when they grade you .You will not be getting any flexibility from us, no extension without full documentation to support it, no letter of recommendation from any member of the faculty, no word in your favor if you are bordering a grade bracket. If we are feeling especially petty, we might even forget to answer your emails or answer any question you have with such warmth and kindness you really still never feel like asking a question again in our class. And I know that, because that's already happening. I have the name of three undergrads that we know, for a fact, did not write their own essay. Two are not even in my modules at all.

Now. That's pretty mean. But if you have the absolute audacity and lack of ethics required to submit an essay for which you have not written a single word, and thought it would actually work, when your lecturer spent probably more that 80 hours working in this module this term, gave you the opportunity to meet for office hours, to ask any question in person or in email, to have extensions, accommodations, additional time ? When you decided that putting exactly zero second of your time, considered that you were above that - and above other students- and yet we were not able to officially sanction you for it, we had to give you a passing grade, the same passing grade as students who actually made an effort?

Yeah, sorry, you are not getting any sympathy from your lecturers anymore.

#studyblr #phdblr #university #adventures in teaching #postgradblr #chatgpt #ask me thing #now I am going back to grading #actually

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radiance1 · 8 months

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The GIW succeeded in passing an under the radar law that described ghosts as non-sentient beings. Leading to the Government cracking down on Amity Park and capturing any ghosts they saw.

Danny saved who he could, telling them not to come back to Amity Park for their own safety. That being said, he couldn't save everyone, not as Phantom and especially not as Fenton.

He didn't like to think on it much.

Thankfully it seemed that Halfas had it a bit better than pure ghosts, being seen as semi-sentient due to their human half. But it still wasn't enough for his parents to think he was safe in Amity, so instead of staying in Amity Park they decided to move him.

Which proved to be a far faster process than they thought it would be, because his identity was leaked to the government, as for how they knew? They overheard Wes Weston trying to convince someone of his theory and ran with it.

So now Danny and Jazz had to be quickly relocated to Gotham, and yes, they love you Danny, but with his track record they need Jazz to act as an assurance he wouldn't go out 'heroing' and stay on the down low.

Jack and Maddie stayed behind to negotiate the Anti-Ecto acts.

Jack told the two of them to meet at this specific coffee shop in Gotham, because he already asked for someone he knew to come and pick them up, which confused them because who would he know in Gotham?

But, on the way to said coffee shop, Danny and Cujo (who Danny brought along because he was not leaving him behind in Amity of all places now.) was kidnapped by a giant crocodile man.

Right under Jazz's nose too. She only realized when she reached said coffee shop, safe to say she wasn't pleased. The coffee shop seemed to be entirely booked by one man, with multiple people acting as 'guards' so to speak, not that Jazz couldn't take care of them but she preferred to avoid violence if she could.

The person she and Danny were supposed to meet turned out to be one Oswald Cobblepot, otherwise known as the Penguin, a black sheep of the Fentinightingles and Jack's friend. (I CANNOT for the LIFE of me remember where I saw this idea, but if you ever come across this post know that YOU yes YOU were the one who helped the crafting of this idea)

Oswald: Where's the other one.

Jazz: A giant crocodile kidnapped him.

Oswald: Say what.

Meanwhile Danny got himself comfortable in the sewers of Gotham with Cujo as he stared up at a 9 foot tall man who goes by Killer Croc, who looks increasingly unsure, regretful and sorrowful of his decision to kidnap Danny.

Danny finds out that his actual name is Waylon Jones, and that the sole reason he was kidnapped was because he thought him to be his long-lost dead brother.

Danny: Oh so you're my dead uncle!

Waylon: Say what now-

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #Jack and Waylon are brothers #They both thought the other died in their childhood #Oswald Cobblepot is a fentonightingle #He and Jack are some of the black sheeps and decided to band together in their teen years when they met at a family gathering #I don't know who had this au but I THANK YOU FOR MAKING IT!

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anothermansjeans · 4 days

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youtuber!reader does the orange peel trend with spencer

YESSSSS (he would excel)

cw: food mention, fluff fluff FLUFF, spencer is the standard for ALL MEN

wc: 351

youtuber!reader masterlist

You set up your phone behind your water bottle, camera facing front as Spencer was in front of you doing dishes. There had been a trend on TikTok and you wanted to see how Spencer would react. Watching the way some people’s boyfriends reacted to the “orange peel trend” was actually horrific. Some men just didn't get it. You had faith in Spencer though, and you'd quickly be proven right.

“Hey, Spence?”

“Yes?” He placed the last plate into the dishwasher before starting it up and leaning back against the sink.

“I’m craving fruit.”

“What kind?” His response was automatic, which caused you to smile, and with his words, he walked over to the fruit bowl on your opposite counter.

“An orange?” He gave a nod and grabbed the biggest one before walking over to you. “I actually don’t– wait what?” You watched as he pressed his thumb into the orange, peeling back the skin unprompted– unasked. “Spencer, no!”

He stopped in his tracks and looked up to your pouting face, “what? What happened? Did I do something wrong?”

“Yes! I mean, no, you didn't, ugh!” You turned your body in your high top chair to face the side he was walking towards, and reached over to grab his wrists (which were still holding the orange), pulling him between your legs. “I was supposed to give you hints that I didn't want to peel the orange so TikTok could see how long it would take.”

“But you never want to peel your oranges.” His brows were furrowed, and he had a point. He knows you better than you know yourself at this point.

Sighing again, you slumped your body forward, leaning your head against his chest, “you're right. You're always right, and I love you for it.”

You felt his chest reverberate with his laugh, and he kissed the top of your head. “Do you still want this orange?”

Sliding your head up, your chin was now resting on his chest. “Yes, please.” You both smiled at each other before sharing a kiss, and Spencer finished the peeling of your orange.

BONUS: some comments

@ user: THIS WAS SO CUTE WHAT

@ user1: WTF HE DIDNT EVEN NEED TO BE ASKED IM OVER IT

@ user2: how does it feel to win at life?

@ user3: spencer being the best boyfriend to ever exist… did you build him in a lab??

@ user4: you're living the life the one girl who’s boyfriend said “tough luck, buddy” to wishes she has 😭

@ user5: THAT SHOULD BE ME

@ user6: spencer passing the orange peel theory is the only thing that makes sense to me in life tbh

@ user7: this proves that if he wanted to, HE WOULD

youtuber!reader taglist: @im-a-ghost666 @lyd14k4y @happiestcat @hauntedtv13 @obi-wansgirl @charismatic-writer @navs-bhat

let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #youtuber!reader

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st4rgzer · 13 days

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an evening with spencer reid…

your fingers laced around his wavy hair as a soft melody played in the background. his head was placed on your lap, fingers flipping through pages of a book, one in russian that would be impossible for you to understand. the smell of cookies flooded the living room, a tray of them on the counter as they cooled. you hummed along to the melody of the song. your fingers rake through his hair, messily intertwining them with his soft curls. you rub your thumb along his cheekbone, tracing his jaw before placing a kiss to his forehead.

“what’s the book about” you ask, a certain tenderness in your voice.

“its called crime and punishment, it tells the story of Rodion Raskolnikov, a destitute and intellectually gifted student living in St. Petersburg, he becomes obsessed with the idea of committing a "perfect" crime to prove his superiority and test his theory that some individuals are inherently above moral law. He meticulously plans and then murders an elderly pawnbroker, Alyona Ivanovna, believing that her wealth will be better used for the benefit of society. However, the murder haunts him, and he struggles to justify his actions to himself and everyone around him. He becomes increasingly isolated and tormented by guilt, exacerbated by the suspicions of police detective Porfiry Petrovich and the moral scrutiny of Sonya. As Raskolnikov's mental state deteriorates, he grapples with his conscience and the consequences of his actions. Ultimately, he is forced to confront the true nature of his crime and the depths of his own humanity. its really interesting!” he carried on with the storyline, explaining the complexity of the character. you listened attentively, nodding at every stop and smiling when he got so passionate and carried away. when he apologized for talking so much you just shook your head and pressed reassuring kisses all over his face. earning a smile from him and crimson cheeks.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds

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sorrowedpickle · 10 months

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Best-friends

Tara Carpenter x g!p!reader

A/N: I was eating cheez-Its while making this

Warning: smut, p in v, the usual dealing with me.

Requested by: @marst566 (don’t know why the tag isn’t working🧍🏻‍♀️

Here’s there the request

“Fuck-“ she whimpered out as your hips connected to hers over and over again. She moan uncontrollably under you as you forced her face down into the pillow to drown out the loud moans the left her from Sam or Quinn as you drilled into her.

“Fuck, fuck!” Her back naturally arched on its own to give you a better angle inside of her and to give herself more pleasure from the cock buried deep inside of her. “Don’t stop!” She says through teary eyes.

You bite your lip as you feel her move back against you in time with your thrust and can’t help the groan that leaves your lips as you hold on her hip tightens.

How you two ended up like this was a story you wouldn’t dare admit be true when telling. All because of a little jealousy at your first frat party in New York and only then did the knife finally cut through all the tension that was built up between you both.

The others had the theories, watching how the two of you interacted in the past few months but never having any or enough proof the prove anything. Just placing their bets and waiting. Luckily you two seemed to keep it hidden very well.

Friends with benefits. At least that’s what Tara called it when she wasn’t staring at you when you weren’t looking or always bringing you up.

Now, at least twice a week or more — depending on how much time you could get alone — you had her a moaning and screaming mess but it was hard to even get alone together to do anything. With Sam always wanting to be in the same building as Tara 24/7 it was hard

Even now, you two had to make a tight decision to do this with Quinn and Sam in and asleep in their rooms. But you both couldn’t help it, it was the end of the week and you hadn’t fucked since the middle of last week due to you having a lot of testing going on and Sam up Tara’s ass. Tara was sexually frustrated, moody and snappy while you seemed to have a hard time hiding your painful erections whenever they’d randomly pop up.

You two depended on each other, more than you’d both cared to admit. Especially after what happened in Woodsboro with Richie and Amber. You both needed the other, not just physically but emotionally. The comfort you to brought each other was something you craved more than sex or the rough fucking she demanded.

Now that you had the petite girl all for yourself, you couldn’t help but see how much you craved her. Her lips, her hands wrapping around you, and especially her body that seemed to tease you with its movements everyday you saw her.

Your hips slam against her ass as she continues to moan into her pillow, hands gripping the sheets under her in a desperate attempt to ground herself to keep going.

You move your hand from her hand to rest against her back, between her shoulder blades to force her ass more up into the as you shifted slightly above her and forcing your pants further down to below your knees as you push both of you further up into her bed.

“Fuck, you’re so wet Tara..” you groan out as you begin thrusting inside of her again causing her to let out yet another string of moans that were still muffled by her pillow.

The street light perfectly shaded across her skin, back muscles moving and flexing with every move you both make, her waist thin then stretching out to form a petite shape and even more petite with her back arched.

You were glad you came when she called even if it was the dead of the night, you would walk through the desert if it meant this would be your Oasis to quench your thirst. You had to be careful not to get caught or Sam probably finish you off herself.

Tara seems to want this when you hit her spongy spot, her head is thrown back and she lets out a loud moan.

Your eyes widen as you stop and you move your hand back up and shove her face into the pillow. Your heart beat jumping into your throat, a fear settling inside of you as Tara whines into the pillow. A fear of Sam’s wrath if she catches you in her little sisters bed in the middle of the night.

You felt like a teenage boy when thinking about it, Tara was an adult and could take care of herself just fine but you were scared of Sam. Like a teenage boy would be the father of the girl whose room he snuck into.

But you knew Sam would be much more worse than her father.

“Are you trying to get caught?” You ask, turning your head to listen out for any movement in the apartment.

This doesn’t stop Tara as she keeps moving her hips back against yours in attempt to chase the orgasm you unrightfully took from her, moaning into the pillow and grip tightening on the sheets.

You continue to listen out for any sound outside the room. The creak of a floor board, a voice, hell looking down at the crack for a light to turn on.

But the only sound the you could hear was Tara, between her legs and her moaning as she pushes against you, urging you to start moving again as she lets out yet another whine.

She was going feral, eager to get you to fuck her and give her the release she was used to receiving at least once a week. You could only imagine how it would be if you didn’t fuck for a much longer period of time.

“She’s not going to come, can you ju-” you takes in a sharp breath when you start up your pace again, still straining your ears to listen out for Sam just in case.

“So impatient.” You tease as both of your hands grip onto her hips to pull her back to you with more force.

This causes her let out another moan into the pillow and go limp, no longer attempting to push back against you now that your pulling her back, hitting her g-spot over and over again was getting her back to getting closer to the edge. Closer to her orgasm she had been craving for the last week and a half.

You could only imagine what it would be like if you two were separated for a longer time frame without any release from the other.

You continue to pump yourself in and out of her throbbing pussy, washing the way her juices mixed with your as you caught glimpses of her cock. Loving the way it felt and seemed to fit perfectly inside of her, it was more than you could ever ask for.

You feel her legs begin to shake in your grasp as her moans become more frequent and you can’t help but smile at how fast she was going to cum after being denied there for a moment.

You increase your movements, desperate to make her cum after so long, to feel her gush all over your dick.

You let out a small, breathy moan, feeling your own orgasm form in the pit of your stomach as you move against her.

One hand rubbing up and down her back gently while the other keeps a harsh grip on her hip, neither of you worried about the mark or bruise it might leave. She could cover it up, just like you did the scratch marks she left down your back or the hickeys you left on each other. Worries you didn’t worry about in the heat of the moment.

A rather loud moan leaves her, even muffled by the pillow it made you look back at the door as she started to reach her orgasm as you pound into her.

You thrust into her a few more times before she’s lets out a loud, high pitched moan that had you pushing her head further into the pillow in worries her roommate, or worse her sister hear as you continue to move inside of her, squeezing your eyes shut tight when your spill out inside her, or rather the condom.

You both take a moment to breath once you release your hold on her head. Trying to calm down and come down from your highs as you fall limp against her, cock still buried deep inside of her making you feel every time she squeeze around you when her body would twitch.

Then you hear. The footsteps that were coming from the left, where Sam’s room was and your eyes widen.

Tara hears it to and shoved you down onto the bed before pulling the blankets over your hurriedly.

You feel your heartbeat quicken in your chest, a warm feeling settling inside of you when Tara pulls you closer and forces your face to squish against her boobs, trying to get as close as possible to seem as small as possible as she pulls the covers over your head.

You feel her heartbeat quicken against your cheek as the door opens and you both lay perfectly still.

The hall light lit up the room as Tara’s head stays from under the blanket with her eyes closed, acting as if she were sleeping and not calming down from getting her brains fucked out.

You hear Sam stand there for a moment, as if she’s observing or searching for something and you can’t help but hold your breath in anticipation.

We’re you about to get caught for fucking your best friend? Just like the group had speculated the entire time? That would be a horror, being teased for the rest of your life by Mindy would be your end.

But then the door clicks shut and you let out the breath you were holding as you feel Tara visibly relax as she leans even closer to you, if even possible.

“She’s not going to come, huh?” You tease quietly, voice muffled by her boobs before feeling her pinch your arm.

“Shut up.” She whispers and you can’t help but chuckle, holding back your laugh as she shifts slightly to get comfortable. Wrapping her arms around your shoulders to pull your face further into her chest, you feel your body relax as you reach around her to wrap you own arms around her, breathing in her scent and closing your eyes.

This was your Oasis that was worth the long and hard walk for sure.

—

Tagslist: @bluetreecloud20 @skate-to-breathee @wol-fica @raven-ss @restlessdot @dumb-fvck104 @tabberthecat @crazyoffher @rhythm-catsandwine @makncheese12 @missanagilmore @prettyyyy-girl

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #x reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #x fem!reader

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jazminetoad · 4 months

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Okay, I know there's like this whole debate and theorizing about what is going on with Alastor in episode 5

After rewatching the scenes, listening to the rap battle multiple times, watching analysis videos, reaction videos, theory videos, and reading people's thoughts on Tumblr, I've come to a conclusion

Alastor felt threatened by Lucifer because he thought Charlie was looking for powerful assistance from her dad, and if that was the case, it would mean Alastor would be replaced

I mean it doesn't help Lucifer gave that intention at the start of the song, quite literally dissing Alastor, blatantly saying Why do you need this guy when you have me now?

Lucifer shows off his power to Charlie, stating how much of a help he can be, and that Alastor isn't needed

This pisses off Alastor

People who theorized Alastor is pissed because he's no longer the most powerful person in the room, they're on the right track

Alastor saw Charlie's advertisement for the hotel on the news (people seem to forget that when pointing how he just shows up after Charlie calls her mom), then he came to help Charlie out, being there since day 1 of Charlie announcing it to her people.

His reasons of why he is helping are all over the place, but he is a powerful entity there to assist Charlie regardless

Lucifer showing up by Charlie's invitation irritates him because the way it looks to him, Charlie is seeking someone powerful to help her, it is an insult to Alastor because he is powerful and Charlie seems to forget that fact

So Alastor decides to remind Charlie of his presence and how he is here to help her

"Who's been here since day one? Who's been faithful as a nun? Who makes you chuckle with an old-timey bun? Your executive producer~"

"I'm your guy, your day-to-day, your chum, your steadfast hotelier. Remember when I fixed that clog today?"

These lyrics is Alastor showing he has been dedicated to helping Charlie, proving his worth, he wants to show Charlie is he a valuable asset to her team, yet he realizes that labeling himself as just an employee isn't enough since an employee is easy to throw away, therefore he pushes further. He states he's happy to have connection with her, calling her a daughter and how he cares for her like one, labelling himself as a dad

Alastor does this because if Charlie is seeking assistancest from Lucifer 'cause he is her dad (wanting familiar support), painting himself as a father figure opens the door for Charlie to acknowledge him and go to him for support, thus being irreplaceable

Alastor even brings up the rest of the hotel cast to state they have been a better family toward Charlie than her own father, coloring Lucifer as someone not only useless but worthless as well

However, Alastor dropped his beef with Lucifer when it is made known to him that Charlie is requesting her dad to set up a meeting with heaven, she is not asking for her dad to help the hotel or to work for the hotel, meaning Alastor's position is not threatened (Hence why he never interrupted the second song of the episode)

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel episode 5 #hazbin hotel ep 5 #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel charlie #dad beat dad #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel analysis

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buryustogether · 11 months

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lilac - chapter 4

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: you accidentally overhear a conversation between miguel and his ai at work.

wc: 4.5k

warnings/tags: domestic lifestyle, mentions of violence, mentions of choking and death, swearing, mentions of office sex, strippers, sex workers, strip club, private dances, cuddling

author’s note: he’s so lana del rey coded guys

Anybody with experience knew that trying to keep twenty third graders together was like herding cats. Anybody with further experience knew that keeping twenty third graders together in a sharp, sleek, trillion-dollar facility like Alchemax was like herding cats who were soaking wet and high on all the catnip they could have stuffed their stupid little faces with in the span of five minutes.

“Alexander,” you snapped as you helped your coworker count little bodies as they piled off the bus. “If I have to tell you one more time to keep your hands off James, I’m going to drive this bus myself back to school and give you a fifty-page packet while everyone else here has fun.”

While your words had the effect you hoped they did, you wouldn’t exactly classify a field trip to Alchemax as fun. It was a megacorporation that dabbled in exploits from clean energy to genetics to god knew whatever else they did in there between those fancy metal walls. The building looked as though it should have come straight from a sci-fi film compared to the other foundations on the block, all floor-to-ceiling windows and fifty-some floors and armed guards that stood at the front doors. Certainly not a place to take a field trip with a bunch of nine year olds. Again, you would have thought some place like the zoo or even an interactive museum would have been better, but when the principal wanted something, she got it.

To be honest, you had a suspicion she was hooking up with one of the guards here, but you had nothing to prove your theory.

Like the pack of raging little animals that they were, your students filed across the front way of the building and up the stone stairs to the doors, where they waited in a mass of wiggles and excited spasms. Each of them held their partner’s hand, a rule you pressed with each field trip. Going into a freaky building like this, you almost wished you had a hand to hold yourself.

“That’s all of them,” said your coworkers, one of the three teachers who had come to chaperone the trip. She looked up from her clipboard of names, double checking each kid as you both followed the crowd of children up the steps. “Christ, this is going to be a shitshow. I just know we’re going to be escorted out of here after… I don’t know, a molecular leveler gets demolished by tiny, sticky hands.”

You snuffed out a little snort, reaching up to adjust the necklace perched about your collarbones. In your free hand, you carried a coffee cup that still had the tab in; it wasn’t for you. “I think it’ll be alright,” you said, but not nearly as confidently as you would have liked. “We had an entire assembly over this.”

“And since when has that ever helped?” She followed your movements, her eyes trailing over your form. You blinked at her. “Are you wearing lipstick?”

“Hah! No…!” Quickly, before she could ask any more questions, you turned away and pressed your lips to your sleeve, trying to wipe off some of the excess lipstick you’d applied right before leaving the school. Fuck, it was too much, wasn’t it?

Definitely too much for popping in to visit during a school field trip when you should have been watching your kids.

After passing through multiple tall, sleek-looking metal detectors (and scolding a few kids for bringing their phones when they were specifically told to leave them at school), you met the man who would be giving the tour of the facility in the lobby. Overhead, modern-art-classified light fixtures hung from the ceiling like someone had captured starlight and crammed it into bulbs. A cafeteria filled with scientists and researchers and everyone in between stood to your left, each of them donned in a stark white lab coat. Some of them spoke on phones, others clacked away on laptops and futuristic-looking tablets with such an intensity you would have thought they were taking a test for their lives. A few of them spared a glace or two at your group, but they didn’t last long. Apparently field trips to designated areas in the building were normal.

You heard the tour guide talking animatedly to the kids, but his words didn’t quite register as you kept your head on a swivel, searching out something specific. After a moment, when you leaned back on the heels of your feet, you found what you were looking for; the elevators.

“Hey,” you said to your coworker as the kids began to move deeper into the lobby, “will you cover for me? I’ve got to run to the restroom real quick.”

After they had moved along to where they couldn’t see you, you grasped the coffee cup tighter in your grasp and made a beeline for the elevators. Your footsteps against the polished marble seemed deafening as you quickened your pace, realizing the cup wasn’t as hot as it had been earlier. How fucking humiliating would it be if you brought him cold coffee? There was a part of you that knew, really, he wouldn’t mind, but the larger, more insecure bit insisted he would mentally cringe and throw it out the second you left.

Fuck, you thought. This man had you whipped.

You had just reached the elevators, reaching out to tap the call button, when a voice called out to you from your left. “Excuse me,” said a woman sitting behind a large metal desk you hadn’t seen in your haste. She eyed you from behind thick lenses, brow quirked over the top of her monitor. “We do ask that you stay with your group, if you’re here for a tour.”

“Oh! Uhm…” Gripping the cup tight enough that you felt the cardboard bend ever so slightly against your fingers, you padded closer to the desk and put on your best tight-lipped smile. “I’m sorry. I was just bringing a drink to someone who worked here. He’s, uhm… he’s -”

Before you could force your tongue to get out some kind of excuse, some kind of title, the woman was pulling out a small paper sheet from a drawer beside her leg. “Are you a significant other?” she asked, pulling a visitor sticker from the sheet and leaning forward to press it to your shirt. She didn’t seem to want to wait for an answer before sitting back down and clicking away at her screen. “Just a security question before you go; name and floor number?”

Goddamn; suddenly you were so fucking glad some people sucked at their jobs.

Taking a breath, you inhaled and plastered on a grin. “O’Hara,” you replied. “Floor seven.”

“Alright,” she said without looking up again. “You’re free to go up. Please stay in the public hallways.”

The entire elevator ride up to the third floor, you were unable to keep a goofy, surely stupid-looking smile from your face. You liked the idea of being called Miguel’s ‘significant other.’ It made your stomach clench, made your pulse race and your heart thunder and your core throb with a dull ache. For just a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine that kind of role, being deserving of such a title.

Coming home from your teaching job not to immediately race to do your makeup in loud, flashy colors, but to stay in the warm, basking glow of a house or a roomy apartment each evening. The keys would always fit just right in the lock, never click or jump. The air would be filled with the sound of a little girl’s quiet giggles from her bedroom, along with the smell of dinner cooking on the stove. Small soccer cleats by the door. Trinkets and photographs and everything else that made the house a home strewn about the rooms. And a tall, sinewy figure that towered over you there to greet you when you walked inside, all warm smiles and wide, calloused hands on your hips and full lips to press against yours with enough gentleness and passion and adoration to keep you on your toes the rest of the night.

A bed big enough for the both of you, with enough blankets and comforters that you wouldn’t be cold even if you couldn’t afford to keep the heat on. Sheets and pillows that knew your white-knuckled grip, that would mold to your hands as you laid out bare for him and allowed him to worship the very ground you walked on with his mouth, his fingers, what lay beneath his slim, narrow hips…

By the time the elevator reached the seventh floor and the doors opened with a gentle chime, your cheeks were hot and your palms were sweaty enough you were sure you’d heated the coffee back up to steaming.

Wandering through the halls of Alechmax’s third floor and feeling incredibly out of place amongst the scientists flipping through reports and chattering on calls, you shuffled from office to office, searching for that familiar name that made your stomach flip. It seemed an awkwardly insane amount of time before you finally spotted his name on a plate beside a door left slightly ajar. You approached and smoothed out your shirt, preparing to present the coffee, when you heard voices inside.

“This isn’t like you, boss,” a woman was saying, her voice slightly warped from speaking over a computer. “You’re always preaching to the others that messing with canon events and triggering changes that aren’t meant to happen is wrong. You know it’s wrong.”

From across the room, a voice you recognized as Miguel’s scoffed. “This one is different. I’m balancing out the changes. I’ve got it under control.”

“Some control you’ve got. You do realize you’ve already altered enough canon events that even this universe itself doesn’t know where it’s going anymore? The bad guys here aren’t supposed to be in jail. Things aren’t supposed to get better. You know why? Because here, there is no Spiderman.”

Spiderman? Your gut clenched slightly as you inched closer to the gap between the door and the frame. If they were talking about Spiderman, then surely - he must have come from here. Some of those conspiracy theorists were right.

“Like I said, Lyla,” Miguel replied, his voice a touch deeper than it had been just a moment ago, “I have it under control.”

The woman named Lyla went on despite the dangerous rumble in Miguel’s throat you’d never heard before. “Here’s another one. That friend of yours? She was supposed to be engaged by now to her boyfriend. Her actual boyfriend. They’re supposed to have the whole angsty proposal thing, go back and forth for another three months, then end things. When he ends her. Asphyxiation by choking for approximately seven minutes, by the way.”

For a long, long while, there was silence. You realized you had been holding your breath, trying desperately to connect these pieces that just refused to fit together. What on earth were they talking about? Universes? Spiderman? Someone getting choked to death by their fiance? It sounded like a bad movie plot.

“Lyla?” came Miguel’s voice.

“Yeah, boss?”

“...Shut down and mute all alerts.”

Again, there came that horrible, palpable silence. Lyla seemed to be in some kind of shock. “Boss, I’m not sure that’s really what you want. You’re in a state of denial. Maybe you should take a break there, come back to headquarters. Jessica’s tried reaching out. Peter and Ben, too. I advise spending time with friends to decrease levels of -”

“Shut down. Now. I’m not going to tell you again.”

“...Yes, boss.”

When you heard his footsteps crossing the room, you took a small step back and clutched the surely-lukewarm coffee to your stomach. You’d never heard him take such a tone before, always used to that warm, content baritone that rumbled comfortably from deep within his throat. This kind of voice you’d just heard was cold and emotionless, without an ounce of feeling in a single one of his words.

You took a breath and exhaled it softly.

Then, as if he heard it from inside his office, the door was opened at an alarming rate to reveal Miguel on the other side. His brow was furrowed and a line had appeared at the corner of his mouth with his frown, obviously expecting one of his coworkers to be intruding at his door. Yet when his gaze met yours, when his frame towered over your smaller one, he realized just who you were, recognized that gleam in your eyes when you locked stares. His gaze softened like an airbag deflating. That line by his mouth disappeared. His tensed figure slowly relaxed, his shoulders coming down from where they’d been set.

For a short moment, you simply stared at one another. You were forced to admit to yourself that tone he’d spoken with had intimidated you.

It reminded you of the one Ferris used when he cornered you and threatened to take off for good.

Finally, Miguel’s lips parted. “Hey,” he breathed out, like he was trying his damn fucking best not to let that tone leak through to you.

You swallowed and slowly allowed yourself to relax. He wouldn’t ever speak to you like that. You didn’t know how you knew. You could just sense it in the warmth that poured from him, from the gentle honey of his dark eyes, from the way he held himself and carried his weight and set down each step like he knew the outcome of each and every movement he made. “Hi.”

Miguel inhaled, as if he were relieved you decided to speak. “Sorry about that,” he said and gestured over his shoulder into his office. “We’ve been testing out some new AI lately. Throwing it curveballs to see if it can keep up.” A small smile graced his face, close-lipped and sweet. Again, you realized - he never smiled with his teeth. “It hasn’t been going well.”

Like a dam breaking and letting a flood of water into a canal, relief rocketed through your systems and worked to ease your stress. Of course he had been talking to a computer. You doubted he could ever speak to a woman like that, much less anyone else. And that also explained all the wild things they had been discussing. Universes? Some poor chick getting murdered by her fiance?

Just the complicated workings of an out of sorts AI.

“I have to admit, I was wondering,” you let yourself laugh. “But, you know… who am I to question Alchemax’s best geneticist?” You watched in fascination as the corner of his mouth quirked upward and one eye squinted with the smile. God, you could watch him do that all damn day. Suddenly remembering the coffee in your hands, you held it up to him with an embarrassed grin. “I meant to bring you this while it was still hot, but I guess you know how hellish it can be getting a bunch of third graders on a bus.”

He took the cup with a rather confused expression.

“The field trip,” you said and folded your hands in front of you, because you knew if you didn’t, you would surely reach out and touch his face. “It’s today. You signed the permission slip about a month ago.”

Miguel blinked a few times, then took a breath and lifted his face. “Right. Right, sorry. Must have slipped my mind. I’ve - heh.” He shook his head and reached up to scratch at the delicate skin of his throat in that way he did when he spoke to you. “More going on than you would know.”

“Believe me,” you said softly, looking down at your shoes. You thought of dishes still in the sink, and band practices in your living room, and threats of leaving you all on your own because, really, that was truly your worst fear. “I know.”

You thought from there you would smile and turn, say something like, ‘Well, just thought I’d stop by,’ and leave him in the doorway of his office so that he wouldn’t see the yearning swimming in your irises. Maybe if you were feeling bold, you’d reach out and touch his wrist for just a moment before pulling away and practically sprinting back to the elevators.

But when you went to turn, he beat you to all of that. He reached out to touch your upper arm, the tips of his calloused fingers brushing along the fabric of your shirt, and he asked if you’d like to come inside, sit down for a minute. And inside his office, he told you what his department was working on, explained it in ways he knew you would understand. He spoke of a molecular collider that, in theory, would open a doorway to parallel universes.

You could have spent hours sitting in that office that smelled like his cologne, listening to him talk.

But life moved on. You were forced to pull yourself away, travel back downstairs and hold Gabriella’s hand like you hadn’t just thought about Miguel folding you over his desk, hushing your desperate cries, and gripping onto your hips with a hold that would bruise. You were forced to drive home and argue with Ferris about dirty laundry and his new keyboard girl constantly texting him. You were forced to land in the dressing room at The Menagerie, carefully dotting rhinestones to your collarbones in the mirror while the other girls buzzed around you.

“And he brought you flowers, too?” asked Shawna from where she was spread out on the couch across the room. She sighed deeply and hung her head over the armrest. “Girl. When are you going to stop playing and give that little girl of his a new mom?”

“You know why I can’t,” you replied as you pressed a small plastic rhinestone to your skin.

Zara met your eyes in the mirror as she grabbed the back of your chair, already dressed in her colorful, skimpy outfit and her mask. “We know why,” she hissed, but not at you. “That Ferris dude has got you held under the water, babe. Serious ball and chain kind of deal here. You really need to do something.”

If you could have found the strength to, you would have rolled your eyes at their words. But you really couldn’t. You were nothing short of exhausted after the field trip today, so much that you wouldn’t be surprised if you were unable to keep your eyes open while you were on stage. God, you loved your teaching gig, but sometimes it was so, so stressful. And so was this job. Teaching, dancing, disciplining, teasing. They all collided into one big, neverending hurricane of fatigue.

“Maybe in another universe,” you found yourself mumbling under your breath, remembering everything Miguel had told you about this morning, “I could have been a flower shop keeper.”

Behind you in the mirror, a few of the girls looked at you with strange expressions.

Before you could go back to applying your rhinestones, one of the newer girls entered the room and pushed her mask up so that her face was visible. She looked to you. “Boss said you’re canceled on the stage,” she said, and you hoped for a moment you were going to go home early, before she added, “Guy paid for a private dance in Room 7.”

“Goddammit.” You groaned and leaned forward to rest your forehead on your arms. You were way too fucking tired to do a private dance right now.

“M’sure he won’t be that bad,” said Shawna as she let herself slip further over the arm of the couch.

Grumbling beneath your breath, you stood, finished off your rhinestones the best you could, and slipped your cold porcelain mask over your features. At least like this, your customer wouldn’t be able to see your exhausted eyes and lost expression.

The beating, thrumming music of the club seemed to vibrate your very soul in your chest as you wound your way past patrons and around the stage, sure to throw half-assed smiles at the people you were forced to wiggle past just a bit too close. The short corridor leading to the private rooms were lit with neons, playing with shadows across your costumed form as you found Room 7 and gently knocked on the door. You blinked a few times to clear the blur from your eyes, then cleared your throat and stepped inside.

“Hi, handsome,” you said as you turned to shut the door - your classic line, no matter who the buyer. “How are you doing tonight?” You turned around to face your customer, then came to a complete stop. Even your heart jumped a beat or two.

The man you’d seen in the shadows that night of the robbery, the man with the little scar on his collarbone, had gotten to his feet from his chair when you entered the room. He wore that same spider mask, still had his dark hair slicked back over his head.

You swallowed thick as you felt his eyes traveling over your form behind the gaps in his mask. “Hello… Spiderman.”

He hesitated for a moment, like he was lost on just what to do. “Hey,” he said in an equally soft voice. It was muted in the same way it was behind his spandex mask.

You placed your hands behind your back as you leaned up against the door - and locked it. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“...You asked.”

“Did I?” Putting on your best flirty, coy smile, you slowly crossed the room to meet him. “I thought all I said was… if you stopped by, to ask for me.” You reached out to touch the edge of his shirt, past his dress jacket, and skim your knuckle over the tan skin of his exposed collarbone. That scar sat just where you’d seen it before. “But you’re here.”

“...I’m here.”

There was a soft lilt to his voice, one that you had not heard before. Then again, you hadn’t spoken to him much, just in the bank and on the rooftop. But it seemed long enough to know that it wasn’t normal.

“What’s wrong, Spiderman?” you asked gently, taking a step closer. Your knees brushed against his, and when you gave him a gentle push on the shoulder, he sat back in the chair positioned in the center of the room. You gingerly climbed up so that your knees rested on either side of his thighs, so that your center was just inches above his. You didn’t miss the slight hitch in his breath, the way his eyes widened ever just so behind that spider mask. “Have a bad day? Some criminals get the better of you?”

You knew, in a way, that he wasn’t going to do it himself, so you took his wide, warm hands in your own and rested them on your hips. They stayed there for a long, long moment. Then they moved not down, toward your ass and your core, but up. They felt tentatively along your middle, his thumb tickling your stomach just a bit, and stopped just below your breasts before sliding back down again.

“No,” he replied in a low, raspy voice. He paused when you slowly lowered yourself so that you were seated on his lap now, your hips pressed against his. You felt his thigh twitch beneath your ass. “Pretty good day, actually. Just… heard some bad news.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You hummed, letting your fingers drag along the delicate skin of his throat, just barely shaded with stubble. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

You expected him to hesitate, then make a request. Strip for him. Dance. Whisper in his ear all the things you wanted to do to him.

But there came none of that. Instead of touching you like you were used to, his hands - which were still respectfully resting against your middle - slowly slid across to your back and gently, gingerly, pulled you against him so that you were lying against his front. So that your chests were pressed together. So that you were slumped comfortably in his lap. He held you there against him, one hand on the small of your back and the other on the base of your neck.

“Just this,” he murmured.

You were stunned, to say the least. This was not the first time a customer just wanted to hold, or be held, or anything of the sort. But even then, those touches were desperate and needy, clingy and awkward. But this was everything they were not. This was gentle and considerate, kind and… romantic. Like he didn’t just need to be touched, he needed to be touched by you.

When you inhaled you thought you recognized the scent you breathed in. But with his body so close and his hands holding you so securely, you dismissed it like a runaway thought.

“Here.” Spiderman pulled you back for just a second, raising his fingers up to pull at the ribbon keeping your mask on your face, mindful not to catch any hair. Your breath hitched when he set the monarch mask aside, your face now bare as you stared down at him. This was against the rules. You were not supposed to do this. Customers were not supposed to see your face, know you like this.

But this?

This was far beyond any rules.

Your lips parted and your heart thundering in your chest so loud you were sure he could hear it, you found your own fingers slowly reaching up to graze at his porcelain mask. Your fingertips grazed the edge, began to hitch it up…

He caught your wrist in a hold that was so gentle, yet so commanding, that you immediately let your hand drop. But there was no venomous feeling there, no edge. Just a warning. A soft, quiet warning.

Exhaling, you wrapped your arms around his neck and settled yourself against his wide, powerful frame. Your face nestled itself into the crook of his neck, your chin resting atop his shoulder, as his hands came back to hold your form against his. One of his thumbs glided across your shoulder blade, sending goosebumps rising across your skin.

Gripping onto his jacket collar, you opened your eyes to look at yourself in the mirror that faced the back of the chair. Here you couldn’t see the mask over Spiderman’s face, just his slicked-back hair and his broad shoulders keeping you caged against him. His head tilted toward yours, your temples resting together.

For a moment, in your exhaustion and fatigue, you thought he resembled someone else you knew. But you let the thought pass, instead shutting your eyes and basking in his soft, gentle, perfect touch.

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick @natthernandez @bakgoktski @soupsexsunsalutationsss @roxannarichie @lovagirlxxx @soggyeyeballsss @yoyoyoyoyo55555 @sophipet @quaintii @lavnderluv @cookiezxx @euphorica @its-a-polyglot @nicalysm @maxi-ride @exzidss @crappwr0m @femme-is-dead @bitch-onthemoon @hier—soir @takayomi @kirke-is-my-name @d1lf-loverrr @might-be-a-rat @brooks-lin @maki-z @bookfreakk @act1839 @dollscircus @sleepingaway @anxietybutterfly @bioticboot @mxkn @freeingrebels @digitalcreature404 @aimee777 @hunnaye @blahbahed @cyanide-mustard @impettywhenyouare @mental-illness-is-my-friend @bobfood

#miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara smut #atsv miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #spiderman atsv #atsv x reader #atsv #spiderman 2099

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gardenpatchbaby · 3 months

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Sir Pentious Theory!!!

Sir Pentious got into heaven during the finale of S1. This proves sinners in hell can be redeemed. Lets look at what this tells us about the series!

Sir Pentious wasn't killed by an angelic weapon. We see Adam using a axe in the other fights. I suspect the light beam doesn't kill permanently, Adam just used it to quickly get rid of the ship. Sir Penntious will be back for S2. Adam is dead (thank you Niffty).

It's safe to assume souls appear outside the gates of heaven. That's why St. Peter is there with his big book of names. However, Sir Pentious appeared RIGHT IN FRONT OF SERA AND EMILY. Whatever force controls where souls go WANTED the seraphs to know about this redemption.

While it's not definitive, Sir Pentious' death could give us an idea about what the criteria for getting into heaven is or will be for the sinners. It's most likely about love. Sir Pentious confessed to Cherri right before, which is what clued me in. However, John 15:13 might also shed some light on his sacrifice. "For there is no greater love than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends." This would also align with the tone of the show overall, which seems to be that even in bad situations, the friends we make and care for will help us get through it and support us, changing us for the better. Hells not a bad place when we have people to care about.

#sir pentious #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel sir pentious #hazbin hotel season 1 #theory #sera #emily #cherri bomb #adam

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mrsstarkey1 · 1 year

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reunited - rafe cameron

SUMMARY: you get locked in a room with rafe after being kidnapped by singh

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

WARNINGS : sad rafe :( slight obx season 3 spoilers

A/N: check out my most recent rafe fic

It was when you were getting pushed, very harshly might you add, into a bedroom with the door getting locked behind you when you really regretted helping the pilot out of the plane. God damn empathetic instincts got you every time.

"Dinner in an hour. Better clean up," the guards voice sounded from the other side of the closed door.

"Fuck," you mumbled under your breath, leaning your head back against the wall. After taking a moment to compose yourself, you opened your eyes and scanned them around the room.

Your eyes locked onto the wardrobe in the corner of the room, 4 identical silk dresses hanging up on a bar. You walked over to it, grabbing the note on the first dress.

‘pick your size’

“Well, don’t mind if I do I guess,” you mumbled, shaking your head slightly. Your mind was all sorts of boggled right now. Why in the hell would someone kidnap you then give you a $500 dress to wear to a dinner? Nothing made sense. You knew this couldn’t be Ward, if it were him you wouldn’t even get a bed to sleep on.

You changed into your dress and made yourself look halfway decent for whatever sort of dinner you were about to be met with.

About an hour later, just as promised, the guard barged in the room. “Follow me,” he said sternly.

You walked down the stairs, through a hallway and the guard grabbed your arm and practically shoved you into a room. “Alright, what the fuck?” you let out, turning back toward the guard. “You can stop shoving me. I’ve been perfectly compliant, I mean where the fuck do you think i’m gonna go?” you lifted your arms up halfway, gesturing to the oversupply of guards in the house, “I mean at this point it’s just plain rude.”

The guard was dead silent, just glaring down at you. “Just proving my point there buddy,” you said quietly, turning back to face the inside of the room.

“Y/n?” a familiar voice said as soon as you turned around.

Your mouth parted slightly in pure shock, “Rafe.” You could not fucking believe it. Rafe Cameron in the flesh, after a month of zero contact. He could have been dead for all you knew.

The guard closed the door behind you, the click of the lock causing the both of you to become silent. You could only hear the sound of your heart pounding in your chest, and you were pretty sure you could here Rafe’s even from across the room.

“What are you doing here?” you breathed out, your voice coming out less strong than you intended. Your chest clenched, thinking of the possible reasons Rafe was standing in front of you, in the house you’d been taken to against your will.

Rafe met your eyes again, and this time you took the time to look at him. He looked different. His hair was buzzed, something that you never imagined can actually look good on a man, but Rafe Cameron shot that theory to hell.

“Me? What are you doing here?” Rafe said loudly, taking a step toward you.

“I wondered if you’re little reunion would cause sparks, you know,” a new voice said from the other side of the room. Yours and Rafe’s heads both turned toward the voice.

The man turned and walked toward the two of you, scratching his beard. “Who are you?” Rafe spoke up first, taking a couple steps to place himself beside you.

“Me? My name is Carlos Singh.” The man, Carlos, pointed at Rafe, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cameron. And you,” he pointed toward you, “Miss y/l/n, I apologize for the rough tactics used in bringing you here.” Rafe’s jaw clenched at Singhs words, and he took a slight sidestep so he was now standing in front of you. “But please, come. Sit down,” Singh gestured for you both to follow into the other room. “Come now, I don’t bite.”

You shared a short look with Rafe, before giving in and following the mysterious man. “Rough tactics. What about me?” Rafe asked, and it was clear to you now that he was here willingly, but it still seemed like he was in the dark.

Singh poured himself a drink as he responded to Rafe, "yes, Mr. Cameron false pretenses. But the ends justify the means, I'm afraid. Sit down," he suggested, or more like demanded.

You sat down on the cushioned chair, and Rafe sat on the couch, a scoff escaping his lips.

"Why are we here?" you asked, getting quite impatient.

"Well, Mr. Cameron, Miss y/l/n, we share certain interests, you know. Objectives-"

"Is this not about the cross?" Rafe cut him off, likely just as frustrated as you. You glanced at him. The cross? Did Singh offer to buy it?

“It is. Tangentially, it is about the cross, but it's also about something much, much bigger than the cross," he strode over a painting on the wall. "By orders of magnitude, the completion of a grand quest." You glanced at Rafe to see if he was as confused as you were. He clearly was. "You see, the story goes that 450 years ago, a Spanish soldier came out of the Orinoco Basin with a few gold beads. And when they asked the Spanish soldier where the beads came from, the soldier replied he got them from a peaceful Indigenous tribe who lived in a city of gold. El Dorado. And for the next 450 years, people tried to find that gold, you know. They tried. Conquistadors, Knights, tribes, entire nations. All fighting each other in a race for the end of the rainbow. Thousands of lives laid on the pyre of gold fever. And it falls to me, you know. It falls to me to complete the task. To bring full circle the quest that has gone on for almost 500 years. Perhaps the greatest quest in the history of the western hemisphere, you know. And you two.. you two are going to play a part in that." It was silent for a moment, you and Rafe challenging each other to speak first. "What about you, Ms. y/l/n. Are you interested in history?"

"Nope," you said simply, offering a fake smile.

"I didn't listen to a word you said, okay? How much you gonna keep philosophizing?" Rafe chimed in.

Singh chuckled dryly, "you are direct, aren't you, Mr. Cameron?" Rafe stared back at Singh, not saying a word.

You leaned back in your chair, bored, quite frankly of this whole interaction. You just wanted to get back with the rest of your friends, well, not before getting some answers from Rafe about what the hell he's been up to. "Now what exactly do you need from me?"

"I've come to believe that you and your friends are in possession of something that will help me get what I want."

"Which is?"

"An old manuscript. A diary, actually."

You kept your facial expression the same, if not a little falsely confused as Rafe and Singh both stared at you, waiting for an response.

Rafe was the first to speak, no doubt sensing that you knew something, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

You shook your head along with him, "I don't know anything about a diary," you said in your most believable tone.

"Then how did you know that the cross was on the Royal Merchant, hm?" Singh pressed, showing he clearly knew you weren't being truthful. But you weren't gonna give up your information to this random guy.

"Look, I wish I knew how to help you, really. But I don't," you said with a shrug of your shoulders.

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that, you know. Because unfortunately, I don't believe you."

You leaned forward slightly, "well, I don't know what to tell you. I don't have a diary, you know?" You mocked him, with a small grin playing at your lips. You heard Rafe stifle a laugh beside you.

Singh chuckled and shook his head, "listen, Ms. y/l/n, you and your friend here couldn't have found the cross without the diary."

"Well, I wouldn't say we're friends," you said with a sigh, leaning back in the chair again and crossing your legs, "I'm not really sure what we are exactly. It's actually quite a long sto-"

Rafe stood up, "this is ridiculous, I'm out. Come on y/n," he said, walking toward the door, not making it far when a guard stepped out in front of him.

"Do I look like a fool to you Mr. Cameron?" he stood up, walking toward him. Rafe simply shrugged. "You have the cross, she and her friends had the cross at one point. So one of you has the diary. And if you really don't know, then I suggest you convince your friend to tell me," he said, and Rafe made eye contact with you. You couldn't quite read the look in his eye. "Once I have the diary, you'll be free to leave."

Everyone stayed in the same position in silence for a couple moments, before Singh sighed, "alright then, follow me." He led the two of you to a bedroom upstairs, "enjoy the grounds during your stay. I must warn you, I'm not a man of infinite patience. You have one day," he moved back toward the door, "go to the window for a little demonstration, I think you'll like it, you know," he patted Rafe on the shoulder and left the room and a guard shut and locked the door.

Rafe banged on the door, "hey! you're just done talking?"

"Door's locked, Rafe," you said with a sigh, walking over to the window for this 'demonstration.'

You watched as Jimmy Portis was pulled from a truck by 3 guards. "Who the hell is that guy?" Rafe asked.

"Jimmy Portis. He was working for Singh, he brought me and everyone else here. But he was trying to help me," you said softly, watching the scene play out in front of you.

Singh turned to both of you and pulled out a gun, walking to where the guards were holding Jimmy. "Woah, woah, woah," Rafe muttered.

Within seconds, the gunshot had gone off. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you lost your balance a little, your shoulder bumping into Rafe's. He placed his hand on your waist out of instinct, steadying you. He took a breath before he turned to you, "this diary. Don't bullshit me, y/n, do you have it?" He asked you, looking into your eyes intently. He knew you couldn't lie to those eyes.

“No,” you said simply. “I don’t have it.

Rafe clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes, “okay, do you know where it is.”

You mentally debated whether to tell Rafe the truth or not for a few moments, before finally sighing, “yes, alright. I know where it is,” you admitted, breaking eye contact and walking over to sit on the bed.

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly stressed by this whole situation. “You’ve gotta tell him where it’s at.”

You scoffed, “no chance. We don’t know this guy’s intentions, Rafe. Whats he gonna do when he gets whatever it is that he’s going through all this to get to?”

“This guy will kill us y/n. I mean you saw what he just did,” Rafe said, walking over to you, towering over your body as he stood near the bed.

“You’re telling me that you care if I live or die, Rafe? Really? Because it sure as hell didn’t seem like you cared about me when you left and said nothing. All you care about is yourself, that’s become clear to me,” you said with a scoff, moving to stand up.

Rafe shook his head quickly, putting his hands on your knees lightly to keep you from getting up. He knelt down in front of you, “wait, wait,” he took a deep breath, locking eyes with you. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. You were almost positive that was the first time you’d heard Rafe Cameron say those words, and mean them. He had your attention, that was for sure. “I care about you, y/n. You have to know that, okay? I shouldn’t have left without talking to you, hell, I shouldn’t have left at all. This god damn cross, the gold, it’s all cost me so much. But the worst thing it’s cost me is you, y/n,” his voice cracked saying your name, and your heart clenched. “I don’t care that you’re running around with the pogues, and I don’t care that you know where this diary is, I just- I care about you. And now that you’re here in front of me, I never want to lose you.”

It was the the tears that were dwelling in his blue eyes that made you put your hands on his shoulders and slide down off of the bed and onto your knees with him. Rafes arms tightened around your waist and you rested your head on his shoulder. Rafe let out a shaky breath into the side of your head, and you tightened your arms around him, sinking into the hug.

You’d admit it, you were beyond pissed at Rafe for months. You couldn’t imagine a time where you wouldn’t be pissed at him. But now with him in your arms again, you couldn’t imagine not loving Rafe Cameron.

“I’m so sorry,” Rafe mumbled into your neck, "you shouldn't even forgive me," he said so quietly that you almost didn't hear him. Your eyebrows furrowed together when he stood up abruptly, nearly making you fall over. He ran his hands over his face as he paced back and forth by the window.

"Rafe, hey," you stood up, moving toward him.

"No, stay away. Back up Y/N!" Rafe said loudly and you jumped unwillingly at his raised voice, and you immediately regretted it. Rafe's face fell impossibly more distraught, and his eyes filled to the brim with tears, "no, no, no," he muttered to himself, turning away from you. He now had both of his hands on the sides of his head, fingertips pressing into his skin. "I'm so sorry, I- I scared you. I can't believe, oh my god," he mumbled to himself. "I'm dangerous y/n. I have these- these thoughts and impulses and I don't know how to control it. I'm trying though, I really am- I'm trying," his voice broke, worse than last time, and the tears finally trailed down his face.

You finally moved over to him, scared he was about to collapse to the ground. Rafe let you wrap your arms around him tightly, "I know you're trying, baby," you said into his shirt, your own eyes becoming watery. Rafe's sobs muffled against your shoulder and you could feel the hot tears on your skin through the shirt. "You're okay, Rafe. It's all okay," you spoke softly as you rubbed his back in attempt to comfort him.

You stayed in the embrace for a couple minutes, until Rafe's breathing steadied and he pulled away from you, keeping his hands on your sides. Your heart nearly broke at the sight of his face, inches from yours. His eyes were already bloodshot, and his face showed the clearest vision of broken you'd ever seen. You didn't realize how serious this had gotten until he was breaking down in front of you.

You brought your hands up to the sides of his face, training your eyes on his, "Rafe, I need you to listen to me, okay?" he nodded weakly, "I love you with everything in me. I'd lost sight of that for awhile, but seeing you today, I know that I love you. And I could never, ever be scared of you. I know what you've done, and I know what you've been through. I know you're scared of those thoughts in your head, and I get it. We're going to get through it together, Rafe. I'm with you, always," you said wholeheartedly, attempting to keep your voice steady.

Rafe's eyes scanned yours, searching for tells that you were speaking the truth. His lips twitched into a relieved small smile after a moment, "I love you," Rafe breathed out, leaning forward to rest his forehead on yours.

You closed the gap between the two of you, pressing your lips to his for the first time in months. You sunk into the kiss, only now realizing how much you'd missed the feeling. It felt like your first kiss all over again, only now mixed with love and a few stray tears from Rafe's cheeks.

You were the first to pull away, resting your forehead back on his, "now let's get the hell out of here."

---

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check out my most recent fic : a million things - rafe cameron

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barelytolerabled · 1 year

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Unexpected Chemistry

Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: You, a new member join the BAU team and learn about Spencer Reid's germophobia, especially his theory about kissing being less germ contagious

Warnings: none

WC: 1.034

Taglist: @envraijesaispas @rosecentury @taygrls @thisismeraki @thenerdthatwrites @bigbunnygucci

You stepped into the BAU bullpen, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. Today was your first day as the newest member of the team, and you were eager to prove yourself. As you glanced around, taking in the familiar faces and busy agents, you noticed the whispers and knowing glances exchanged among your colleagues.

Curiosity piqued, you approached one of your future teammates, Emily Prentiss. The dark-haired agent flashed you a knowing smile before leaning in conspiratorially.

"Welcome to the BAU," she said, her voice low. "Just a heads up, our resident genius, Spencer Reid, has a bit of a germophobia."

"Really?" you asked, intrigued. "In what way?"

Emily chuckled. "He's known for his fact about kissing being more hygienic than shaking hands. It's become kind of a running joke around here."

A mischievous grin tugged at your lips. You were an extroverted and confident woman, unafraid to take risks. And if Spencer Reid had a thing about germs, well, you couldn't resist the temptation to playfully test his limits.

Later that day, the team gathered in the conference room for their usual briefing. You sat eagerly, ready to dive into the world of profiling and investigations. The door swung open, and in walked Spencer Reid, his lanky frame adorned in his characteristic cardigan.

Your breath hitched as your eyes met his. There was something undeniably captivating about the way his hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence. He took a moment to scan the room, his gaze briefly settling on you before moving on. It was now or never.

Standing up abruptly, you made your way over to him, your heart pounding in your chest. Spencer's brow furrowed in confusion as you closed the distance between you.

"Hi," you greeted, your voice laced with confidence. "I'm the newest member of the team. It's so nice to meet you.", you said your name.

Before he had a chance to respond, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his, a quick and playful peck. A chorus of gasps and surprised murmurs filled the room. Spencer's eyes widened in astonishment, frozen in place.

"Oh, sorry," you said, stepping back with a playful smile. "I just figured a kiss would be better than a handshake."

Emily burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. Hotch struggled to keep a straight face, while Morgan raised an appreciative eyebrow. Garcia let out a delighted squeal, finding the situation highly amusing.

Spencer blinked rapidly, his brain attempting to catch up with the unexpected turn of events. His cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he stammered out a response.

"I, um... I... Uh, yes, that's... statistically accurate," he managed to utter, his voice a little higher than usual.

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension dissipating in the room. It seemed you had managed to catch the brilliant Dr. Reid off guard, and it delighted you.

From that moment on, Spencer and you formed a unique bond. The initial surprise gave way to a playful dynamic between you, filled with teasing banter and lighthearted flirtation.

He discovered that your outgoing nature and confidence were refreshing, a counterbalance to his more introverted tendencies.

As days turned into weeks, your relationship with Spencer deepened. Beyond the initial prank, you saw the real man beneath the genius exterior—kind, compassionate, and fiercely loyal. He shared his vulnerabilities with you, trusting you with parts of himself that few had ever seen.

With time, the playful kisses transformed into

tender embraces and lingering gazes. Your connection went beyond the initial joke, evolving into something deeper and more profound. The germophobia that had once defined him faded into the background, replaced by the warmth of your affection.

In the midst of high-pressure cases and the constant darkness of their work, you and Spencer found solace in each other. You became his anchor, providing him with love and support when he needed it most. And he, in turn, showered you with the kind of intellectual and emotional intimacy that made your heart soar.

So, as you walked side by side, hand in hand, through the corridors of the BAU, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. Your unconventional first encounter had set the stage for a beautiful love story—one that proved that sometimes, the unexpected and bold choices could lead to the most extraordinary connections.

#criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x y/n #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds

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gogomatthew · 8 months

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Sensitive

DAY 1 OF KINKTOBER: EAR PLAY

KT masterlist here 🎃💗

Dom!Spencer x fem!reader

summary: Your boyfriend has a theory about you that he is desperate to prove and after you drop a little comment about him not being dominant.. the opportunity presents itself

warnings: ear play, dom!sub dynamics, squirting, fingering MINORS AGELESS BLOGS DNI ! 18+

The way you flinched away every time someone would whisper into your ear or fix your earpiece made a shiver run down your boyfriends back. He had a theory about you and he knew just how to prove it.

“I can be dominant! you just have to let me!” he exclaims pouring sugar by the pound into his coffee mug “I think the fact that you have to beg to be dominant kinda takes away the whole purpose” you giggle as you bringing your mug up to your mouth just as Hotch makes his way into the small kitchenette area at the BAU effectively stopping Spencer from yapping on about your sex life. He stoops his head down to your ear and whispers “ill prove it to you” his warm breath brushing your sensitive ear gives you goosebumps as he walks away chuckling ignoring the questioning glance from Hotch.

By the time you’re packing up your things and getting ready to leave the office for the day, you have come up with about 15 different ways to torture your boyfriend for the way he embarrassed you today but ultimately deciding against it due to the fatigue overtaking your body. The ride back home is mostly filled with comfortable silence, you assume its just because you’re both too tired too speak as he gives your thigh an occasional squeeze as you drive. You enter your shared apartment and make your way to your bedroom desperate to lay in the comfort of your own bed as Spencer follows hot on your heels. You lay down flat on your back letting out a strained sound. You see your boyfriend loosen his ty and kick off his shoes but you miss the look of hunger in his eyes. He crawls over you and his mouth grazes your ear lobe so gently “this is what you wanted all along isnt it?” his raspy voice sending shivers down your body as you try to squirm away from under him only for him to pin your hands over your head. “Who would’ve thought this was all I needed to do to have my way with you” he places an open mouth kiss to your ear lobe before taking it in his mouth and sucking on it causing you to let out a loud whimper “s-stop y-your not being a good boy” he thinks it’s funny yet impressive that you still want to take the dominant role even when you’re pinned under him. He takes your lobe out of his mouth and kisses it “im not? im just trying to make you feel good.. im giving you a what you want” his tone is teasing, he knows he has the upper hand here and he’s going to use it “all you have to do is let me baby.. tell me what you want” he finishes his statement with a lick down your ear “ah- ngh” you’re moaning from every touch already feeling overstimulated but needing more you start bucking your hips up desperately to get your message across but being quickly stopped by his large hand coming down to hold them in place “you have to say it baby cmon” you whine “p-please I want you to touch m-me” you look up pleading.

Hes never seen you like this before, hes never seen you this desperate, its always been the other way around but it was beautiful and he was becoming addicted to it very quickly “you can do better than that sweetheart” it sounds like he’s mocking you but to be honest he could get off just at the sight of you begging for him. “I need you please I need you to make me feel good I-I promise ill be good” you dont even care about how desperate you sound right now, not when his tounge brushes your ear so slowly as the sounds of his breath invade your hearing. Damn these profilers! he figured out your sensitive spot just by observing. He smiles down at you as his hands start roaming your body. He unbuttons whatever buttons his shaky hands manage to get too to watch your chest rising and falling with each sound of pleasure leaving your lips. He cups on of your boobs from under your bra gently playing with your nipple though his erratic movements and shaky breaths that give away how truly desperate he is too, not to mention his rock hard cock rubbing against your clothed thigh making him let out breathy moans in your ear every time he got some relief from the friction making you not feel TOO pathetic anymore. His hand slides down from your boob down your tourso until it reaches your hips, he unbuttons your jeans with one hand as he bites down on your ear a little harder than intended as you let out a yelp and loud strangled moan that reminds spencer to find out if you have a newly found pain kink in the future. He slips his hand under your panties as he starts circling your clit slowly. You feel tears start to well in your eyes desperate for more “faster please” he obeys and starts circling the bundle of nerves faster, he slides his fingers down between your folds until he reaches your opening, he slips 2 fingers in and without giving you time to adjust he starts pumping in and out of you with them.

He curls them at just the right spot enjoying the view of you squirming and your legs shaking as your thighs try to close in around his hand but he goes even faster pulling lewd sounds out of you “f-fuck!!” you turn your head denying him access only for him to move to your other ear and take it in his mouth “SPENCER!!” its all too much you’re practically screaming now “I-I cant please!” hes power drunk right now he cant even stop himself from moaning into your ear with every ounce of friction your thigh gives his aching cock “I- I need to cum- please let me!” part of him wants to deny you just like you have done to him multiple times but he wants you to enjoy this just as much as him so who is he to deny his baby? “im not gonna stop you.. go ahead and finish all over my fingers angel” his thumb comes up to rub your clit as he continues to pump into you “cmon dont keep me waiting” he tops it off with a nip at the shell of your ear. “AHHH-“ your screaming now moving frantically intentionally giving spencer some much needed friction. Relief washes over your body and you squirt all over his fingers. Its not new but it dosent happen very often but when it does.. it makes spencer incredibly cocky. He places a kiss on your ear making you shudder as you attempt to calm down from your orgasm as he takes his fingers out of your pussy and into his mouth “who knew all I needed to do was whisper in your ear” he laughs sweetly making you giggle slightly out of breath. You push him on the bed “you didn’t get to cum..” you give him a slight pout as he stares at you with admiration “I guess I just have to find your sweet spot now” lets just say you both didn’t get much sleep

A/N: first time participating on the writing end of kt hope you all enjoy!! reminder english isnt my first language. REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

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