#and i have come to terms with it gradually over time through understanding both its effects on me and that my dad is also deeply tramatised

[davnittbraes]

I’m Here

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8,546 and every single one of them is pure, unabashed self-indulgence

Warnings etc: reader is described as being in a long term previous relationship, smut (piv, unprotected, oral f!receiving), angst, fluff, description of disgustingly cliché meet-cute, established relationship, mentions of past abusive relationship, anxiety, big beefy cuddly dogs, light BDSM, breathplay, like HEAVY breathplay to some people, physical restraint, Dom/Sub dynamics, Soft!Dom Marcus, Sub!Reader, Praise kink out the wazoo

Notes aka Writer’s Plea For Mercy: This was supposed to be a ~200 word drabble, then I mentally vomited some paragraphs onto a page as part of my attempt at working through some life shit and here we are. GIF chosen because those GODDAMN HANDS STARTED THIS WHOLE THING.

You shut the lid of your laptop with a little more force than necessary - not enough to get IT pissed off at you, just enough to satisfy your urge to shove the memory of that three hour long meeting-that-could-have-been-an-email out of your mind for the rest of the night.

You definitely didn’t want to be thinking about work right now.

Because Marcus was coming over tonight.

Your handsome, sweet, caring boyfriend Marcus.

A silly, girlish grin steals over your expression before you can stop it.

You’d just went “official” with Marcus last week, after the two of you had talked about how amazing the last couple months had been. You’d met at a café - a stereotypical meet-cute that you were only a little embarrassed by, both for its eye-rolling cheesiness and your role in the entire thing.

You had been on the phone, negotiating a contract and had accidentally grabbed his coffee when it came up. He had chased you down, there was an awkward exchange and you’d apologized profusely. But you’d run into him a couple more times after that and eventually neither of you could ignore the mutual attraction. A few dates had gradually turned into spending most nights and days off together and eventually both of you had realized you had no interest in seeing anyone else right now.

So, now he was your boyfriend Marcus.

Your heartbeat does a little skipping series of flutters and you huff in amusement. It seems so silly, reacting this way at your age, but really, you’ve never felt this… light, before. Being with Marcus is so comfortable, so effortless.

So vastly different from your previous experience.

After twelve years of trying to make a toxic marriage work, you had finally seen it for what it was and filed for divorce. Now, two years later, ink dry on the divorce papers and several therapy sessions giving your step a little more confidence, you’re finding out what it means to be in a healthy relationship with someone, and you’re practically giddy with it, despite your efforts to stay level-headed.

Which is all well and good, but you know what’s best. You shouldn’t dive right into another serious romantic relationship, not after the last one. So you’re moving slowly with Marcus, keeping a little bit of yourself in reserve, just in case.

Including your… proclivities.

Your nose wrinkles in sudden self-awareness, idly sifting through your thoughts.

Marcus is a sweet guy. The definition of sweet. Tooth-rotting, saccharine-sweet. And so kind, and understanding, and supportive - he’s been your rock over the last couple months, making sure you don’t get too lost in your work, sending you silly cat memes throughout the day, patiently listening to your venting about your issues with work and family with genuine sympathy.

The exact opposite of your ex-husband, who was usually too wrapped up in his own shit to have any clue what was going on with you.

Marcus has been exactly what you need in your life right now. He’s happy to move slowly, too, having just got out of a cancelled engagement and a failed marriage before that. His own therapy sessions had taught him to find validation in himself and not others, allowing him to ease into relationships instead of immediately going all in. In fact, you had been seeing each other for three weeks before you had sex, even though you had definitely wanted to before then, and only held back on mutual agreement.

A little frisson of arousal wends its way through your core, remembering that night.

God, what a great night.

You’d been practically swimming in your panties after lusting after him for weeks, and fuck, did he ever make it up to you. There were still parts of that night that were blurry, you’d come so many times they all just ran together at one point. He was amazing, the perfect mix of attentive and confident, and of course, his signature sweetness had your heart squeezing tight in your chest.

Sitting back in your chair, you tap your fingertip against your laptop thoughtfully, your nails clicking on the plastic.

Yeah, the sex is great. Some of the best sex you’ve ever had in your life, actually. And you definitely don’t want to give that up. You don’t want to give Marcus up.

But.

There’s that little part of you, the part that you’ve shoved away deep down, never allowing it to see the light of day, hidden behind a queasy feeling of uncertainty. It’s a part that wants a little bit more, a little harder, a little rougher. A part that you’ve never shown anyone, for fear of ridicule.

Also for fear of how far you would let it take control.

But after your divorce, after realizing how much of yourself you had pushed aside for the sake of keeping your ex-husband happy, you had realized… maybe you wanted to see. Maybe you wanted to let that instinct take over, and see what it felt like, with a partner you could trust not to shy away from it.

And sweet, sugary Marcus?

Marcus, who presses soft kisses along your temple as he undresses you? Marcus, who holds you gently while he carefully pulls pleasure from your body? Marcus, who murmurs tender admirations into the crook of your neck as he slowly slides inside you?

There was no way he’d be into that. And you’re not willing to bring it up and risk scaring him away.

You’ve survived this long without giving that more… intense part of you any satisfaction. Maybe right now you need to focus on just being happy, and not worry about the future. You don’t need to give in to that darker side of you to enjoy sex, and you definitely don’t need it to be happy with someone.

And you are.

You’re happy.

That silly little grin curves your mouth again. You try to temper it with a healthy dose of easy, girl, taking it slow, remember? but you can’t help it when your phone buzzes and you see it’s a text from Marcus asking how your meeting went and saying he can’t wait to see you tonight.

Ok, so maybe a giggle even slips out.

But you’re happy.

Standing up with a purpose, you look around your office.

And why shouldn’t you be? You had worked hard to get here, almost a decade’s worth of toiling to prove yourself, shoving your way into your dream job and succeeding on pure determination and skill. With some sweet-talking to cover up the simultaneous arm-twisting, yesterday you had finally earned your spot in a role where you could make an actual difference.

Which was exactly why Marcus was coming over tonight. He wanted to celebrate your promotion by making you dinner, and even though you had protested at first, he’d won you over with a little sweet-talking and arm-twisting of his own.

He’d been getting better at that, talking you into letting him do things for you, but it was still weird to you. For pretty much your entire life and certainly your entire marriage, you had been extremely self-sufficient, independent to a fault. You never asked for help unless you truly needed it, and had exhausted all other options. You didn’t exactly hate people doing things for you, but you did feel a sort of guilty about it. The thought of putting someone out, making someone feel obligated to do things for you made your stomach turn.

But it was deeper than that, too.

The possibility of liking it when people do things for you, maybe even growing to need it, was terrifying.

Your life had been full of abandonments, let downs and disappointments. You had learned not to rely on anyone but yourself.

But sweet, kind Marcus, with his adorable dimpled grin and warm brown eyes and soothing voice…

Sighing in a manner that you refuse to label as “dreamy,” you head out of your office to the bathroom for a quick shower before Marcus arrives.

Sure, Marcus had wormed his way through the tiniest of cracks in your defenses. Which was fine, as long as you were aware of it. And, of course, made sure that’s all you allowed him.

 ***

A polite rap on your front door snaps your attention from the kitchen counter you’re wiping down, and you only have a split second to register the sound before all hell breaks loose.

Two hundred pounds of canine in the form of two bull-mastiffs tear through the house toward the front door, your shouted command to calm down lost amidst the scramble of large paws on the floor and deep, rumbling barks that echo throughout the entryway.

“Seriously guys, calm down.” You make your way to the door, weaving in-between the masses of brown fur and beefy muscle. “Fred, Ginger, hush, go on, get out of here.”

The dogs reluctantly obey, even if only enough for you to open the door.

Marcus.

Warm brown eyes and a dimpled smile fill your vision, and you pause for a moment to take in the sight of him, dressed in blue jeans and a dark red henley that does all kinds of wonderful things to his chest and arms.

Meeting his smile with one of your own, you lean a shoulder against the door-frame, feigning nonchalance while your heart flutters with excitement. “You know you can just come in, you don’t have to knock.”

His grin widens. “I like to give the welcoming committee a chance to feel important.”

As if on cue, the dogs squeeze past you and out the door, immediately swarming Marcus, tongues lolling through big grins and tails thwacking against his legs. You snort softly in amusement as he leans down to scratch them both behind the ears, one at a time since his other hand is holding a bag of groceries.

“Here, let me.” Stepping forward, you snag the handle of the bag from his fingers. “Better come in or they’ll have you trapped out here all night.”

He steps into your space, hand cupping your jaw and tilting your lips up for a kiss. It’s gentle and sweet, and so quintessentially Marcus - as is the mischievous twinkle in his gaze when he pulls away. “There are worse ways to spend my time.”

Your hands drift up his chest, feeling the warmth of him underneath his shirt. “Like this, you mean?”

His mouth curves in an answering smile as he pulls away to look at you, brown eyes warm with affection. “Not even close.”

“Such a charmer.” You press another quick kiss to that boyish smile before turning to step back inside.

His chuckle of amusement as the big dogs try to weave between his legs follows you through the house and into the kitchen.

Setting the bag down on the counter, you start parceling through the groceries, avoiding his gaze. “So what are we cooking?”

“‘We’ are cooking nothing. I am cooking dinner while you relax.” He slides closer to you, arm looping around your waist and tugging you gently away from the counter.

You hold your ground, planting your feet. “I can help. You don’t have to -“

His lips suddenly press to yours, soft but insistent, and you’re temporarily overwhelmed by the feeling of Marcus, warm and broad and steady, mouth moving oh-so-sweetly against yours as he chases the whimper that squeezes from your throat.

Suddenly he’s pulling away and your hands grasp at his shirt on instinct, tugging him back. Your eyelids drift open and you catch the smirk on his face, and realization clicks. “Distracting me won’t work.”

“I beg to differ.” His fingers curl around the nape of your neck, tilting your head back so he can trail his lips over your jaw, pausing to press a kiss just below your ear, and you stifle the sigh of pleasure that slips from your mouth.

The curl of his lips on your skin tells you he caught the sound anyway.

His hand on your waist slides up, thumb brushing the curve of your breast, but you resist the urge to arch into his touch. “If you keep this up neither of us will be cooking tonight.”

He huffs softly against your neck. “Fair enough.” Pulling back, he meets your gaze, playful smirk replaced with open earnestness. “Let me make dinner for you. Please.”

“I swear, you’re one second away from actually pouting.”

“If that’s what it takes to get you to sit down for once.”

You roll your eyes, smiling at his determination. “Fine. I won’t help with dinner. Compromise: I’ll get the dogs set for the evening while you cook.” He opens his mouth to protest but you keep talking. “That way we can just relax after dinner, maybe watch a movie?”

The slight narrowing of his eyes means he sees your diversion, but after a moment he relents, hands smoothing down your back as he shakes his head. “One of these days I’m going to convince you to let me take care of you like you deserve.”

A sharp twinge of guilt and shame stabs through your stomach, nauseating, and you shove it deep down as you step away from Marcus. “And one of these days I’m not going to cave to those puppy dog eyes of yours.”

His begrudging chuckle follows you as you head toward the patio door to let the dogs out, their heavy paws scuffling along behind you.

 ***

Dinner was delicious, the movie an old favourite that allowed the two of you to chat quietly about your day without missing anything. Marcus had tucked you into his side as soon as you’d sat down, his presence warm and steady through the night, his hand casually stroking the curve of your waist. Fred sprawled at your feet, snoring softly, and Ginger took her usual place when Marcus was over, curled up on the cushion next to him, big, heavy head lying in his lap as he scratched her favourite spot, the divot between her eyebrows.

It was a perfect night.

Except for the anxiety fluttering in your stomach.

Marcus had let you help clean up after dinner, at least. But you still felt bad - he didn’t have to cook. You liked cooking, and you really liked cooking for other people. It felt good to take care of others. You’d done it your whole life, it was a well-practiced habit, one you felt comfortable doing.

The anxiety is still buzzing under your skin as you get ready for bed, pulling on a pair of sleep shorts and a loose tank top, then a chime from your phone catches your attention. Skimming through the long list of notifications, the last one catches your eye, and you open the related email.

“Are you kidding me?” You grumble at the phone screen, thumbs already typing out a reply.

Marcus walks into the bedroom carrying the bag he uses for overnight stays at your house, pausing as he takes in the expression on your face. “Everything ok?”

You sigh, quickly flipping over to your calendar on your phone. “This supplier is saying they can’t fulfill our last order, so they’re canceling it. He wants to book a meeting to discuss, I’m going to have to pull up his contract and - shit.”

The block of time the supplier proposed shows out of office in your calendar. Vet Appt.

“What’s up? Anything I can do?” Marcus sidles closer, furrow forming between his brows.

You groan in frustration. “The dogs have a vet appointment for vaccine booster shots at the same time the supplier wants to meet. And apparently that’s the only time he’s available, he’s traveling the rest of the day.”

Marcus shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly. “I can take the dogs. They’re pretty comfortable with me.”

“No, it’s fine.” You start typing out a reply to the supplier asking that he free up his schedule more to resolve this issue, gaze focused on your phone screen.

“I really don’t mind. I’ve got a light day tomorrow, just paperwork to close up a case.”

Your thumbs fly too fast over the keyboard and you have to backspace to correct a typo. “It’s fine, I’ll handle it.”

“Hey. Let me help.”

His voice is quiet and polite but it snaps through the tension you’ve been holding on to all night, and it pours out of you, clipping your words sharply. “I said it’s fine.”

You growl as you make another typo, throwing your phone on the bed in frustration. Marcus watches you, something unreadable in his expression, and for some reason that just irritates you further.

Crossing our arms in front of you, you give him a leveling look. “You knew what my work was like when we started dating. These things happen, and it’s my responsibility to figure out how to make it all work.”

His eyebrows flick up, obviously taken back by your tone. “I know. I’m just saying I can help.”

“I don’t need your help, Marcus!” Inwardly, you cringe at the volume of your voice. It’s too much, too different from his gentle cadence. A little voice whispers that you’re being unfair, lashing out at him, but you can’t stop yourself. “I’ve handled everything in my life just fine up until now, and I can handle everything moving forward.”

The furrow between his brows is back and he shakes his head once. “I know that. There has never been a single moment of doubt in my mind that you can’t handle anything that’s thrown at you.”

His soft tone of admiration is jarring, a clear contrast to your sharp, heated words that throws you off balance, and you can only look at him in silence as your thoughts race to find footing again.

He watches you for a moment, that warm gaze contemplative. “You are the most capable person I’ve ever met. To deal with everything that’s on your plate and still have the capacity to care as much as you do - it’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

He pauses, a faint flush pinking his cheekbones. “I’m… I’m in awe of you. I know that sounds cheesy but I really can’t think of any other word for it. So please believe me when I say I didn’t offer to help because I don’t think you can do it yourself. I know you can handle everything. I guess I… I hope you know that you don’t have to. You can lean on me, if you want. I’m here.”

I’m here.

Two words, softly spoken, land on your skin with the delicacy of a butterfly.

And send a shockwave through your entire system.

I’m here.

You know it’s true. From the moment you met him, he has been. His presence has been a constant, even when he’s not physically with you, whether it’s a warm smile as you tell him about your day or a quick text message saying he can’t wait to see you tonight. He’s here, supporting you, making you feel special, making sure that you’re taking care of yourself.

I’m here.

Never once has he given you reason to doubt the truth of those two words.

Even now, as you childishly take your frustrations out on him.

Even as you hold him at a distance that keeps him safely outside of your carefully constructed walls. The walls you built after too many people had hurt what’s inside, used you until there was nothing left, took what they needed with no regard for what little they were leaving you with.

Marcus never takes from you.

Marcus only gives.

Something cracks inside you, and a flood of emotion catches in your throat, brings tears to your eyes. He sees it, concern twisting his expression, hands lifting to reach for you before they pause, unsure of if you want him or not.

And oh god that hurts, the thought that he doesn’t know, doesn’t know how you feel about him.

How you feel right now.

Three quick steps and you’re on him, hands cupping his face to draw his mouth to yours. His startled sound gets lost in your kiss and his arms come around you, steadying, as the two of you sway with your momentum.

It feels so good and perfect and he feels so good and perfect and you press yourself tighter to him, some wild instinct trying to mould your body into his, needing to be as close to him as possible. Needing to show him that you don’t want to push him away, despite what you might say, that you want him right here with you.

An instinct that almost instantly flares into arousal, heat sparking down your body to settle between your thighs. Your hips move with it, seeking friction, seeking more of him, pressing into his.

He groans, low and rumbling, sliding a hand up your back to curl around your neck and tilt your head further back, giving him better access to delve into your mouth, pulling a keening whine from you and taking it into himself.

His hand shifts and his thumb suddenly rests over your racing pulse and your thoughts are flooded with something, a thick haze that erases all logical thought, allowing that instinct you’d felt a moment ago free reign to lock onto your awareness.

Panic floods your thoughts and you shove it away, recognition flickering with anxiety.

It’s that instinct, that part of you that you’ve pushed away for so long, afraid of what it meant.

The part of you that wants to let someone else be in control for once.

Then his thumb gently brushes over the throb off your pulse, soothing, while his long fingers hold your head firmly, and you don’t want to resist anymore.

It takes barely a thought and the thick haze swarms over your awareness in full.

Everything else fades away and you can feel only him, his palm on the curve of your lower back, strong and steady. His broad chest pressed against yours, warm, solid. His mouth expertly pulling pleasure from your lips and tongue, stoking the heat of arousal in your core.

His long, thick fingers curled around your neck, holding your very heartbeat in his hand.

Him him him Marcus -

You want this. You want to feel this, only him.

It takes a couple tries to get your body to obey, to pull back from him enough to speak. “Marcus.” Your voice is high and wavering in the air between you. “I-I need…”

Too many words, too many things you could say next but can’t, your tongue frozen to the roof of your mouth.

Your gaze lifts to meet his just as some kind of understanding flashes across his expression.

Those warm brown irises grow darker, almost black, bottomless.

He sees you.

And you should be terrified of being so exposed, but all you can think about is how much you want him to know all of you.

He tilts his head a little, watching you closely as his thumb presses ever-so-lightly over your pulse, his breath catching when your eyes widen and your hands clutch at his shoulders, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. “What do you need, beautiful?”

He knows.

You can hear it in his voice, see it swirling in those deep brown eyes.

The last frisson of logical thought left in your mind tries to panic.

But the haze on your thoughts doesn’t care.

“Don’t hold anything back.” You lean into his grip, pressing his thumb even tighter to your pulse, heart skittering against it.

His warm baritone drops even lower, rasping down your spine, holding a note of something you haven’t heard in his voice before.

“Do you know what you’re asking for?”

Something that calls to the thick haze that’s settled over you, something that tells you even if you don’t know the answer to that question, he does.

A moment of stillness, just his gaze watching you, just your heartbeat pounding in your ears and against his grip.

You swallow hard, throat flexing under his hand. “Show me.”

He looks at you for a long moment, searching your features for any sign of hesitation, brown eyes meeting yours once more to read the certainty there.

Then he moves.

It’s lightening-fast.

One moment you’re standing and the next you’re face down on the bed, his hands on your waist, pressing you firmly into the mattress.

The air leaves your lungs in a rush and your fingers claw at the blanket, trying to ground yourself, a dizzying wave of arousal coursing through your body.

“You want me to show you, huh?” Marcus leans over to murmur into your ear, making sure you hear his every word, trailing his fingers down your back as he speaks. “You want me to show you what I’ve been thinking about since I first saw you? Standing in line at the café, listening to you talking on the phone, so focused, so confident, insistent on getting what you wanted. God, it was so fucking sexy. Then you turn around and this perfect ass -” his hand suddenly squeezes the plush flesh, fingertips digging, sending little stabs of pleasure-pain straight to your core. “- is right there in front of me, and all I could think about was how it would look bouncing on my cock.”

Fuck.

The dampness between your thighs grows, a warmth that makes the cloth of your underwear stick to your folds.

Your thoughts move sluggishly, words trying to make sense of instinct. “Please, Marcus.”

“Please what, baby?” His voice is gentle, coaxing, even as his hand on your ass grips tighter, tiny pinpricks of pain making you squirm.

Frustration worms its way through the haze. “I-I don’t know.”

“Beautiful girl, doesn’t know what she needs but knows she needs it.” He shushes you softly, relaxing his grip and smoothing his hand over the stinging bruises. “You said you want me to show you, and I can do that. I can show you what you need. But you have to do something for me, ok?”

He presses a tender kiss to your temple, gently tilting your chin up over your shoulder so he can meet your gaze fully. “I need you to use your words, especially if it ever gets to be too much. I know it might be difficult in the moment, but you’re so strong, sweetheart, I know you can focus enough to tell me to stop if you want me to, at any time and for any reason. Can you do that for me?”

You swallow against a dry throat, push the word out. “Yes.”

He smiles, eyes dark and full lips curling. “Good girl.”

The praise shoots through the haze and that primal instinct inside you preens, making you whimper at the fresh wave of arousal, back arching your hips higher as your fingers curl into the sheets.

His smile grows, eyebrow quirked. “Oh, did she like that? When I called her a good girl?”

You huff against the mattress, thighs squeezing together as your core throbs. Oh god why was that so hot? Him talking to you in the third person? “Yes, I like it.”

Out of the corner of your eye you watch his gaze track the movement and then he shifts down the bed, out of sight again. “Are you wet for me, baby?”

“Mmmph.” Your hips lift off the bed instinctively, body trying to supplement where your voice can’t.

“Use your words.”

Oh fuck -

The soft note of command in his voice makes the haze of your thoughts pulses and words burst free, fall gasping from your lips. “Yes, oh god I’m so fucking wet for you, please Marcus -”

He growls - growls - and suddenly his hands are tearing your shorts and underwear off and the sting of the fabric scraping down your legs with the harshness of the movement only amplifies that primal instinct to feel more.

Then his hands are lifting your hips and pushing your legs so you’re kneeling on the bed, his movements just as sharp and fast as before, and you’re gasping into the sheets at the feeling of the cool air swirling over your wet cunt.

He hums behind you. “Mmm, look at you, all spread out for me.”

Those big, warm hands cup your curves, steady on the sensitive skin where your ass meets your thighs, and he clicks his tongue in mock sympathy. “Poor girl, beautiful pussy is so fucking wet you’re dripping.”

His thumbs glide up to press and pull you completely open, and you keen, senses overwhelmed, vulnerable. He chuckles softly and you feel your inner walls flutter at the knowledge that he’s enjoying this, just watching you like this. “Look at you, clenching on nothing. Need something to fill you up, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.” Fuck, you can’t even talk, you’re so turned on, you’ve never felt so much before.

“Shh, it’s ok, I’ve got you. I’ll fill you up, nice and full, but I’m going to taste you first.”

Before his words can even sink through the haze of your thoughts his tongue is laving over your entrance and your hips twitch with a wave of pleasure, the hot wet muscle gathering the slick that’s formed there and flicking inside for just a second before disappearing, leaving you panting.

You hear him swallow and moan at your taste, and oh god that’s hot.

His tongue glides down to your clit, swirling lightly, over and over at a pace that instantly steals the breath from your lungs.

Pleasure builds, your core clenching, back arching as your body begs for more, and he moans into your cunt, open-mouthed and breathy, and the feeling of warmth ghosting over your slick folds makes you writhe on the bed, shuddering cry muffled against the sheets.

Over and over his tongue works your clit, pulling it into the wet heat of his mouth and flicking tight circles as he suckles, drawing your pleasure higher and higher.

Then his arms are curling around your thighs to hold you in place and his tongue is rolling against your clit and his nose is brushing against your entrance and your orgasm is right there, blindsiding you, yanking you closer and closer to the peak as his tongue presses over your clit and flicks hard and you’re crying out wordlessly as you fall -

His hands grip you hard as your hips flex, the deep groan rumbling from his chest vibrating against your pussy and shoving another wave of pleasure through your body.

You whimper and claw at the sheets until finally it releases you, leaving your limbs quivering, your cheek limply pressed to the mattress.

There’s one brief moment, one breath to fill your lungs, for the world to start to reassemble around you and then he’s shoving his cock into your still-fluttering cunt, straight to the hilt.

The force of his thrust threatens to push you across the bed but his hands grab your waist firmly as he pulls out, only to immediately shove forward again, driving his cock deep. A strangled shout stutters from your throat, lips mouthing at the sheets.

He holds your waist with one hand while the other slides under your tank top, up your back and down again, caressing the curve of your hip. “Fuck, you look so good like this. Does it feel good, beautiful?”

You almost choke on your own words as he thrusts into you again, the zipper of his jeans - fuck, he’s still fully clothed - biting into the sensitive skin of your ass. “Y-yes.”

“Do you like it when I fuck you like this? Bend you over and fuck your pussy as hard as I want?”

The haze of your thoughts throbs as he takes up a rhythm that has the edges of your vision going dark. The entire world narrows down to just the feeling of him inside you and around you, the sting of his thrusts against your ass and thighs, the not-quite bruising grip of his hands on your waist, the blinding pleasure radiating from his cock as it glides over some spot deep inside you again and again -

Then suddenly he stops.

Your entire body shudders hard, cunt clenching around his cock, begging for friction. You whine into the sheets, a garbled questioning sound, your thoughts reeling at the shift.

His hands smooth down your back, soothing, voice firm. “Answer me, baby. Do you like it when I fuck you like this?”

That instinct, the haze that forces your focus to only Marcus, seems to speak for you, pushing words from your mouth, rough with need. “Yes I love it please fuck me like you want to -”

He groans, picking up his brutal rhythm. “Good girl, such a good girl for me.”

And then your words are lost again, all senses blinded by pleasure.

His cock drives through your core and every thrust feels like he’s punching into your fucking soul and then his hands are pressing down on your shoulderblades, forcing your back to arch even more, tipping your hips at a sharp angle and the head of his cock hits that spot inside you and you’re coming again -

And again and again and again -

You don’t stop you can’t stop it’s just wave after wave before one let’s go another begins and -

He picks up the pace with one-two-three quick, deep thrusts and pleasure explodes across your vision, white noise flooding your ears, inner walls pulsing around his cock over and over and your lungs scream for air.

A split second, a flash of time, you hang there then you drop and your awareness falls back into your body.

You’re moving slowly, his hands guiding you onto your side as your limbs continue trembling with aftershocks.

He slides behind you, warm and steady along the length of your frame, one arm curling underneath your shoulders to pull you close and the other tucking you into the curve of his body, his hand splayed just under your collarbone.

Your body obeys the silent command, drawing a deep and shuddering breath, gasping and choking like you had stopped breathing for ages.

The white noise ebbs and you hear his voice, quiet and unfaltering, right next to your ear.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart, nice and slow, just breathe and relax.”

The haze of your thoughts follows his instruction, focusing on expanding and retracting your lungs, bringing your heartbeat down to a reasonable pace. His hands never leave you, one resting over the centre of your chest, while the other strokes your temple, his arm cradling your head.

Finally your limbs relax, fingers uncurling from where they’ve fisted in the blankets so hard they hurt. You focus on feeling him behind you, the softness of his shirt against your bare shoulders, the rough denim of his jeans against the back of your thighs, the faint, steady warmth of his breath on the curve of your neck.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “Are you with me?”

“Yes?” The word falls from your lips, rough and strained.

“Good girl.” The soft chuckle makes you smile, belatedly hearing the uncertainty in your own voice. His hand suddenly leaves your chest and cups your pussy, making you start, the heat of his palm a shock to your oversensitive flesh. “I think you need to come like that again, hmm?”

Your sluggish thoughts register that he’s asking a question. “Can I?”

“Are you asking if it’s possible? Or asking for permission?” He rises up on an elbow to look down at you, keeping your head nestled on his forearm, his dark gaze a hypnotic mixture of amusement and lust. “Because the answer to either question is ‘yes.’”

Your whimper is caught by his mouth, his lips coaxing yours open to slip his tongue inside. The taste of him floods your senses and your entire body arches toward him, needing to feel him.

He groans at your movement, hand between your thighs gliding up your body to curl around your neck, leaning slightly on his forearm, pressing your chest down just enough to prevent you from moving.

The sensation is overwhelming, a shiver runs down your spine and your breath stutters against his lips.

He pulls back just a bit to look down at you again. “You need this, pretty girl? Feeling me on you, my hand on your throat like this?”

His hand on your neck squeezes once, a barely-there movement, and a white-hot thrill shoots through your body, throbs in your core. “Y-yes I like it.”

“Hmm, I think it’s more than that.” He whispers as he trails kisses down your jaw. “I’ve seen it, sometimes, when I’m fucking you just a little rougher, something in your eyes that begs for more.”

His tongue laps at the skin of your throat right over your fluttering pulse. “A part of you that needs this.”

The hand squeezes again, for longer this time, and for a moment you can’t breathe, can’t move, frozen, and then he loosens his grip and oxygen is rushing through your system with a flurry of endorphins and cortisol as your fight or flight instinct flares into action, tensing every muscle.

But Marcus is right there, long fingers moving in soothing strokes up and down your neck, lips pressing tender kisses over the bridge of your nose and cheekbones.

Endorphins win out, sweeping you away into the warmth and security that he’s layering on your body with his gentle touches. Your hands clutch at his arm, holding tight, your breath coming in quick pants that almost sound like whimpers to your own ears.

His voice is soft, gentling yet direct. “Open your eyes.”

Your eyes are shut tight and it takes effort to open them, the haze on your thoughts delaying any communication with your body. But you want to obey, to be good for him, so you slowly open your eyes, meeting his gaze above you.

Something like awe forms on his features, an open amazement, as his hand strokes up to cup your jaw, fingertip brushing along the corner of your eye. “God, look at you. Absolutely perfect. Just… lovely.”

He dips down to kiss your forehead gently, runs his nose down along yours, his words brushing over your parted lips. “My lovely one.”

Something twists in your chest, turning and turning until it’s knotted around your heart and it hurts but it feels so good at the same time. A broken cry is pushed from your chest, sounding something like his name and a curse and a plea all at the same time.

His lips meet yours briefly, a reassuring kiss followed by a soft susurration, his hand returning to your neck, a comforting weight. “Tell me what you need, lovely one.”

Tell me what you need.

What do you need?

The haze of your thoughts narrows, sharpens for just one moment.

And you know.

You know what you need.

What he’s been trying to show you.

It’s this.

This state of hyper-awareness that allows you only to feel, all logical thought locked away behind a fog of pleasure.

There’s nothing else here, no problems to solve, no one who needs you to care for them, no one here to take from you.

It’s just you and him - Marcus, the shield protecting you from everything, the guiding hand showing you how to achieve perfect bliss, how to find pleasure in only receiving.

Marcus, who now holds your life in his hand with a tenderness that speaks to how aware he is of this responsibility, and that sincere, open gaze that tells you he will never break your trust.

Slowly, but with no hesitation, you curl your fingers around his wrist, pressing his hand tighter to your throat. “You. I need you, like this.”

He leans down to rest his forehead against yours, taking a moment to simply share your breath before kissing you oh-so-softly. “Good girl. My beautiful, smart, strong girl. You have me.”

Your heart throbs and your eyes sting with emotions you’re not ready to name.

He shifts, hand on your neck moving to grasp your thigh and lift up, baring your cunt to the cool air of the room. Your breath hitches in anticipation as he lines up, the head of his cock brushing along your soaked folds, catching on your entrance, then he’s pushing in, a slow, relentless movement that instantly has your legs trembling.

It’s a moment that seems to stretch forever, your entire body strung tight, focus centred on the split of your inner walls around his cock. And the whole time he’s watching you, those burning-dark eyes just inches from yours, gaze flickering over your features, noting every pull and crease and twitch as your expression shifts to one of pure need.

Finally his hips are flush with your ass and he pulls you back a bit more so your weight rests on him, your head tucked into the curve of his arm, his hand on your thigh gliding up until your knee is hooked over his elbow. You squirm helplessly, stretched open and pinned in place, stuffed full of his cock.

The need to move claws at your skin, threatens to bring tears to your eyes, so you squeeze them shut to stop it. Your thoughts are spiraling, frazzled, near panic, and you don’t know why, the sensation of being pulled open and vulnerable overwhelming and you can’t -

Then his hand glides up your chest, fingers brushing the curve of your breast over your tank top, the motion pulling your knee even higher until his fingers curl around your throat and there that’s it yes -

The weight of his hand, warmth of his palm on your racing pulse, smooth calluses on his fingertips along the sides of your neck.

It anchors your thoughts again, pulls you back into place, and the haze settles, firmly shutting out any anxiety.

Your eyes drift open, meeting his gaze. He’s still watching you, assessing, as if he knows what just happened inside your own mind, as if he can see the moment you let the haze take over once more.

His mouth curves into a gentle smile, full lips pursing slightly. “That’s it, keep your eyes open. I want to watch you feel this. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.” The haze speaks for you again, firm and confident.

His thumb strokes over your pulse. “Good girl.”

He moans softly at the subsequent pulse of your cunt around his cock, a thrill of pleasure coursing through your core at his praise.

Then he starts to fuck you.

It’s an unending series of long thrusts that drive deep, with a snap of his hips that punches up into you, setting every nerve in your body afire, shoving little whimpers from your lungs and sending starbursts across your vision as the slick glide of his cock spreads your cunt deliciously.

Words fall from your lips among the choked sounds. “Oh god - I - so good - don’t stop please - don’t -“

“I’m not stopping until you come. Wanna feel you flood my cock.”

He pants above you, voice rough with the effort of his movements and his own pleasure, and that instinct inside your thoughts preens, knowing you are the reason.

It spurs on your own pleasure, climax rising quickly, and your hands fly for purchase, one gripping the forearm of the hand on your throat and the other reaching up to find his free hand. He grasps your fingers, twining them with his own, holding your joined hands just over your shoulder.

A jagged moan rips through your chest - the contrast is devastating, this tender embrace and the soft open-mouthed kisses along your cheek as he fucks you roughly, cock spearing hard and deep and hitting that spot every time, pushing your pleasure up and up and the hand on your throat tightens just a bit, pressing just so along the sides of your neck and your vision blurs until all you can see is those dark eyes that see all of you.

His words float through the haze. “You’re gonna come so hard, I can feel it, can see it. You’re gonna come like this, spread open on my cock, pinned down with my hand on your throat, and you’re gonna love it, aren’t you? Come for me, my beautiful, perfect girl.”

Your orgasm crest, sparking all along your skin and tensing in your muscles and you’re suddenly untethered, floating in that haze, needing an anchor to pull you back and keep you safe and you call out -

“Marcus - “

He doesn’t let up, fingers flexing just a little harder on your throat, cock splitting you over and over as his words sink deep into your soul. “Let go, lovely one. I’ve got you.”

His grip on your throat slackens and oxygen floods your lungs and -

You come.

Hard.

Harder than you’ve ever come in your entire life.

Every muscle seizes, ripples, spasms, your heartbeat rushes in your ears, and for a moment you can almost hear his, his pulse, throbbing against your neck through his hand and against your inner walls through his cock. Your awareness flares and envelopes him until all that exists and has ever existed is just him and you, singular and eternal.

Then the release snaps you back into your body.

Marcus shudders, corners of his eyes tight with concentration, thrusts faltering as your pussy throbs around his cock, squelch of it filling the air. “Fuck, so good, so fucking tight -“

You want him, all of him, need all of him.

“Marcus please -“ your fingernails scrape along his skin as you try to tug him impossibly closer, words lost in your own pleasure spiraling upward again.

Something almost possessive crosses his features, gaze growing somehow darker, and he leans over you, hand shifting to cup the back of your neck and tilt your face up to look at him as he drags his cock in and out. “Want me to come inside you, pretty girl? Fuck, you know how much I love that? Filling you up, watching me drip out of you?”

Your fingers curve around his shoulder, looking up at him with as much sincerity as you can muster, voice wavering as he pulls out only to push back in with a snap of his hips. “I love it, too, please, I need it, need you -“

“Oh, fuck, yes you do, don’t you?” A shiver runs along his shoulders and he drops his forehead to yours, dark gaze completely filling your vision. “Come with me and I’ll come inside you, lovely one.”

The haze of your thoughts ripples, throbs, exalts.

You lift a hand to his face, cupping his cheek, holding him right there with you, his breath and his sounds of pleasure mingling with yours as they grow louder and faster, rising with your orgasms until yours breaks, cunt clutching and gushing around him and he cries out, thrusting home once-twice more before burying himself deep. All you can do is hold on tight, fingernails digging into his skin, riding the wave of your pleasure with him, that primal instinct shouting with joy as the warmth of his spend floods your core.

There’s a moment of calm as your heartbeats sync and your breathing starts to regulate, and you look at him, emotions too deep and weighty to name filling your thoughts, amplified by the haze that still envelopes them.

He looks back at you, those same emotions reflected in that dark, beautiful gaze.

For a moment it’s just the two of you, in the entire universe, a moment too big to fit in the space between you and yet somehow it does, squeezing into those cracks in your walls and curling around that part of you that’s been hiding for so long.

Then he’s moving, carefully pulling out of you, shushing your soft whine at the sudden emptiness with a kiss.

For a brief moment you panic, overwhelmed with the need to be close to him and your arms wrap tight around his shoulders, drawing him back.

He huffs gently into the curve of your neck. “I’m just going to grab something to clean you up.”

You make a wordless sound of protest, pulling him back down to you, and he follows, turning to roll onto his back, an arm curving around your waist to tug you into his chest. Gratefully, you tuck your head under his chin, curling your limbs around him as tightly as possible, pillowing against his broad chest.

His heartbeat thrums under your ear, keeping time with the smooth strokes of his hand up and down your back, the small circles of his other hand on your shoulder, fingers brushing your neck occasionally.

It’s safe and warm and… like home.

The haze of your thoughts flutters, starting to dissipate. Not yet, don’t go yet, I don’t want to go back to… to…

The tears that have been hovering behind your eyes since the moment Marcus laid his hand on your neck finally catch hold, pooling behind your closed eyelids. You try to swallow them back down but it’s useless, you’re still too open, too raw.

Two teardrops fall onto his chest just as you fail to hold back the sob that’s burning in your throat and his hands pause their circling path.

“Hey? You okay?” His voice is so soft, murmuring against your hair.

You try to answer but only a whimper comes out, more tears squeezing onto his skin.

His arms pull you in tighter, lips pressing kisses to the top of your head. “Talk to me, baby. What’s wrong?”

The sob finally breaks free, and you turn your face into his chest as if you could hide from it, wrestling your voice under control. “Nothing, I’m fine, it’s just -“ you sniff back another onslaught of tears, the haze of your thoughts making all these emotions seem so much bigger, so much more.

Then his hand is cupping your face, gently shifting you to look at him, and there he is, those beautiful brown eyes warm with concern, with care, for you. “It’s ok, just breathe for a minute, all right? Focus on me. I’m here.”

I’m here.

Those words again.

You meet his gaze, letting yourself fall into it, into the feel of his hands holding you steadily. Your body moves to obey him, lungs filling, shifting into a calm rhythm as you focus on the one thing anchoring your thoughts, guiding you back to yourself.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Marcus.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Marcus.

Slowly, the haze begins to pull away, the last of it evaporating with the sweep of his thumbs brushing away the tears from your cheeks and the caress of his fingertips along your jaw.

A smile suddenly breaks through your tears, and it feels like the sun itself is warming the inside your chest. “You are, aren’t you?”

His brows pull together slightly, a little crease of confusion forming between them. “I’m what?”

Your hand cups his to your face as you turn to plant a gentle kiss to his palm, your eyes steady on his. “You’re here.”

Understanding flashes across his face, and he smiles in return. “Always, lovely one.”

*****

Next: Affirmations

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal

[chattingwiththelightkeeper]

The Daily D/S For 1/17/24:

How has your perception of pleasure and pain evolved through BDSM experiences?

Reflecting on my journey within the BDSM lifestyle, the evolution of my perception of pleasure and pain has been a transformative and unexpected experience. Initially, the discovery that I derived pleasure from inflicting consensual, pleasurable pain was both shocking and startling. Coming to terms with this aspect of myself required navigating the complexities of self-discovery and understanding.

In the early stages of my journey, the notion that I could find enjoyment in causing consensual pain was met with confusion and internal conflict. Society often conditions us to perceive pain solely as a negative sensation, and acknowledging its pleasurable aspect challenged societal norms. I grappled with understanding how this seemingly contradictory revelation could coexist within me.

However, as the journey within the lifestyle unfolded, so did my understanding of myself. Through open communication, exploration, and a willingness to delve into the depths of my desires, I began to accept and, ultimately, embrace this facet of my authenticity. It became evident that the pleasure derived from consensual pain was not rooted in harm but rather in the mutual trust and exploration between consenting individuals.

The process of self-acceptance and embracing this unexpected aspect of my desires was not instantaneous. It required patience, introspection, and a commitment to understanding the complexities of pleasure and pain within the context of BDSM. Gradually, I came to recognize that my enjoyment of consensual pain did not define me negatively but rather added a layer of richness to my identity.

Now, with an evolved perspective, I proudly express my enjoyment of giving consensual, pleasurable pain. My favorite implements, such as a wooden spoon, wooden clothespins, or the tactile touch of my hands, have become tools of connection and expression within the consensual dynamics I engage in.

This journey has taught me that self-discovery is an ongoing and ever-evolving process. What may initially shock or challenge us can, over time, become an integral part of our authentic selves. By embracing the complexities of our desires, we not only understand ourselves better but also contribute to the richness and diversity of the BDSM community.

My perception of pleasure and pain has undergone a profound transformation through my experiences with the lifestyle. I have learned to accept, embrace, and celebrate the consensual, pleasurable aspects of pain as an integral part of who I am. This journey of self-discovery has not only enriched my personal life but has also contributed to the tapestry of understanding within the broader BDSM community.

How has your perception of pleasure and pain evolved through BDSM experiences? Share your thoughts and experiences in the comments below.

If you enjoyed this, I invite you to give my podcast a listen 'Chatting With The Lightkeeper,' a top 25% most-followed podcasts on Spotify but available on all the major podcasting apps and follow my socials for more exclusive content: Instagram, Facebook, and X (formerly Twitter) for a deeper dive into the wonderful world of D/S.

As with all of my thoughts, please see this disclaimer.

©TLK2024

#d/s relationship #bd/sm community #dom/sub #d/s community #my writing #bd/sm blog #bd/sm daddy #bd/sm kink #bd/sm lifestyle #bd/sm relationship #d/s #daily d/s

[kehlana-wolhamonao3]

First of all, can I say that I hate the new Tumblr interface. They but "Ask" right next to "Report" and I was one tap from accidently reporting you.

Can they stop screwing with the control functions?!

Anyway, I digress ...

I was wondering if you'd give me a consult from one writer to another on something.

I've been planning and talking up a Mary/Matthew story for years - inspired by a lot of things but mostly "Last Night in Soho" - and the one thing I was puzzling is really fundamental to the story.

It's AU - sort of - in that I've built up a Downton Extended Universe for years and in a way its a continuation of that universe just set in the future, in fact I've been building the story up for a long time through foreshadowing in other stories since 2019.

However, I'm not sure how I want to open it.

See, the premise of the story is that there is an actress/singer/part-time Lingerie Model in a present/futuristic London named Mary - go figure - who is starting to have these vivid dreams of an Edwardian Great Lady's who looks exactly like her. In particular she is haunted by visions and memories of a handsome blonde gentleman of whom she's falling in love with. There is also a murder mystery surrounding the death of her main competition for the play they were both going out for based on a famous novel by " Lady Edith Pelham".

The plot is probably a bit more Doctor Who inspired than I'm sure the fandom would want in it - not aliens, but reincarnation and supernatural elements and so forth. Which is usual fair for me, but I haven't gotten a review in years, despite doing well in terms of reader count.

Anyway, I have the story series broken down into three. Mary's story is a detective story, Matthew's is a Pulp historical Adventure story, and the final one is a romance story that focuses on both of them coming together. With their descendent being the overarching protagonist and hero that holds it all together.

Finally! My question.

In your opinion, do you think I should open the entire thing on how Mary and Matthew ended up where they are and what happened to Downton Abbey in the past, or should I leave it off till the final story?

Cause part of the mystery of the story that gets brought up quite a bit is the folklore and famous legend of the disappearance of Downton Abbey and The County Grantham 100 years ago (or 70 years ago if I decide to set in the present) which has spawned - in universe - countless documentaries and reality shows, including a very famous ITV Show. But the only person who knows the truth of what happened are the mysterious and "Cracked" exiled heirs of the fallen House of Grantham that guard the secrets of Downton with their lives.

I don't know, I'm torn if I want to start off with a bang - a kick in the balls. Or if I should gradually feed in clues about what happened to Downton and her inhabitants the night that the House of Grantham fell.

As a reader of all things - well, most things, I imagine - Mary/Matthew and a writer of consistency and consequence, what do you think?

Tell'em from the start or tease it out?

Sorry for the long ask and if you don't want to read the wall up there, I understand ... it just you're the only active Mary/Matthew Downton fanfic writer that I know of and I've been mulling this over for days.

First of all let me tell you that I would totally read this story! I am also Doctor Who fan and love timey wimey types of plot. I also have read some pretty wild plots in the DA fandom (crossover with Doctor Who, ghosts, time travel and not just my own), so I think it would fit right in.

I think both approaches are valid and I understand why it is a dilemma which one to choose. I think I might have gone with hints and gradual reveal of the mystery, but in a similar case I just wrote two different versions of a chapter and checked which one I liked better. If you want, I can act as a beta and read them if you decide to go that way.

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

The windy cliffs of Sandstone Glaze

There’s nothing like gliding on top the peaks of Sandstone Glaze, picking flowers and taking in the view. The unusual rock formations were caused by a giant meteor that crash landed there billions of years ago. It’s hard to imagine that there was a point in time when this area was just flat land.

Along with rare minerals, sand gyroids, and ores, Sandstone Glaze is known for its glaze snowflowers, an uncommon plant that’s mainly used for herbal medicine these days. They’re small white and blue flowers that kinda look like glass, think edelweiss but a lot more delicate looking. Because the grass is a reddish brown because of its unusual soil properties, it’s easy to spot these flowers from a distance. They tend to grow in high places and because they’re so abundant here, cliff gliding for them is a somewhat popular recreational activity in these parts.

I originally came here with Charlie and Hamilton, who dropped by to visit Lei and Karin. Then on the way there Raiden joined us along with Adella, who happens to be Lei and Karin’s cousin. Karin is a family friend who’s an alum of Harper and Denton and she plans to work there as a teacher when she’s finished with school. She lives in Spectrum Falls but she’s been staying with her brother and uncle for the summer as she’s been experiencing a bunch of changes recently so it’s understandable that she needs a break.

The others filled me and Raiden in on what’s been going on with Karin. I’m glad the rough part is over for her and she’s doing a lot better now that things have settled down. When she was fourteen, Karin lost her sight, so she was sent to Harper and Denton and became good friends with Hamilton. During her time there, not only she was on top of her class, she also met Malcolm, who would later become her husband. They married not too long after Karin’s graduation and both studied to become teachers for the school. Karin is not only ambitious and intelligent, she is also strong and compassionate, which is why Krista felt she’s be a good addition to Harper and Denton. In other words - unless Karin decides to drastically change her mind like Malcolm did - she’s pretty much set after graduation.

At first, I found it hard to believe that Karin and Malcolm decided to separate, but at the same time, it makes sense. Malcolm, by some miracle, had gradually regained his vision over the past couple years, and so that brought about many changes for him. Unfortunately, as time went on and he began to readjust to being able to see again, he and Karin began drifting apart. While he was out there rediscovering the world, Karin was sadly left behind, and for a time she felt like she was a burden to her husband. Things were pretty rough for a while and I don’t blame her for feeling that way.

In the end, Karin and Malcolm split amicably and they remain good friends. Looking back, Karin said that their troubles started long before, around the time they lost their two month old son. I remember how hard it had been for them, especially Karin. Though Karin says she doesn’t regret getting married, she does say that they were much too young, and she believes that also contributed to how things ended up. I think I get what she means. After all, she was eighteen and barely out of high school and he just finished his first year of college. A lot has changed since then.

The divorce wasn’t finalized until a couple months ago and Karin says it’s like a huge weight has been lifted off her shoulders. Truth be told, she and Malcolm had been putting off signing the papers because although they agreed that it was for the best, it’s still hard to fully come to terms with it. For a while they really did try to make things work - and that wasn’t just talk, they actively went through counseling and stuff for months before coming to their final verdict - and even that made it clear that it was best for them to go their separate ways. Hamilton and Lei say that Malcolm had a harder time coming to terms with that while Karin, with a little time, accepted it.

With that finally out of the way, Karin and Malcolm are looking into the future. Karin actually visited Malcolm a couple days ago when he and some friends were visiting the city. He had some free time so they hung out together and Karin felt that it was good for the two of them. She’s glad to hear that he can still confide in her and turn to her when he needs someone to talk to. That was the first time they were alone together since signing the papers and considering how well that went, Karin’s optimistic about where their relationship will go from here.

Despite what happened, I’m glad that things are working out for Karin and Malcolm. It’s good to hear that they’re still good friends who can turn to each other for solace.

Lei has been in Charcoal Prose for a couple months now, taking over as his uncle’s advisor until he can find a replacement. The position’s supposed to be temporary, but Lei’s worried that if they don’t find someone soon, it’s gonna be permanent. Though he’s good at his job and the Ministry of Civil Affairs is more than willing to keep him, Lei’s not that interested. To be honest, the main reason why he accepted the position was because his mother kinda pressured him into it. Though it could’ve been worse, he said, if he was forced to work with strangers instead of family.

Lei, Karin, and Adella’s uncle is pretty much a big shot in Charcoal Prose as he’s basically the one who runs the city. Despite his status, he’s not one of those people who uses that to his advantage. The Qianshe family as a whole is a big deal - it was their ancestors who established this city. Lei and Karin’s mother is the oldest, followed by Adella’s father, then JJ, a higher up in the Ministry of Civil Affairs, and finally Min.

With JJ being engaged, Adella has been going on about trying to find someone for Min. Before Lei was born the Ministry has been trying to set Min up with someone, but things didn’t work out. Then Karin and Adella came along and he became busy with the city’s affairs so they didn’t press the issue.

I get that Adella wants what’s best for her family, but I agree with Lei and Karin about leaving their uncle be. If he isn’t interested in getting married, then that’s his choice. Lei’s the closest to him and he says he can’t see Min being the marrying type, nor he would be kind of person who’d settle with someone for the sake of status. Raiden, Charlie, and Hamilton have also tried to talk Adella out of her matchmaking schemes. I’m not really sure if we got through to her - her cousins say that she can be quite stubborn.

Exploring the peaks of Sandstone Glaze was a nice surprise. When we came to see Karin and Lei, we thought we’d just be spending time in the city. Then Raiden and Adella came along and Min insisted on giving Lei the weekend off since it’s a rare occasion for all three cousins to be together. Raiden and Adella hadn’t planned on stopping by the city - Adella was out traveling when she had car trouble not too far from here and her uncles insisted that she stay rather than camp out in the middle of nowhere. Seeing that they won’t get another opportunity like this for a while, Charlie suggested that we go gliding and pick flowers.

I’m happy to put my wind glider to good use. I’ve been taking it with me for some of my travels but I haven’t had many chances to use it, which is a shame since it was a gift, handmade by a friend. The weather also happened to be perfect for gliding - a light breeze, slightly cloudy skies, warm sun - it really couldn’t get any better than that.

Raiden and Charlie have their own wind gliders while the others rented theirs. Karin stayed with Lei, who often acts as her eyes, describing the scenery to her in vivid detail. Hamilton says that people often misunderstand Lei because he comes across as lazy and uncaring when in reality he’s just super laid back and blunt. He might complain a lot but he does care - why else would he be appointed as his uncle’s advisor if he wasn’t considered a good fit?

Along with the scenery, I found myself watching Lei and Karin. They got a special glider that holds two and Lei would tell her when to put her arms out and when to brace herself for landing. Watching and listening to him describe the view to his sister, he almost seems like a different person. Hamilton says he could easily be a writer if he wanted to but it’s not something he feels up to putting the effort into. Though he doesn’t have the best way of showing it, he does care a lot about Karin and he deserves credit for being a pillar of support for her through hard times.

Jumping off from one cliff to the next while the wind carries you - it’s a bit scary at first, but in a good way. I’ve been gliding, picking flowers, and enjoying the view. The cliffs can get super steep so it takes some practice landing at a good spot that won’t make you feel like you’re gonna fall over. I was off on my own for most of the time as the place is so big, though I occasionally run into the others. It doesn’t look like it but there’s a bunch of other people gliding too.

Of course, we got a pretty good haul of gyroids, ores, and flowers. Lei said since we’re here, we might as well pick some flowers to give to the pharmacy. Turns out you can make quite a bit collecting herbs and other medicinal plants so it’s a good side job if you need some money. As for the gyroids and ores, I’m gonna take what I collected back to the camp for crafting. I’m sure Daisy Jane and Goldie can come up with some nice furnishings for them.

Time seems to fly by when you’re up in the air. Before I knew it, more than half the day was half over so we met up at one of the cliffs for a little picnic before heading back to the city.

On the way back we stopped by the pharmacy to drop off the flowers. I’ve never seen so many different types of medicinal herbs in one place, it’s basically a mix of modern and herbal meds. Charlie says if it wasn’t for the pharmacy, many ancient herbal remedies would’ve been lost to time. When I first set foot in this place, I immediately thought of little Nana picking herbs.

Cliff gliding wore us off more than we thought so we stopped by a teahouse for a rest. There, we ran into JJ and Min and we hung out for a bit. It was nice getting to know them, they seem like nice people. Lei acted cool and indifferent about it while Adella and Karin were more casual. JJ definitely comes across as the cool, favorite uncle. Charlie, Raiden, Hamilton, and I congratulated him on his engagement and he said he hopes to introduce us to his fiancee next time we meet up. Karin and Adella have spoken positively about her while Lei says he - and his mother - approve.

We all ended up staying at the teahouse longer than expected so we had dinner before turning in for the night. Karin says the brothers are usually so busy so it’s rare to run into them like this. I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet them.

Adella says JJ and her aunt have been bugging her about not visiting family enough, which she finds nagging but doesn’t hold that against them. With her parents long gone and her mother not having any living relatives, her father’s sibling and her cousins are the only family she has left. Now that JJ’s gonna get hitched soon, she says she might as well make more time to come visit or else the family’s gonna keep growing and she’ll end up being a stranger. I wonder if she’s still thinking about setting Min up with someone - or worse, set Lei up too.

I’m so tired, I know for sure that I’ll be waking up sore tomorrow. Good thing we anticipated that so tomorrow’s a resting day. Hopefully it won’t be too bad, but I think the pain was worth it for the view and the gliding. Today was a lot of fun, so I’m looking forward to a well earned break before heading off on another big adventure.

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

[mauesartetc]

Do you think helluva boss/hazbin hotel needs some horror elements?

I think they need to know what they're tying to be more than anything. It's like Helluva Boss originally wanted to be a comedy, but in recent episodes the laughs have been overshadowed by soap-opera-esque melodrama. And if it had been clear they wanted to make a dramedy all along, that's fine, but the writing's tone has been inconsistent for the whole season.

Let's look at the first season of an adult animated dramedy that handles this well (and one that Helluva Boss obviously wants to emulate): BoJack Horseman. From the very beginning, we get hints that the show's subject matter will get progressively more emotional and contemplative. While the first few episodes stumble with the humor a bit, unsure of how much edginess is appropriate for the story, the nuggets of drama are on point.

The first episode involves such wacky shenanigans as Todd being threatened with death if he doesn't host a quinceanera, BoJack failing to learn from past mistakes and vomiting up cotton candy, and even a cutaway gag (whoa).

But when BoJack meets Diane, she overshares about how and why she's so awkward at parties (freaking out because, y'know, she's awkward at parties). Then the conversation naturally flows into how BoJack is responsible for his own happiness, a fact he finds depressing.

Earlier in the episode, BoJack has a panic attack at the thought that he's a "washed-up hack", and that's how everyone will see him if his memoir isn't good.

Notice a pattern?

These are all moments of vulnerability. They show the characters' unfiltered thoughts regarding their emotional struggles, and these allow the audience to form deep connections with them. Who can't relate to being unsure and afraid? We've all been there.

Helluva Boss fluctuates wildly with how often it lets its characters be vulnerable, and when it does, the vulnerability doesn't amount to much. Stolas was vulnerable with Octavia in Episode 2, but that simply tossed their relationship back to square one rather than letting it evolve. Octavia was on good terms with her dad as a kid, then she wasn't, now she is again, with no nuance whatsoever. Loona was vulnerable with Blitzo when she blew up at him in the next episode, which resulted in... basically nothing. If you look at how Blitzo treats her three episodes later, it's clear he didn't learn squat from that experience.

The most vulnerability we get to see is in Episode 6, and even then, the problems expressed in Blitzo and Moxxie's trip-out sequence are ones we wouldn't have known they had unless the song told us. If the writing could've shown examples in previous installments, this moment would've made a much stronger impact.

And because there's no emotional buildup through the season, Blitzo crying at the end of Episode 7 comes off as melodrama. It's so forced and inauthentic, and it's hard to feel sorry for Blitzo when he's spent the majority of his time on screen being shitty to others. I have a hunch the only reason the scene exists is because Ozzie's is the penultimate episode of the season. Viv Medrano saw how these episodes in BoJack were really dark and dramatic and thought, "I can do that too!" without understanding the setup required to make them effective.

If I had a line graph to represent emotional vulnerability in both shows, it'd look like this:

Notice how BoJack's progression is smooth and gradual until it hits you hard, while Helluva's is choppy, uncalculated, and all over the place. It's less of a roller coaster ride and more of a psychokinetic supervillain tossing you around like a ragdoll. One builds suspense and investment in a satisfying way; the other, not so much.

Hazbin and Helluva need to establish some tonal consistency before they even think about adding more horror stuff.

#ask #shumelr22 #helluva boss #helluva critical #writing #bojack horseman #adult animation #comedy #drama #dramedy #character development #long post #genre

[isolatedbubble]

Romance in MXTX, Priest, and SHL

MXTX: Flower, Wine and Dreamworld

The romance in MXTX's works is like flower that grows in ice and snow; colorful, bright and hopelessly romantic, blossoms in misery and hardships.

It features a distinct "us against the world" mindset, depicting love as the only constant in the world. It's an eternal "dreamworld" detached from worldly matters, the perfect escapism as well as a source of strengths in the face of cruel reality.

Both MDZS and TGCF are a critique of mob mentality.

The contrast between CQL and MDZS is very interesting. While the former ends with LWJ taking charge, and therefore changing the world for the better, the novel ends with wangxian isolating themselves from grand politics and focusing more on helping individuals as recluse. It has an essentially pessimistic attitude towards the morality & intelligence of the collective. 

TGCF takes a slightly more optimistic approach, featuring the crowd being courageous under the right circumstances. However, both works share a similar undertone: putting one’s absolute faith in the collective is dangerous, whereas unconditional trust and devotion can be only found in one-to-one connection

MXTX herself compares MDZS and TGCF to 花间一壶酒 (A cup of wine among flowers), MDZS being the wine and TGCF being flower. She also compares MDZS to 风雪夜归人, the person returning home from snow and wind, and TGCF to 红泥小火炉, a small red furnace.

Priest: Breezing Wind and Burning Iron

The romance in priest's works is more complicated. It's the most gentle in its normal state, when it is rational and collected, in which case it's like the breezing wind, soothing, sweet and light-hearted. It gives the individuals more incentive to achieve their individual and/or societal vision, as well as more reason to value their own lives & well-being.

In Faraway Wanderers, the most distinct feature of WenZhou relationship is how in naturally sync they are, and how comfortable & smooth their dynamic is. They both have past burden, but it doesn’t matter, because they bring simple joy, understanding and happiness in each other’s lives.

In Sha Po Lang and The Guardian, the ML’s lingering love for the MC motivates them to become better version of themselves, to care about others, and to form a holistic vision about bettering society. 

In The Defective, Lin Jingheng(MC) explicitly said that Lu Bixing(ML) is the only meaning in his life. He had little incentive to care about his own life after his revenge plan fell apart. LBX helped him reconnect with his inner idealism, and gave him a reason value his life.

When the passion and fiery energy manifests itself, however, the romance is like burning iron, blood and fire. It isn’t actually toxic or unhealthy, but it's not pure and innocent either; in this case, it strives for something deeper and more intense, never content with the past or the present. The sheer intensity of relationship is like a double-edged sword, walking the fine line between unconditional devotion and dangerous obsession. 

SHL: Spring Water and Healing Open Wounds

The romance in SHL is like "spring water"; it's warm, gentle, nurturing. It breaks through the boundary between individuals to bring the couple closer to each other, taking them back to a utopia of their childhood dream, away from social pressure and responsibility. The theme central to their relationship is “salvation”: how love is able to bring people back to integrity.

Both drama wkx and drama zzs have lots of regret about their past sins and wrongdoings. Four Seasons Manor is essentially a metaphor for purity, acceptance and the safety of childhood home. How to make drama wkx open up and accept this safe harbor as his home is one of the most significant plot-lines of the show.

SHL couple is way more emotionally vulnerable and expressive. A significant part of SHL arc is healing the wounds in an open and honest way. They cuddle and confide in each other way more often, talk about their shameful past and even cry about their regrets in front of one another, which is very rare among MXTX/Priest works.

The heat of the relationship sometimes gets too hot and even burns; in other words, there are constant miscommunications, conflicts and misunderstandings in the relationship. However, they can never let each other go, because it's the only source of warmth left for them in their hopeless lives filled with regrets and guilt.

Similarities and Differences

*Note that this is not a SHL/TYK comparison. TYK is kind of an “unorthodox” priest novel; you will know what I mean if you have read 3+ of her works. 

Relationship Dynamic & Narrative:  

In MXTX’s works, the concept of “romance” itself is divined; and the characters are illustration of the ideal of “undying love”. People are made for one another, to complete one another. Her works use colorful symbolism (silver butterflies, the emperor’s smile, the 3 thousand lanterns, etc.) to depict this romanticized ideal of love. 

For MXTX, the romanticization of “destined love” is one of the most recurring themes of her novels. Therefore, the readers look at their relationship through rose-color glasses. Obsession is usually framed in a jolly & romantic light, and doesn’t feature much tension or stress, and has less negative or unhealthy undertone. 

In most of priest’s works and SHL, soulmates are not born but made, so they have to figure out how their relationship works step by step. Therefore the narrative is less of a “rosy picture”. 

Priest has a habit of using derogatory terms to describe relationships that are mostly healthy, but somewhat “bloody” and edgy, full of excessive passion and obsession. The most common phrase is “爱生忧怖”, a Buddhist term meaning “love results in worry and fear”. 

SHL obviously has to be more subtle in expressing love. That said, drama WenZhou are way more emotionally vulnerable and expressive than their novel counterparts, as well as most Priest & MXTX characters. They have a dramatic falling out once in a while, even towards the end. They barely fit the Chinese definition of Zhiji (to know me/to understand one another), but are “lovers” who are buried deep in their passion instead. 

Past, Future and Evolvement: 

In SHL, characters are encouraged to treasure past impressions that are thrown in figurative “wrappings”, whose luster is derived from age-old experiences (Psychological Types, Carl Jung). In other words, they are encouraged to root their love in a shared past, a Utopia of innocence. 

The contrast between The Defective and Word of Honor is very interesting to observe. Both involve long separation, and the suffering and personality changes hat comes from it.   SHL narrative frames their innocent childhood as something to cling to and return to. Drama WKX is encouraged to accept his identity as Four Seasons Manor disciple because it was part of his childhood past. This is a significant part of drama WenZhou relationship.

In The Defective, the narrative doesn't encourage the couple to dwell on the past that much. On the contrary, the all-knowing AI explicitly discouraged the MC from “comparing past to present”. They are advised to accept changes, however painful it might be, and build a better, more equal dynamic out of it, evolving from one-sided pandering to fighting side-by-side.  

In Priest’s novels, the characters rarely return to something in the past, but look into the future. Change is usually framed as inherently beneficial, albeit usually painful and rocky, the implication being that you need to constantly strive for something better.  

Sha Po Lang is a good example of this, with Gu Yun’s changing attitude towards Chang Geng after he as he matures, gradually showing his intelligence in politics. CG starts referring to GY as Zixi instead of YiFu is also a sign of this change---to see him as equal rather than a parental figure & protector.

The Defective is even more obvious in this regard, with both parties uncomfortable with the change initially, but gradually adjusting to the changes during their 16-year separation. The ML also stops calling MC by his surname “Lin”, as a sign of viewing him as equal. 

In MXTX’s works, change in personality or relationship dynamic is neither framed as painful or good. It just happens. It’s a natural flow that take place when it does. Their relationships are rarely challenged by change. They are objectively at a better place compared to their past, but it’s merely the result of a series of events rather than a deliberate choice or struggle.  

WangXian’s relationship naturally changes over time after WWX’s rebirth, but neither of them really struggles with the change. 

Xie Lian doesn’t even recognize Hua Cheng as the someone from his past, so they start out as friends getting to know each other. 

Salvation and Changing one another: 

Priest herself stated in an interview that she doesn’t believe in the concept of salvation, since people have the inner capacity to be their own savior. Therefore, priest characters usually don’t actively try to change their partner’s morals or personality. Some might be willingly influenced by their partner, but there’s rarely an element of moral condemnation. Even when there is a conflict between different values, the options are 1) to reconcile them by choosing the middle ground 2) to maintain their independence and tackle it with nuance 3) to break up.

On surface level, Mo Du/Silent Reading is about Luo Wenzhou being Fei Du’s salvation. However, as LWZ pointed out himself, Fei Du would’ve been a good person at heart with or without his influence. 

In The Defective, when Lu Bixing mistakenly thought Lin Jingheng stayed in the Eighth Galaxy against his own wishes because of their relationship, and that their priorities are irreconcilable, he even thought about breaking up. Of course he was not serious about it, but this showcased that he would never try to change LJH’s convictions. 

In SHL, however, the concept of salvation is central to the theme. Some find it strange that SHL make drama zzs the more “moral” one of the two, despite his action being more objectively questionable. In fact, the only reason he get framed as more “moral” is that he admitted his fault sooner, and therefore could guide drama wkx’s path back to salvation: to recognize the goodness in people, make peace with external world, to clear his name in Jianghu, and to follow due process with his revenge plan to avoid collateral damages. 

“I tried to change you, but you end up changing me”, said drama ZZS. This relationship dynamic is never present in any of priest’s works I’ve read. Priest characters don’t *try* to change one another. 

Does MXTX believe in salvation? Hard to tell. One could argue that Hua Cheng would have be way more amoral and even immoral if it hadn’t been for XL. This is complicated and is a topic for another time.

However, it is certain that MXTX MCs don’t condemn each other morally. “The orthodox one defending their unorthodox partner in front of the world” is a common wuxia trope, but the way MXTX novels approach it is very different from SHL. 

HuaLian never had a serious falling out about being on different sides. Even when they disagree, they respect each other and love each other exactly the way they are. Hua Cheng didn’t approve of Xie Lian saving Mu Qing, but he didn’t interfere with Xie Lian’s decision. Xie Lian feels responsible for helping Shi Qingxuan in Blackwater arc, but he is perfectly fine with HC helping He Xuan keep secrets. In several cases where they have different values, they are able to make it work with ease.

LWJ never *morally* condemned WWX for his action, and never once objected to WWX practicing demonic cultivation after his rebirth. In fact, LWJ never objected to WWX’s morals; in their previous life he was worried about his safety, and struggled with what to do about certain situations due to his family background, but difference in morality is not an issue for them. 

The “righteous” one does not feel the need to guide their unorthodox partner or to be their salvation with regards to integrity. 

*The similarity & differences part is a bit messy and some points are not fleshed-out. Sorry about that. 

**I don’t claim to have the right interpretation. The lens by which we see different styles of romance is ultimately subjective. 

#mdzs #tgcf #mxtx #tian ya ke #mdzs meta #word of honor #shl #sha po lang #mo du #can ci pin

[zeta-in-de-walls]

Tommy’s character and the theme of failure

One thing I’ve always rather appreciated about Tommy’s story in the Dream SMP is how it explores the idea of failure. It can be a challenging one to do right as it means exploring a character’s weakness a lot and can start to feel unsatisfying if the character never succeeds but I feel like Tommy’s story avoids this issue as his arc is ultimately an encouraging one. His character never stops trying or gives up in spite of his losses, showing the perseverance to keep going until eventually he starts to find happiness, no matter how elusive it seems. 

Tommy’s character is no stranger to failure of course but I’d say this theme starts to become prominent with November the 16th. Tommy had two goals: to save L’Manberg and to save Wilbur. He was pretty optimistic about both. And he failed. The day ended in disaster with Wilbur dead, Technoblade, his idol, mocking his heroism and telling him to die, and his home in ruins. It takes him a long time to come to terms with who Wilbur was, separating Wilbur into two in his mind: President Wilbur and the ‘crazy’ Wilbur who blew up L’Manburg. 

But Tommy continues on, quietly moving on as L’Manburg gets rebuilt. No matter what, he still believes in L’Manburg; it’s still alive. Also, he wants to finally get his remaining disc back from Dream, feeling the need to do this after putting it aside for so long.

But of course, things don’t go well. That which he had taken for granted, his bond with Tubbo, was under fire. His personal wish to get his discs back was causing division. A simple prank gone wrong was tearing everything apart as Dream threatened L’Manburg once again. None of these things were purely Tommy’s actions, and yet his actions played a part all the same as Dream essentially took advantage of all of Tommy’s weaknesses. Tommy was being viewed as a liability, a troublemaker, as self-centred, as a problem. 

Tommy’s character likely blamed himself somewhat for his failure with Wilbur and L’Manburg the first time but it had been out of his hands and his reactions were more shock than being truly broken by the events and he kept up his optimism. Yet this time, the problems were not things far beyond his control. It seemed it was his own mistakes spelling his doom and it impacted him quite severely. As much as he recognised Dream as an antagonist here, his friends distrust of him was his failure. Despite his best efforts, he could not convince Tubbo not to exile him. 

Rather than seeing the fairly resilient, optimistic Tommy like the first time he was banished, this time Tommy’s defeated. We see the full effects it takes on his mental state and the narrative does not pull its punches. Tommy’s already depressed and we start to see evidence of suicidal thoughts very quickly. This is all made far, far worse by Dream who encourages his dark thoughts and feelings of worthlessness, telling him everyone’s better off without him while breaking his spirit and making him miserable by repeatedly blowing up his items. 

Dream was of course Tommy’s enemy, he’d recognised before that what Dream had been doing to L’Manburg, with the obsidian walls and insisting on banishing Tommy, had been unfair even if Tommy had been helpless to stop him. Yet over exile we see him really start to internalise Dream’s words, starting to really believe that narrative that he is unloved and a liability, despite his best efforts. As his mental state worsens we see him starting to believe Dream’s lies so much that he begins to believe that Dream is really his friend who cares about him. Meanwhile, he’s angrier and lashing out at the people he cares about, we seem him kill Jack, break the bridges he built and generally lashing out at the people he misses the most. 

So through exile, we see Tommy at his weakest and most vulnerable. We also see some of his flaws with his uglier side, his uncontrolled emotions, his dependency on others, his deep self-worth issues and how he can be so successfully lied to. This deep exploration of Tommy’s character allows us to really see how the repeated failures and setbacks and losses affected his character mentally and depict it as yet another obstacle he needs to overcome. 

And ultimately he does, ultimately deciding to fight back and run away from exile on his own. Tommy’s arc goes to very depressing places but manages to remain an inspiring story by showing you at his weakest and yet also show him never truly giving up but pressing on, in search of that happy ending. Running away from exile has him also realising that Dream is his enemy, not his friend and he commits to fighting back against him. 

But of course the narrative doesn’t entirely move on. Tommy’s struggles and failures continue to plague him as the mental issues he has with self-worth and his confused feelings towards Dream do not go away. He managed to continue but that wasn’t the perfect victory as most of his problems are still there and he’s still the same person. at Techno’s house, we see him and his confusion. He’s lighthearted and joking about but he’s still deeply troubled without a clear stance on Dream or L’Manburg or Tubbo and he clings to the idea of the disc as a simple goal. It seems as if he’s doomed to become the person he hated or make the same mistakes again. He once failed to save Wilbur and it seems as if his greatest failure would be to go down Wilbur’s path too, blowing up the country he once loved. 

And Tommy nearly goes too far. He finally meets Tubbo again and his anger, his issues all come back as does some self-centred behaviour as he declares that ‘the discs are worth more than you ever were’.

And he immediately regrets it. He apologises, he turns around and gives them up to Dream. He won’t let himself turn into Wilbur. 

And yet, every little victory he fights so hard for is met with an even greater failure. He switches sides on Technoblade while giving Dream exactly what he wanted. His story isn’t a happy one in spite of him trying his very best and making the decisions that are right for him. And we can only wonder how inevitable it was or if he could’ve done better for he hurts Techno deeply. Is he doing better or does his very nature doom him to make the same mistakes again and again?

Once ore, we see L’Manburg blown up and this time Tommy declares it a lost cause. Despite his best efforts, it’s over and we can only stare at the ruins of the nation he’d once helped build with Wilbur. Additionally, Tommy is dead to Techno now, that relationship seemingly broken forever. 

But it’s not the end. Tommy is defeated once more, with each failure hitting harder than the last but he doesn’t give up. He keeps on fighting. For all he’s lost, he’s won Tubbo back, and the experiences may have been terrible but he has learned something through all of it. Even if all that is, is understanding suffering a bit better and getting back the courage to apologise and reconcile.

He and Tubbo go after Dream and it’s almost, almost too late. He’s nearly locked in prison forever and Tubbo almost killed. 

But it’s not end. Just this once, it’s not a failure. They bet it all and finally had that victory. The rest of the server comes to save them and Dream gets locked in his prison while Tommy and Tubbo are finally free. 

Course, Tommy’s story isn’t over there. And the thing with this theme of failure is that it keeps on cropping up. They may have finally gotten a victory but Tommy’s issues aren’t over. he tries to start again, building his hotel but the trauma from exile has made an impact on him. It’s something that can’t be solved in a day, but only over a long time. And despite everything, the issues keep coming back. Tommy feels like things are unresolved with Dream and visits him again. 

And he gets locked in prison and dies and then gets resurrected. And its all absolutely devastating and it seems as if Tommy will never get better, that he’ll never truly have his happy ending. His hotel gets stolen from him and its as if everything he tries to do ends in failure.

He tries to sort things out, tries solving things with killing Dream and it just gets Ghostbur killed and the guilt can only eat at him. Wilbur is back at Tommy’s afraid but time has passed and he’s starting to see Wilbur more for who he is. After all he’s been through, he understands him way better than he did before. He once more commits to helping him but Tommy isn’t the naive kid he once was. 

Tommy still lives in the very same spot he always did. He still wants the same things he always did: a home, security, peace, friends, and he’s been experiencing many losses. And yet, his story is not a hopeless one. Because in spite of all that’s happened, he’s still trying again. And he’s learned and can avoid making those mistakes again. Right now, he’s doing better, he’s committing to living peacefully in a way he hasn’t in a long time. He’s been attempting to build bridges and though all his failures haunt him, he is gradually healing day by day, still trying to find that happy ending.

I think Tommy’s story is very cool for the way it really explores these themes of failure. It does not pull its punches, its dark, never easy or straightforward but that’s also what makes it so powerful. Those bright spots, feel so good, they feel so rewarding because they were so hard-fought. We root for Tommy’s character because we’ve seen his journey and really feel he deserves his happy end even though its never going to be perfect and indeed every failure is a mixture of forces outside of his control and his character which he has been trying to improve, learning to be nicer, more forgiving and more aware of his own emotions. He can’t fix Dream nor does he know how best to help Wilbur but he can help himself and that’s what he’s always trying to do. He holds himself to account and always tries his best.

#tommyinnit #meta #analysis #dream smp #long post #finally got round to writing this #dream smp meta #heh i blame the music i was listening to #ive been thinking about this subject a lot but suddenly listening to this song called 'the same mistake' one too many times #and i finally wrote my thoughts out #this is mostly from his character's perspective if it sounds like im blaming tommys character a lot here #he's biased ofc - he's just trying his best and didn't deserve the consequences he received #aaah a lot of characters on the smp have failures but i like how tmmys really toy with the ideas of failure a lot #i love character who never give up no matter how many times they fail a i find it super encouraging #so yeha i do love tommys character

[coconut-tree-cafe]

Study Notes: Making pacts with demons! Headcanon

This is so nerdy and long and stupid but here it is my dumb headcanon for what being in pacts with the demon bros would be like plus some other pact headcanons (since i love pacts)

(I know some of these things contradict each other, lol especially since MC has pacts with everyone… just imagine they cancel each other out)

General

Making a pact with a demon means a lot of things, but there are two types of powers in a human/demon pact.

Direct power refers to immediate and physical power over the demon and includes; summoning, power redistribution, and commands

Indirect power refers to gradual and intangible power that influences both the human and demon and includes; mental and physical influence, uniform life influences and telepathy

A powerful bond vs. a weak bond between the human and demon shows in the pact immensely, the two in a pact must be very close for the pact to be up to its full potential. 

Those in a powerful pact can read each other's minds, have a general sense of where the other is and what they are doing

The pact mark that is formed on both parties' physical bodies is only visible when the pact is being invoked/used.

A human in a human/demon pact is less susceptible to that demon's powers. 

Lucifer

You don’t make a pact with Lucifer, Lucifer makes a pact with you.

Although you have control over him with commands he has far more influence on you than you do him

He is very old and very powerful, a normal human wouldn’t even be able to handle being in  a pact with him. Not that they’d ever have the chance to be in one with him

You will find yourself to be more confident, you’ll be more assertive and pragmatic

If you were ever getting messed with at school by lower level demons, you won’t be anymore. Either by the change in your general air or if you were messed with while in a pact with Lucifer those demons' lives are over.

You will now have the energy of people who are described as having an ‘old soul.’

Even if you were in an intimate relationship with Lucifer before forging a pact with him, the way he treats you afterwards is far different.

He will be far more possessive as well as far more lenient with you. He understands you on a deeper level with a pact, and finds it easier to forgive you for any rule breaking.

The biggest benefit of having Lucifer in a pact is having one of the strongest fallen angels known to man in your arsenal, and he will back you up till the end of time.

Mammon

Ironically, you will find a lot of material possessions coming your way and just a general luck with money.

You’ll have more luck gambling, be better at bartering and finding deals (insert Skyrim level up noise)

You may notice you’re craving materials and money however

Mammon wastes no time telling every crow friend of his how much he likes you, and word spreads fast

If you’re ever alone outside you will always have a crow friend nearby to keep you company

They also bring you little goodies, the same way they bring things to Mammon

Mammon is also extraordinarily generous with you, he puts you first in every decision he makes. He makes sure you eat first, you sit down before him, you get the first share of everything. 

You will find yourself thinking about him more than often. This is mostly because you are always on his mind and through the pact you share similar thoughts. 

To your surprise, you also find yourself endowed in a veil of humility in every action you make. Mammon’s good nature rubs off on you.

Leviathan

Levi’s pact has more of an impact on him than it does on you. He will begin to be more and more like you, however you may be.

He will reflect your emotions of that day, not enough to abandon his own agency but if you’re in a particularly good mood then he will have a little pep in his step as well.

You will find yourself having razor sharp focus, like Levi. Through the power of envy or some other force you will be able to power through things for hours on end just to complete them.

Along with your enhanced concentration on things you work on, you also become more keen to others mannerisms around you. You may find yourself noticing insignificant motions people make more, what you think of them is up to you. 

Cue you and Levi gaming for 12 hours straight.

You get more competitive and more materialistic as well. 

In terms of physical attributes, you can hold your breath underwater for longer and you need less time awake to function but you also get cold more easily. 

Satan

Ever have the need to read a book before? Because you better be prepared for that.

Since your emotions are linked in a way, when he wants to sit down and read so do you. And he does that a lot

You may find yourself learning things a bit faster than usual, if it took you 3 or 4 reads to memorize something now it will take 1 or 2.

You can read faster and comprehend more as well as apply the knowledge you gained to your real life more easily.

Because you are now tethered to Satan, and Satan is tethered to Lucifer’s emotions, you understand Lucifer a little bit better. (Unless you are already in a pact with Lucifer)

Satan is a hard book to read (lol) but when you forge a pact with him you find it much easier to tell what he’s thinking.

As a virtue of being in a pact with Satan you now feel much more passionate about things.

Like Satan himself, passion is at his very core so you definitely feel that.

But, along with that you also are easily annoyed by things that you’d normally be indifferent about.

If you get angry you find it MUCH harder to control yourself physically, you may throw things or bang your fist on a table. 

Reach out to Satan to help you control your anger, as he has already learned how. But it will always be an uphill battle for both of you.

Asmodeus

You will now have a greater ability to understand others emotions. Through their eyes, the way they are moving their hands or swaying on their feet you can read them like a book.

You also find it easier to empathize with those emotions.

On top of that you have a greater appreciation for physical beauty, almost everyone you meet is appealing to you in one way or another because you can see their beauty (at least what feels like more than before).

Your natural appeal will increase, you may find yourself surrounded by more people than normal just by virtue of being so approachable and attractive in spirit and body.

Be prepared to be a bit more excitable than before. People will respond to your charisma more and you respond to theirs more. 

If you are someone who feels lust then you will for sure be feeling a lot more sexually driven, at least more than usual.

Your skin is also very clear from here on out

Beelzebub

You might expect to be more hungry, but that’s not the case. You feel the same as you did before but when you eat you always feel like you can have more. 

You can feel full but that doesn’t stop you from being able to eat more. 

For some reason as soon as you forge a pact with Beel he dotes on you A LOT. Expect a lot of physical affection.

You will probably be the only person he would share his food with, except maybe Belphie. 

Beel may seem a little dense sometimes but he has the most empathy of any of the brothers. 

You in turn will feel the grief and sorrow of the brothers as well as their collective happiness when you enter a pact with Beel.

Beel is like a rock, he’s stable and secure and very steadfast in his emotions. Of course he’s passionate (about food) but he is overall very mentally mature and down to Earth.

This will be reflected in you when you forge a pact with him, you find it easier to maintain a level head even during situations that you ordinarily would be a bit riled up by. 

Belphegor

Two words. Vivid dreams.

The same night you enter a pact with Belphegor you will undergo what feels like life-like dreams and not the mention they are long

They are numerous and intense, but if Belphegor likes you he will ensure that they are pleasant and relaxing. You will get a good night's rest every night, Belphie makes sure of it.

Belphegor is like Beel in that he’s calm, he’s a simple guy with simple desires.

However, if Beel is to be described as calm then Belphie is to be described as indifferent, which rubs off on you. 

A negative to a pact with Belphie is that things you may have felt passionate about before you feel slightly less so.

You won’t necessarily feel more tired, you just sleep longer and way harder than normal

Making a pact with a human is very serious to Belphie, you have to mean a lot to him so expect a powerful and intense pact

#obey me #om! #obey me! #shall we date? #obey me! shall we date? #mammon #lucifer #belphie #belphegor #beelzebub #beel #levi #leviathan #asmodeus #satan #headcanons #headcanon #imagine #long post

[mercy-burning]

Nightfall

Part of Mercy’s 1k Celebration: A collection of Spencer Reid x Reader requests to celebrate 1,000 followers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After a near-death experience on the job and dark nightmares that follow, Reader and Spencer find comfort in each other. Category: ANGST / FLUFF (hurt/comfort?) / ***OPTIONAL SMUT ENDING (18+)*** Warnings: A nightmare sequence that includes brief mentions of a chainsaw, dismemberment, and blood/gore, heavy crying, basically it’s just very sad and dark, but comforting and soft at the end | SMUT includes: handjob, cum eating, shower sex, oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex Word Count: 1.6k | 3.3k

Full Request: “Could you do a spencer fic where the reader wakes up from a night terror due to nearly dying on a recent case, and leaves the bed and Spencer panics because he can’t find them in the bedroom, and it becomes a mutual comfort fic where Spencer’s trying to calm both him and the reader down with just lots of angst and fluff?...” — @willowrose99

MASTERLIST | 1K MASTERLIST

NOTE: Y’all, I can’t believe this is the final 1k request!! I’ve had so much fun writing these, so thank you for sending them in, reading, reblogging them, and for celebrating this milestone with me!!

This one’s a little... dark. And extremely sad. I actually, like, sobbed writing this, so I apologize in advance. It also gets a little horror movie-esque during the nightmare sequence, so I apologize if that’s not your thing (I’ve been watching a shit-ton of horror movies lately and I love it lol) ANYWAY, I hope you enjoy this final request! Thank you again for celebrating with me, it means the world ❤

***

It started with flashes of light, faintly resembling fireworks as they shot through the nightfall, albeit silently. They were constant, red and blue and— They were police lights... But he should have heard sirens to accompany them, right? Why weren't there sirens? If he tried hard enough, though, through the loud thumping in his ears, he could faintly make out a high pitched whine. Or... was it a cry?

Crying.

No—sobbing.

Screaming.

It was at this point that Y/N had awaken, screaming almost at the top of her lungs as she startled forward in bed. Though it took a few painstakingly long seconds to realize where she was and that she was safe, at home with Spencer and bathed in the deep sound of silence, she still felt the hum of the chainsaw and it's loud groaning as it descended closer and closer above her neck. It was loud, haunting, and even as she furiously rubbed at her eyes, the images and sounds wouldn't go away.

She stumbled from the bed and trembled the entire way to the bathroom, so enraptured in terror that she was entirely unaware that Spencer had only merely jumped in his sleep at the sound of her screaming.

Meanwhile his dream continued, that high crying sound fading into some sort of tune that resembled a music box... As he made his way through the flashing lights, they also seemed to dissipate, eventually leading him to one single streetlight in the middle of a field. But underneath it stood a large pile of dirt, something glistening on top of it as it... spun?

He approached the dirt, only to notice it was, in fact, a music box that he was hearing. Each note grew louder and louder as he crouched down to get a closer look, and without warning it started to smell like... rotting flesh. It was unmistakable. But... why? There weren't any bodies around, only the music box rotating on a pile of...

It was a grave.

And right as he finally recognized the tune coming from the music box, which served as some type of headstone, Spencer was pushed back, the dirt rumbling until something shot up from the grave, sending the music box shattering in front of him into pieces.

It couldn't be... I saved her, she's not... It can't be her...

The tune was her favorite song. And as the music box sat broken in front of him, he realized it was also a gift to her from her late mother.

But it couldn't have been her...

The streetlight flickered heavily as whatever shot up out of the grave started to come into better view. Arms outstretched, until the left one gave off a glow that pulsed at its ring finger— A glittering diamond ring that he'd picked out years ago and had sat on her hand ever since.

But it couldn't have been her...

The arm fell clean off the figure with a loud thud, and then it dissolved into a pool of crimson, the glittering ring laying right in the middle, untouched and untainted by the gore. The rest of the figure trembled heavily until he heard the tune again— Only now, it was her voice. It lowly hummed the melody as a head came into view, slowly revealing her face.

But... It couldn't have been her...

Spencer trembled as her voice continued to hum, each note becoming more warped and drowned out until suddenly, the streetlight stopped flickering and remained blinding.

There was no mistake anymore.

Under the harsh white light, Y/N's tattered, dirty and bloody body was sitting up in a pile of dirt like it might have once been sand at a beach. Her left arm was a pool of boiling blood next to her, and the ring still laid there, as sparkly and ethereal as ever—the only good thing that remained.

"Why didn't you save me?" she drawled, her voice deep and warped. The terror grew and grew in the pit of his stomach as he watched her head, a thin, red line at her neck getting larger and larger as it tilted... Farther and farther to the left, until finally, she laughed, and it snapped clean off her body and into the pool of blood that once was her left arm.

All he could do was shake violently, his mouth open in a silent scream as the wind nearly knocked him out.

When Spencer woke up, he couldn't breathe.

His eyes shot open and his hand clutched at his chest as he tried to catch his breath. And even as he blinked rapidly, gradually realizing it was all a dream and that he was at home, his breath slowly coming back to him, the shaking he was experiencing was still very real.

The first thing he did was reach for her hand, her body, anything to let him know that she was with him.

And all he found underneath his fingers was a cold sheet.

"Y/N?" he whimpered out, turning frantically to see if he could spot her. His heart beat frantically in his chest to the point where it's all he could hear, panic starting to settle in his bones even as he scrambled out of bed and went searching for her.

On shaky legs, Spencer travelled throughout the house, a purchase they'd made only a year ago. It still hadn't entirely felt like home, but after being married for four years whilst traveling everywhere for work, they'd come to terms with that fact that home was wherever they were together. But right now the Reid house felt more foreign than usual, because things were bad, and Spencer couldn't find his wife anywhere. His home was with her, and without her, without home, he was empty.

When he stumbled into the bathroom, swinging the door open and turning on the light with fumbling, shaky hands, he heard a yelp coming from the direction of the bathtub. And when his eyes landed on his wife, huddled in an empty tub and visibly shaking just as badly as he was, his world corrected just a little bit.

"Baby?" he whispered, silently asking if it was alright to approach her.

All she did was stare blankly at him, her body trembling as tears silently streamed down her face. Her bottom lip was wobbling, and it was then that he knew she wouldn't be able to speak.

"Y—You had a bad dream, too?" he whispered again. She nodded, still shaking, and the tiny sob that cracked through her closed lips gave him permission to move forward.

He was still anxious as he got in the tub with her, cuddling up next to her and letting her fall tirelessly into his open arms. He hugged her tightly, resting his chin on the top of her head and feeling tears of his own start to well in his eyes as her breathing labored. This time he could audibly hear her breathing, just as shaky as her body was, and even though she made no sound, it didn't take a genius to understand that she was silently sobbing.

The wetness from her tears soaked through his thin tee shirt, and with every second she hugged him tighter and tighter, her breathing getting heavier until she eventually let out one, huge screaming sob that shattered his heart in two. His own tears fell hot like streams of liquid fire down his face as they cemented into the top of her head and spread throughout her own body, expelling themselves through screeches of emotional pain and a tight grip.

It was a vicious cycle that only slowed when Spencer fell backwards, causing them to fall down and Y/N to choke out a sob-infused fit of uncontrollable laughter. It was chaotic and cathartic, a vessel of release that felt very much like home to them despite the coldness that had infiltrated their dreams and made them feel hopeless and scared.

Just being there together, holding each other as they cried, slowly washed that hopelessness away until their cries became laughs, which then dissolved into a sweet, comfortable silence that further cemented the fact that they'd only been dreams.

This? Right now? This was real.

Spencer's hand gently combing back his wife's hair as it fell in her face and threatened to stick to her mouth? That was real.

Y/N's clutch on her husband's tee shirt that was sure to leave wrinkles and tear stains, the thought of the moment when he'd inevitably joked that she 'leaked' all over him making her laugh? That was real.

It wasn't long before the two of them drifted off into near-unconsciousness, laying down uncomfortably in the porcelain tub but too afraid to move that they'd endure it for the night.

Y/N loosened her clutch on Spencer's shirt, taking to placing each of her hands on his chest instead as she nuzzled her face into his neck. Her cheeks were itchy with dried tears, and the dampness of his shirt from the same thing felt oddly comforting pressed coolly against her palms.

"I love you, Spencer," she whispered.

The gravel in her voice slightly made his heart sink, but it rose again when she pressed the most loving kisses to his neck, conveying all the love and appreciation and warmth that they could. He glanced down at her hands, the glittering ring on the left one looking rather dull compared to his nightmare. But then she twitched her hand, and under the soft blue tint of the bathroom light, it glinted in a quick flash.

He placed one of his hands over hers, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before whispering back, "I love you, too."

***OPTIONAL SMUT ENDING***

Waking up in a bathtub was bound to be painful, but after such a deep, dreamless sleep, Spencer and Y/N found it somewhat comforting. It was strange waking up wrapped up in each other in a bathtub after a solid hour and a half of emotional wreckage the night before, sure, but once they realized where they were, the goofy, half-asleep smiles they adorned couldn't be of any greater comfort than a warm, soft bed.

Their wordless greetings began when Y/N ran her thumb gently across the planes of her husband's chest, letting him know she was awake. He did the same, running his thumb along the inside of her other arm. Soon after, it was her whole hand, tracing his entire torso up and down for a few cycles until she reached the hem of his shirt and slipped it underneath. She closed her eyes and sighed, kissing his neck while feeling goosebumps start to rise on his skin.

Her kisses became deeper and more sloppy when he reached out and clutched her other hand, lacing their fingers together and bringing them up to his mouth. He sighed over the back of her hand, and it didn't take very long for Y/N to feel his hips twitch against her, a familiar hardness bringing a cheeky smile to her lips.

Spencer felt it against his neck, and as his whole being went into a state of utter bliss as he wondered how one single being could have this great of an effect on him.

He was hyperaware of her wandering hand as it slipped out from under his shirt in favor of slipping into another fabric. The moment her delicate fingers grazed his dick, he groaned against her hand, giving it open-mouthed kisses that well-mirrored the ones she was currently giving his neck.

After a bit of fumbling around to get him free of his pajama pants and boxers, Y/N's hand was firmly wrapped around her husbands hard, ready cock. She swiped her thumb over the tip and spread around some of the precum there before humming into his neck and starting a quick, dry pace that allowed her to feel every dip and ridge of him. Spencer's head tilted back to give her more access to her neck, causing his forehead to softly thump against the cool porcelain of the tub.

And then she made sure to pay special attention to the underside of his tip, gently rubbing circles into it with her thumb as her tongue did the same to the weak spot on his neck. These two things together, naturally, had him tensing within a matter of seconds, his throat expelling a deep groan as his dick expelled his thick, warm release over her hand.

Y/N only groaned against his throat as he finished,=. And when he did, she brought her hand to her mouth and started to lick it clean as she sat up and straddled him.

"Good morning to you, too," Spencer sighed with a small laugh as he watched her sucking off her fingers. Though her shorts were still on, she started to rock against his thigh, using her other hand on the side of the tub as leverage. "I can help you out, you know," he offered, starting to sit up.

She had other plans, but the scratchiness in his voice—no doubt because he'd just woken up but also due to the crying last night—took those plans and threw them out the window. She'd let him do whatever he wanted, something that was a usual occurrence, but when it came to his morning voice she couldn't resist.

So she waited as he sat up, his hands immediately finding their way to her shirt, which he lifted and threw out of the tub. And then he used his thumbs to gently swipe over the peak of her breasts, leaning forward to kiss her neck ad mumble "I love you," into her skin. She sighed and grinded on his thigh again, each swipe of his thumbs over her hardened nipples giving a new jolt of pleasure with each grind. She gripped his hair softly, combing through it and twirling pieces of it around her fingers, her eyes fluttering closed and her mind going numb so as to completely live in the moment and focus on the way he touched her and loved her unconditionally.

Spencer brought one of his hands down to pull at the waistband of her shorts, and against her leg, Y/N felt him grow hard again. So she lifted her hips and let him slide her shorts and underwear down, and once she got them off her legs she tossed them out with her shirt and worked at his own clothes. Due to the small space in the bathtub, things were most certainly clumsy and impatient, but once the clothing barriers were gone for good, leaving them both completely bare, it was an easy feat to stand and get easy access to each other.

Y/N whined into his mouth as he pushed her against the shower wall, her hands exploring the planes of his hack and his ass while he reached behind her and turned the shower on. Water rained down on them, freezing at first, but it got warmer each second as they made out and let their hands roam.

Soon, though, one of Spencer's hands came down to grab Y/N's thigh, and she wrapped that leg around his waist, pulling him closer as she brought her hand down to line him up.

"You don't want me to use my mouth?" he whispered into her mouth in between kisses as she ran the head of his dick through her pussy.

"Mmm... Later," she sighed back, circling his tip over her clit a few times before deeply kissing him and using her leg to pull him closer. "Right now I need you inside me."

Who was he to deny her anything? So he slowly pushed into her, dropping his head to rest on her shoulder.

The water was arm now, mostly cascading down his back, but it rolled to the front of him, accenting every forward snap of his hips with a loud smack.  His thrusts were quick, but each time he went forward, he stayed there for a moment, not only to make sure he didn't go too fast and end up slipping, but also to gauge his wife's reactions— feeling her nails scratch lightly down his shoulders, the rumble her throat as she groaned at each slow circle of his hips as they connected with hers... His primary goal was to draw out every little noise and reaction from her until she was crying out with pleasure, honestly his favorite sound in the world.

The only thing that came close was when she begged.

"Baby, please," she whined, her hands reaching down to grab his ass. "I need more..."

Spencer groaned into her neck, granting her wish and setting a quicker pace drilling into her. She clenched her whole body around him, not only to draw out more pleasure, but to keep a good grip so they wouldn't fall. In the few times that they'd had sex in the shower prior to this, they'd always taken precautions by bending Y/N over the edge of the tub as he fucked her, though the floor usually ended up almost completely soaked with water by the end of it. Which, of course, was why they'd hardly ever done it.

But when you and your significant other wake up in the bathtub after a rough night, sometimes you just have to take advantage of the opportunity.

Everything seemed to work out, though, because it didn't take any time at all for them to get there. With one orgasm already under Spencer's belt and the constant thrumming of his dick against Y/N's g-spot, the two of them were only seconds away from losing themselves in blinding bliss.

Sure enough, his hips started to stutter, and she held his ass close to her as he stilled and came yet again. She cried out in high whines as her walls fluttered around him, and even as she came down, her grip on him remained, the sudden urge to be as close as possible to her husband outweighing any concern about overstimulation.

Even as he pulled out of her and started to kneel, Y/N kept her hands on him at all times, settling them finally in his wet hair as she sighed. "What are you doing?"

"You said later," is all he offered in response. "It's later."

And then he licked a long line along the inside of her thigh where his cum had started to drip out. The sight below her almost turned her on more than the touch itself, what with the way the water covered him and sprinkled his face as he looked up at her. Eventually though, the water in his eyes was too much, so he stuck to keeping them down as he gently ran his tongue through her pussy and cleaned her up, bringing on another impending orgasm for her in the process.

Y/N brushed his wet curls away from his face as he did it, gently tugging on them and rolling her hips slightly to get more friction. But he held them still, his way of telling her that he was going to take his time with her and that it would be worth it in the end.

And worth it it was. Anything he did would have been worth it, but Y/N couldn't deny the loud cries of intense pleasure as his tongue rapidly flicked over her clit, never slowing or picking up the pace. He kept at it, over and over and over until she was shaking above him, her grip in his hair so tight that it elicited moans of his own.

Once he could tell she was done, her grip becoming a little too tight, Spencer pulled away, pressing wet kisses along her body as he made his way back up to his feet.

"There," he said, kissing her cheek and then nuzzling into her neck once more. "And now we're even."

Y/N laughed, wrapping her arms around her husband and holding him tight as they stepped further into the water to wash up.

***

PERMANENT TAGLIST:  @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @rainsong01 @yourmisosoup @liveloudwriteloud @reidsconverse @la-vie-en-amour1 @edgycowboy666 @averyhotchner @centiaaa @lizziechaseee @coffeeandendlesswords @usuck @spenxerslut @g0lden-cth @emilyprentisslittlewhore @reidyoulikeabook @spencerreid9

TAGS NOT WORKING: @takeyourleap-of-faith

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get to it!

#mercy 1k celebration #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[samstree]

and baby makes four (or five)

(mpreg, pre-relationship geraskier, mutual pining, pregnant jaskier, vague mpreg setting, roach is also mom, baby horse, horse trivia, 1.5k, read on ao3) 

Jaskier pets the newborn foal’s still-damp mane and grins to himself. The tiny horse—Little Roachie, he decides—is laying on the ground, surrounded by soft hay and dozing peacefully. He deserves it after the ordeal—well, Jaskier believes it counts as one. The foaling almost gave him heart palpitations, but Geralt says everything went just as planned and both Roach and the baby are safe and sound.

And they are, finally, when the entire day has passed and the moon is high in the sky.

The witcher himself is feeding the mare their last apple. If the doting was bad before, it has definitely gotten worse since she became a mom. It’s not like anyone could fault Geralt, Jaskier reckons. Although the sight of the almighty White Wolf indulging his horse is way too precious, not that Jaskier will ever say it to his face. As much as he loves to see Geralt embarrassed, it might be unwise to upset his friend and get left in the middle of this backwater town in his current conditions.

Jaskier cradles the bump that is his stomach and feels his baby peacefully asleep too. Despite the barn being floored with thick hay, the sitting position is growing uncomfortable with everything weighing down on his midriff, and it won’t be long until his back starts aching again.

The foal jerks in his sleep, and Jaskier completely forgets about himself.

“Shh, it’s all right. Just sleep, darling. You must really need it if you’re so tiny. Look at how tiny you are.” His hand travels down to its leg and then the hoof. The hoof wall feels soft, or at least, less hard than what one would imagine for an adult horse. A soft gasp escapes his lips as his fingers reach the bottom. “Oh, Geralt! Come and see!”

The witcher hums absently as Jaskier picks out the straws and dirt obscuring his view and cradles the newborn foal’s hoof in his palm. There’s a layer of padding covering the sole. It’s … kind of spongy, and moist to the touch.

“Fascinating,” Jaskier muses as he pokes and prods the soft tissue, amazed at the weird texture and irregular shapes. When he looks up, Geralt is crouched beside him, leaving Roach to chew on the last of her treat.

“Newborns have those,” he explains.

“Will it hurt him when I touch it?”

“I don’t think so.” Geralt’s gaze falls on the small baby, the corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. “The cushions develop during the last term of pregnancy. It protects the mother from all the kicking, and later during the birth. They’ll wear off as soon as he learns to stand.”

“Wow,” Jaskier croons at the foal, “you are such a gentle baby, aren’t you? Know to protect your mum, huh?”

His arm tightens around his own expanding waistline. The bump has gotten so big in the last few weeks Jaskier still gets taken aback every time he walks in front of a mirror. Looking down on it, the worry that’s been churning in his stomach resurfaces, the dread rising inexplicably. Jaskier hates to admit it, but he’s so, so nervous about what comes after. Sure, he looks forward to meeting his child, but just the thought of pushing a person out of his body is enough to send a shudder down his spine.

Jaskier chews on his lips. The silence hangs in the barn.

It’s Geralt who breaks it first. He sits down next to Jaskier gradually and crosses his legs, making sure the sleeping foal is still in sight.

“All babies are as gentle, Jaskier.” Golden amber eyes meet Jaskier’s, and they are filled with warmth and unvoiced understanding. “You never needed to worry for Roach.”

“But anything could have happened. She’s never had a baby before and we didn’t even notice for so long. The whole thing just … came out of nowhere. If something had gone wrong—”

“Nothing did,” Geralt says, more firmly this time. “I wouldn’t have let anything happen to her. I was here to make sure of it.”

Looking at the sincerity on the witcher’s face, Jaskier knows neither of them is talking about Roach anymore, and he can’t resist the upturn of his lips. It is true that Geralt did everything he could for Roach, setting her up at this farm and making sure she’ll be cared for after. Even when the mare got anxious the past two days, Geralt has been nothing but patient with her.

“Besides,” Geralt adds, tilting his head, “She’s strong. She can get through anything for her baby.”

A lump suddenly forms in Jaskier’s throat. His eyes prickle but he won’t let the tears fall. Not again. Even pregnant, it would be too mortifying for him to cry for what must be the one-hundredth time this week, and he won’t let Geralt make fun—

A kick lands on his bladder and oh boy it hurts. Jaskier chokes out a breath and curls into himself. “It seems—ahh, this one is bad—it seems that my baby could use some tips from Little Roachie here.”

“You can’t compare human babies to horses, Jask,” Geralt chuckles but rests his hand over the top of the bump and starts rubbing little circles, soothing the tiny but anxious person within. As always, it does the trick and the kicking gradually calms down. Jaskier isn’t sure if he should be jealous of this apparent superpower of Geralt’s or just glad he’s here. “Also, Little Roachie? Really?”

The warmth of Geralt’s palm is nice, seeping through the thin tunic and into Jaskier’s taut skin underneath. It takes a second for him to respond, “Are you not naming him Roach?”

“Why would I name him Roach?”

“Because you name all your horses Roach?”

“But, Jask, he’s Roach’s baby. It’ll be confusing.”

Jaskier blinks, incredulous.

“That,” he pauses, “is confusing?”

“Yes,” Geralt answers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Six mares in a row having the same name was never a problem, but mother and son is where you draw the line.” Jaskier shakes his head. “Well, I’m glad there is a line somewhere.”

Jaskier lets out a string of giggles, bending backward and almost hitting the wall. When he finally ceases to find the witcher’s logic so amusing, Roach herself has sauntered near them. She’s probably heard her name and also wants in on all the fun.

The mare reaches down and headbutts Jaskier on his chest, almost touching his stomach. Geralt grows tense and ready to block her. It’d be sweet of him if the overprotectiveness isn’t so unnecessary.

“Oh, relax! Roach and I are the bestest of friends now.” Her muzzle touches Jaskier’s palm. “Motherhood has softened her. Look!”

“Hmm.”

He coos to Roach for a while until her attention returns to the once again unnamed foal. Jaskier finds himself completely knackered and ready to turn in. He yawns just in time.

“What a day, huh? Well, I don’t know about you but I could fall asleep in the next five minutes.”

“Oh.”

Geralt stands first to pull Jaskier up with steady hands, the movement so effortless it even makes Jaskier feel less bloated and sluggish.

“Will you—” Jaskier adjusts the hem of his tunic. “Will you stay with me? Like yesterday. It’s—I, um, I’ve been having trouble with all the kicking, as you know, and last night was the first time I got any rest in weeks.”

Geralt stares, his golden amber blown wide.

“You don’t have to, I mean,” Jaskier adds too quickly. “You help. Like just now, and you’ve been helping me for the past few months, even with everything going on with Roach. I don’t want to burden you further, but I just … I think the baby likes it a little better when you are there.”

And Jaskier likes it a lot better.

That part he can’t say though.

“Of course,” Geralt says, and a weight Jaskier didn’t know was carrying lifts off of his chest. “If it’s more comfortable for you.”

“Right. It is.”

“And, Jask … I know I might be overstepping. The baby is only yours after all.” Geralt swallows nervously, if witchers can get nervous talking to a simple bard. A simple bard who never expected to be pregnant and is terrified. “But if you need me, I can stay with you. Through everything, this … and after, as long as you need me.”

The lump returns. Jaskier meets Geralt’s gaze in earnest and all he can see is the devotion, the safety. Because that’s what Geralt is, his best friend and protector. The world may disagree, but Jaskier knows better from walking by his side for so many years, from never having been abandoned despite all the threats. He knows from the way Geralt leads him back inside with a hand on the small of his back and a smile in those amber eyes.

When the baby moves again, Jaskier can’t wait to drag Geralt’s hand over his stomach. Geralt looks awestruck, like he’s watching a miracle unfold before his eyes when it’s no more than a little person reacting to his touch.

“I think,” Jaskier says. “I think we’ll be just fine.”

“Of course. Both of you will.”

And for the first time, Jaskier might start believing it.

---

I leaned that thing about baby horsies in this youtube video. Please feel free to correct me if I got some facts wrong. I love horse trivia! <3 

#geraskier #geraskier fic #mpreg #pregnant jaskier #mutual pining #pre-relationship #emotional hurt/comfort #insecure jaskier #supportive geralt #soft geralt #protective geralt #baby horse #foaling #roach is mom #horse trivia #the setting of mpreg is very vague

[bokebelle]

prove it - porco galliard

a/n: happy friday please enjoy 2k words of just sucking pock's cock<3 for the brain rot <3 also thank you to the loml @ensta for being my beta again you're a real one 🥰

WORDCOUNT: 2.1k

WARNINGS: 18+ only minors dni; blowjob; fingering; edging; light degradation; deepthroating if you look hard enough; use of the term (good)girl, slut, whore; profanity; porco being a tease; a pinch of fluff in the end; no actual fucking.

PAIRINGS: porco galliard x fem(bodied)! reader

TAGS: smut, fluff if you squint

REQUESTS: open

Maybe it was the way you swayed your hips to the rhythm of the music, your pretty little dress riding up your thighs ever so slightly. Maybe it was how you give a pretty and polite smile to random strangers whose lustful eyes roamed your body. Maybe it was the way you'd have this mischievous look in your eyes when you glance at Porco, your eyes locking with his unreadable amber ones, as you flirtatiously laughed at whatever the poor stranger at the club told you with the hopes of taking you home.

'Pathetic', Porco thought. They would flirt and fall for your pretty little games but you never went home with any of them. Hell, you never even bothered getting their names after they'd buy you a drink. They played right into your little trap, and Porco loved watching them lose every time. But when he saw a stranger getting ballsy by putting his hand on the small of your back, moving too close for his liking, he knew he had to remind you that although it was your little game, you were still just a player and he called the shots.

"Hands off, lover boy." Porco said as he pulled stranger's hand off of you. "She's taken"

"What the fuck man? I was busy" The stranger retorted, trying to grab your wrist to pull you back to him.

Porco shoved his chest and closed in on the stranger, inches away from his face. The dangerous glint in his eyes was unmistakable and you could hear the venom seep from his voice as he punctuated every word.

"I said. hands. off. my. girl."

The stranger looked at Porco, then at you before making the right choice and walking away. He looked at you one last time before mumbling "dirty slut" loud enough for you and Porco to hear

You immediately place your hands on Porco's chest to stop him from beating the shit out of the stranger. "Pock, baby, it's not worth it."

He looks at you and his soft golden gaze is replaced with a dark look.

He firmly grabs your jaw, his breath fanning against your jaw and neck, causing goosebumps to form on your skin and a slight tingle to run through your veins. "Since you're being such a dirty slut, as that fucker so kindly put it, maybe I should remind you how good girls should act."

He doesn't give you time to reply before he drags you by the hand, out of the club, and in his car.

Barely a second before you hear the door shut, Porco pushes you against the door with his hands and mouth all over you. You loved how his hands roughly kneaded the flesh of your ass while his mouth left marks on your neck and chest

You moaned by his ear as he sucked on the tender spot on your neck, the sensation of rough bites and his tongue roaming over to soothe the mark sending shivers down your spine. His hand moved from your ass to moving under hem of your dress, to gently tracing the edges of your panties that were growing wetter with each mark Porco left on your skin.

You moaned at his feathery touches, growing more desperate the more his touched teased you.

He lightly traced the waistband of your panties before shoving his hand in, his fingers automatically finding their way to your core. His fingers slowly circled around your swollen clit. So close, yet never quite hitting their mark.

Your moans were growing louder, more desperate, the closer Porco got to directly rubbing your clit.

He's playing with you. He always did when he felt a little more dominant, when he felt you needed reminding that you were his and his alone. Right now, you were a slut that needed to be taught a lesson.

It was torturous for you sometimes. He would bring you to the edge of pleasure only to reel you back in. It was almost unbearable. But the way he always left you satiated, with an aching core and shaky legs, always had you coming back for more.

His two fingers rubbed just above your nub before gently tracing down your lips, stopping just before your soaking hole.

"You're already so fucking wet for me." He chuckled darkly. "I haven't even fucked you yet".

He plunged his middle finger into your hole while his thumb finally rubbed against your clit.

Your back arched in pleasure, your chest pressing into his. His free hand wrapped itself around your neck, his thumb tilting your jaw upward so his mouth could claim yours. He bit your lower lip, causing you to moan. He took this opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth, claiming it as his. You gave him control, choosing to let him taste you rather than clashing for dominance. He wanted to teach you a lesson, and maybe you'd let him. Maybe.

He inserted another finger as his digits pumped in and out of you, the pads skillfully massaging that spongy spot only he seemed to find. The skillful ministrations of his fingers alone, his fingers curling up inside you to hit your sweet spot and his thumb rubbing precise circles on and around your clit, was enough to have your toes curling and a white-hot sensation to slowly burn you from your legs up to your core.

"Pock" you moaned into his mouth.

Fuck, he wanted nothing more than to hear you cry his name over and over again.

"Pock, 'm gonna cum." He knew you were. Your kisses were more desperate, your moans were louder. He felt your sweet pussy almost suck his fingers in. He felt your walls grew tighter and tighter with every thrust of his fingers, so desperate for release.

His fingers were about to push you over the edge, the familiar heat of pleasure slowly burning through your whole body. Just when you were about to let the flames of pleasure, Porco doused your flame by quickly withdrawing his hands and left you with nothing.

He smirked as he heard you whine into his kisses.

"Sorry." He smirks at the pout forming on your bruised lips. adorable. "Dirty sluts don't get to finish."

"But Pock!" You whine, rubbing your legs together hoping to get some friction, frustrated as you felt your ruined high ebb away. "I'm your slut."

Something about hearing you calling yourself a slut, something about calling yourself his, made him feel in control.

His lips trailed from your jaw to your throat, leaving more marks he was sure you would scold him for being too obvious to cover up. You were his, weren't you? You would understand.

"Prove it then." He growled into the skin of your neck, grabbing at the back of thighs, signaling you to jump up and wrap your legs around him. You do just that, securing your arms around his neck, leaving your own marks on him too. It was only fair, after all.

He squeezed the flesh of your ass and thighs tightly, surely leavings marks, as he sat both of you down onto the sofa. You straddle his lap as your mouth makes its way from his marked neck to lips.

You grind against his cock, causing him to moan. Urgent hands struggled to free his cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers. You wrapped your fingers around Porco's length and gently up and down. You pumped him a few times before you settled on his tip. You softly thumbed the bead of pre-cum, spreading it around his hed, your free hand massaging his balls.

His hold on you tightens almost painfully. You shimmy away from his grip and move yourself to the floor, kneeling in front of him.

You meet Porco's gaze, his pupils blown with pleasure. You hold his gaze, his hard cock still in your hand while the other settles on his thigh, as you trace the tip of your tongue around his head.

"oh fuck" he groans, throwing his head back against the sofa, aggressively running a hand through his now messed up hair.

You keep your eyes on his face as you gradually work your way down his length. Licking down, back up, then swirling your tongue around his head, slowly inching your down while your hand covers the areas you have yet to taste, moving in synch with the tip of your tongue.

Once you reach the base of his cock, Porco's tip is red, his face flushed from your slow and teasing actions. You flatten your tongue against his base and trace the vein that runs from the underside of his cock until you reach his head. You take his tip in your mouth, placing a small lick on the head, before sucking in your cheeks and making your way down his length. He was barely halfway in your mouth and you could already feel the tears in your eyes and the ache in your jaw.

You sucked up and down his length, cheeks sunken and spit coating his dick to help you bob up and down, and your hand to twist and pump where your mouth couldn't reach. Porco was always a bit too big that you couldn't accommodate all of him in your mouth, but tonight you'd be damned if you didn't at least try.

You slowly moved your hand lower and lower so your mouth had move of him to take in. You paused when you got a little lower and sucked a little harder before coming up, still sucking as you moved up with your tongue grazing his length . Your hand followed your motion, spreading your spit all over his cock. When you finally worked your way to his base, you removed your hand and let your mouth take all of him. You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt his tip brush the back of your throat, causing you to gag a little bit.

"Fuck" he gasped when he felt you take him all in your mouth. "you're such a fucking slut. Such a good whore for taking me in your pretty little mouth."

It was almost romantic how beautiful he thought you looked: your mouth wrapped around the base of his cock, tears clinging onto your eyelashes, one hand gripping his thigh tightly while the other found its way between your legs to rub your clit.

His hand tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before grabbing the hair at the back of your head, guiding you up and down his cock.

He's close. You thought as you lock your gaze on his, eyes half-lidded with his approaching high. The grip on your hair gets tighter and his hips start bucking up to push himself deeper into your mouth.

"You're so fucking good to me for such a dirty slut.” He moans through gritted teeth. You suck his cock hard, taking him deeper into your mouth.

“Fuck baby” His grip on your hair tightens, pushing you down his length, the tip of your nose brushing his abdomen. You gag around his cock, the tightening of your throat pushing him over the edge.

He tries pulling out but you steady yourself, gripping his thighs, as ropes of Porco’s cum spill out of his tip, into your mouth and down your throat. You move up his cock, your hand taking its place. “Oh fuck!” He moans as you gently stroke up and down his length, twisting and turning your wrist to milk ever last drop from him as you give his head a few small licks before pulling his cock out of your mouth with a small ‘pop’.

You let go of his cock and move your hand to settle on his thigh, absentmindedly tracing patterns on his bare skin as you look up at him with a small smile.

Porco’s eyes roam your face. His hair is a mess, his lips slightly parted, panting as he recovers from his high, beads of sweat falling down his flushed face. Once he catches his breath, he leans forward and cradles your head in his hands. He places a sweet and gently kiss on you lips, a stark contrast to what just happened.

He guides you back to his lap. His touch is gentle as one hand settles on your waist while the other lovingly strokes your cheek. He places soft kisses on you lips and neck, kissing the places he’s marked as if he was apologizing for leaving them on the first place. He makes his way to the corner of your jaw.

“Maybe you aren’t a dirty slut after all.” He whispers, the rasp of his voice going straight to your core, a sudden reminder that while you were finished with him, he wasn’t finished with you. You feel him begin to harden beneath you when he kisses you deeper.

“You’re my good girl.” Porco whispers as he moves his hands to grip underneath your thighs to steady you as he stands up, making his way to the bedroom.

“And my good girl deserves to cum.”

#aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #aot anime #shingeki no kyojin anime #aot manga #snk manga #shingeki no kyoujin imagine #shingeki no kyojin manga #porco #porco galliard #aot porco #porco galliard x you #porco galliard x reader #porco x y/n #porco x reader #porco x you #snk smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #porco smut #snk porco #porco snk #aot x you #aot x y/n #aot x reader #snk x y/n #snk x reader #[🍹] — personal mix

[impalementation]

spike, angel, buffy & romanticism: part 3

part 1: “When you kiss me I want to die”: Angel and the high school seasons

part 2: “Love isn’t brains, children”: Enter Spike as the id

* 

“Something effulgent”: Season five and the construction of Spike the romantic

Prior to becoming a romantic interest, Spike is everything I discussed in the last section. He is an id and a mirror for Buffy, he’s prone to both romantic exaggeration and cutting realism, and his liminality suggests ambiguity. But outside of “Lovers Walk”, the writing doesn’t actually delve too deeply into Spike’s nature as a romantic. If you stopped the canon at “Restless”, you’d probably think that Spike’s love for Drusilla was intriguing, but that the show hadn’t really gone anywhere with the implications of it, and for all you knew, that might not be an important part of his character anymore. So one of the most interesting things about season five to me, is that in this season in which the writers first consciously, deliberately decide to explore the sexual and romantic tension between Spike and Buffy, they also emphasize Spike’s romanticism more than ever. The choice to define Spike by his romanticism is a choice that follows naturally from everything established about his character, but it was also not an inevitable choice. Therefore, it’s a choice worth looking at in some detail.

Consider everything that “Fool For Love” establishes about Spike, especially the things that contradict what was supposedly canon at the time. It makes Drusilla his sire instead of Angel, meaning that he is sired by a romantic connection, and as a direct result of heartbreak. It makes him a poet living in the middle of the Victorian era, an age at odds with his previous ages of “barely 200” and “126”. Meaning that the writing specifically decides to ignore its canon in order to associate him with an era in which passions would have been repressed (rather than the Romantic era of the early 1800’s or the modern energy of the early 1900’s). Moreover, the episode reveals his entire aesthetic and personality to essentially be a construct. But most tellingly of all, it reveals him to be an idealist. Spike is not just a performance artist; he yearns for the “effulgent”, for something “glowing and glistening” that the “vulgarians” of the world don’t understand. In other words, he yearns for something bigger and more beautiful than life: something romantic. Later, he chases after “death, glory, and sod all else.” Spike may be a “fool for love”, who has a romantic view of romantic love specifically, but the episode is very clear about the fact that he is also a romantic more generally. When Drusilla turns him, she doesn’t tempt him by telling him she’ll love him forever. She tempts him by offering him “something…effulgent”. (Which, in typical Spike form, the episode immediately undercuts by having him say “ow” instead of swooning romantically). The fact that “Fool For Love”, Spike’s major backstory episode, is so determined to paint him as a romantic--and in particular, a disappointed, frustrated romantic--that it is willing to contradict canon to do so, tells you that this choice was important for framing Spike and his new, ongoing thematic role.

I’ve talked in the past about how season five is all about the tension between the mythical and the mortal--between big, grand, sweeping narratives, and the reality of being human. Buffy is the Slayer, but she’s also just a girl who loses her mother. Dawn is the key, but she’s also just a confused and hormonal fourteen-year-old. Willow is a powerful witch, but she also just wants her girlfriend to be okay. Glory is a god, but she’s also a human man named Ben, and finds herself increasingly weakened by his emotions. And Spike embodies this tension perfectly. He’s a soulless vampire with a lifetime of bloodshed behind him, but he’s also this silly, human man who wants to love and be loved. He wants big, grand things, but every time they are frustrated by a Victorian society, a rejection, a chip, a pratfall, or dying with an “ow”. Furthermore, his season five storyline is all about the tension between loving in an exalted, yet often selfish way, versus loving in a “real” or selfless way. 

There was a fascinating piece a ways back that discussed how Spike’s attempts to woo Buffy in season five almost perfectly match the romantic narratives of Courtly Love. In the words of the author:

The term "Courtly Love" is used to describe a certain kind of relationship common in romantic medieval literature. The Knight/Lover finds himself desperately and piteously enamored of a divinely beautiful but unobtainable woman. After a period of distressed introspection, he offers himself as her faithful servant and goes forth to perform brave deeds in her honor. His desire to impress her and to be found worthy of her gradually transforms and ennobles him; his sufferings -- inner turmoil, doubts as to the lady's care of him, as well as physical travails -- ultimately lends him wisdom, patience, and virtue and his acts themselves worldly renown.

You can see for yourself how well that description fits Spike’s arc. He fixates on the torturous, abject nature of his love, and has it in his head that he can perform deeds and demonstrate virtue, and this will prove to Buffy that he is worthy of her. But despite Spike’s gradual ennobling over the course of the season, I think it would be a mistake to see the season as using the Courtly Love narrative uncritically, or even just ironically. The same way it would be a mistake to see season two as using the Gothic uncritically. Spike is as much Don Quixote as he is Lancelot. He is a character that deliberately tries to act out romantic tropes, giving the writing an opportunity to satirize those tropes, including the tropes of chivalric romance. In particular, the writing criticizes Spike’s (very chivalric) fixation on love as a personal agony, something that is more about pain--and specifically, his pain--than building a real relationship. Over and over in season five, he is forced to abandon these sorts of flattering romantic mindsets in favor of a more complicated reality. 

So at first, Spike’s “deeds” tend to be shallow and vaguely transactional. He tries to help Buffy in “Checkpoint” even though she doesn’t want it (and insults her when she doesn’t appreciate it), he asks “what the hell does it take?” when Buffy is unimpressed by him not feeding on “bleeding disaster victims” in “Triangle”, he rants bitterly at a mannequin when Buffy fails to be grateful to him for taking her to Riley in “Into the Woods”, and he is angry and confused when Buffy is unmoved by his offer to stake Drusilla in “Crush”. While these attempts to symbolically reject his evilness are startling for a soulless vampire, and although Spike certainly feels like he is fundamentally altering himself for Buffy’s sake, none of it is based on understanding or supporting Buffy in a way that she would actually find substantial. Moreover, he lashes out when his gestures fail to win her attention or affection. He has an idea in his head of how their romantic scenes should play out, and reacts petulantly when reality fails to live up to it. 

But these incidents of self-interested narrativizing are also continuously contrasted with scenes in which Spike reacts with real generosity, or is surprised when he realizes he’s touched something emotionally genuine. When Buffy seeks him out in “Checkpoint”, his mannerisms instantly change when he realizes she actually needs real help (“You’re the only one strong enough to protect them”), rather than the performed help he offered at the beginning of the episode. At the end of “Fool For Love” he’s struck dumb by Buffy’s grief, and his antagonistic posturing all evening melts away. He abandons his romantic vision of their erotic, life-and-death rivalry in favor of real, awkward emotional intimacy. In “Forever” he tries to anonymously leave flowers for Joyce, and reacts angrily when he’s denied—but this time not because he wanted something from Buffy. Simply because he wanted to do something meaningful. 

This contradictory behavior comes to a head in “Intervention”, the episode in which Spike finally begins to understand the difference between real and transactional generosity. Up until that point, Spike has been reacting both selfishly and unselfishly, but he hasn’t been able to truly distinguish between them, which is why he keeps repeating the same mistakes. Although he touches something real at the end of “Fool For Love”, for instance, he goes on to rifle through Buffy’s intimates in the very next episode. And so “Intervention” has Spike go to extremes of fakeness and reality. He gives up on having the real Buffy, and seeks out an artificial substitute that lets him live out his cheesiest romance novel scripts. It’s important that the Buffybot isn’t just a sexbot, even if he does have sex with her. She’s a bot he plays out romantic scenarios with the way he played them with Harmony in “Crush”, allowing him to almost literally live within a fiction. But then he “gives up” on having Buffy in a way that’s actually real, by offering up his life. He lets himself be tortured, and potentially killed, for no other reason than that to do otherwise would cause Buffy pain. The focus is on her pain, not his. For the first time, he acts like the Knight he’s been trying to be all along. He performs a grand, heroic deed that causes the object of his affection to see him in a different light, and even grant him a kiss. Yet ironically, as part of learning the difference between real and fake, he ceases to press for Buffy’s reciprocation. Through the end of season five, Spike continues to act the selfless Knight, assisting Buffy in her heroism without asking for anything in return. Which culminates in his declaration that he knows Buffy “will never love him”, even after he’s promised her the deed of protecting Dawn, and even though she allows a kind of intimacy by letting him back in her house. He proves that he sees those gestures for what they are, rather than in a transactional light. The irony of the way Spike fulfills the narrative of chivalric romance, is that his ennobling involves letting aspects of that narrative go. 

In a Courtly Love narrative, the object of the Knight’s affection is fundamentally pedestalized. The Knight himself might be flawed, but the woman he pines after is not. She is “divinely beautiful” and “unobtainable”, something above him and almost more than human. This is why it’s so comic that in Don Quixote, which was a direct satire of chivalric romance, Alonso Quixano’s “lady love” is a vulgar peasant farmgirl who has no idea who he is. (Think of the way Spike asks if Buffy is tough in “School Hard” or threatens to “take her apart” despite “how brilliant she is” in “The Initiative”, followed by scenes where Buffy is acting like the teenage girl she is. Or how Giles in “Checkpoint” says that Buffy has “acquired a remarkable focus” before cutting to Buffy yawning.). Although it’s true that Buffy is beautiful, and supernatural, and profoundly moral, she is also very human, and the writing is very concerned with that humanity. Season five in particular, as I’ve mentioned, is preoccupied with the duality of Buffy’s mythic and mortal nature. Thus it becomes significant that Buffy is assigned such a heightened role in Spike’s chivalric narrative. Just Spike is at once Lancelot and Don Quixote, Buffy is at once Achilles, Dulcinea, and a coming-of-age protagonist. 

And part of the “lesson” of Spike’s arc is for him to see both sides of the roles they embody. One of my favorite things about the scene in Buffy’s house in “The Gift” is how adroitly it conveys the dualities of both Buffy and Spike with simple, but poetic imagery and language. Buffy stands above Spike on her steps, conveying her elevated role, and Spike honors the way her heroic status has inspired him by physically looking up to her as he explains that he expects nothing from her. But by expecting nothing from her, and promising to protect her sister, he also honors the fact that she is a real person with no obligation to him, and a younger sister she cares about more than anything. He also honors his own duality by at once making Knightly promises, and acknowledging that he sees through his former delusions: “I know that I’m a monster, but you treat me like a man.” In “Fool For Love” he tried to acknowledge the same duality of realism and romance, by declaring to Cecily that “I know I’m a bad poet, but I’m a good man.” But at the time, he was an innocent, whose desire to be seen, and whose romantic avoidance of “dark, ugly things”, left him unprepared to understand how Cecily really saw him (similar to Spike’s insistence in “Crush” that what he and Buffy have “isn’t pretty, but it’s real” just before Buffy locks him out). Spike is a character defined simultaneously by continuous disillusionment and dogged aspiration, which is why he makes perfect sense as a character to embody a season torn between the pain of being human, and the wonder of the gift of love.

Fittingly, the season ends with Spike’s most devastating loss of innocence of all. He fails to be the hero for Buffy or Dawn (note that Knightly language he uses on the tower: “I made a promise to a lady”), and he loses the woman he loves. He may have become more virtuous, but unlike in a chivalric romance, that virtue wins him neither Buffy, nor something flattering like “world reknown.” The climax of the “The Gift” is full of romance—a god, a troll hammer, a damsel on a tower, a heroic self-sacrifice, a vampire transformed into a Knight—but the end result is that Buffy is dead, in part because he wasn’t good enough, and all that he and the Scoobies can do is grieve. Stories got Spike nothing, even when reality finally lived up to them. It is a swan song to the myths of childhood, and on the other side of Glory’s portal, Spike and the other characters will have to confront a world where those myths have been left behind.

part 4: “But I can’t fool myself. Or Spike, for some reason.”: Buffy and Spike as a blended self

#romanticism series #s5 #gen #buffy #spike #this section is deliberately focused on spike's arc #but not to worry #the next one focuses on buffy's side of things and the role of spike's arc in supporting buffy's in the last three seasons #they just needed their own sections to breathe #btvs

[melliflovs]

Beautiful Mess - Gojo x Reader

Word Count: 1,675

Warnings: Angst, longing, kinda sad

Summary: Reader comes to terms with her feelings after being faced with her emotions once she sees Gojo again for their monthly battle, even if it gets interrupted.

A/N: I didn't check this for errors cause my computers about to die but I wanted to post this for you guys!

Requests open!

In truth he found you incredible, but would he ever admit it? No. Of course not.

It was moments like this, the stars shining down on you and the wind blowing through your hair that made Gojo pause. He wished things could be different.

You could've been teaching alongside him, or anything else from the life you chose. He frowned to himself. Were you really happy?

At least twenty curses surrounded you. The dark purple aura slowly beginning to cover you from his view as you laughed in the distance. He just wanted a moment more to watch you before the inevitable battle before the two of you.

You knew he was there, close enough to see but too far away to touch. For now, you'd continue on as you were, playfully petting a curse on its head. It resembled a dog and chose to stay by your side, granted it looked and smelled horrendous but you'd take what you could get. They milled about you, waiting for their commands. They were all grade 3 curses, childs play for people like Gojo - people like you. But they weren't supposed to be strong, they were just to garner attention.

After the purple fog fully enveloped you Gojo knew it was time. You stood high on the tallest skyscraper, the clouds within reach.

You always thought Gojo was incredible. Irresistible looks, unbeatable strength, and a massive ego. Time spent with him was cherished, even if it meant small tricks and claims to get his attention but he never failed to deliver.

You heard his footsteps approach slowly, with your back turned the curses began to howl. A small smile tugged on the edges of your lips but you held it back. Slowly you turned to face him.

"Come with me." He said, Gojo had his hands in his pocket with a blindfold covering his eyes. You wondered if you'd ever be able to see them again.

"Traded out the glasses, huh?" You teased, "Do the students find it more intimidating." Sparks lit up your eyes as power began to surge through you.

Gojo smirked and flexed his muscles at you "I was always intimidating, just thought the blindfold added more flare."

He wished they'd stop sending him, the elders always too quick to call upon him once they knew you were involved. They started questioning why the job was never 'finished' they wanted you dead. You were the villain in this story, the creator of curses and sorrow. But how could someone so beautiful be so destructive? It didn't make sense to him.

The first time you'd met Gojo you were both 16. He was a student at the time, sent to a school to take down a low-level curse. It was a teaching method of his Sensei's to send his students alone on smaller tasks - one he ultimately ended up using himself. Instead, he found you surrounded in a purple haze curled into a ball.

You were so small at the time, anxious and afraid with tears streaming down your face. Gojo could feel the power inside you, radiating from your fragile body. It brought him to his knees in front of you. It was the first time you'd ever seen his eyes, hair hanging out in front of his face. He reached out to you, mesmerized by you.

He'd never encountered power like his before, different from his yet so similar in strength. Gojo was so distracted by you that he ignored the scattered limbs of what used to be your fellow classmates.

When he looked at you he was amazed, every single time. But you'd grown now, no longer the scared little girl who didn't know who or what you were. But you knew now. Years of hating yourself for what you were born as, what you'd accidentally do to people. Eventually, you embraced it.

In the years that you'd been actively on Gojo's radar, no one had narrowed down what you were. They knew you were human, a child abandoned and forced into foster care. From what he could tell your emotions were so strong that the smallest offense could make the curses in the surrounding 10 miles stronger and multiply them. You were no longer a grade 3 curse. You were special grade, a girl with explosive feelings that were considered to be on the same level as Sukuna.

You still didn't compare to Gojo though.

"Come with me, (y/n)" He repeated, his eyes desperate under the blindfold. He wondered if she could tell how much he wished she would listen to him.

She shook her head lightly, lowering her head to the ground. "You know I can't do that Satoru."

He nodded in response, he knew she was right. They'd execute her if she followed him back to the school. In a way (y/n) reminded him as Yuji, the elders were cowards whatever they couldn't understand they eliminated. Eventually, they'd meet the same unfortunate fate. Gojo wouldn't be able to protect either of them.

Gojo was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of a single snap. Looking up he watched as all the curses surrounding her dive off the skyscraper and into the city set loose to wreak havoc. The dog-shaped curse stayed, wagging its crooked tailback and forth.

"Good," He teased, "Was starting to get a bit crowded up here."

The purple haze had almost completely disappeared from the rooftop once the curses left. You took a deep breath, "I'm not ready yet, Gojo. Ten minutes."

He jokingly checked his bare wrist as if looking at a watch "Fine" He pouted "But I'm counting."

You gave him a weak smile, walking over to the edge of the roof and sitting down, letting your legs hang over the edge. You'd be lying if you said looking down didn't make you feel sick, you were at least 100 stories above ground. But the lights were so pretty, the glow of all of them lit up the night, reflecting in your eyes. You felt his presence approach you, standing behind you as you sat.

"Why does it have to be this way?" You whispered, it was so quiet he might not have been able to hear you. It would've probably been for the best if he hadn't.

Hesitantly he placed his hand on your head, giving your hair a soft pat. He made you feel so little, so small in comparison. Just like the day you met. "Because life is unfair to powerful people."

You hummed at his response, "I wish things were different." You tilted your head up, looking at him through your lashes, hair falling in your face. "I wish we weren't such a mess."

"At least we're a beautiful mess." He said grinning down at you.

"I miss your eyes Gojo, why cover them like that all the time?" You asked, still staring at the dark blindfold. You could only imagine what shade of blue hid behind it.

"Decided not everyone should have the privilege to see these sparklers." The smile on his face grew as he said this, quirking his head to the side.

"Can I see them?" The more time you spent in his presence the calmer you felt. Gradually you felt the weight of your powers lift off your shoulder. A calm smile never had any trouble settling on your face whenever you were around him. It was hard to admit, even to yourself, but looking at his shining smile for the first time in months made you realize you'd missed him. "Please Gojo."

His grin faded into a soft smile. Nodding his head, Gojo reached up and began to untie the knot holding the blindfold.

"I think it's been ten minutes, Satoru. What do you think?" The voice made the two of you jump, Gojo's hands dropping away from the halfway untied covering. "Maybe you just got distracted with" He waved his hand around distastefully "This."

"Leave. Now." Gojo whispered, just low enough that the new man wouldn't be able to hear him. He seemed afraid, not of the man but of what would happen if any of his higher-ups found out about the two of you - whatever you were, even if you didn't know yourselves.

He stalked over the man, who was dressed impeccably in a white button-down. He held a wooden paddle tightly in his hand and pushed up his glasses as Gojo walked up to him.

"Look, Nanami, it's not what you think." He said holding up his hands defensively. Realistically he didn't know if his colleague would even believe any lie he could up of in time. Gojo tried to straighten himself out. Putting on his signature smirk, "You know how I get around the ladies. They just can't help themselves."

Nanami let out a sigh, looking at his friend with pity. "The way she looks at you... it's like she'd be willing to take a bullet for you." It wasn't normal the way you looked at Gojo. Like he was the sun and you were a flower stuck in the shade. "And I'm sure under that ridiculous blindfold you were looking at her like that too."

Gojo stayed quiet, the fake smirk dropping from his face. The silence hovered for a moment, making his chest fill with dread as Nanami thought it over in his head.

Suddenly he turned, beginning to walk towards the exit. "Come on, let's go."

"Are you going to tell anyone?" Gojo asked as he followed his coworker. He wrung his hands nervously together.

"No."

He let out a sigh of relief. A small smile began to tug at his lips, he was grateful to the blonde, not many people he knew would risk helping him like this. Subtly he looked over his shoulder.

Thankfully you were already gone, thankfully you were safe. At least for the time being. As he stepped towards the stairwell to make his way down the skyscraper, Gojo realized one thing:

You never got to see his eyes.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo imagine #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk imagines #jjk #jjk nanami #nanase nishino

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 5

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: A call with one of your bosses threatens to split you and Din apart.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,075

Warnings: Reader experiences a panic attack, use of a swear word, angst, reference to most recent Mandalorian episode so I guess it’s kind of spoiler-ish, hurt/comfort and more angst

Author Note: All the love to everyone who follows along with this series! I joined AO3 recently so all these parts will be on there as well at LittleMissPascal. I’m actually really nervous about the response to this particular segment so...be gentle, please ❤

Links to Part 1 and Part 4 and Part 6

Photo Inspiration: 

“Cupid 1-1-7, am I hearing you correctly? You said there was an explosion?”

You scrub a hand over your face, biting back a sigh lest the comlink picks it up. “Not a literal one, sir. I’m still not sure what happened, just that when my client touched a potential match’s hand there was this...invisible blast of energy or something.”

The silence on the other end is enough to make you want to slam your head against the wall of the Razor Crest. You’d called headquarters as soon as you and Din had returned to his ship, figuring if anyone had a clue as to what the hell had happened it’d be one of your superiors. 

After twenty minutes of explaining your predicament not once, but three times, you’re beginning to realize you were evidently mistaken.

“Remind me again, Cupid 1-1-7, what name was it you referred to this immortal client of yours as?” Over the comlink, your boss’ voice sounds as if he’s gargling jagged rocks, deep and throaty. You can imagine the narrowed-eyed look he’d be giving you in person and you’re grateful you’re not currently having this conversation over a holoprojector. 

“I didn’t.” 

Your eyes drift to the ladder leading up to the cockpit where Din is located. Something inside of you is insistent you keep Din’s identity hidden from your superiors. It’s a feeling you’ve never experienced before, certainly not with any of your former clients. Part of you thinks of the sensation as possessiveness, but what have you to be possessive of? You have no claim to him, nothing tying you to one another. 

“Interesting,” your boss says, dry as the Dune Sea.

“My client is high-profile, sir. He asked me to remain discreet and I intend to uphold his request.” You clutch the comlink against your chest, taking deep breaths to keep yourself calm as you wait to hear if he believed your lie or not.

“This...incident you’ve described, it does bring to mind an event in history with similar details.” There is a shuffling sound that echoes over the device, resembling papers being picked up and flipped through. He hums, a long drawn out note that makes your skin crawl. “Yep, here’s the report right here, referencing an outburst erupting as a result of the physical contact between a potential pair.”

You wait for more information, drumming your fingers against a nearby crate.

“Unfortunately, you are not of rank to hear the specifics.”

“But—”

“I must say though, the Moff will be most interested in this development,” he continues, ignoring your protest as if you hadn’t opened your mouth at all. 

Heart lodging in your throat at the mention of the head seraph, you manage to choke out, “I really don’t think that’s necessary, Mr. Hess.”

“That’s sir to you, Cupid 1-1-7.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Forgive me, sir.” You’re two seconds from babbling yourself off a cliff and you can’t find the off switch for your mouth. “It’s just. Moff Gideon is so busy, as I’m sure you know, and I would hate to bother him with this case when I have everything under control—”

“Except that you clearly don’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t have made this call.”

His words hit you like a punch, silencing you.

“The Moff will hear about this, as well as your breaking protocol by concealing information from your superior when directly asked. No doubt he will be as displeased about your behavior as I am.” 

Your eyes fall shut as you listen, slumping against the ship’s wall and sliding down onto the cold floor. You feel disconnected from the situation, as if he’s discussing someone else’s fate instead of your own. 

“In the meantime,” his voice drones on, adding more weight to the pressure on your chest. “I will permit you forty-eight hours to complete your assignment before I officially relegate it to another Cupid. You will also be ordered to take a reassessment test of your basic understanding of standard Cupid regulations.”

You squeeze your eyes together tighter, feeling like you’re about to throw up. Each breath you take feels pointless, as if there is no longer any oxygen in the air, but you have enough pride left to keep you from having a breakdown with your boss still on the line. 

“Do you understand the terms in which I’ve stated to you, Cupid 1-1-7?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Amor vincit omnia.” The parting mantra sounds almost sinister coming from his mouth.

“Amor vincit omnia,” you echo, forcing your voice to remain steady.

The comlink clicks off. The floodgates open not a second later.

You press your palms against your mouth, desperately trying to hold back the sobs that wrack your body so they don’t disrupt the silence of the cargo hold. The tears streaming down your face refuse to be stifled though, burning your eyes as they fall. Your head pounds in rhythm with your heartbeat, a frantic drumming counting down the seconds until you either scream or pass out. Or both.

It’s an ugly, hysterical kind of crying that can’t be stopped once started, not even when you hear movement from the ladder right before Din slides down it, boots thudding loudly against the floor. 

And then it seems like Din is right there in front of you without ever having moved, unnaturally fast and stealthy, gloved fingers resting on your shoulders. He’s taken off his helmet, brown eyes full of such concern it only makes you cry harder seeing them, further increasing his worry.

“Are you hurt? Tell me what’s wrong, angel,” he murmurs, a note of franticness in his voice as he looks you over for injuries, finding none except for the few scratches along your arms you’d received earlier when you landed in the dirt.

You shake your head when he tries to move your hands away from your face, emitting a choked hiccup that threatens to crack your already-bruised rib cage with its intensity. 

“Angel, you’ve got to breathe, okay?” Din says, soft and soothing. You blink through your watery vision, finding his gaze again, and he offers you a small, reassuring smile. “In and out. Just like this.” He inhales a purposefully deep breath, then slowly releases it without once breaking eye contact.

You try to copy him, but your nose is stuffed with snot and your lungs hitch with another round of sobs, ruining your attempt.

“Can I…?” Din again reaches for one of your hands, this time hovering without attempting direct contact, waiting for your consent. 

Trembling, it feels like a monumental task to remove your hand from where it’s glued to the top of your other one still covering your mouth. Din grabs onto your wrist and brings your hand to his chest plate, pressing it against the cool beskar.

“Together, okay? In and out.”

He continues his litany of encouragement, patient and calm, and gradually your heaving sobs begin to lose their power, enabling you to reclaim control of your lungs. Catching your breath, you begin to wipe away the lingering tears with the hand not still held gently in Din’s grip. 

“Sorry,” you sniff, embarrassed. The beginning ache of a migraine starts to form in the back of your head, worsening when you try to move too quickly, and you bite back a wince.

His grip on your wrist tightens in admonishment. “There’s no need to be,” he says, but your ears detect his thinly restrained anger. “Who were you speaking to?”

“He’s one of my superiors. Valin Hess,” you answer, biting your lip.

“I should have him wiped clean from the galaxy for making you cry,” Din hisses, a snarl on his face and eyes darkening with rage.

Face to face with anyone else, you would have felt terrified being so close to such open hostility. But this is how Din expresses his overprotective nature, making himself a more dangerous threat than the enemy, and for that reason, you could never be scared of him. 

“Din, listen to me,” you say, curling your hand in his grasp until he yields to your movements and allows you to intertwine your fingers with his gloved ones. “What happened on Sorgan when you touched Omera’s hand, Hess said it wasn’t the first time something like that has happened. He wouldn’t give me the details though because I’m not high enough rank.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware Cupids had any kind of ranking system.”

“It’s based on how long you’ve existed. I’ve only been a Cupid for fifty years now, barely made any kind of lasting imprint on the galaxy.”

“Don’t say that,” he mutters, shooting you a stern look. “You’ve made a bigger impact than you could ever know.”

Struck momentarily speechless, you can only watch as he moves to sit on the floor beside you, clasped hands settling between his thigh and yours. The pauldron on his shoulder presses against the upper half of your arm and you tilt your head until your temple rests against it.

“That’s not what made you upset,” Din says.

You don’t need to shake your head, confirming the truth he already knows, but you do anyway, comforted by the cold metal rubbing across your forehead.

“What did he tell you, angel?”

You know by how he squeezes your hand that he genuinely wants to hear what happened. You know he must hear it from you because no one else can break the news. And you know you cannot lie to him because Hess’ intervening affects him even more than it does yourself. Still, in spite of knowing all of this, the words don’t come out any easier.

“I have only two days to figure out who your soulmate is before he reassigns you another Cupid.”

Din goes abruptly stiff. “What.”

“Because of the explosion and then also because I broke protocol by refusing to say you were my client, Hess believes I’m not handling things well and should be replaced by someone better.”

If you hadn’t known Din was immortal, you would think he died with how still he remains at your side. Leaning back with increasing worry, you see him staring forward across the cargo hold, granting you only a glimpse of the side of his face.

He...Oh, Maker. 

He looks kriffing pissed.

“Din—”

“How...” he cuts himself off, nostrils flaring as he clenches his jaw. “How could they ever think there is anyone better than you?”

For the job, you tell yourself, not allowing your hopes to rise. He means there isn’t anyone better for the job.

“I’m just a Cupid,” you tell him weakly, shrugging a shoulder. “I—”

“Stop talking poorly about yourself,” he snaps, the closest he’s ever come to yelling at you, turning to meet your gaze with fire burning in his eyes. You swallow thickly, his intensity making you feel like cornered prey. 

When he speaks again, his baritone voice has become a low murmur, each word carefully chosen and bleeding sincerity. “Everything you said about knowing who your soulmate is—I want to experience all of it with you. Only you. You’re it for me, angel.”

You freeze, unable to believe what you’re hearing, train of thought coming to a screeching halt. For the second time during this conversation, you’ve lost your voice, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out.

“You’re it for me,” he repeats, sounding as if he’s pleading for you to believe him. “So tell your bosses to go fuck themselves. You’re the only Cupid I could ever want by my side.”

The reference of your designation is like dumping a bucket of ice water over your head, shocking your entire system. You wrench yourself away from him, stumbling onto your feet.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” you say as you start to pace around the room, hearing the hysterical edge in your own voice.

He stands up, expression warring between confusion and irritation. “I know you feel something too. Why do you keep pulling away from me?”

“Because we can’t be together, Din,” you answer, blinking back the unbidden tears starting to form again. “I’m not your soulmate. It isn’t possible!” 

“Angel.” He catches your elbow when you pass by him, forcing you to face him. His voice is brittle when he speaks, already expecting your answer to shatter his wounded heart. “Why can’t you be with me?”

“Because I’ve already met my soulmate. And he wasn’t you.”

Tag List:  @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk

#din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #Din Djarin #the mandalorian #my writing #death and an angel #my fic #soulmate au #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader

[mochii0park]

meraki; 02 I jhs

Title: Meraki

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader / Jin x Reader

Part of series: Waterlilies and Japanese Bridge

Genre: literaryscout!hoseok x writer!reader

Word count: 4.4k

Summary: Throughout your whole life you lived in your sister’s shadow, watching from side-lines as she formed herself into a successful businesswoman with an envying life. Never being able to fill her shoes you gradually understood the meaning of an estranged family and the burden it carried. The twenties began slowly slipping from your grasp which had been embedded with insecurities and longing for fulfilment. Pouring your heart out to strangers with a pseudonym meraki, you began second guessing the decision when an email lands in your inbox.

Author's note: unedited, i had fun writing this chapter tbh

Taglist: if you want to be added to the taglist message me

@namsope32 , @cuteipat , @ofvopemin

Masterlist

Meraki masterlist

<  chapter 01 | next chapter >

You absentmindedly twirl in your chair, chewing on the pencil in your hand. The ticking of the clock was inaudible from the loud sound of keys smashing against the keyboard. Your mind raced in different directions and to say you were anxious was an understatement. A black polished oxford shoe lands harshly on the surface of your chair halting your twirl. The stain is starkly visible, inhabiting your mind and annoying you endlessly.

Min Yoongi pulls his foot back; the action makes your chair stroll backwards the back hitting your desk. “I am not paying you to slack off during work hours.”

It took a lot of willpower not to roll your eyes. He exhales, leans forward, and takes the sheet of paper from your lap. You could feel the level of disappointment rise with each sigh as he reads the lines of the text.

“I understand inspiration has to come to you, but it’s been months.” He scraps the paper throwing it into the bin, the action itself telling you what he thought of your work.

To be honest your thoughts on it didn’t differ much.

“I am sorry. It hasn’t been my month.” Or your year. You cower further into the chair. It was embarrassing enough to fall behind because of your private issues but having your higher up pity you was by far worse.

Yoongi shakes his head taking a seat on the sofa. He unbuttons his sleeve pulling them until they reached his elbows. Working for him for over two years made you know that whatever matter he was about to discuss was serious.

“The single didn’t do well,” you nod as you recall seeing it flop dramatically,” We need to produce an album that will reach the top ten charts. That won’t happen if you sit here twirling for hours with nothing to show me.”

“I understand.” He clicks his tongue, a ding from his phone gaining his attention as he signals for you to hold your thought.

You mumble hypocrite under your breath relieved when he gives no reaction to the word as he locks his phone looking straight at you. He crosses his legs, hands intervened on his knee as he rocks back and forward.

He glances up at the ceiling whistling an unfamiliar tune. After a few seconds, he stops rocking, taps his knees enthusiastically and walks towards the guitar. He whistles the tune over and over until he manages to perfectly string it through guitar chords. You stare at him watching closely as he scribbles a few notes and tosses the paper to you.

“Try to write something that would go well with this tune.” -was the last thing he said before he put the guitar back in its stand and left the room.

You let the frustration out through a scream, the soundproof plates securing it between the four walls. Ignoring the papers laying in front of you, you dig through the content of your purse. You extract pack of cigarettes. The clock on the desk flashes 10 pm and you know a long night was ahead of you.

The lobby was empty, the patter of your shoes cutting the silence. You tap your foot impatiently as you wait for the lift to take you to the rooftop. Smoking was forbidden in the KT entertainment building so your only options either the roof or the yard in front of the company.

“Graveyard shift?” A voice to your right says.

You scoff placing a cigarette in the mouth. “Yeah, you too?”

Baekhyun nods following you inside the lift. “I wish trouble wouldn’t follow Jungkook everywhere he went.”

“He got into a scandal?” Baekhyun catches the doubt in your voice and smiles.

He closes his eyes, resting his head against the mirror. You watch with pity as he breathes out in defeat. “It wasn’t him per se. A friend of his caused ruckus in a karaoke bar in Busan. Somebody sent an image of him leaving the bar. He was drunk and accompanied by a girl.”

You whistle at the last part. Idols getting caught with a female was almost like a death sentence for their career, no matter if the female was just a friend. Jungkook was the star of KT Entertainment, the one who brought the revenue. The idol has had a clean image so far. He did drink and lit a cigarette with his friends but, who didn’t? Although he wasn’t problematic, he had a knacker for attracting trouble.

The lift stops at your designated floor and Baekhyun jumps already halfway through the door. You follow behind him, wrapping your arms around yourself for some warmth. The cold night leaves traces over your cheeks, reddening them. You inhale the air, the scent reminding you of last year’s autumn. The image of Seokjin smiling at you as he crunches leaves is shattered by Baekhyun. He stops in front of you a spark flashing from his lighter casting different shades over his face.

You lean in, inhaling the nicotine as the tip of the cigarette burns. You observe him as he inhales a smoke before exhaling it and making a circle out of it. You often forgot he was six years your senior. His youthful face and the lively person often misled people believing he was far younger.

He leans against the rail, a hand in the pocket of his jeans. The scenery in front of you looked like a young adult novel. The light of the city flashed behind Baekhyun, his figure coming out as a blur because of the smoke. His newly dyed red hair catching your attention.

The silence between you wasn’t an awkward one, on the contrary, it was comforting. Finding a smoke-buddy like him was a blessing. He wasn’t very talkative despite his upbeat personality; he somehow distinguished your emotions well and knew when to speak and when to be silent.

“Did Yoongi punish you again?” He breaks your train of thoughts, choosing the spot closest to you to stand.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it punishment,” you throw the bud on the floor stepping over it lightly before you throw it in the bin, “but I do have to write some lyrics to a beat of his choosing.”

“Sounds like a punishment to me.” He chuckles as he lits another cigarette.

You shrug your shoulders. Working with Yoongi hadn’t been at all difficult as how people told you it would be. When you applied for the position, you read various posts on forums about Yoongi’s wrath and the difficulty of the tasks he gave. Many people criticised him for his mentorship, but you had found it refreshing. He never sugar-coated his opinion; he was straight to the point kind of a guy, and you liked it. Well, not every single time but you can’t have the best of both worlds in this industry.

“I can handle it. He’s right, I am behind deadlines, and I should focus on work instead of my personal life.”

Baekhyun looks like he wants to say something but quickly changes his mind. Throwing the bud over the rail he presses the down button. You punch him on his shoulder, hating the way he never cared much about the environment and the disposal of his trash.

“I’ll see you around. Maybe for a coffee next time?” Baekhyun smiles as you exit the lift, and you hum a quiet yes before going in the direction of your studio.

A part of you always felt bad for turning down Baekhyun’s invites for a coffee. You knew his motives were nothing but friendly seeing as you’ve met his long-term girlfriend Dayhun. The two were a match made in heaven having the same humour and playful personality. Sometimes it came to the point where they morphed into one person which gave you the creeps.

You laid on the couch, legs looking at the ceiling, back twisted and the head narrowed to the floor. It was half-past midnight, and inspiration was lacking in every sense. You scrunched the papers with words you thought were bad and aimed for the bin in the corner. You have yet to hit the bin, the papers lying next to it.

You were about to throw the next paper when your phone buzzed. Deeming the notification oh so important you fish it out of your back pocket staring at the screen. Yoongi’s name appears under the official e-mail inviting all the employers of the KT Entertainment tomorrow for a celebration of Jeon Jungkook winning an award for the Male Musician of the Year Netizen Vote and his single Still with You winning the Best Pop Song.

You sit up straight preparing yourself to decline the invite when a message pops up.

Min the Boss Yoongi

The invitation isn’t optional for you. You are required to come.

Y/N

You didn’t even ask if I was busy tomorrow night?

Min the BOSS Yoongi

Are you busy tomorrow night?

Y/N

No, but that’s beside the po-

Min the BOSS Yoongi

Great, see you at 8 pm tomorrow.

You massage your temples trying not to sink further into the frustration you felt for this man.

Y/N

Fine.

Min the BOSS Yoongi

I wrote that everyone could bring a plus one if they desire, seeing as the two of us and Jeon’s manager will be working tomorrow night, I highly advise you not to bring a plus one. I won’t mind if you do, but they might since you will be by my side most of the time.

You type a quick reply and toss the phone into your bag. Sehun wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of a plus one knowing he wanted to infiltrate himself into the upper society. Meeting people of such status equalled cases with greater stakes and greater stakes meant higher pay. You were gathering your belonging when a soft knock on the door caught your attention.

Baekhyun’s head pops behind the doors. “I was about to leave do you need a ride?”

You smile at him and nod. Baekhyun gives you a thumbs up, happy knowing he won’t be driving home alone at this hour. Luckily for you, he lived nearby and had given you plenty of times a ride. You get up from the couch and throw your purse over your shoulder, locking the studio.

As you walk to the car you discuss tomorrow’s party in Jungkook’s honour. You chuckle as Baekhyun grabs his head already imagining scandalous scenes pernicious for Jungkook’s career.

                                                      ______

At the sight of the guests’ attire, you felt severely underdressed. The sleeveless v cut dress tightened by a small knot on each side of your shoulders fell a little bit above your knees. Combat boots were your go-to footwear on such occasions, unlike the rest of the women at the party you needed to feel comfortable in order to finish tasks. You had to run around from one place to the other, obeying each order your boss gave. Sometimes you felt more like a secretary than a songwriter. Under such circumstances, high heels weren’t an option unless you wanted blisters.  

The metal rings on your fingers clanged against the glass deconcentrating you. The room swarm of people of different ages and statuses. You fell back blending well with the rest of the staff you tolerated. Baekhyun stood next to Jungkook, the younger if closely examined looked exhausted. Yoongi stood a few feet away talking to a group of men, some that you recognized.

A hand taps your shoulder, a familiar lavender scented perfume reaches your nose. Momo lays her head on your shoulder. “I thought this was a party. It feels more like a business gathering.”

Momo had been the main choreographer at the KT Entertainment. She was the type of person whom you couldn’t hate even if you wanted to. Kind natured and a bit naïve, she was the heart of the company always ready to help you or brighten your day.

You chuckle as you pat her head while she twists the straw in her cocktail. “Well, Min Yoongi organized it. He wouldn’t know what fun was even if it hit him straight in the face.”

Momo chuckles. “But he sure knew what handsome meant. Look at those men at his side.”

Something you noticed while working for him was the pallet of handsome men he knew which he called close friends. The first you met was Park Jimin, a highly respected dancer that occasionally stepped in to fill for Momo when she was absent. He was very charming and well equipped with words that bared red shade to the cheeks of female employers.

After Jimin, you’ve met Kim Namjoon, a literary professor who frequently reviewed your work. He was shy which often came off as reserved but overall, he was a pleasant company to have when going through your lyrics. He gave them the spark that was much needed to make the song into a hit.

Next to Namjoon stood Kim Taehyung. You’ve met him on one occasion when you barged into Yoongi’s office after he sent a rather rude message. Out of all Yoongi’s friends, he was the one you knew the least. Unlike Namjoon’s unintentional cold behaviour Taehyung’s was deliberate. He didn’t even introduce himself as he left the office making you feel like shit for interrupting what seemed an important meeting.

Another person who was part of Yoongi's close circle is Kim Seokjin, who recommended you to Yoongi. The two were childhood friends and somehow, you’ve never heard of the name Yoongi until two years ago. As much as you hated Jin now, you were still grateful for his help.

The last person in the circle was unfamiliar to you. He fitted well with the others, his handsome face wearing a smile that never flattened through the conversation as he jumped into Yoongi’s words a few times causing the gang to laugh. He had to be very close to Yoongi for your boss not to bash him for interjecting but rather send him a smile.

Momo lifts her head from your shoulder and stands in front of you. “Did you notice one of Yoongi’s friends absent from parties?”

You swallow a lump at the thought of your best friend before you quickly shake your head. “No, not really.”

“Call me crazy but I’m sure I saw Kim Seokjin at these parties before.”

“Can’t recall. Why do you care about him when Park Jimin is over there?” You try to change the subject hoping Momo would take the bait.

She huffs rolling her eyes. “You know I am not a big fan of him. Sure, his work is splendid but him? His personality? It needs a major rework.”

You chuckle at her disgusted expression as she jabs the olive pretending it was Jimin’s face. “Well, then you have Jeon Jungkook.”

“What am I? The company’s serial dater? Can I be honest with you?”, Momo says you follow her line-of-sight landing on Jungkook.

“Sure.” You say as you watch him push past people before he stands next to Jimin, engulfing the older one in a hug.

“I am sorry I know you work with his team, but I hate his songs. They feel like all the washed pop songs you hear on the radio. The whole night I’ve been lying to people saying his latest one is amazing.” You laugh loudly at her confession partly sympathising with her. It was ironic how much you both loved the songs you wrote for him and hated.

“No need to apologize just because I work for him.” You shrug off her apologetic smile, her lips fall into a straight line after she swallows a big sip of her drink.

“It’s still kind of awkward. We work together Y/N, I make all of his choreographies.”

“So? Just because you work together doesn’t mean you have to be a fan.” She nods soaking up your words. She goes to take a sip of her drink, but she groans in surprise at the empty glass.

“I’m going to get another cocktail. You want some?”

You shake your head, and she shrugs her shoulder starting to walk away. Before she can disappear from your sight you call out for her. She turns around tilting her head slightly. “Who’s the fifth guy in Yoongi’s circle?”

You watch as she searches for Yoongi and the rest of the gang. The man in question seemingly sensing you spoke of him looks up at you offering you a smile. He was by far the most handsome one in the group by your standards. Dressed from head to toe in red he, stood out in the mass, the waisted suit hugging his body showing off his well-built figure.

Doubting the smile was for you, you look around searching for the real receiver not wanting to look like an idiot if you return it. Seeing your action, the man laughs which catches the attention of the group.

When Yoongi turns around motioning for you to join them you flush. As you pass Momo her touch lingers for a while on your elbow. She darts close whispering in your ear.

“That’s Jung Hoseok.”

The information left you out of breath, the e-mails he kept sending replaying themselves in your mind. You stumble a bit when Momo’s light touch disappears. Feelings a set of eyes on you, you regain your footing and walk towards your boss. Each step feeling heavier.

There was no one else to blame for the situation you found yourself in but yourself. You knew who Hoseok was in theory, he published many bestseller books and everyone who was even remotely into writing had some knowledge of him and his famous company. Although in the last couple of months your newsfeed lacked information about Hoseok’s whereabouts, you brushed it off as him working on a new book.

You knew about him all, but what he looked like. Jung Hoseok managed to avoid the press like his life depended on it. You saw articles of his assistant Yuta standing in his place at promotions and any other public event. If you only dug deeper or asked for the guest list, you could’ve avoided this.

Yoongi places the palm of his hand on your lower back guiding you into the circle. Jeon Jungkook waves giving you a soft but tired smile, Kim Namjoon nods in your direction slowly sipping the wine, Park Jimin gives you a polite greeting while Kim Taehyung acts as if you never existed. You saw Jimin elbow him lightly, but the man never wavered.

Your eyes stop at Hoseok who beams at you stretching his hand. Yoongi leans and whispers into your ear, the loud beating of your heart making it hard to differentiate his words. “Y/N this is Jung Hoseok.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Finally? What did he mean by that?

You muster up what you thought was a smile albeit a weak one but there. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Different questions race through your mind. Was he here because he found out it was you behind the username? Was he even Yoongi’s friend? Had this all been a plot to finally meet you?

“He hasn’t shut up about the Jungkook’s single. Something about it speaking out to him. He’s very excited to meet the writer behind it.” Yoongi tells you making your head snap in his direction.

There was a silent argument going on between you. It took you months before you accepted Namjoon into the small circle of people who knew that behind another pseudonym of yours stood your name. The songs you wrote for Jungkook mostly spoke of unrequited love and heartbreaks and it would mortify you if people knew it was you who wrote it. The pity looks you might get sent a shudder through your body.

“I can’t wait to hear the future songs you will write.” He says clapping enthusiastically unlike you who couldn’t even utter a word besides thanks. You felt like you kept were being rude. You tried your best not to let the events get to you, but it was hard with him bombarding your inbox constantly.

To your side, Yoongi smiles as if silently answering your question. Hoseok didn’t know you wrote the other songs, nobody knew except Namjoon and Yoongi. You exhale in relief, but the tension remains as you look up at Hoseok. He seemed like the mood maker of the group his smile permanently resting on his face.

“We’re currently working on a new song,” Yoongi announces, and you feel like you want the floor to swallow you up.

You notice Jungkook now paying attention to the conversation as Hoseok leans in. Yoongi turns to you putting you on the spot probably knowing you hadn’t written anything. Trying to calm your nerves you imagine Momo or Sehun standing in front of you instead.

The tension in your body slowly shimmers down, and you can feel yourself take control of the anxiety that was the result of the shock you felt from seeing Jung Hoseok.

“Something with a happier note I hope,” Taehyung says, and you wince at his stoic voice.

Hoseok tsks at him. “Whatever Y/N and Yoongi write will be a hit no doubt.”

“Whipped.” Jungkook coughs under his breath and Jimin giggles slapping him softly on the back of his head.

“We’ll see.” Yoongi smiles, and you follow his suit ignoring your burning cheeks.

Whenever you glanced at Hoseok he was already looking back at you. The attention he gave you every time you spoke offered you a feeling of importance that contributed to you speaking more freely in their presence.

“Did you manage to find anyone interesting to publish their work?” Namjoon’s sentence tickles your curiosity shifting your gaze to Hoseok whose smile for the first time tonight drops.

He plays with the drink in his hands prolonging his answer. “I did find someone, but I am not sure if we’ll sign a deal.”

You stiffen at his answer, the e-mails in your phone suddenly felling heavy.

Namjoon’s brow quirks up. “Not satisfied with the writing?”

Hoseok shakes his head, a weak smile on his lips. He bites his tongue before plopping it to the corner of his mouth. “On the contrary,” this seemed to confuse Namjoon,” they haven’t been responding to any of my e-mails.”

“That’s hard to believe.” Jimin joins the conversation, your attention changing between them as they speak.

"Did you offer them a bad contract?" Namjoon buts in jokingly once he finishes his drink.

Hoseok puckers his lips, slowly looking at Namjoon. "There was no contract to begin with."

"Your conversation gives me a headache. Can you finish the story in one go?" Taehyung speaks up and you silently agree with him.

Hoseok places the glass on the table in front of them, pushing his wavy hair to the sides. His eyes seemed even more mesmerising as they looked over the edge of his glasses.

"I've seen their work on a site and tried to contact them via e-mail. I’ve tried searching for them on other sites but with no results.”

"Why don't you call them or text them? It's the 21st century most people don't use emails as a form of communication."  Jungkook adds his two cents, and you see the rest of the table roll their eyes.

"Just because you use messenger and kakaotalk as communication doesn't mean others do. This isn't a chat between two friends, it's between possible business partners." Jimin scolds the younger and you stifle a laugh.

Namjoon pats Jungkook's back affectionately. "It's unprofessional to contact people through apps especially if you're someone of Hoseok’s status.”

"Anyway," Hoseok coughs straightening his posture," I don't know their name or number. All I have is the user under which they write and well the e-mail."

"Are you sure they are worth all the fuss?" Yoongi adds and you look at Hoseok who immediately nods.

"You should read their poems, Yoongi. They are magical, raw. You can feel each emotion slowly seeping into you. Just like with Y/N’s and yours song. It's powerful."

You tense up at the mention of your name which goes unnoticed by the rest as they engage in a lyrical discussion. You can see Taehyung backing away from the table with Jungkook following behind. Jimin occasionally nods to Hoseok's interpretation of your poems not interested but not wanting to be rude either. Yoongi and Hoseok go back and forward for a while before Namjoon excuses himself leaving the four of you.

"Anyway, I don't want to bore you with my work," Hoseok finishes the discussion turning towards you, " it was lovely meeting you Y/N. I hope to see you soon."

Highly unlikely you wanted to say. "Likewise."

He disappears in the crowd as Yoongi turns to you. "Jimin and I should talk to the other producers some more before we call it a night."

Soon enough they are out of your reach, and you feel like you could breathe for the first time tonight. Pulling your phone from your purse you head straight for the exit. You tap the familiar number, one you’ve dailed many times.

"Hello?" Sehun's voice cuts through your hectic thoughts.

"You will never know who I just fucking met."

"Seokjin?"

"What? No. It’s Jung Hoseok."

You say as you watch the said man lean into the wall of the lift before he notices you standing not far away. The last thing you see before the doors close was his smile turning into a smirk.

"Jung fucking Hoseok."

Miss/Mister Meraki,

I am writing you this mail in hopes of getting a response from you. Wishing the previous mail had landed in a spam box (rather than you not answering), I am writing you another one filled with more hope. After reading your poems I couldn’t help but notice the sad tone most of them carried.

In the light of the discovery, I am going with my hunch and will say freely that you are probably wary of me. Therefore, I’ve decided to take the time and let you get to know me. I’ll start by writing you little facts about me after I read one of your poems. Hopefully, by the end of the journey, you will choose me.

Kind regards,

Jung Hoseok.

#jung hoseok x reader #bts x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #hobi x reader #hoseok fanfiction #jhope x reader #hoseok fluff #hoseok angst #bts fanfiction #nct 127 #yuta x reader #idol x reader #hoseok reaction #hoseok fantasty #bts fantasy #bts angst #bts fluff #bts x y/n #red velvet #twice #baekyhun x reader #exo x reader #baekhyun x dahyun #twice x exo #bts x exo #meraki chapter 2 #meraki