#The lessons are being passed to the next generation

[kateschi]

same book, different chapters

synopsis: an ordinary evening takes a turn when katsuki expresses what you've always known but never expected to hear.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

being with katsuki is a lesson in unspoken understanding. you knew who he is long before you started dating him—loud, brash, and not the type to share his feelings openly.

but it didn’t take long to realize there’s so much more to him than that. his love is quiet, reserved, and shown in the details:

how he pulls you out of the way of a passing car, or how he remembers the smallest things, like your favorite kind of tea or that you prefer your coffee without sugar.

and that is enough for you. mostly.

you didn’t expect him to be the kind of boyfriend who says "I love you" with ease. katsuki isn’t like that. it isn’t something you hold against him either.

but every now and then, a small part of you wonders what it would be like to hear him say it—to hear those three words slip past his lips in the same way they had from yours.

you say it first, a quiet “I love you” in the middle of a peaceful night when the world outside feels still.

his response comes in the shape of hugging you tighter, securing you in his arms. however, he doesn’t say it back, and you don’t expect him to. you don’t need him to.

still, there are times when you find yourself holding your breath, wondering if one day he’ll actually verbalize it.

it isn’t that you doubt his feelings. katsuki isn’t one to waste time on things or people he doesn’t care about.

you know how much he cares by the way he silently takes care of you, always putting you first in his own way, even when his words are rough around the edges.

it’s just that sometimes, words have a way of making things feel more real.

tonight is one of those easy evenings you cherish—one where you don’t have to think too much about anything. the two of you are in your kitchen, making dinner together, though “together” is generous.

you’re doing most of the work while katsuki stands next to you, arms crossed, casting a critical eye over everything you do.

“you’re putting too much salt,” he says, the frown on his face making you smile.

“pretty sure this is the exact amount the recipe says to use,” you reply, amused at how serious he always gets when it comes to food.

“tch, that recipe’s wrong. I could’ve made this better with my eyes closed.”

“then why don’t you?” you tease, turning your head to glance at him. his gaze is sharp as usual, but the small curve in the corner of his lips betrays him.

“maybe I’ll cook next time,” he grumbles, looking away like the very idea of giving in bothers him.

you laugh softly, enjoying the banter. this is something you love about him—how even in these simple moments, his presence fills the space with a sense of ease.

there’s no pressure to be anything other than yourselves, even when his blunt honesty clashes with your more relaxed approach.

as you stir the pot, you can’t help but let your thoughts wander back to the three words. you know katsuki isn’t the type to say things until he’s ready, and you respect that.

but part of you is curious—would it ever come naturally to him, or would it always be something unspoken between the two of you?

still, as you stand there, the warmth of his steady presence beside you, you realize that maybe you’re okay with it remaining unspoken. katsuki shows his love in ways that don’t need words to validate them.

and then, without warning, you feel his arms wrap around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. you freeze for a moment, caught off-guard.

“katsuki?” you ask, your voice soft, as you lean into him instinctively.

he doesn’t answer right away, just holds you there. his touch isn’t hesitant, but it is different from the usual casual touches you’ve grown used to.

“you’re annoying sometimes,” he mutters, voice low in your ear.

you chuckle, relaxing further into his hold. “I know.”

there’s silence for a beat, and then: “but I love you anyway, idiot.”

you blink, unsure if you’ve heard him correctly. you turn your head slightly, trying to see his face, but he buries it against your neck, hiding his expression. “did you just—?”

“don’t make a big deal out of it,” he mumbles, voice suddenly gruff, though you can hear the embarrassment beneath the words.

a smile breaks across your face, warmth spreading through your chest. you didn’t expect it, but that makes it all the more special. he isn’t saying it because the moment demands it.

he isn’t saying it because you’re waiting. he says it because he wants to, because he feels it.

“I’m not,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably as your happiness bubbles up in your voice. “but…I love you too.”

you feel his grip tighten around you and a kiss pressed to your shoulder.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[welcometomybraincomics]

*Soki is cooking* Pocket: Any chance that’s for me? Soki: It’s for Trevor. I’m planning on making some bad choices tonight, and I need him on my side. Caution: I never realized the forethought that went into being a disappointment.

[suntoru]

─ ✰ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒.

— synopsis: 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔, the popular guy in your class, chooses to sit next to you, of all people. you've fallen head over heels, what happens next?

— warnings: highschool au! angst, fluff in the beginning, will not be writing a part 2, swearing, gaslighting, betrayal, just a bet troupe, gojo being a dick or everybody generally, 3.4k words!

— a/n: not my proudest work to be honest :( also tried another formatting lmk if u liked it! comments and reblogs r very much appreciated i will love u forever

"yo. can i sit here?" gojo satoru grins, effortlessly sliding into the empty seat next to you and making himself at home.

...huh? isn't that the popular guy who's usually surrounded by his friends? he's constantly the subject of admiration among the girls in your class, eliciting swoons and whispers of infatuation wherever he goes. confusion creeps in as you wonder why he didn't choose the empty seat next to suguru. there's no conceivable reason for someone like gojo, popular and charismatic, to opt for the seat beside you. you feel a sense of self-consciousness settling in.

nevertheless, you nod softly, though you're well aware the question was more of a rhetorical one. he's fashionably late, by twenty minutes, to be precise, unabashedly ignoring the scolding glares from your teacher about punctuality. instead, he buries himself in the deep blue plastic seat, sticking his tongue out when the teacher turns his back, letting out a huffy pout from the lecture.

nervously, you glance up from your notebook, cautiously stealing a peek at your new desk buddy. he's pretty─ real pretty, snowy white lashes adorning his pretty cerulean spheres, dainty fingers idly spinning a pencil out of sheer boredom. and as if kissed by the blush of a gentle sunrise, his lips possess a natural rosy hue, smooth and plump, belong to him like a delicate work of art. you wonder just how many kisses they've stolen. caught in a moment of admiration, you find yourself staring a tad longer than socially acceptable.

his eyes flicker, locking onto yours, and the realization hits you—oh, he caught you staring. shit. immediately, you break eye contact as you cough awkwardly. you swiftly attempt to play it off, pretending as if you were engrossed in examining the intricate texture of your silver-grey desk instead. your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you hope he hasn't interpreted your lingering gaze as anything more than idle curiosity.

...should you say something? try to deny you were very clearly eye fucking him? he probably thinks you're a freak now. perhaps he sat next to you out of pity, and now he regrets it. out of sheer embarrassment, the words die in your mouth before they could ever leave, keeping your gaze glued to the floor as you refuse to acknowledge that his presence ever existed.

however, it appears that gojo won't let you suffer the embarrassment in peace. when your stern teacher turns away, he subtly slides a ripped edge of his blue-lined paper towards you, bearing a simple 'hi :)'. he's attempting a conversation, a surprising but welcome distraction from the awkwardness of being caught staring. an opportunity to salvage a bit of your dignity. now, the challenge lies in crafting a response that strikes the right balance.

would 'hey' sound too dry? but 'heyyyy' makes it seem like you're a little too interested. you opt for a casual 'heyy' with your black pen, scribbling the reply with extra caution to avoid prying eyes. as soon as the teacher is out of view, you subtly slip the note back to gojo. his lips curl into a slight smile upon reading your response.

two minutes pass by before you get a response. 'do you get this lesson? i'm soo lost..' accompanied by a small doodle of a crying suguru. you can't help but stifle a giggle; the drawing is poorly done, yet undeniably cute. the teacher swiftly turns around at the sound, prompting both of you to scramble and make it look like you're diligently focused on the lesson. the suspicious gaze lingers for a moment before the teacher returns to the whiteboard.

'maybe it's cause you missed like, half of the lesson.' you write back. he rolls his eyes playfully upon reading your retort, swiftly countering with a pout. "it's not my fault this class is so boring.'

'who said philosophy was supposed to be fun?' you reply. in response, gojo eagerly accepts the note, maintaining the subtle exchange of eye contact. 'hey, be nice to mr. aristotle, he's a great guy :(' he sends back. and thirty minutes seem to pass in the blink of an eye.

the bell chimes, signaling the end of the philosophy session and the need to transition to your next course. reluctantly, you stow your textbook in your bag, feeling a twinge of sadness at the realization that this amusing interaction might have been a one-time occurrence.

it's been a while since you've genuinely laughed. so when his ocean blue eyes latch onto yours with a genuine sense of hope, you quickly fold when he asks you if you're interested in sitting with him again tomorrow.

in those thirty short minutes, you learn three things about gojo satoru. firstly, you realize you've sorely misjudged him. he's not just another nepo-baby cheating his way through school; he's actually quite smart, smarter than he lets on. he's especially good in biochemistry, and he promises to help you study next time.

secondly, you discover that he loves sweets, just as you do. you both agree that kikufuku mochi is better than strawberry dango, and he even tells you about his favorite shop. maybe you can go together sometime.

and thirdly, he doesn't tell you this outright, but you learn that gojo is insecure. what strikes you the most is the glimpse of uncertainty you catch beneath his confident exterior. it's not about his looks or intelligence, but it's actually about his relationship with suguru. he's afraid to lose him, a fear that seems to drive him more than anything else. he overcompensates for his self-doubt. but you find that his flaws make him all the more pretty.

it's peculiar, the speed at which gojo somehow effortlessly integrates into your daily life. how he's feeling is how you're feeling, which is usually reflected on his friendship with suguru. if they had a fight, he'd be sad, and if everything was alright, he was too. but either way was okay with you, you just want to be there for him. what was once a dreaded fourth period now stands as the radiant highlight of your entire day.

despite the limited instances of verbal communication —perhaps a mere once or twice— the inexplicable truth remains: you've fallen head over heels for him. the simple act of passing notes with satoru becomes more than a routine; it evolves into the sole force that awakens you in the morning, the singular thought that propels you forward and keeps you going throughout the day.

and just maybe, the hopeless romantic within you fervently clings to the belief that his sentiments go beyond mere friendship. his actions seem to carry an extra layer of care, an attentiveness that extends beyond your platonic friendship. he notices the little things that escape the notice of others. it wasn't lost on him when you shed tears the other night due to the weight of stress; he went out of his way to procure your favorite candy bar, a sweet gesture aimed at brightening your spirits.

he took notice of your new haircut, expressing in a note that it frames your face nicely. he had comforted you when a classmate aimed a subtle insult your way, he wrote that the words of someone whose foundation didn't match their face shouldn't hold much weight. he even made an effort to be punctual for class, all to engage in the shared exchange of silly notes with you. and honestly, even if he didn't like you back, you'd be fine.

because your heart swells with gratefulness at the fact that he chose to sit with you. he wanted to be your friend even when nobody else did. you trusted and loved him with your whole heart, because that's what you believed he deserved.

so imagine your surprise when you overhear his conversation with suguru that day.

"just a day more, then you win the bet." geto groans, tossing his head back in exasperation. the two of them linger in the now-empty classroom, the echoes of other students long gone.

"yep, twenty four hours, then you owe me three hundred dollars." satoru sings, playfully nudging his best friend's shoulder. he's all sunshine and smiles, swinging his feet from the desk he's currently sitting on.

"and it wasn't even that hard. i just had to get 'em to fall for me." suguru rolls his eyes. "dude, if i was you, i would've tapped out the first week. how'd you manage to do it?" he huffs, clearly annoyed at the impending financial loss.

satoru mischievously grins. "just used my charm." he fluffs his hair with a smug expression on his face. "can't believe it worked so fast, though. they must be real desperate for someone's attention. all it took was for you to fuckin' pretend like you cared." suguru grouches, being a sore loser. you don't hear the rest, the notebook you had lost long forgotten.

a lump forms in your throat, a sensation of dread creeping up on you. you desperately want to believe he's not talking about you, but you can't shake the realization that to him, you were nothing more than a pawn in a bet— a tool used for his amusement. you're overwhelmed by a sense of stupidity, a painful realization sinking in, drowning every rational thought.

he never cared. you could fall dead at this moment and he wouldn't even spare you a glance. you should've known. why would he? you feel stupid for allowing him entry into your life, stupid for naively believing in his sincerity, and stupid for daring to love a heartless jerk who played with the fragile strings of your heart.

they're right. you are pathetic. you just blindly fell for the first person who gave, or rather, pretended to give a shit. a relentless ache throbs in your chest as you stubbornly refuse to succumb to tears over a boy— a resolution crumbling like fragile glass. despite your stubborn determination, an uncontrollable torrent of hot tears streams down your face, distorting the world into a watery blur.

the desperate yearning for someone to choose you, to envelop you in unconditional and pure love, had fueled your hopes. and for a fleeting moment, you believed you'd found it, only to witness your heart being ruthlessly trampled blue. clutching onto the tattered shreds of your dignity, half-broken and bleeding, you muster the strength to leave swiftly before they catch a glimpse of you.

the bitter taste of betrayal lingers in the air, each teardrop is a testament to the shattering of dreams, the dead hope that once soared. the yearning for a love that stands unwavering proves to be a mirage, leaving you grappling with the shards of a love that was never truly yours.

that day, you learn one more thing about gojo satoru. he's just like everybody else.

cerulean eyes, like pools of shimmering azure, flicker with concern as they scan the empty seat beside him. minutes stretch into eternity on the clock, each tick of the second hand amplifying the weight of his worry. nine twenty morphs into nine fifty pretty quickly, and he can't help but be a little annoyed. at this rate, you'll only get in twenty minutes of 'talking.'

you're always punctual—eight fifty-five on the dot. but today, the clock ticks on, and there's no sign of you anywhere. his brows furrow with concern, a nervous flutter dancing in his stomach. did something happen to you? the mere possibility sends a pang of anxiety through him, and he fidgets restlessly in his seat, unable to focus on the lesson before him.

yet, when his gaze shifts to meet suguru's, he swiftly masks his apprehension with an air of nonchalance, as if feigning indifference to your absence. but inwardly, his heart races as he anxiously awaits your arrival. when you finally walk in, he's already scribbling furiously on a piece of paper, filled with questions about what could have delayed you today. yet, as he extends his hand to pass you the note, his eager smile fades into confusion and disappointment.

you walk right past seat thirteen, your usual spot, without so much as a glance in his direction. instead, you approach a random girl and ask if you could sit with her. his heart sinks, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks as a torrent of thoughts flood his mind. is something wrong? are you upset with him? he replays every interaction in his mind, searching for any misstep. but he can't find one. he's been careful to maintain the perfect facade when you're around. perhaps you simply forgot, he reasons with himself, attempting to quell the rising tide of hurt and confusion.

yes, that must be it.

...just a simple oversight.

"hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!! just wait a moment!!" gojo's voice cuts through the chatter of students eager to leave as soon as the bell rings. he grabs your wrist, his touch gentle yet firm, halting your attempt to blend into the rush. his heart races in his chest, the sudden surge of adrenaline making his palms clammy.

"um... you didn't sit with me today." he mumbles, the words coming out in a rush, his voice tinged with uncertainty. his fingers toy with the ring around his finger, his gaze fixed on the ground as he struggles to find the right words to continue the conversation. he doesn't like the way you're looking at him. there's a flicker of irritation in your gaze, a departure from the usual warmth and affection that he's grown accustomed to. normally, when his eyes meet yours, your cheeks tint pink, your pupils dilate, and you give him the cutest starry-eyed look. but not today.

"yeah," you mutter casually, your eyebrow raising ever so slightly. there's a certain coldness in your eyes that sends a shiver down his spine. you're about to leave again, but he moves to block the door, a frown creasing his forehead.

"did i do something wrong? i don't understand why you're suddenly acting so bitchy," he huffs, irritation lacing his voice. the words tumble out before he can stop them, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "no," you reply simply, your tone devoid of any emotion, as if you genuinely don't care. it stings his ego, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

"you can 'use your charm' to make a new friend. since it's so easy for you, right?" you mutter, your voice trembling with suppressed anger. you promised yourself you'd hold it together, but the wound is still raw, etched deep into your mind as a flush of resentment rises within his eyes widen in shock, a pang of guilt stabbing at his heart. you heard that? no, no, no... he hadn't meant for you to be there. he had been so careful, or so he thought.

"i didn't mean it, i just-" he stutters, desperately searching for an excuse, but he knows it's futile. there's no chance you'd believe him now, would you? his heart sinks. he doesn't want you to hate him. "i was easy, right?" you laugh bitterly, each word dripping with sarcasm and pain.

"i hope that three hundred dollars was worth it. not that you even needed it, though. you think toying with people is fun? you're a dick, satoru, go to fucking hell." you hiss, your words laced with venom, cutting through the air like a sharp blade. "let me explain-" he protests, desperation evident in his voice as he tries to reason with you. but you're too angry to even consider it.

"explain? explain what?'" you explode, your voice rising with each syllable, oblivious to the judgmental glances of passersby. you scoff, tears threatening to spill over.

"i didn't mean it," he cuts you off, his own voice strained with emotion. "you're my friend, i just—" his voice cracks. "friends don't manipulate other people's feelings." you interrupt, your voice laced with venom as you spit out each word. you're aware you look like a mess, mascara staining your cheeks. "friends don't trick and hurt you on purpose!" you yell, tongue dripping with malice. "and here's the thing. you may be the greatest, satoru, but you will never, be enough. not for suguru, not for anybody."

you almost regret saying it. targetting his biggest insecurity. but then again, he deserves it. "how could you say that?" his voice is broken, quiet, as he mumbles it out as a whisper. the eyes that you once found so stunning suddenly look just like everybody else's. they well with tears, but are quickly blinked away. "you don't get to cry, satoru," you scoff, unzipping your bag and opening the front pouch.

you toss all the letters you've written in class, all the sticky notes, every single ripped paper, every little doodle, flipping your bag over and emptying it on the floor. every single heart fluttering moment you experienced seems so dead now. "you don't get to act like you cared. it's only fair, after all." you manage to muster, fighting to keep your voice stable. tears drip down your chin as your bottom lip trembles.

every step feels like a battle, a relentless tug-of-war between what your heart wants and what your mind knows is right. leaving him behind is like tearing off a piece of your own soul, but you convince yourself it's for the better— for your own sanity, for your own self-respect. each stride forward is heavy with the weight of goodbye, each breath drawn in a struggle against the ache in your chest. and as you finally turn away, a part of you dies inside, a piece of your spirit crumbling in the wake of shattered trust and broken dreams. you can feel his eyes on your retreating figure, the silent witness to your silent agony.

this time he doesn't try to stop you. and when you leave, gojo finally allows himself to cry.

today, gojo finds himself seated next to suguru, reclaiming his former spot from before the bet. yet, everything feels different now. the idiotic jokes his friends make just aren't as funny anymore. their presence is irritating to him. he laughs, but the sound lacks the same genuine joy it once held with you. he smiles, but it's a mere shadow of the radiant expression he wore in your presence. his heart may feel a fleeting sense of happiness, but there will always be a hole where you once were.

his so-called 'buddies' don't even notice that he's at his lowest point, and he can't help but think about the way you would've noticed immediately.

how you would've sent him a cute note with his favourite candy attached, because you kept them in your bag just for him, for these kinds of days. he feels so numb. he's always been so confident, yet he can't even muster up the courage to pass by your desk.

and he can't help but wonder what might have been if he had chosen differently that day, if his intentions had been pure from the start. would you two have gotten somewhere? he supposes that now, he'll never know the answer. his eyes cloud over at that thought, slouching back down into his seat.

he never had the chance to tell you how sorry he was, how he would take it all back in an instant if he could. he didn't mean to hurt you. he was stupid and careless. and yet, he tries to convince himself that he'll be okay. that he'll be able to get over you one day. one day, when he's married and has two kids, he'll look back at this and laugh. so then why does his heart feel so heavy? you're not suguru, it's true. but suguru never made him feel this way. and he's confused with his own feelings.

he doesn't know what love is.

he's only sixteen.

perhaps he'll never know. but for him, love was sneaking kikifuku mochi into class for you to share. it was sending you cat memes at three am in the morning, only for you to groggily respond with your own. it was doodling you in his notebook in his spare time. it was how what you were feeling was how he was feeling too.

you were right, it seems.

gojo satoru, the greatest, yet not enough to make you stay.

© KAEFFEINEE 2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌-𝐔𝐏

summary: when you forget to bring your jacket, an unlikely hero comes to your rescue; is there more to his chivalrous action than meets the eye?

pairing: kaiser x gn! reader

warnings: fluff, kaiser being kaiser; i’m still on hiatus but i have to free this idea from my mind or it won’t let me go, also i thought it was super fun when they spoke german in the manga so here we are

blue lock masterlist

“Is it me or is it chillier than normal in here?” You asked, rubbing your palms over your goosebump-ridden arms. As an assistant manager, you’d been next to the pitch more often than you could count, but on this day it seemed like someone turned up the AC.

“Hm, dunno. Seems normal to me,” Kurona said after contemplating for a few seconds. “You’re not getting sick, are you?”

“I don’t feel like it, no,” you wondered aloud as you watched the Bastard München and FC Barcha players walk onto the court. As much as you’d hate to miss the beginning of the Neo Egoist League, perhaps you should make the track back to your room. “I think I’ll go grab my jacket—“

Your sentence was cut off by fabric covering your head, making you flinch in the sudden darkness.

“Hier, nimm meine. (Here, take mine.)�� A voice that had quickly become familiar since the foreign teams were introduced passed by and when you lifted the front of the jacket, you found none other than Michael Kaiser in your field of view. As usual, he was looking rather smug for no reason whatsoever.

Still, he was one of the last people you’d expect to help you out, so the raise of your eyebrow was somewhat inevitable.

“Versteh mich nicht falsch, (Don’t get me wrong,)” he continued, cerulean eyes trained on you, “ich mach das nur, dass du von Anfang an zusehen kannst, wie ich Blue Lock vernichte. (I’m only doing this so you can watch from the beginning as I crush Blue Lock.)

“Und da ich sowieso nicht auf die Bank gehöre, macht’s mir nichts aus, wenn jemand meine Jacke aufwärmt. (Also, since I won't be benched anyway, I don’t mind having someone warm up my jacket for me.)” And with that, he sauntered off towards the centre of the field, the self-satisfied grin still tugging on his lips.

“He’s such a jackass,” Raichi scoffed, his jaw locked and a vein protruding from his neck. “Now I wanna play even more, just so I can teach him a lesson.”

“Now now, let’s not get hasty,” you chuckled, holding the Bastard München jacket in your hands. “As much as I understand where you’re coming from, I don’t think it’s a good idea to pick a fight with our guests on the first match day.”

The fact that you knew about the auction system and livestream you’d keep hidden for now.

“While I really don’t like the guy,” Kurona cut in before Raichi could add anything else, “I still think you should wear the jacket. It won’t do anyone any good if you really get sick. You can still go get yours after the match.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, I agree,” Isagi sighed next to him. “It is probably for the best.”

“Fine, fine,” you mumbled, sliding your arms through the comfortable sleeves of Kaiser’s jacket, bunching it up at your wrists so it wouldn’t cover your fingers.

And with that, the whistle signalled the start of the match.

To no one’s surprise, the match was shaping up to be a great one from the start, the quality and speed of the plays upped significantly with the inclusion of the top league players. Though, for some reason or another, you just couldn’t tear your eyes away from München’s number 10, the same number currently decorating your back.

You knew Kaiser was good, considering he was hailed as a prodigy for the New Generation World XI. And yet, seeing him play was a whole different experience from watching the tapes. From his superb ball control to his efficient movements and precise awareness of the field, all culminating in a lightning fast Kaiser Impact, he basically demanded your attention to be on him.

So when his gaze crossed yours after scoring a goal, you felt like you were getting caught red handed by the amused crease of his eyes. With the way heat shot up your body in embarrassment, you might not have needed his jacket anymore.

By the end of the match, your brain felt as tired as if you had played yourself, trying to keep up with the new level to which football at Blue Lock had been raised. Subsequently, you zoned out for most of Ego’s explanation of the auction system, only to zone back in as Kaiser’s 300 million Yen bid was displayed for everyone to see. And while you swallowed hard at that number, the striker in question seemed rather unfazed.

Instead, he sauntered over to where you were standing, still wearing his jacket. You were halfway out of the garment already when he came to a halt in front of you, his long fingers tangling in the fabric to keep it wrapped around your shoulders.

“Hast du nicht gesagt, dir ist kalt? (Didn’t you say you were cold?)” He asked, blue eyes sparkling down at you with an unreadable expression. “Behalt sie an. Zumindest bis du deine eigene holst. (Keep it on. At least until you get your own.)”

“What? No!” You protested, further trying to shrug off the jacket. Despite shoving it back down to where it came from, a small part of you agreed with him, not wanting to give it back quite yet. “You need it more than I do!”

“Hm? Es ist süß, dass du dich um mich sorgst, (It’s cute that you’re worried about me),” he teased, amusement written all over his face, “aber es ist wirklich unnötig. (but, really, it’s unnecessary.)”

“Absolutely not! If you get sick because of me, I’ll never hear the end of it,” you groaned, finally wrestling yourself out of his jacket and shoving it in his arms. “So just take the damn jacket, Kaiser.”

“Nenn mich einfach Michael, okay?) Just call me Michael, alright?)” One finger tilted up your chin, so you wouldn’t avoid meeting his gaze any longer. “Immerhin kennen wir uns gut genug, dass du dir meine Jacke leihst. (After all, we’re close enough for you to borrow my jacket.)”

“Whatever you’re trying to play here, cut it out!” Before he could have a chance to feel the heat rising to your cheeks, you whirled around to make a swift exit and get your thoughts in order again. 

In that moment, you were so distracted by the blond, you’d forgotten the whole world could see you wearing his name on your back. You’d later be reminded of it when seeing comments flooding social media, cooing about the gesture or speculating about your relationship with one another. But that was still far from your mind at present, which was still trying to figure out his reasons for behaving like he did.

Meanwhile Kaiser, who watched you retreat into Blue Lock’s hallways, couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at his lips. Perhaps someone here was worthy of devoting his time to after all.

© the-travelling-witch 2024 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

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[retiredteabag]

An Uninformed Narrative

Synopsis: You had lived in Stardew Valley for a year before you met the hunter from the adventures guild, Sukuna Itadori. It did not take long for him to catch your attention but you couldn't help feeling as if his affection resided anywhere but you.

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

This is a Sukuna stardew valley au, heavily inspired by @tearzintheclub's similar series with butcher!sukuna, I highly recommend reading their work, they are super kind and were a big motivation for me to make this!

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

You had been dying for a decade before coming to the valley, still, unmercifully, alive. The bitter years you spent milling away on a computer, endless days blurring onto the next. A monotonous cycle of tireless work for a corporation that left you unfulfilled, complacent, and depressed. Holed up in a city you did not even like.

It was corrosive, only now, a year later, could you look back and realize that life didn't begin for you until you moved to your grandfather's farm.

It had been hard work. You knew it would be. Still, the labor it took to keep up with crops and farm animals had been more than you anticipated. But you had friends now, and goals. And that was more valuable than anything.

One year ago, when you came to the valley, romance was quite possibly the last thing occupying your mind. Only now, being able to comfortably settle into your home, could you allow yourself to think about things other than the prosperity of your land and the health of your animals.

That brings us to now.

You had read books about the Stardew Valley mines back in the mountains north of town. Harvey, the village doctor, had warned you of its treacherous depths. Having focused most of your efforts on farm/house maintenance, you had not traversed into dangerous territory beyond upgrading your tools and acquiring bug meat.

This is why, after a whole year of living in the valley, you were surprised to receive a notice in your mailbox from "The Adventurers Guild", an initiation of sorts, requesting you to slay 10 slimes to be granted entry.

You had thought about it all evening. By the next morning, you felt up for the challenge. After taking care of the chores you left you made your way up past the carpenter's shop, dropped off a fish you caught the night before to your friend Linus, and entered the mines.

It had been scary but you protected yourself well and acquired some gems and geodes to show for it. It was late when you made the trek home, but you were determined to enter the adventurers guild the next day.

It had been a delight to meet Gil and Marlon, the two men who ran the guild. They sold weapons and protective gear, offered rewards for monster slaying, and purchased monster loot. Still having some on you, you traded them in for the cash. With a smile on your face, you decided to go into town to buy some icecream for Yuuji, Jas, and Vincent.

Penny, the town's teacher, had the kids in the museum for lessons until 2 PM, so you traveled quickly to meet them in time.

Penny was always a delight. Kind to everyone, even if they did not deserve it. She was so good with the kids as well, and dedicated much of her time to their education.

You had met Penny just a few days after moving to the town at the local flower shop in the Cidersap Forest. You had learned she was quite fond of Poppy flowers and the owner of the little place, Jin Itadori, was unbelievably generous, always interested in hearing about your farm, and always willing to give out a flower or two.

Yuuji, being the florist's son and Penny's student, became a quick friend of yours and always wanted to talk whenever you came by the shop. Of course, you never minded and listened intently whenever the boy felt like sharing a fun fact about the flora in his home.

--

Time passed with the changing of the seasons and it wasn't long before fall was upon you.

Ever since entering the mines and joining the Adventures guild, you have been thinking about the quests Marlon and Gil have sent you on. Though it is dangerous, scouring the mines for the flesh of monsters, it brings you a thrill to know you are doing something good for the community.

A post had gone up on the community board in town about collecting bat wings and bringing the population down to a manageable level the other day, and in your spare time, you had been working on completing the quest.

It was late one night when you began to make your way back up to the mountains from the mine's elevator, you had quite the collection and enough time to sell it at the Guild before making your way home.

"You've been keepin' busy." Marlon greeted you as the wind pushed the door open along with your arm.

You smile at the man, unloading the backpack of your finds. "Well there's always something to do around here." you reply.

"True as the day is long...." Gil rocked back and forth in his chair, pretending to hear your conversation.

"I must say I'm glad to have you 'round. The quest board in town seems to be worked through much faster now." Marlon takes the post you handed him and the 200 bat wings, he was just about to hand you the payment when the door to the Guild swung open.

The hinges seemed to rattle with the shock of the large man's blow of it. He's huffing, yanking a balaclava up and over his face.

He has thick, pink hair and bright red eyes, he's enormous, having to duck just a bit so as not to hit his head on the door frame.

You looked at him, a bit shocked at his garish entrance. He looks so familiar, but his face is covered in tattoos. A unique style you've never seen before, certainly not in Stardew Valley

Despite being at the counter yourself, the lumbering man strides right up next to you, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. And just then, you have a thought.

Was he doing town board requests too? He was clearly not from the village, you would have met him by now. But Marlon does not spare him much of a glace, even when a stack of bones and a collection of rings is placed on his counter.

"Those damn haunted skulls are somethin' else." The man looks at Marlon with a gaze of distaste but the Guild leader just laughs. The large man doesn't look at you once.

Despite the chill of fall present in the air, he has sweat glistening on his exposed neck, he runs a hand through his hair and you can't help but notice how handsome this man is. The only thing, who was he? And why was he monster hunting in the Valley's mines?

"You got a problem?" Shocked from your thoughts, you look up. You hadn't meant to stare but upon his antagonized question your eyes bulge a bit.

"No! No, no, sorry..." You turn away, collecting the gold Marlon left out for you, ready to turn and leave when the man behind the counter made a gesture with his hand.

He called your name, "This is Sukuna, likely haven't met em' have ya? He's real reserved and all."

So he lives here? How could that be? "Oh, it's nice to meet you!" You go to shake his hand but he just looks you up and down, effectively dissuading that desire.

"So you're the rookie taking all the board requests in town, hmm?" He looks so domineering, still, even having just met him, you can reasonably assume that's just what his face looks like.

You shuffle where you stand, "Er... maybe so, yes... I'm sorry, I didn't know that was your area..." You wave your hand to the array of loot he had seemingly just acquired. He scoffs.

Marlon looks to you, "Sukuna is our most tenured monster hunter-"

Gil interjects from his rocking chair, "If ever there's a board request this here man can't handle, I know hell's right about frozen over."

The man before them did not crack a smile. A shiver went down your spine.

"I see, well, I live on the farm behind the Cidersap Forest-"

He cuts you off, looking almost annoyed, "I know who you are."

Oh.

Okay...

"Gotcha, sorry, well... it was nice meeting you." Sukuna stares at you for a moment before turning back to the Adventurers Guild leaders.

The awkwardness of the moment was painful, you already know youll be obsessing over this first impression for the next month or so and your shaking leg is telling you it is time to escape the embaressment before this man shuts down any more small talk.

You wonder if perhaps Sukuna is upset with you for "taking his job". Or maybe he had a bad day. If he really had been hunting Haunted Skulls, he had probably been dangerously deep in the mines.

Even though his gaze had been piercing, his frown looked permanent, and his tattoos gave off a highly intimidating look. You could tell there had been no malice behind his demeanor. And that, would be a small comfort as you mulled your way through the darkness.

You spent the whole walk home thinking about the large man. You had been everywhere in Stardew Valley yet had never met him.

He must live out of town, you thought as you checked the weather for tomorrow.

Rain. That meant another day in the mines. You needed an upgrade on your equipment if you were going to continue supplying for your growing crops' demands. That meant plunging deeper into the depths of the mine.

Sleep pulled at you even still, just as your eyes fell shut the memory of the pink-haired man popped back up into your brain.

His shirt stuck nauseatingly to his toned chest, his neck glimmering in the firelight of the guild, and those eyes. The red, sharp eyes he had looked you up and down with.

"I know who you are."

It was a small town. Even if you were from the outskirts. It was a shame though... having not met the man before... he certainly seemed interesting.

You shook the man from your thoughts as your dog climbed into the bed and the two of you began to doze off.

Unknown to you, a long and unexpected day awaited you at dawn.

[maximumzombiecreator]

Since I've had a few people asking about megadungeon stuff recently, and I am an avowed megadungeon megafan, I thought it might be fun to walk through an actual example of megadungeon play that exemplifies what I like best about it.

This post is going to be the first in a series talking about a room from a megadungeon that I ran over 20 years ago (brushing past that fact quickly lest the horrors set in.) It was a major room, probably the most complex and important in the dungeon, and the players passed through it frequently throughout the campaign. In this post I'll introduce you to the room, and then in later posts I'll talk about what it does well and how to use that lesson more generally. Below the cut is a reproduction of the map as I remember it.

Without getting into The Lore too deeply, some dwarves accidentally dug into hell, as one does. Classic trope, nothing wrong with using them. They quite sensibly shut the mine down and sealed if off, but word got out. A human king heard about this, and took over the mine, expanding it into a temple complex to curry favour / barter with hell. It went badly, as such things do.

This concourse connects several wings of the dungeon, spanning several floors. An enormous devil face statue emerges from the northern wall, above the second floor balcony and below the fourth, and a column of light shines through a hole in the ceiling onto the center of the floor. Several floors of balconies overlook the chamber, though the stairs to the fourth floor balcony have long since collapsed.

This chamber was not too far from the main entrance, with the party first encountering it on their second delve into the dungeon, though it would take two more delves for them to gather the courage to enter it. At the time they first encountered it, it was swarming with imps and other little devils worshipping the big face.

I'll summarize the key:

A. Hallway from the Entry Chambers, the first and easiest section of the dungeon.

B. Doorway to the Pilgrim's City.

C. Doorway to the Unholiest of Unholies. Sealed and warded against simple spells.

D. Doorway to the Old Dwarven Quarters.

E. Doorway to the Nobles' Section. Barred from the far side.

F. Portcullis to the Pilgrim's City. The mechanism has rusted out and no longer functions.

G. Doorway to the Halls of the Clergy.

H. Doorway from the King's Inner Sanctum.

I. Doorway to the Archive.

J. Doorway to the King's Inner Sanctum, locked.

K. Doorway to The Indulgences.

Stairway from floor 1 to floor 2.

Light from the hole in the ceiling.

Broken stairs from floor 2 to floor 4.

Big ole devil face. Its eyes are a one-way illusion, allowing anyone within the face to view the room below.

Okay that's a lot, thanks for sticking it out. While I don't want to wander too far off topic into the rest of the dungeon, I'll just briefly note that the Pilgrim's City and Old Dwarven Quarters are easier sections of the dungeon, the Nobles Section and Halls of the Clergy are slightly more difficult, the King's Inner Sanctum, Archive, and Indulgences are very dangerous, and the Unholiest of Unholies is, as one might expect, where the worst things (and best loot) in the dungeon are. This was 2nd edition AD&D, so there was not a presumption of fights being balanced, and traipsing through more dangerous sections of the dungeon at lower levels wasn't uncommon. The players also understood the varying levels of danger fairly implicitly, since the custom at the time was that any time you went a level further away from whatever the ground floor was, things got more dangerous. The only exception to this is the Unholiest of Unholies and I think we can agree that when it's beyond a magically sealed door under a giant devil head the danger is telegraphed.

Next post I'll start talking about what made this room work so well in practice.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

logan howlett blurb 18+

hi hi im sorry guys this isnt awesome but i love my wolverine and maybe ill make a part two or perhaps something cool like that if ya like it! also just general warning for smut and some kinky age gap stuff! also. reader is fem and a mutant! word count: 1030 edit: you can now read a full version of this blurb here!

You are absolutely enthralled with him. It’s actually sort of pathetic how your fingers twitch at the sight of him, at how the mention of his name or god forbid the sound of his voice makes your head snap up, attention deficit disorders be damned!

Funnily enough, you had no damn interest in Xavier’s stupid mutant school, because to you, you’re not an outsider because of your mutant abilities (that don’t have much of a physical apparition, at least one that you can’t hide) but because there’s never been much of a place for you to fit in.

But, you were behind on rent and of course, you fucking hate your job, so why not? You’d be able to be slightly less of a freak, and you’d get free room and board in the process! (Where Charles gets all of his money, you do not know.)

And because you’re a little older, Charles doesn’t force you to sit in a class room to learn about basic arithmetic and grammar lessons, so you really only do some training around three times a day, you have your own room (with a dusty box under the other bed, you also suspect your room used to be the ‘sex’ room) and you have the weekends off.

So for a twenty something year old with few ambitions, the social skills of a Martian with autism, and a huge crush on every older emotionally unavailable man you meet, it’s a pretty good set-up.

You’re waiting for time to pass in the garden, just reading a rather interesting book that Charles had recommended after he noticed you needed something to pass time before you started making bad decisions.

You hear his heavy footsteps on the gravel before you see him. Your heart beats faster, but you will yourself, do everything in your power not to glance up at him. And you let out a breath as you succeed, keeping your head down.

“In your natural habitat, are you, spitfire?” Your head darts up to him—There’s no way he isn’t talking to you, you know you’re the only one in this garden. And you can see his lips twitch up and you want to crawl out of your skin!

“My-My natural habitat?” You laugh, closing the book you’re reading because your attention is locked to him now.

“Yeah, seems like it.” He saunters on up to you and sits on the bench next to you.

And let’s make something very clear—

Logan Howlett does not sit.

This man poses, as if there’s always some invisible camera capturing every frame of movement, from the way his legs spread out, to the way his chest lifts when he inhales.

Fuck, you think you might die if you can’t suck him off right now.

“And what exactly is my uh.. habitat?” You question.

He takes out his lighter and a cigar, placing the cigar in his mouth as he gestures to the space around the two of you, lighter in hand.

“A garden.” He says, matter of facility, as his voice is muffled only the slightest bit by the cigar.

And you just sort of look at him before asking,

“Oh, you enjoy being boiled down to your mutations, Claws?” You question, and as he goes to light the cigar, he smirks.

“Alright, you gotta admit though, it is cliché!”

You are absolutely in agreement, there is zero doubt you are as much of a walking, breathing, real life living, stereotype.

“It is not!” And the pair of you give each other this look, like you’re both shocked at how whiney that statement is!

“Uh-huh, sure, Spitfire.” It sounds almost like he’s purring at you.

When he lights his cigar, he’s sort of eying you for your reaction, whatever you might say.

“You know, smoking is not only bad for you, it’s awful for the environment.”

“You’re probably the most cliché little freak around here.” Which.. honestly..? Shouldn’t possibly turn you on as much as it does.

You just stare at him for a minute, and he smirks.

“Cat got your tongue?’

And maybe it’s stupid and maybe it’s immature but your hand just comes over to fiddle with the pointed part of his hair.

“We’ll you certainly look the part.” He just looks at you, and honestly? The way he’s looking at you, it’s like he’s proud of you for teasing him.

“Aw, there’s my little spitfire,” He teases, just to see how red you get. And red you are— it’s embarrassing. And here’s the kicker—You are young. Exceptionally young, and what’s insane about that? How horny it makes both you and Logan.

The idea of fucking your innocent cunt, tight and all his, drives him genuinely mad. And you are, quite literally, a whore for the idea of riding this older man’s dick. You know he’s big—sometimes you see the outerline of it when he walks away from you all huffy and puffy.

“You’re a tease, Claws.” You respond, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Says you,” he raises and eyebrow, leaning closer to you now, “You’re the one laying around in the sun, looking like that.”

“Looking like this?” You scoff. You’re wearing a muscle tee and a pair of ripped jeans, but the gaps are huge and he can see your thighs. He wants to devour you, and you would let him if he only asked.

And let’s be clear—he is fucking you with his eyes. There’s no way to go around it.

“I think you’re just.. horny.” You tease, and he just growls. Seriously, this man who is undressing you with his eyes, growls, because he does want you and he is horny!

“I think you’re onto something.” He purrs, and you want to just.. god. You don’t know how to express the pit of desire that grows in you. “I would fuck you until you couldn’t think, right here among your pretty flowers. Would you like that, baby?” he asks, his hand finding your thigh.

But you just cough on the smoke from his cigar, before frowning.

“You really shouldn’t smoke.”

"Aw, I'll make it up to you," he smirks, "Promise, spitfire."

[fishnapple]

How to love yourself better? A request letter from yourself. (Channelled message)

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost

Book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

1. White

Dear myself,

If I could light a fire right now, I could, just to see if that fire can compete with my light, our light. And yet I got a feeling that fire will burn brighter than us, just because it had someone to start it. But ours didn't. We stowed our fire away, our light, for fear of burning the eyes of the world? Or for fear of being engulfed in the sea of darkness outside?

Have you ever seen a solar eclipse? People gathered to watch it, a brief moment of the sun being eaten. A brief moment. Imagine how the world would be if that brief moment turned into a very long moment, an eternal one? Panic, fear, despair. We have prolonged our solar eclipse for far too long, let the Sun has its shine. Does it sound arrogant when I talk of us as the Sun? No, you should get used to it. To be the light, the be seen. Even when the Sun seems like a solitary existence on the sky, it's not, so are we.

I wanted to tell you many beautiful words, give you praises and a pat on the head. Sounds embarrassing, right? We should learn to do that more often. And then practice it with other people too, we all need it sometimes, a lot of times.

Do you know what will happen when we turn the anger on ourselves? Somehow, it will ricochet inside us and finally shoot out at other people. It's painful, for us and for them. Let's hold it in our hands, watch it breathe and stroke it gently, find where does it hurt and tend to it, then poof- it's gone. You catch anger not by throwing it around and putting it in a cage but let it heal and fly away on its own.

I'm sure that sometimes you will find yourself drowning in life, in other people's water. Losing yourself could be your worst nightmare. But you will never lose me. It's odd how we're surrounded by people but feel like we are alone in our struggle. Where did all the people go? Are they also drowning like us? In a different sea? I hope that all the seas are connected to each other so we can all find others to swim with us.

Till the next sun rise, yourself.

2. Pink

Oh, how I want to just throw away everything and run barefoot on the sand. To lie face up, watching the clouds passing by for hours. To paint the wall bright pink and yellow (this combination might hurt your eyes if you stare too long, though). But we're not a kid anymore, or so people have told us, much like how we've told ourselves, convinced ourselves to behave.

It's fascinating to watch the process of our resistance to what is taught to us. Why do we resist it so much? It feels like being gravely offended. We have our principles, and now we have to listen to others telling us what is right? What is wrong? Let me tell you, in a small whisper, it's actually nice to listen. Just listening, not obeying. It will feel like swallowing a rock. Maybe we could learn from the chickens a little, metaphorically. They swallow small rocks to aid in healthy digestion. So let's swallow some of the hard lessons.

You always like to think in concrete fashion. You try to touch your thoughts with your own hands and knead them, mould them into whatever you want. And when you're dropped into a relationship with someone, you find yourself lost that ability. It's all a jumble mess. You find your hands reaching out, grasping for something. How about the other person? Are you afraid that you will lose yourself if you hold on to them? It's fine, you won't. It's just an outdated belief that you've held on for far too long.

As we were talking about swallowing, you may want to watch what you're swallowing into your stomach, literally. Watch what you eat! Don't make yourself, ourselves suffer by bringing unhealthy things into our body. We may want to live long, you know.

Hey, if you find a dance class is too embarrassing, how about we turn off the light and dance with each other in the middle of the night. Nobody will know, but we will feel good (I'm not trying to be a flirt with myself here)

Your best friend, love.

3. Red

Make me a cup of tea, please.

Let's have a chat, just us, lying around lazily, sipping our favourite tea, imagining some weird scenarios to entertain us, playing some puzzle.

I don't have much to tell you because we talk to each other every day and I know you always try to be better for us. I love you and I'm proud of you. Let's be vain and give ourselves applause every day. Make it a pinky promise.

A reminder when you're feeling sluggish and slow, we are going to exactly where we need to be. You are guided and protected.

Keep on shining and be the little kid that runs around in the rain.

I love it when you're running wild, letting yourself, me, free, splashing colours everywhere. I just want to grab other people's hands and drag them to the dance. I love it when you're laughing, loudly, even better when you jolted others around you, oh, their surprised look, priceless.

Just be sure to take care of your body. Don't over tasking them. Work hard, play hard, but rest hard also.

Have you been thinking about going on a trip somewhere? No? Then, allow me to make a gentle request. Let me put the idea in your head. Go on, go to wherever you're thinking, there might be a surprise waiting for us, *hint: it will make our heart flutter*.

Let's make it a ritual to go on a trip every year. Let's give our mind and spirit a makeover. Dust off any tangled mess we have and prepare a space for new things to come into. I'm so excited.

It's got me thinking lately, there's this small blinking light in the back of our mind, sometimes I can see it, sometimes I can't. I want to find out what it is. It's like a signal, trying to reach us, can you feel it? Sometimes, there's this odd feeling swelling inside that you can't put your hand on and naming it. I think if we can sit still, quiet, in the dark, we could see it better. It's guiding us. To where? I got a feeling that it's somewhere deep, somewhere with a treasure, waiting for us. If we can uncover it, it will be the greatest gift that the universe has ever given us. So let's go and find it.

Love, myself.

4. Green

I have some news for you. Brace yourself for changes. They're coming, very fast, very soon. Sit yourself tight. I don't want to give spoilers, but I guess we will receive some sudden confessions or offers. What you will do with those confessions is completely your choice. You don't have to feel guilty if you don't return their feelings, my dear.

I think the way the universe is sending us this kind of surprise is telling us to reconsider our 'single' thinking mode. We have stood alone, strong and independent for so long, I think it actually makes us a little too comfortable in being alone that the thought of getting into a connection with someone can be daunting. Will we lose our freedom? What if we are dependent on them? This time, the universe is saying: 'you and your worries will not make a good journey together, break up with those worries, here, I will throw in some opportunities for you to practice '.

If you don't want romantic connection at the moment, fine, different types of connections will come. No matter what, the universe is determined to get us involved with other people. It's for our own good. I have to admit that it's hard. It's not easy to change our way of thinking and believing. So surprises will be needed.

When opportunities come, the gate is opened, we just need to receive them. Walking through the gate will feel like walking out of a confinement into the wild, lively world outside. We will be propelled into a new path that we hadn't even considered in the past. Beware of what you said in the past about how you don't want to do something, you can't imagine yourself doing something. Well, guess what, we are going to do just that, joke on us.

So, in the meantime, even if you're resisting, it's fine. Just take care of yourself, of us. Obsessive worrying can sadden our body.

Something is going away, giving space to a new energy coming in. This new energy will be softer, more loving. The harshness of the past will go away soon. Trust me.

Love, Your companion.

[punkpandapatrixk]

❤️‍🩹I Just Want to be Loved ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

We attract terrible loves for various reasons; so many lessons; but now sorrow has got to lessen. Let’s reveal patterns by exhuming roots. We’ve got to stop this cycle of disappointments. Done being made to feel as if we’re hard to love.

We’re not hard to love. Many of us were simply denied love, warmth and affection as we were growing up… Don’t know how to love self; don’t know how to love others; basically don’t know how to even receive Love… Who’s to blame now?

Why the hell were so many children denied love, warmth, affection…?

What are you going to do with yourself when you were denied love, warmth and affection as you were growing up?

☆♪°・.

‘The child who isn’t embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth.’ – an African proverb

People denied warmth and affection tend to fall into a desperate loop of fishing for attention as a result of love-deficiency, right? Some learn to lick love off a knife; some pursue success (whatever that means) all too frantically; some…shoot complete strangers in broad daylight; and some who ain’t got the guts to murder complete strangers in public places go instead for antagonising strangers on social media… Gosh, that is desperate.

But you know what, not all hope is lost because there’s still plenty of us who are blessed with this incredibly RARE thing called self-awareness. There are plenty of us who will take our traumas to the graveyard than pass them down the next generations.

You, don’t deserve to have your sanity and your Life ruined by some psychos who didn’t know how to love you. Reclaim lost pieces of yourself by understanding THREE Houses in your natal chart, babe:

4th House: your roots; tells you what was lacking in your home; explains your erratic 10th House ambitions

8th House: your marriage or your desire for a bond like it; this the House where trauma manifests itself in full spectrum

11th House: your wish fulfilment; where you connect with people who support your visions; breeds a healthy sense of connection, even community

SONG: Emptiness by BoA

MOVIE: Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961)

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 2] [Part 3]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – Because I Can’t Even Trust Myself

VIBE: Trust by Hamasaki Ayumi

lost pieces (pertaining to 4th House) – Ace of Pentacles Rx

It’s clear your childhood didn’t offer a sense of stability or security—the physical kind that children usually need. It could be that a grownup left early or it could be that you moved around a lot, so you easily lost contact with new friends you’d just made. In essence, it feels like you grew up feeling ‘everything disappears eventually; everyone leaves eventually’.

Some of you might’ve grown up not having a lot of material resources, but for the majority of you tuning into this Pile, it was more a feeling of a lack of warmth. For children, the pain of neglect and a lack of emotional connection do really affect our physical health more severely. You might’ve grown up poor and sickly due to all the grownups around you being inattentive, unaffectionate, and just…unreliable at best.

Because of this awareness, from a young age you realised you would have to do everything yourself. You wanted to grow up quickly and do your own things your own ways. It’s not like you had to grow up fast, you wanted to grow up fast to have your freedom and power! It was…hard to trust adults. It was hard to trust the world at large.

growing pains (pertaining to 8th House) – 8 of Pentacles

On the path of growing up, I think you became a hard worker of sort? This is very nuanced though—there are layers to your developing yourself to become a hardworking person. In many ways, you grew up responsible because you didn’t want to become like the adults who had disappointed you. But since this sense of ‘responsibility’ is a product of neglect and trauma…this is coming off as your feeling responsible for everything. Everything!

Some of you could’ve been too hard on yourself, expecting way too much for your age. You’ve felt like you’re always the one with everything to prove. It’s hard living like that. It feels like you’ve put so much effort into keeping everything together, and yet, nobody sees how much you care. Nobody truly understands the fear in your mind and pain you carry in your heart.

In matters of relationship, you cling extra hard to friends or lovers, too; because deep down you’re afraid of losing things and people, again and again. This unhealthy attachment—and to some extent, controlling behaviour—is truly your wounded inner child attempting frantically to keep your Reality from falling apart…

reclamation (pertaining to 11th House) – 4 of Cups

I’m very sure that at some point in Life, your Higher Self and team of Spirit Guides are going to kick in and meddle with your Earthly business. For some people, it’s possible you could lose contact with everybody you’ve ever known in Life and go into a hermit mode to find yourself again. For some, it could be that your whole Life is simply flipped, without necessarily losing key people in your Life, for you to look at Life and human connections from a very different point of view.

It’s going to be hard, of course. Emotionally, it could be devastating. Themes of abandonment and betrayal are big in your incarnation. But you know, ultimately, all of these challenges serve to remind you that the Cup of Love and Affection you’ve been looking for has always been right inside of you. You’ve had a bitter time with a lot of people because deep down you couldn’t trust them. You couldn’t trust other people’s loyalty because you didn’t even believe that you’re worthy of that Love and Loyalty you yearn for.

Your Spirit Guides are saying, that although at some point in Life things are going to get really tough, know that when you’ve graduated those lessons, you’re going to be rewarded with the most beautiful Soulmate-shit friendships, familyship and relationship. Truth be told, part of your Soul’s scenario in this incarnation is to find your Soul Tribe; and find your Tribe you shall~

A L O N E🔻💗

ALL of you – Red Alchemist (John Dee)

becoming ONE and whole – Priestess of Healing

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – Misled by My Own Compassion

VIBE: Cry Me A River by Julie London

lost pieces (pertaining to 4th House) – Knight of Cups

It’s very likely your 4th House is in a Water sign, but if not, you’re still very much a Water-y person; perhaps your Ascendant or Moon is in a Water sign, or that you have Neptune/Moon near/in your 4th, 7th or 11th House. All of this generally makes you a deeply compassionate person. No matter what outer appearances give, you strive to look deeper into a person’s Soul. You have so much empathy and you want to believe in the good of people.

Alas! This rotten world doesn’t make it too easy. This world is not a world where kindness and compassion are truly rewarded, if we don’t learn to be a tad cruel ourselves. You’re not in the wrong for being so genuinely good and compassionate; it’s this world that’s the wrong world. You know that? Therefore, it is paramount you learn to be a bitchilante! But I’m getting ahead of myself.

In spite of this PAC’s intro, I sense the majority of you tuning into this Pile actually grew up quite well. Many of you actually grew up in loving homes and that’s why it’s been quite challenging for you to grapple with the realness of the ugliness of the world outside of your loving home. Really…people in the real world…are monsters! And you were taken aback!

But some of you instead most likely grew up in chaotic, battlefield-esque homes and that’s why you’ve striven to be so good to a point of detriment.

growing pains (pertaining to 8th House) – 0 The Fool Rx

Be that as it may, you being you… Well, you do put in the effort to try and understand what makes monsters the way that they are, right? It’s all good and wonderful, until you get yourself in deep trouble where nobody can save you but your own monstrosity. Depending on your age when reading this, this could be something that’s happened in the past or will happen; where you will be forced to grow up in the sense of seeing the world as it is and get firm with assholes!

Dr Jordan Peterson has this gold shit to summarise this spiritual lesson you will be taking at some point in Life: ‘You should be a monster, an absolute monster, and then you should learn to control it.’ Well, that’s male speech. In female speech, we just say: ‘you gotta grow up and be a bitchilante!’

Be a bitch only to those who deserve it. How would you protect yourself from monsters if you don’t have the strength to fight them at their own game, darling? If you’re harmless, weak as a fawn, if anything, the real monsters in the world are going to toy with your sanity: ‘I saw my “crazy” side once and decided I wouldn’t be involved with anyone that would take me out of my peace like that ever again.’

Be a bitchilante. That whole concept of ‘good, harmless, love and light, positivity-only’ bullshit was put out there not to really make you good but to weaken you against the truly monstrous ones. WAKE UP, BITCH!

reclamation (pertaining to 11th House) – 4 of Pentacles

So? So what if you’re selective with your affection? Not everybody deserves your compassion. That’s for sure. There are many people in the world and you can’t be nice to all of them. One at point or another, you’re gonna be a villain in someone’s story—so what? Everybody else is the main character of their own Stories; that, you can’t control.

Be careful that you’re not falling victim to your own narcissism in wanting to be praised in everybody’s Story, yeah? So then, pertaining to your 11th House, weirdly enough, your wish fulfilment is in the form of a psychological liberation from your own idea of yourself in the minds of others. I sense that if you’re East Asian this is gonna resonate much harder and louder LOL

Anyway, I want to assure you that once you’ve graduated from your spiritual lessons, you will be met with unique, courageous, rebellious weirdos who will be just as clear as you are about what it truly means to be a good person in a world that’s often very bad. How good should a person be to truly be considered a good person?

‘If I offended you, cry me a river. I’ll bring snacks and a raft. I will literally float down your tears eating chips and working on my tan.’ – Fuckology

A L O N E🔻💚

ALL of you – Green Geographer (Gerardus Mercator)

becoming ONE and whole – Priestess of Success

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Lights Out; I’m Out to Find Myself

VIBE: To. X by Taeyeon

lost pieces (pertaining to 4th House) – Ace of Cups Rx

I’ve to preface this Pile by saying this the pile that gets a little violent…

You were originally such a positive, happy-go-lucky kid, but quite early on, this world gave you so much darkness. So many reasons to be sad. It’s not been a very kind life, to be honest. Defo many of you have tragical placements here—your 4th or 5th House could start or end in Scorpio; have Lilith/Pluto/Chiron/Saturn there or in the sign of Cancer/Pisces; or it could be that your Venus/Moon is imprisoned in the 8th or 12th House and harshly aspected, too...

If your childhood has been violent or mightily confusing, it’s a group thing, OK? You can think like that. It’s not your fault. Know that practically everybody who has these harsh placements has gone through very similar things as you. So you’re really not the only one who’s failing—whatever that means. You’ve been gaslit a lot into believing there’s something wrong with you, but it was your environment that was just filled with totally terrible Human beings. That much I’d like to assure you.

It wasn’t natural how you were abused psychologically and emotionally. The people around you drew a parallel to Cinderella’s stepsisters in the Disney classic. It’s ridiculous like that. I think you grew up terribly lonely and created comfort characters in your head to console your sorrows? It’s very likely that your comfort characters were in actuality a mirror fragment of your Soul Family’s existence locked in your memory bank.

growing pains (pertaining to 8th House) – XIV Temperance Rx

Life, unfortunately, isn’t a Disney movie. As a result of the psychological and emotional abuse you’ve endured in childhood, your friendships and relationships might’ve been quite turbulent, at times even violent. Juuust a small number of you could’ve dealt with being called a violent kid, or you could’ve struggled with anger management and have terrible tantrums. All of these have made human connections quite difficult to navigate.

It’s not like you want to be a nasty person, right? Many times, you couldn’t help the way you react/respond to what’s being said and unsaid because, somehow, there are many things that people do and say that trigger a trauma response in you. There’s a very difficult Mars thingy going on here. I think many of you resonating with this Pile have some difficult Mars (ruler of Scorpio) placements/aspects that affect the way you manifest human connections in your Life.

Speaking in terms of synastry, it could be that you’ve attracted a great deal of people whose Mars aspected badly in your natal chart—consequently triggering bad traumas and manifesting violent outbursts in your connections. Ultimately though, these negative experiences with other people could’ve enforced your belief about how unlovable you are, which, really, is a false belief…

reclamation (pertaining to 11th House) – 5 of Wands

It is a false Reality that you’re unlovable or unworthy of a healthy relationship. That bullshit was implanted in you through the creation of a harsh environment that caused you a great deal of rage. Of course, you’re accountable for how you behave towards other people, but your foundation was never quite healthy or peaceful or harmonious, so… How about we put it all behind us and focus on healing? After all, it’s not like the people you’ve had a beef with were completely innocent? XP

It's kinda selfish to think like that, but you can depend on your own discernment to distinguish who amongst the people you’ve hurt or had a beef with to apologise to. Remember: sometimes apologies only make you weaker and looking at the unique bullshit astrological placements you were born with… apologising to the wrong fucker would only get you gaslit even more! So, don’t. Don’t apologise for the distress you experienced under other people’s lack of support.

Burn that bridge and detach yourself from that old stinking world. With your sheer willpower, you have it in you to rebuild your own little world of love and peace. After all, those harsh placements you were born with, are you aware of just how much power they bestow you? These placements come with a lot of turbulences but once you graduate your first Saturn Return, they also give you a burst of power unlike any other!

Lights out. Not entertaining aenergies that seek to nip your power at the bud anymore. Burn, baby, burn strong! Burn the whole Tower and find yourself on new lands~!

A L O N E🔻💜

ALL of you – Gold Alchemist (Roger Bacon)

becoming ONE and whole – Priestess of Solitude

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 2] [Part 3]

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[penofwildfire]

I think one of the tragic things about the ninja is that they really do LOVE this job. They love fighting, they love saving the world. When there's no bad guy to fight and they have to do something else they get real fuckin bored. Lloyd takes in and trains the kids because he really truly wants more people to BE ninja, he thinks it's just about the coolest thing a person can be. And he's got good reason to feel that way! Before he became a ninja he was a lonely kid on the streets causing trouble for attention! So as much pain and hardship as ninja-ing has put him and the others through, the only thing worse than being a ninja is not being a ninja.

I've seen a handful of works where the Ninja are bitter about their jobs and very clearly only doing it out of obligation, and openly discourage others from doing the same. And unfortunately for us and them, that's just not accurate. As said above, they're EAGER to train the next generation and pass on the skills and life lessons they've gained throughout the years. And they don't even seem to realize just how much this gig as fucked them up. The only thing that seems to get them to quit is the loss of a teammate (ToE, Crystalized), and since so far all their dead have come back to life, I think it's fair to say that even that will have less of an effect on them as time goes on.

It's been said before by smarter people but the mantra of "Ninja Never Quit" is a bit of a double-edged sword. Because sure, it's great that they keep going, it's what's gotten them through so many disasters, but there are times when they really do need to just stop. Lloyd is a prime example of this, with his almost blind willingness to do whatever destiny or higher powers may ask of him, usually while everyone else is literally begging him to stop and think of himself for a minute. He's got no self-preservation to speak of, and I think it's safe to say this job will eventually be the death of him. Unfortunately "Ninja Usually Don't Quit But Sometimes They Do" isn't a very good catchphrase.

[divinationsanctuary19]

What is your next spiritual lesson? Pick a picture reading

1 2 3

1. Ace of Wands

A powerful new spark of divine inspiration is entering your life, igniting your spiritual journey in unexpected ways. This fresh energy brings with it pure potential and the raw essence of transformation, asking you to embrace your authentic spiritual calling with enthusiasm and courage. Now is the time to trust your inner fire and allow it to guide you toward expanded consciousness and deeper spiritual understanding. The universe is offering you a sacred gift of spiritual awakening - one that promises growth, passion, and enlightenment if you're brave enough to reach out and grasp it. This next phase of your journey calls for bold action and faith in your own intuitive wisdom. Your soul is ready to expand beyond its current limitations, yearning to express itself in more vibrant and authentic ways. Pay attention to sudden bursts of inspiration or unexpected spiritual downloads - they are divine messages guiding you toward your highest path. This emergence of spiritual energy may manifest as a strong desire to start new spiritual practices, explore different teachings, or share your wisdom with others. The universe is aligning to support your spiritual evolution, bringing opportunities that will fan the flames of your inner truth and help you step into your power as a spiritual being.

2. King of swords in reverse

Your spiritual lesson is emerging with swift intensity, bringing a surge of mental clarity and truth-seeking energy. The universe is challenging you to cut through illusions and self-deception with the sharp blade of your intellect, urging you to face spiritual truths head-on, no matter how uncomfortable they might be. This is a time of rapid spiritual advancement where your mind becomes your greatest ally in understanding deeper wisdom. You're being called to approach your spiritual path with determination and unwavering focus, questioning everything and accepting nothing less than authentic understanding. There may be resistance or obstacles, but your fierce commitment to spiritual truth will carry you through. This period demands intellectual honesty and the courage to speak your truth, even when it challenges established beliefs or comfortable assumptions. The winds of change are blowing strongly through your spiritual life, bringing swift developments and sudden insights. Your analytical mind is awakening to new spiritual dimensions, and you're learning to balance the sword of discernment with the gentleness of wisdom. This is not a time for passive acceptance or gentle contemplation - rather, it's a period of active pursuit of spiritual knowledge, requiring you to be bold, direct, and uncompromising in your quest for understanding the deeper mysteries of existence.

3. The Hierophant

Your spiritual journey is calling you to embrace the wisdom of ancient traditions and established spiritual paths. This is a time of seeking guidance from those who have walked the sacred ways before you, recognizing that sometimes the most profound truths are found in time-tested teachings and traditional practices. The universe is guiding you toward structured spiritual learning, suggesting that your next level of growth may come through formal study, mentorship, or joining a spiritual community. There's deep value in becoming both student and eventual teacher, learning to honor the sacred knowledge that has been passed down through generations while finding your own authentic way to embody these eternal truths. This phase of your journey emphasizes the importance of spiritual discipline and commitment to established practices, even as you maintain your individual connection to the divine. You're being called to bridge the gap between conventional wisdom and personal revelation, finding ways to honor tradition while staying true to your own spiritual authenticity. This may be a time to seek out a spiritual teacher or mentor who can help guide you through established teachings, or to deepen your commitment to religious or spiritual institutions that resonate with your soul's truth. Remember that sometimes the most revolutionary insights come through working within established frameworks, finding new meaning in ancient wisdom.

If u need a reading, hit me up

[sundrop-writes]

Lessons For A Genius - Lesson Two

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader

Lesson Two: Magic Metacarpals

(aka the one where Spencer learns how to finger you)

Summary:

After his first 'lesson', Spencer is even more eager to learn from you.

And while both of you are ignoring your growing yearning for something more, you teach him the next logical thing: how to pleasure you in return.

Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. (Pining) Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set during early Season 2.

Word Count: 26,300

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: General themes for a CM episode - murder/killing/mentions of gun violence/mentions of women being murdered and sexually assaulted/mentions of strangling; once again, there is a mention of a case that isn’t in the canon (one that I have made up) and this fic is not case-centric; the reader is held in a choke-hold by the killer and uses dark humour to get out of it; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; mentions of the reader wearing a dress/very girly outfit; the reader is heavily implied to be plus-sized;mentions of the reader being older than Spencer, but there is no specific mention of how much the age difference is/number of years (tbh the way I am playing it, it could be months, a year, or years of difference because they make jokes about it) (because this takes place in early S2, Spencer would be 24/25, so if you’re younger than that, just imagine? lmao); the team being very nosy about Spencer and the reader’s sex life and the reader lying about it in order to spare Spencer because he’s shy (not because she’s embarrassed of him); heavily implications of Morcia as a background couple; mentions of drinking/drunkenness (does not take place in this fic, it’s just mentioned in passing); mentions of Spencer being bullied as a child.

General sexual themes; ongoing dom/sub relationship - Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; a safeword is in place but it’s not used; Spencer is generally inexperienced and the reader is 'teaching’ him things about sex, including slang, kinks, sexual technique, and the emotional consequences of sex, generally helping him explore his sexual side; mentions of using sex toys (a fleshlight, passing mentions of dildos, including a tentacle dildo that is not used); mentions of Spencer masturbating independently from scenes/playtime with the reader (these scenes are not detailed); descriptions of subspace; descriptions of Spencer having a subdrop/bad subspace experience because he masturbates without the reader there (this is a very brief part of the fic and all other moments of subspace are described pleasantly); the word 'MILF’ is used to describe the reader - as a joke, and because Spencer doesn’t fully understand the context.

The actual smutty meat of the fic (aka girl dinner) consists of: panty kink - Spencer wears a pair of lacy panties under his clothes while in public because it turns the reader on; praise kink - Spencer loves being praised; public/semi-public 'sex’ (they don’t have full-blown sex, it’s just groping through clothing, and they are in a secluded area of a public place when it happens); risk of getting caught; strength kink - the reader exerts her strength over Spencer and he likes it; heated making out; hair pulling (Spencer receiving); groping through clothes (reader and Spencer receiving); Spencer cums in his pants while being groped; clothes sharing - Spencer wears the reader’s clothes; the reader calls Spencer honey, sweetie, baby, pretty boy, good boy; Spencer calls the reader Miss; this fic does feature Mommy kink - Spencer starts calling the reader Mommy partway through; mentions of the reader wearing traditionally feminine lingerie; hand kink - the reader likes Spencer’s hands; finger sucking (the reader sucks on Spencer’s fingers); vaginal fingering/clitoral stimulation - the reader teaches Spencer how to finger her; Spencer edges the reader unintentionally; guided masturbation - Spencer masturbates for the reader; Spencer cums on the reader (by accident?); the reader licks some of Spencer’s cum; mentions of pregnancy (Spencer likes the idea of getting the reader pregnant, but she is on birth control so it won’t happen in this fic lmao); some mentions of aftercare (not as in depth as the previous fic); and I believe that’s it.

A/N: I do intend for each part of this to possibly be read as a oneshot, so you don’t have to read Lesson One in order for this to make sense narratively. But if you want more sub!Spencer stuff, then you should go back and read Lesson One just for your enjoyment. This makes reference to things that have happened in the first part, but you won’t be utterly confused if you jump into reading this without reading the other one first. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy it, if you're reading this for the first time or re-reading it.

...

When you woke up the next morning, you had almost forgotten about what had happened. 

You were drowsy, your body almost entirely sunken into the soft bed. If not for the ripe scent of coffee drifting through the air and undertone of something uniquely masculine stuck to the pillow - Spencer’s aftershave - then you likely would have thought that you were comfortable in your own apartment and simply turned over to go back to sleep. 

But then it all came flooding back to you. 

The Chinese take-out date, gifting Spencer the fleshlight - tying him to the chair in order to ‘help’ him use it. His moans, the sweet way he had looked up at you with those big eyes. The way he had called you ‘Miss’ with such utterly beautiful desperation, how perfect he had looked covered in his own cum. 

You sighed with delight as you remembered it all, a gentle tingle coming over your body as you thought about it. 

It was then that you realized what the pungent smell of coffee meant: Spencer must have been brewing a pot. You had no clue what time it was or when you had to be ready for work - but coffee sounded fucking amazing after the eventful night the two of you had. 

You were surprised that Spencer wasn’t still in bed, cuddled up to you. 

He had spent the whole night clinging to your back like a koala in the most endearing way. You had no clue how a man so large could make himself seem so small at times, but he definitely accomplished that by hooking his leg around your hip and whining whenever you tried to pull away from him even a slight bit. 

(You hated that it was something that would have been intensely annoying from any other partner or one night stand, but when he did it, you found it adorable. You knew that you were letting him get away with too much already, but you couldn’t help yourself.) 

What you didn’t realize: yes, Spencer would have loved to be cuddled up with you in bed all morning. But he had woken up before you - and he would deny the amount of time he had taken to stare at you while you were sleeping, ogling your beautiful, peaceful face. After he had gotten out of bed, he had taken the initiative to attempt to prepare breakfast. 

He rarely cooked for himself. When he did cook, it was usually simple, plain, unimpressive dishes that were more meant to kill hunger than to actually taste nice. And he was even further screwed by the fact that his fridge wasn’t even well stocked because the team had been so busy on cases that he hadn’t even thought to go grocery shopping in a while. 

Of course, he had coffee (and cream, and sugar - because he wasn’t a monster, he made himself a cup every morning). And he had some basics like eggs, so he was trying his best to make something nice for you. 

When you walked into the kitchen, still dressed in nothing but your camisole and your panties, the chill of the morning air was biting and Spencer looked invitingly warm. 

He was standing at the stove, concentrating on some sizzling pan, and you couldn’t resist the urge to walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. He had gotten dressed since getting out of bed, so he was wearing a bright blue cotton tee shirt (that you didn’t yet see had the Superman logo on the front) and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. It was an entirely adorable sight: Spencer in loungewear. You indulged in pressing your face lightly between his shoulders, loving the feeling of the soft cotton against your cheek. 

You noticed that the radio was on in the background - a low hum compared to the pan sizzling on the stove. But from what you could tell, the news was playing. He was such an old man in some ways. 

“Please tell me that’s coffee I’m smelling.” You moaned quietly, feeling snuggled by his soft embrace. 

“A teaspoon of sugar and just a little bit of cream,” He said, taking his hand off the handle of the frying pan to reach over to the side, grabbing a coffee cup and hoisting it in your direction - which was slightly awkward with you behind him. 

You met him halfway, taking the coffee thankfully. Then you moved to lean against the counter to actually drink your coffee. He was rueful that the hug didn’t last longer, but he didn’t say anything about it. 

“You remembered,” You grinned at him, referring to the fact that he had made your coffee exactly how you liked it. 

When you took the first sip, it tasted amazing, and began to wake up your senses from the drowsy lull that you had been feeling. 

“It’s quite literally impossible for me to forget.” He replied, giving you a grin. 

“Hmm,” You hummed thoughtfully, clutching the warm coffee cup with both hands. “I’d like to test that theory one of these days.” 

If you could make Spencer so incoherent with an orgasm, even just begging for one, you were willing to bet that you could feed him information that he wouldn’t be able to repeat back to you when he was so fucked out. It would be one of the ultimate victories - proving the genius’s perfect eidetic memory wrong. 

Spencer saw that look in your eyes - the same one you had given him last night before you had gifted him the fleshlight. (Which was still propped up in the drying rack, a sight that had startled him when he had first gotten into the kitchen that morning). He had a feeling that, based on that look alone, he knew what you meant. He shied away then, looking back down to the pan of eggs as your brain moved on to another subject. 

“I still can’t believe that you listen to the radio in the morning,” You commented, nodding toward the device that was propped up on the half-wall that partitioned off the kitchen from the living room. “You’re such an old man.” 

“I’m younger than you!” He chuckled. 

“No, no.” You easily corrected him, your voice taking on a very typical joking tone. “Being an old man is a way of life. It’s not about your age. It’s why you and Gideon get along so well.” 

Spencer snorted with laughter at this. He turned off the stove, deciding the eggs were done, and began to scrape them onto a plate, hoping that it wasn’t too measly or unimpressive. 

“Well then… you had sex with an old man last night.” Spencer chuckled, trying to sound confident in this ‘joke’. 

You couldn’t help but to laugh at his nervousness. 

“You need to work on your comebacks, too.” You told him with a grin. “I should get you one of those ‘yo mama’ joke books that seventh graders pass around.” 

“Oh, that explains why I suck at comebacks. I skipped seventh grade.” He shrugged casually. 

You laughed even harder at this. For him, it was a simple statement of fact, but to you, it sounded like he was purely bragging, and that turned out to be a better joke than the one he actually intended as humor. 

Spencer bit his lip to hold back a grin. 

Mornings with you - it was so much better than he had expected. He had expected things to be intensely awkward after what had taken place last night. He had expected that the entire tone of your relationship might change. And that was something he was fearful of. But you were still making jokes, still absolutely not afraid to insult him in that joking way that you did. 

Spencer felt a yearning deep inside of him at the realization - like the string of a harp being plucked, setting off vibrations of bitter harmony through his entire being. He wanted his life to be like this every single morning. He wanted to make coffee for you every day - he wanted to be yours. 

You picked up a fork and took a small bite of the eggs he had offered up, and Spencer felt his heart drop when your face immediately coiled into disgust. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked quietly, fearing he had terribly disappointed you. 

“Honey… how much salt did you put in this?” You asked, your words slightly muffled by the food cradled on your tongue. 

You walked over to the sink and spit the eggs out, and Spencer rushed to pick up a fork for himself as he answered. 

“Not much, I think.” He said, taking his own bite of the food. Then he immediately understood. “Oh my god. That’s so bad.” He said, feeling a gag curling in his throat at just how putridly salty it was. 

He leaned over and spat his bite in the sink next to yours, and before the fear of disappointing you could fully set in, you burst out laughing brightly. 

“Oh god.” You chuckled. “You don’t usually cook, do you?” 

“Not really.” He said, giving you a timid smile. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” You assured him, rubbing a hand gently across his back. “We can just get some breakfast on the way to work.” 

He would learn to cook for you too. Most definitely. 

The sweetness and peace was disrupted by a sharp digital chirping - a cellphone ringing. You didn’t think to question if it was your phone or Spencer’s before you put your coffee cup on the counter and rushed toward the sound, finding the small silver object buzzing in the middle of the coffee table (still off to the side of the room where you had pushed it the night before). You grabbed it up and flipped it open, and answered without hesitation. 

“Hello?” You said politely. 

Spencer stood in the doorway of the kitchen then, watching on with curiosity, wondering if the two of you were being called in for a case. 

“Y/N?” JJ’s voice came from the other end of the line - but she sounded oddly confused. 

“Yeah.” You confirmed. “What’s up?” 

“What are you doing answering Spencer’s phone?” She asked, an eager curiosity coming through her voice. 

Your work phones were practically identical, so it was a crapshoot. 

You scrambled to make up an excuse, even though you knew her mind had likely already strayed to something in the realm of ‘adult sleepover’. 

“He and I were hanging out last night and I fell asleep on the couch watching movies.” You said. “You know Reid, he went on that whole rant about how driving tired is like driving drunk, he insisted that I stay over-” 

JJ let out a hardy laugh, cutting you off. 

“Yeah, keep working on that.” She said. “I’m sure the others will definitely believe it.” You rolled your eyes at this, and JJ continued. “Did the two of you use a condom, or should we be expecting some genius babies coming our way nine months from now?” 

You wanted to conjure up a crude (but truthful) joke about how Spencer had cum into a silicone pussy and you didn’t think babies could come from that. But for once, you managed to hold your tongue. You wanted to respect his privacy rather than flaunting your sexual exploits in front of other people and embarrassing him. You did have some sense of tact. 

“Do we have a case or are you just calling around cause you’re lonely?” You fired back, trying to get her off this topic. 

“Yes, we do.” She said. “And you just saved me a phone call. So you and your little boyfriend get in here as soon as possible, okay?” 

You sighed. “Yeah, of course.” 

You snapped the phone shut before she could make any more cute��comments, and then you walked over and handed it to Spencer. 

“There’s a case?” He asked. 

“Yeah.” You told him. “Sweetie, would you mind running down to my car and grabbing my go-bag? I need a fresh change of clothes.” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I can do that.” 

His overall obedience toward you kicked in again, and he found himself nodded eagerly. He knew that if he were a dog, his tail would have been wagging relentlessly as he shoved on a pair of shoes and a sweater and you tossed him your keys from your purse in order to go and do the task. 

You chugged down your coffee and headed toward the bathroom for a quick shower to freshen up. As Reid went down to the parking garage, he had to wonder about the things he had just heard you say on that call. 

He knew that you had made up the excuse about you ‘falling asleep on the couch’ to JJ because you didn’t want to simply expose the fact that the two of you had played around the night before. It was a private thing that should be kept between the two of you. Even though you were relatively shameless about toting other private matters in public. You were never ashamed about announcing to the world when you were on your period or if certain foods had upset your stomach - in great detail. 

So - if you weren’t so eager to announce being with Reid, did it mean that you were ashamed of him? Did it mean that you didn’t want to tell everyone that you had a sexual partner like him? 

He tried not to stew in that thought as he brought your bag back upstairs. When he closed the door to the apartment and you heard him come in, you called him and told him to come toward the bathroom, and he heard the shower shutting off. 

It was only then that it occurred to him that you were using his shower - you were naked in the shower. You were naked in his apartment. 

He felt warmth in his pelvis at the thought, and he tried dampening it down (tried thinking of horror, sadness, dead bodies) - because he really didn’t have time to masturbate or ‘play’ more with you before work. He didn’t have time to take care of an erection right now. Would this be a recurring problem? Getting erections around you so easily now because you had awakened something in him? Because now he knew that you would actually touch him? 

When Spencer came to the bathroom door, it was partially cracked open, and there was warm, hazy air pouring out - clearly steam from how hot you had the shower. 

“Did you find the bag?” You asked, clearly having heard Spencer’s footsteps in the hallway. 

“Y-yeah.” He answered. 

“Okay, well, you can come in and bring it to me.” You chuckled, bright and confident as ever. 

Spencer pushed the door open fully. 

He felt like he was stepping into an early morning heaven when he stepped into that humid air and saw you standing in the middle of the bathmat, wrapping a towel around your naked, dripping body. 

The way you held it kept your breasts and vagina fully covered, shielding all of the ‘important’ parts from Spencer’s view. But when you pulled it back to adjust the tightness of the towel around your chest, you clearly didn’t care about the skin that was revealed. The thickness of your hip and the plushness of the side of your stomach was bared to his eyes; his gaze devoured the large strip of skin all the way up the side of your body, just barely kissing the side of your breast where the towel covered you. It looked so scandalous even though it showed so little of you before you covered yourself back up and tucked the towel into itself, securing the fabric around your body. 

“Thank you, Spencer.” You said, reaching out and grabbing the bag from him. 

Spencer stood there for a moment longer, watching in utter awe as his eyes traced a droplet of water down your neck and into your cleavage. He wondered what it might be like to lean over and lick it up, wondering what your skin might taste like-

“Spence, shouldn’t you go get ready now?” You posed, looking up from rooting around your bag that you now had propped up on the closed toilet lid. 

“Right.” Spencer said. “Right. Yeah.” 

Spencer rushed off to his bedroom, doing just that. 

He did have to masturbate before he could focus at all on getting dressed. He felt slightly shameful for it, but he picked up your discarded blouse from his bedroom floor, left there by you from the night before, holding it to his nose while he pumped his cock with his hand. And with it, he came faster than he ever had by his own touch. And then he rushed to clean up and get dressed and managed to meet you just as you were emerging from the bathroom, looking as beautiful as ever in another button up blouse and simple black pants. 

You gave him a grin and didn’t at all seem to suspect that he had touched himself, and he felt so utterly victorious - like he had a secret, like he had gotten away with something. 

… 

You had to laugh as you watched Spencer struggle to clean the dried cum off his glasses in the car with a couple of wet wipes. It was something you had forgotten to do the night before, and you found it entirely amusing as he muttered and grunted to himself, trying to get the lenses fully clean while you drove. 

By the time you got to the office, Spencer’s glasses were glimmering clean and you recklessly pulled into the first parking spot you saw in the garage, hoping that you weren’t terribly late. (Unfortunately you hadn’t had time for breakfast, and hunger was gnawing at you, but you would take care of that later.) 

Spencer began voicing complaints about your parking job and the likelihood of your doors getting dented by someone else getting out of their car, but you simply dragged him forward with a hand on his wrist and told him that it would be your problem as you shoved him into the elevator. 

Nobody else was lingering in the bullpen, which worried you, and surely enough - everybody else was already sitting at the roundtable as you and Spencer walked down the hall. Many prying eyes stared at the two of you from the doorway, clearly expectant of the two of you. When you got in, you noticed that the only absent face was Gideon. At least you and Spencer weren’t the only ones holding up the presentation of the case. 

“You’re late.” Hotch grumbled as Spencer shut the door behind the two of you. “Again.” 

“So sue me.” You shrugged, causing Hotch to roll his eyes, and causing a smirk from Morgan and Elle - who generally loved your snark. 

“Don’t blame her, Hotch, she probably had a hard time finding her keys after Boy Genius rocked her world.” Elle said, making an obvious joke about the fact that you and Spencer had come in together. 

That, and you wouldn’t put it above JJ not to tell everyone that you had spent the night at Spencer’s place (especially if she delivered that news under suspicion that the two of you had sex). 

Reid - who had gone to the counter off to the side to get himself yet another cup of coffee - dropped a packet of sugar on the floor out of nervousness when he heard Elle’s comment. You found it entirely adorable when he scrambled to pick it up, clearly trying his hardest not to seem suspicious. 

“So come on, how was it?” Morgan said, looking right at you as he hopped onto the joke. “Did he spread you open like a good library book?” 

Hotch sighed, pressing his fingers into the bridge of his nose, knowing he could do nothing to stop the conversation. He looked to his phone, desperately trying to ignore this as it went on around him. 

“Very funny.” You griped sarcastically. “If I look tired, it’s because this loser had me up all night rambling on about Star Wars - fun facts, behind the scenes trivia.” You said, motioning toward Spencer for emphasis when you said ‘this loser’. “I absolutely did not need to know the difference between a protocol droid and an astromech droid, but now I do.” 

On any other occasion, you casually throwing around the word ‘loser’ in reference to Spencer would have hurt his feelings. 

But during this moment, Spencer found himself suppressing a grin. Everyone in the room had basically invited you to openly mock him for his lack of sexual ability, to spill his secrets as office gossip. But instead, you had chosen to keep those secrets close to your chest, clearly as a way to protect him from future mockery. And on top of that, you had made a clever reference to a previous conversation that the two of you did have about Star Wars. He was proud that you remembered the term ‘astromech droid’ off the top of your head at all. 

He felt proud, sharing a filthy secret with you. And he knew that he was definitely not a loser after what had happened last night. 

“Star Wars?” JJ questioned, looking at you with an expression that said she definitely knew you were lying, but she obviously didn’t have any proof. 

You had told her that you fell asleep on his couch by accident, and now you were telling the others that he had kept you up all night? 

“Yeah, that sounds more like it.” Morgan chuckled, receiving a knowing nod from Elle. 

Spencer passed by you, placing a coffee cup in front of your chair as you took your jacket off and sat down. He highly resisted the urge to give you a grin - knowing that it would give away your sweet little secret to the rest of the room. He simply walked around the table and took his own seat, and before any further discussion about the possible antics of your private lives could occur, Gideon walked in with a file in hand and JJ began presenting the case. 

… 

It was a case like any other. (Unfortunately.) Women strangled, sexually assaulted, left in areas of the woods that weren’t too difficult to find. 

As you looked at the horrific crime scene photos, you couldn’t help but to think that perhaps part of the reason you loved to dominate subservient men was to take back your personal power. Because deep down, you knew that you were terrified of ending up like that, and you loved the small piece of the world that you could take back when you got your hand around a man’s neck and made him beg for mercy (consensually, of course). 

But you couldn’t dwell on that for too long, because you had a job to do. 

There was a fresh crime scene when the team arrived, and Hotch sent you and Morgan to investigate it while he and Gideon went to speak to the victim’s family. The others left to set up at the local police station, and you couldn’t help but to notice Spencer’s eyes lingering on you as you parted ways. 

There were some drag marks in the dirt and a camera perched on a public bathroom that insisted the victim (and her attacker) could have been seen, so Morgan stepped away to call Garcia to see if she could pull anything from the camera’s feed. You did some more looking around, but couldn’t find anything of note. 

When you walked back over to where Morgan was perched beside the SUV, grinning with his phone beside his ear, you couldn’t hold back a comment at his final words before he hung up. 

“-oh, of course. Well you are beautiful and brilliant as always, my love. Thank you.” 

“You didn’t tell me Reid was on the phone.” You commented snidely, giving a wide smirk as you walked around into Morgan’s view. 

You thought you were being clever, making the joke that he would call Reid beautiful, or playfully call him ‘my love’. But of course, he turned this right back around on you. 

“No, that was just Garcia. She said the camera’s a dud and she couldn’t get anything off it.” Before you could comment on this fact, he continued. 

“But I took a message from Reid earlier. He said he left his panties at your place and he wants them back,” He smirked widely himself as he said this. 

Likely the exact opposite of what he had intended, this caused a distinct image in your mind. One of Spencer wearing a pair of pink lacy panties - his long, hard cock straining to fit inside the skimpy material, and leaky wildly inside of it, making everything so wet. 

You forced yourself to refocus, and purposefully put on a sour look, pretending that you were annoyed by his crude comment. 

“Ha-ha.” You griped sarcastically. “You know Reid and I aren’t a thing. So you can stop with the jokes before you embarrass him.” 

Truthfully, you did want the jokes to stop before it hurt Reid. You knew that he likely wanted to keep his sex life private. You didn’t want his shyness to come back tenfold before you could truly open him up and explore his filthy side. 

Morgan snorted, clearly in disbelief. 

“Oh, so you’re gonna act like that whole bit this morning wasn’t you and boy genius stumblin’ in late because of a late night booty call?” Morgan posed. “A real one. Not him fallin’ asleep on his phone.” 

You shifted your attitude then. If he wasn’t going to drop it, then you were going to arm yourself. 

“Okay, if you’re so invested in my sex life, you wanna talk about the size XXL purple leopard thong that I found in your back seat three weeks ago?” You posed sharply, a stone cold look on your face even though you were holding back the urge to laugh. 

At the time, Morgan had offered to give you a ride home because your car battery had died. And when you tossed your bag into his back seat, you randomly spotted the streak of bright color - very out of place among the few gray sweatshirts he had in the back. And when you picked it up, wondering what it was, you held it in your hands and in a moment, based on the size, knew who it belonged to. 

But he had been denying where it had come from (and the lustful tryst behind it) ever since. Clearly he wanted to keep his inter-office sex life private too. 

“I-” Morgan began stuttering out an explanation, then swallowed it up. “We should get going.” He said, motioning toward the SUV. 

“We should.” You easily agreed. 

… 

The whole time the team spent working the case, you found it difficult to interact with Spencer. 

You really wanted to say that having sex with him wouldn’t change your working relationship, but it wasn’t like you had fucked just anybody. It was Spencer. If you had railed Elle or Derek or anybody else on the team, you probably could have gone to work the next day and pushed it to the back of your mind with grace. 

But knowing that Spencer was inexperienced, knowing that you had likely been the first person to ever hear him moan like that, the first to ever see him covered in his own cum - it was definitely something that stuck in your head (to a painfully distracting extent). 

Every time you so much as looked at him, saw that thoughtful expression with those glasses perched on his face, you immediately pictured him blissfully fucked out with large spots of his own cum covering the lenses. 

So you tried your best to avoid him for the majority of the work. You volunteered to leave the station whenever possible, and left him with his maps, making a geographical profile, doing what he did best. You tried to keep yourself distracted and focused on a case. 

This - somehow - had you and Gideon following a lead, following up with someone who had spoken to the first victim a few minutes before she was murdered. While the two of you searched the man’s property looking for him, he managed to sneak up behind you and put you in a chokehold, attempting to strangle you. 

Because yeah - he was the killer. Great. 

And apparently, once again, your sick sense of humor paid off. Because when your hand reached for your gun upon instinct and you realized that in your Spencer Reid sex-haze distractions, you had somehow forgotten it in the car, you cursed yourself, and then you began to physically struggle. And then you realized that this man was too strong, and there was no good way for you to escape the hold with physical methods. 

With your vision becoming hazy, your instinct was to start moaning in a very exaggerated, pornographic way and tell him how much you liked the feeling of being strangled - which led him to loosen his grip out of shock. And that gave you more than enough room to elbow him in the face, knocking him loopy so you could call to Gideon for help. 

The two of you had him in cuffs in minutes and when everyone else got there and asked you how you managed to escape, you told them that you were simply too fierce of a fighter for the man to hold you down. They didn’t need to know what actually happened or where your mind went when faced with danger. 

Spencer looked at you with incredibly sad eyes when he saw the irritated strangle marks around your neck, but you pointed to the marks and told him you were fine with a chuckle. That it looked worse than it was. You were surprised and kind of hurt when he didn’t say anything to you in return. 

Spencer didn’t sit next to you during the plane ride home (which you took slight offense to). But he did come up to you in the parking garage when you were getting ready to leave. You had been inspecting a large bump in one of your doors (cursing the fact that Spencer always had to be right), and you became distracted when you heard his footsteps echoing through the large space behind you. 

You thought that maybe he needed a ride since you had been the one to drive him there after your heated night together. But he stood a few feet away with his hands in his pockets, so you took your hand off the key that was poised in your car door and made it clear that you were prepared to pay attention to him - clearly he had something to say. 

“Are you mad at me?” He asked timidly. 

“What? No.” You let out breathily, almost laughing. “Why would you think-?” You began to ask, and then cut yourself off, realizing the answer to your own question halfway through speaking it. “Because I’ve been avoiding you.” You spoke aloud. 

Spencer nodded, seeming very solemn and downtrodden by this fact. 

“You wouldn’t even look at me over the past few days.” He said. “I mean, I understand if I did something wrong.” He declared, his voice taking on the same broken wetness that his eyes had, as though he was on the verge of crying. “But I - I thought that what happened the other night, what we did, I thought it was special. I-” 

“Spencer. Come here.” You summoned him closer, not wanting to talk loudly across the parking garage at him. You didn’t want your voices to echo when speaking about your sex life - just in case anybody did happen to come by. 

You found it achingly adorable that he called what had happened ‘special’. Like he was a young woman talking about ‘making love’. It was tooth-rotting sweet. Especially considering that he wasn’t referring to some night where the two of you had laid in bed together with candles and Barry Mantilow playing. But rather, a time where you had tied him to a kitchen chair and fucked him senseless with a fake pussy. 

Spencer easily followed your order, finding nothing but natural order in listening to you. He came to stand just a few inches from your body where you were leaning up against the door of your car, and then you began to speak quietly. 

“What we did was special.” You assured him with a smile. The sadness on his features broke up slightly at this. “In fact, it was so special that I couldn’t get it out of my head. Every time I looked at you, I just imagined you moaning for me, covered in your own cum. I kept hearing your pretty voice in my ears saying ‘please’ in that gorgeous way you do.” 

Of course, you did angle your words more into dirty talk, and you leaned into him slightly when you said these things, whispering in a low, seductive voice. You loved how his Adam’s apple bobbed heavily as he swallowed thickly, and a slight flush moved across his cheeks at your words. 

When he didn’t say anything, clearly stunned into silence by your words, you continued. 

“I didn’t want to be turned on, or distracted when we have an important job to do.” You had to leave out the fact that you had been so distracted that you had almost made a fatal mistake. But nobody needed to know about that. “So… I just tried to focus on something other than you for a while. I do apologize if it seems like I was avoiding you out of anger, but that is definitely not the case.” You told him, easily capping off your explanation. 

“I understand.” Spencer nodded. “That’s… kind of how I feel every day. But I guess I’m just used to it by now. So I’m better at not being distracted.” 

You felt intensely flattered, and slightly turned on as he unintentionally fluffed your ego. 

“Because you’re a good boy.” You told him, knowing that praise was one of his weak spots. 

You swore you saw his knees shake when the words hit him, and he cleared his throat loudly before he spoke again. 

“Is - is it always going to be like this?” He asked. 

He would have mourned your friendship if that were the case. He didn’t want to trade off your jokes and your everyday interactions for the sex, as amazing as the sex was. Selfishly, he wanted both. 

“No.” You easily assured him. “I just need a bit of time to get my head on straight. I need some time to get used to it. Like you said, I need to get better at not being distracted.” 

Spencer nodded at this. 

He was very tempted to ask if you wanted to come over to his place that night. If you wanted to ‘sleep-over’ again. Not only had he enjoyed the spectacular orgasm, learning from you, but he had genuinely enjoyed the kind of domesticity that came from waking up with you there. He loved having someone in his kitchen in the morning. He knew he would miss that sorely if he woke up tomorrow morning and you weren’t there. (Perhaps you had spoiled him too much already.) 

However, before he could work up the courage to ask, you leaned up on your toes and kissed him on the cheek, muttering ‘goodnight, Spence’. And in return, he muttered something about paperwork before he walked back toward the elevator. 

… 

That night, Spencer went home and grabbed the fleshlight off the dishrack as soon as he spotted it. He knew that you had bought it for him with the intention of him using it independently, but as he grabbed the bottle of lube off the living room coffee table, he just felt… lonely without you there. 

But he supposed that he had to learn how to do it on his own, because you wouldn’t be there all the time to help him. It was only a fantasy - the two of you getting a place together, so he could serve you in every possible way, doing so gleefully, and in return, you would play with him whenever he wanted. 

He stripped naked and slicked up his cock and the toy just like you had shown him. He couldn’t help but to miss the feeling of your hand on his cock as he did it. When he got the tight softness of the fake pussy around him, he screwed his eyes closed tight - and all he could think about was you. 

He missed you like a tree missing sunlight, and he felt his head spinning - felt like he had no greater sense of control without your voice telling him what to do. It made him anxious and on edge the whole time he had that fake pussy wrapped around his cock, rather than the beautifully, buttery warmth he had felt before. 

By the time he came, he was practically sobbing. A deep ache for you in his chest as he missed your touch over him - missed the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, missed your voice calling him ‘good boy’ as that tingling ran through his gut. 

After he rinsed out the toy with hot water and put it back in the dish rack to dry (wondering if he was cleaning it right) and jumped in the shower, he wondered if he would ever be content to masturbate alone again. He wondered if you had ruined him, if he would ever truly feel satiated without your touch. 

… 

The next few days passed without much of note happening. 

You and Spencer stayed away from each other in the office and everyone began to whisper, theorizing that you were in some kind of fight. But of course, they didn’t notice the glances the two of you exchanged over the partition of your close desks - a deeply knowing stare that only the other person could decipher. 

Also, unknowingly, Derek had given you a fantastic idea. 

One day during your lunch break, you visited a lingerie store that you loved, and picked up a pair of lacy pink panties that would definitely be too small for you - but that you hoped would fit a certain genius’ slim hips just right. 

… 

At the end of the week, you were intensely thankful to have a day off. 

You were tempted to turn your phone off completely, not wanting to be cursed with being called in on your day off. You could say that you lived with the hope that nobody out there was needing the BAU’s help, but truly, you were just annoyed and wanted some time to relax. 

You woke up naturally around mid morning, and you were feeling hungry so you hesitantly rolled out of bed. You washed your face and did a light, lazy morning routine. On your way to the kitchen in your modest, cozy, but very well decorated apartment, you heard a knock on the door. 

You felt all of your muscles tense up unconsciously. You really hoped that it wasn’t someone from the team, needing something. (You also hoped that it wasn’t one of your exes, showing up unannounced to beg for you back because the sex had been too good and had ruined them for anyone else - which had happened before. Multiple times unfortunately.) 

You hesitantly walked over to the door (so tempted to pretend that you weren’t home and simply be left unbothered). When you looked through the peephole, you were delightfully surprised to see that it was Spencer. He was standing there, dressed like he usually did for work, holding a tray with two takeout coffee cups in one hand and a large brown paper bag in the other. 

He had brought breakfast. 

A sweetheart with a big dick and a pretty face who begged so pretty and brought food? Fuck, you might just have to marry him. 

You eagerly opened the door and grinned widely at him. 

“Spence!” You greeted him with excitement. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

“Um, hi.” He gave you a smile himself, and nodded at you rather than waving because his hands were full. “Can I come in? I brought breakfast.” He motioned toward the items in his hands, and you nodded, moving aside to let him in. “I wanted to make up for those… abysmal eggs that I made you the other morning.” 

“They weren’t abysmal.” You told him with a chuckle as you shut the door. “And I do admire you for trying.” 

Spencer naturally navigated his way to your small kitchen, to the small round table that you had in there to set the items down. This was only his third time in your apartment. 

Two of the other times he had been there, it had been to hang out and play board games with you, JJ, Elle, and Penelope. Something that had started out as a joke - Derek telling him that he might have fun ‘tagging along on girls’ night’. So he had. And he did have fun. 

And one of the times it had been because he had gotten quite drunk and you had brought him here to take care of him. Because he had been so drunk that he couldn’t tell you where his house keys were. Waking up on your couch that morning to the smell of pancakes had been delightfully confusing. 

Either way, he found your apartment wonderfully homey. Decorated in jewel tones with girly touches. And there was always a nice smell lingering in the air from some kind of scented candle or nice perfume you were wearing. 

“Yeah, well, food is definitely not one of my areas of expertise.” Spencer admitted, carrying on the conversation as he took your coffee out of the tray and handed it to you. 

You noticed the distinct motion of his eyes going up and down your body, lingering around your thighs and your breasts, distracting him from picking up his own coffee for a few moments. 

It was only then that you became hyper-aware of the fact that you were still wearing your pajamas. 

It was a matching set made of a thin cotton fabric with a floral pattern on it - the top was a tank top with thin little spaghetti straps (and of course, you had just gotten out of bed, so you weren’t wearing a bra). The shorts were intensely short, revealing most of your wide thighs. It didn’t leave much to the imagination, so you realized why it caused Spencer’s eyes to wander. You loved his keen gaze, though. And you pretended not to notice as the conversation continued. 

“The genius finally admits that there’s something he doesn’t know!” You chuckled. 

“There are still plenty of things I don’t know.” Spencer said quietly - the glint in his eye told you that he was definitely referring to the pivotal conversation that the two of you had the other night. The conversation where he had lovingly begged you to teach him about sex. “Plenty of things I still need to learn.” 

There was a pause where the air was filled with intense sexual tension, but Spencer broke it by grabbing the paper bag with the food in it and opening it up. 

“I got you a breakfast sandwich.” He said. “Bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel.” 

“Sounds perfect.” You nodded. “Plates are in the cupboard above the sink. I’m gonna go down to my mailbox and see if my newspaper has been delivered.” You told him, walking over to the door to shove on your slippers. 

“Getting your news from the paper? What an old lady you are,” Spencer said, clearly recycling your own words from the other morning back at you. 

“That just means you like old ladies.” You chuckled, recycling his comment from the other day. “You must be into MILFs,” 

“‘MILFs?’” Spencer questioned, that adorably confused look coming across his features again. 

You became filled to the brim with glee at the realization that you would get to explain this to him. 

“It means ‘Mother I’d Like To Fuck’ or ‘Mommy I’d Like To Fuck’.” You told him. “Usually it’s used to describe a sex fantasy where someone wants to fuck - well, a mother. Someone who’s had children, because they’re attracted to the concept of motherhood. Or it can be describing a porn category, usually anything with a curvy older woman and a younger man… some people say that a MILF doesn’t necessarily have to be a woman who’s had kids, just a woman who’s older than you and hot.” 

Spencer’s lips gaped with lustful shock, and a flush came over him. He wanted to confirm that you were definitely a MILF - because you were a woman who was technically older than him, curvy, and very hot. And he definitely wanted to fuck you. All the time. But that would mean using the word ‘Mommy’ to describe you, and as much as that brought a tingle through him - that was not a can of worms that he was ready to open. Yet.

You left him standing there, gaping with shock and you couldn’t help but to laugh at this as you walked out the door to go to the mailbox. 

When you came back, you and Spencer sat on the couch and ate with the TV playing quietly in the background. A random network was playing Pretty Woman and you left it on because Spencer remarked that he had never seen it before, and you found it adorable how closely he paid attention to the film as it progressed. 

When you finished your food, you opened your newspaper and began reading. At some point, you had stretched out, and your feet had wandered into Spencer’s lap. Before you could wonder if he found it annoying, he began to lightly massage them. 

It was a delicate kind of peace, and you couldn’t help but to enjoy the silent, easy company as he watched the film and you read an article about a new baby penguin being given to two male penguin parents at the local zoo. 

You didn’t know that Spencer’s skin was crawling, eagerness building up inside of him as he sat in silence. Seeing you just sitting there, your face gently concentrated as you read. You putting your feet so carelessly in his lap, using him like he was just a lovely piece of furniture, just a footrest for you. All if it seemed to be checkmarks on some unknown list of things that only made him more lustful. 

And for the past ten minutes, he had been slowly losing focus on the plot of the film and found himself staring more and more at your thighs or sneaking glances at you over top of the newspaper. 

He had the urge to simply nudge your legs apart and crawl between them. To start touching you until he found out what was pleasurable for you. Until you called him ‘good boy’ in that way that made him melt again. But he wasn’t nearly confident enough to just do that. So he was just sitting there quietly. Slowly going insane as he thought about all the things that he wanted you to be doing to him now that the two of you were alone with free time. 

Of course, you noticed him becoming more antsy. You felt him moving more in his seat, you felt him becoming tense under your feet. So you decided to ask and see what he would say. You wondered if he would come right out and admit that he was feeling lustful, or if you would have to pull it out of him. 

“What’s up, Spence?” You asked, glancing over the newspaper at him. 

Then, Spencer said something incredibly stupid. 

“They’re hosting some of Van Gogh’s original sketches at the Smithsonian Art Museum this month.” Spencer said, motioning toward the back page of the newspaper that you had extended in one hand. It was all advertisements, but one of them did say something about a Van Gogh exhibit including some of his original art. 

He had been feeling dangerously nervous and wanted to deflect from himself. 

“Hmm.” You said after you read it. “Maybe we should go check it out.” 

Spencer’s face fell to disappointment at this suggestion, and you held back laughter. 

“What? Did you have some other grand plans for the day?” You posed, knowing this would get the right reaction out of him. 

“I…” Spencer let out a breath, clearly hesitating. “I was kind of hoping we could… play.” 

You couldn’t hold back your grin. You loved that he was using the language you had taught him, feeling confident in putting the vocabulary to good use. 

“How about this?” You posed, knowing that you were fully in charge, and it was up to you to make the plan. “We go and check out the art exhibit, and if you behave yourself on this little outing, then you can have whatever you want as a reward when we come back home.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up at this. He seemed highly motivated at the idea of having a ‘reward’. 

“What would ‘behaving myself’ entail?” He asked, ever eager to have a set of rules to follow. 

“Don’t touch me without permission.” You told him. “Keep your hands to yourself. Don’t nag me or keep asking when we’ll come home and play. And… well, there is one more thing. Something special that you could do for me.” 

Spencer’s face knit with confusion at this. 

“What’s that?” He asked. 

“Hold on.” You told him. 

Then you got up off the couch and abandoned your newspaper on the coffee table, leaving Spencer nervously fidgeting as he waited for your return. He was surprised when you came back with a bright pink shopping bag - something fairly small and girly. The shop logo on the side wasn’t one that he recognized, so he had no idea what could be inside the bag. 

He waited patiently as you stood on the opposite side of the table and put the bag in the middle of it, and peeled back the pink tissue paper to take out the object inside the bag. He was slightly confused when you pulled out a small, delicate pair of lacy pink panties. 

When you unfolded them and held them up to display them to him, he easily saw that they would be too small for you, and the confusion racked him even harder. If you hadn’t bought the underwear for yourself then-? 

“I wanted you to wear these for me.” You told him, your voice steady. “Under your clothes all day. So just you and I know.”

Instantly, a wave of anxiety swept over Spencer. 

You hated the look that came across his face and you tossed the underwear down as he spoke. 

“Would - why?” He stuttered out. “Do you think it’s funny or something?” 

Spencer hated it, but he was immediately brought back to a time in his childhood. A time when, as a child prodigy in a public high school, he had been forced to take a gym class with a bunch of older teenagers, and forced to change in the same locker room as everyone else, because the coach refused to ‘treat him special’ just because he was ‘a smartass’. 

And at the time, he had thought nothing of his Ninja Turtles underpants until the other boys started pointing and laughing at them. They had thought his underwear was so funny, in fact, that they took his clothes, forcing him to walk out into the hallway in nothing but his underwear, fighting to get his clothes back. 

Back then, he didn’t understand why someone’s underwear would be funny. But it had changed him and left him guarded and feeling small - even now. 

“No, no, no, baby. Of course not.” You rushed to assure him otherwise, sitting down on the coffee table in front of him and putting a tender hand on his knee. 

“I would never want to laugh at you. Or humiliate you.” You told him very sincerely. 

You distinctly held back the urge to say ‘unless you want me to’. You didn’t think he was ready to know that some people role played humiliation on purpose. That would be for another day. 

“Baby, I only wanted to do this because it’s a turn-on for me.” You continued. “But you don’t have to do it if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t want to make you upset or uncomfortable.”

“It - it turns you on?” Spencer’s face knit with intense confusion, contemplating your words carefully. 

This was a brand new aspect that - now that it was presented to him, definitely had him processing the concept with fresh eyes. 

He knew that films or comedic shows presented the idea of men wearing women’s clothing as a form of public humiliation. Even though during Shakespearan times it was artistic, a beautiful form of theater. In modern times, men were publicly mocked and shamed for parading around in clothing that wasn’t ‘meant’ for them. 

Of course, growing up in Las Vegas, he was well aware of the existence of Drag Queens - people who fell somewhere between that Shakespearan theater and the Saturday Night Live style of comedy that was usually straight men wearing dresses. But drag performers dressed up in women’s clothing for money. They did it as a type of paid performance. 

No part of Spencer’s mental catalog had any idea that people dressed in clothing that didn’t align with their gender as, well… a fetish. 

Spencer imagined himself wearing the underwear - especially knowing that you would be looking at him with a lustful gaze while he wore it, and he felt a distinct tingle in his gut. He felt his mood shifting from anxiety to something warmer, but he was still on edge. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind, baby.” You pleaded gently, rubbing your hand on Spencer’s knee. “I know that look. So come on, tell me what’s going on inside that big brain of yours.”  

Spencer hadn’t realized that he had been sitting there for a prolonged moment, perhaps more than a few, a look of deep thought cast over his features as he considered all of this. 

“I… I don’t hate the idea.” Spencer said tentatively. 

He was still timid about his own desires, and he was unsure what it meant that he himself was becoming turned on by the idea of wearing women’s underwear. It was supposed to be a show for you, right? Was he supposed to enjoy it? 

“You’re not just saying that because you’re trying to please me?” You replied. 

You wanted to be sure that he was comfortable. You wanted to ensure that he knew he could say ‘no’ if he needed to. 

Spencer shook his head. 

“I - I think I could like it.” He said quietly, clearly shy about his own words. “I think I do. Just… can you tell me more about… why you like it?” 

You gave a small grin, always happy to explain these kinds of things to him. 

“Well, I think you would look good in them.” You said, being entirely honest. “To me, there’s something profoundly beautiful about the sight of a cock trapped in pretty lace. It’s unconventional and just so… pretty.” You explained, choosing your words carefully. 

Spencer felt a unique twist in his gut when you used that word - ‘pretty’. 

People had used that word to describe him before, but it always felt like it was teasing, or ironic. But when you said it, it sounded so genuine. It made Spencer want more. It made him want to hear it more because he wanted to feel pretty, especially in your eyes. It was something he had never wanted in his life before. It exponentially boosted his desire to wear those panties for you - if that would make him pretty to you, then he would certainly do it. 

But he held back on voicing that for now, and simply let you continue. 

“Plus, I do enjoy the idea of the two of us having a secret.” You told him. “The fact that you would be wearing those pretty panties under your clothes and we would be the only two people who know.” 

Spencer definitely understood that. He liked sharing secrets with you. 

It was how he felt all week - entirely filthy and victorious as he wielded his secret from everyone else. Having the knowledge that he had sex with you and the two of you were going about your days without anybody else knowing it. Sure, part of him wanted to brag to Morgan about it for some kind of social standing. But the bigger part of him much preferred the satisfaction of that secret. Having that secret side of you all to himself. 

“But like I said, you don’t have to do anything that you’re uncomfortable with. You don’t have to do it just to please me.” You reiterated the point, entirely open with him. 

“You really think I’m pretty?” Spencer asked quietly. 

You found it adorable that he had become fixated on this word, clearly slightly distracted from the overall point. 

“Yes.” You assured him. “You’re very pretty. You’re one of the most attractive people I’ve ever met, Spence.” You reached up and brushed your knuckles gently across his cheek, and he shivered lightly at the touch in combination with the brutally honest praise. 

“Thank you.” He said, giving you a small smile. Then, he had a thought. “Can - can I try them on, and then… see how I feel? Before wearing them for the rest of the day?” He asked, nodding toward where you had set down the pink lacy panties. 

It was such a brilliant idea - you weren’t sure how you hadn’t thought of it yourself first. 

“Of course, baby. That’s a really good idea.” You nodded. “Do you want to go in the other room and put them on, or do you want me to help you?” 

He found a warmth curling in his stomach at the idea of you helping him get dressed, and he absolutely couldn’t deny that offer. 

“Can you help me?” He asked, looking at you with the sweetest doe eyes. You resisted the urge to simply climb on top of him, kiss the life out of him and make him cum again. 

No. Today was going to be about making him wait. Making him needy - making him truly want. 

“Okay, baby, stand up for me.” 

Of course, he thrived on you giving him orders, so he did just as you told him without any hesitation. 

He stood up in front of you and you guided him around the coffee table to have more room. He was wearing such a perfectly Spencer outfit - a navy blue knitted sweater vest with a button up shirt underneath, a pair of gray slacks with a brown belt, and his usual mismatched socks (one red with navy stripes and the other dark gray). He also had a gray blazer that he had ditched on the back of one of your kitchen chairs shortly after coming in. 

It was interesting to know that even on his days off, Spencer still wore such ‘business’ clothing. But you supposed that it was all his wardrobe was made up of, because he likely didn’t consider it appropriate to leave the house in his loungewear. 

In a lot of ways, much like everything else that he did - it was intensely adorable. 

You put your hands on his belt and undid it, and unzipped his pants - when you slid them down over his thighs, you weren’t surprised to see that he was wearing the most Spencer kind of underwear: a pair of plain white briefs. He was half-hard, making a prominent shape in the cotton that caused you to hold back a wicked grin. 

“I’m sorry, my underwear isn’t… sexy.” He said, his arms hovering awkwardly around his front as he clearly considered covering himself but hesitated in doing so. 

“Don’t apologize, baby.” You said, getting down on your knees to take his pants the rest of the way down and untangle them from his ankles. Naturally, he put a hand on your shoulder and stepped out of them, a flush coming over him at how intimate the entire thing felt. 

“That’s why I got these special just for you,” You told him, reaching over and grabbing the panties, holding them up for emphasis. 

“You did?” He questioned. 

You had taken the tags off shortly before presenting the underwear to him, and even though you had brought them out in a shopping bag, it wasn’t something he had considered. You had bought something like this with him in mind. This was the second time you had gone shopping and gotten him a special present and he couldn’t help but to feel so lovingly spoiled by you. 

“I did.” You confirmed with a smile, looking up at him in a way that made him melt. 

“Thank you, Miss.” He couldn’t help the title from spilling from his lips, and it immediately made your pussy throb with need. 

Once again, you forced yourself to focus. 

“I’m gonna take these off now, okay?” You said, reaching up and thumbing along the waistband of his underwear. 

Spencer nodded. 

“Use your words, please.” You reminded him sharply. 

“Yes, Miss.” He said, nodding more frantically. 

You took down his briefs and his cock swayed in the air - clearly on the way to being fully hard, smooth and beautiful. You found it adorable that his pubes were still entirely untamed. You loved that even after you had started showing sexual interest in him, he hadn’t felt the need to rush to groom himself. You preferred him like this, especially because the imagery of that bush entirely slick with his own cum would always be stuck in your mind, and you definitely wanted to recreate it again. 

You were tempted to get a hand on his cock, to tease him. To get him to full hardness, making him leaking and whining and then force him to go out for a full day of activities. But he was still new to this and you weren’t that mean. 

That, and you had a feeling that because it was Spencer, if he started begging you to cum, if he said ‘please’ in that pretty voice again, then you would most likely just give in to him and your whole plan would be ruined. Rather than going to the museum, you would simply spend the day with him tied to the bed and incoherent. 

But you wanted to see how far you could truly push him if he was needy. If he was absolutely desperate. And a few hours of your attention directed away from him when he wanted it most (focusing on paintings rather than on pleasing him) along with rough lace scrubbing up against his cock should do very nicely. 

You pulled the underwear down fully and just the same as you had with his pants, unhooked them from his ankles, leaving him fully dressed from the waist up, still wearing his socks. Then you picked up the panties again - you had chosen something that was aesthetically pleasing, and hopefully not too uncomfortable for him. It wasn’t anywhere near a thong in the back, but you knew that it would be snug on his cock - just what you were hoping for. 

The moment that Spencer felt the lace brush against his skin, he was greeted by a brand new experience. He always chose his clothing based on the comfort of the fabrics - and he had certainly never worn anything with this kind of underlying roughness to it. 

When you pulled it fully up over his hips and gently tucked his cock inside the waistband, he did find it thrilling. The fabric created a slightly irritated pain across his highly sensitive cock, and a tightness around his balls, but he found that in a way, he liked it. It was truly all brand new, and though he knew that the feeling was going to become an annoyance after a while, he was curious about the sexual aspects of it. He found that he wanted more. 

Especially when he saw the look on your face. 

Spencer looked utterly stunning like this. Infinitely better than you could have imagined. Seeing his half-hard cock trapped behind the pink lace as it was stretched over his slim hips almost had you drooling. You knew that the lust was clearly written across your face, and you couldn’t help but to reach up and gently stroke his cock through the fabric, getting a low moan from him. 

“How does it feel, baby?” You asked, looking up at him from where you were still positioned on your knees. 

With your warm hand on him through the fabric, with you looking at him like he was the most perfect thing in the world, there was only one possible answer. 

“Good.” He easily replied. “Really good.” 

You smiled at him. “Do you wanna keep them on for the day?” 

“Yes, Miss.” He nodded eagerly. Truthfully, he was excited to see where the day would take the two of you. 

You helped him put the rest of his clothes back on, then you sat him on the couch to wait for you so that you could go get dressed for the day. You found it entirely adorable when he wiggled around on the spot, clearly adjusting to the new feeling of wearing such tight, lacy panties. 

Spencer felt even more intense lustful warmth wash over him when you returned in a flowy red dress with small white polka dots on it. It was a dress with a deep V neck and a tie around the waist, one that looked like it wrapped around your whole body. It accentuated your curves so well, making you look like a gorgeous Hollywood starlet. 

You had on a pair of red heels and had a red purse with a long strap on your shoulder. You were truly a vision of beauty. He felt like he shouldn’t be allowed to go out in public with you, especially because people would see the two of you and assume that you were on a date. 

(Was it a date? How the hell was he allowed to date someone as perfect as you?) 

“And remember, baby. If you’re a good boy all day, then you can have a reward.” You told him, putting your foot up on the coffee table to adjust the strap of your shoe, not-so-subtly flashing him your underwear with how open and flowy the skirt of your dress was. 

Spencer was brain dead by the sight for a moment, but then thought to ask:

“What kind of reward?” 

“Well… whatever you want. You can pick.” You told him. “As long as you follow the rules.” 

Oh, it was going to be a good day. 

… 

It seemed that your plan worked far better than you originally expected. 

When the two of you first got into the museum, Spencer’s hands kept hovering around his waist, clearly resisting the urge to grab at his pants, to try and adjust the panties through his clothing. You combated this by grabbing one of his hands, and kept him busy by prompting him with questions about the paintings as you toured the non-Van Gogh sections of the museum for a while.

At times, Spencer became a bit too fixated on whatever he was saying, and you felt an eagerness to distract him from the art. As much as you enjoyed listening to him ramble on and always learned something from the sound of his sweet, soothing voice, you did have another goal in mind. 

When he became a bit too immersed in his thoughts and recollection about whatever art history books he had read, you would provide him with some kind of physical touch that sent his mind absolutely rocketing off the rails, and sent his mouth sputtering as he tried to remember what he had been saying. 

You would reach over and wrap your arms around his waist, possibly brushing your hand over his cock on the way. You might wrap an arm around his lower back and lean into his body, purposefully pressing your weight up against his side, letting him feel every single curve that you had to offer. You began to feel more bold as you wanted to get more of a reaction out of him, and you even reached up and planted stray kisses on the side of his neck, behind his ear. 

As time progressed, his insights about the paintings became much more shallow, and he began to fidget more. You knew that he was growing intensely needy, and you loved it. 

By the time the two of you got to the exhibit with Van Gogh’s original sketches that had drawn you to the museum in the first place, Spencer was oddly pensive and quiet. You let the silence linger as you carefully planned your next move. 

Spencer interrupted the peaceful silence with his gentle, prodding voice. 

“Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.” 

“What does that mean?” You asked, turning to look at him. 

“It was something Vincent Van Gogh said.” He noted, turning to look at you, mirroring your body language. “It means - well, I think it means that… that life can be full of trauma and darkness, but if you take the time to observe the beauties of your life, and realize how there are simplistic wonders all around us, then… the darkness doesn’t seem so big. The everyday parts of life can seem enchanting.” 

You reached up and gently brushed Spencer’s hair back from his forehead, eagerly listening to his sweet voice as he spoke. 

You knew - consciously or unconsciously - he was also speaking about the way that you made each other’s lives enchanting. Your job was full of darkness and horror, and it would be easy to fall to it. But you lifted each other up, and became that everyday enchantment that the other person needed. 

Spencer’s eyes pointedly flickered down to your lips and then back up to your eyes before he continued. 

“Van Gogh was famous for painting pictures of everyday sights. Flower vases, scenes from his village. The Starry Night was painted because he imagined that the stars above his village were a sure sign that God himself came down every single night to kiss the sky there. He didn’t see the mundane as simply… mundane. He saw it as beautiful and worth celebrating.” Spencer explained. 

“You’re beautiful.” You easily fired back, and Spencer crumbled under the direct compliment. 

In a moment, his cheeks dusted with pink and his posture shrunk. Where he was confident and tall when speaking about art history, he became small as he was trapped under your gaze, absolutely unsure how to take the compliment - especially as it was directed toward his looks. Especially as it made him feel oddly pretty. 

When his eyes jumped back up from looking at the floor, his gaze was locked on your mouth once again. He tugged on the bottom of his blazer, and you could tell that he was becoming fidgety and anxious. 

His anticipation was easily growing into need. 

And so was yours. 

Without telling him what was on your mind, you scanned the room. You thought you had seen something of note when you first walked into this section of the museum - and surely enough, in one of the corners, there was a thick black curtain covering a doorway. A curtain that had an ‘Employees Only’ sign pinned to it. Perhaps it led to some kind of storage closet, perhaps it led to another winding hallway. 

Whatever was behind there, you were about to find out. 

“Come here.” You told him, giving a gentle tug on his elbow that you were holding. 

Naturally, entranced by your every movement and having nothing but the ability to follow you - Spencer walked on easy feet, guided by you as you marched across the room with purpose. He thought perhaps you had seen a painting that particularly caught your interest across the room, or that you were finally ready to leave and it was time to go home and get his reward. 

But what happened next, he certainly did not expect. 

You pulled him toward a dark curtain that was labeled with a sign - Employees Only. 

Last time he checked, you hadn’t gotten a job at a museum. 

He found himself slightly filled with anxiety at this fact, but you seemed entirely unfazed. 

You simply pulled back the curtain and used Spencer’s anxious confusion to your advantage. You shoved him in first before he could question you, and then you climbed in yourself and carefully adjusted the fabric so it would seem completely undisturbed. 

The area behind the curtain seemed to be nothing more than a long hallway with a few doors. It was clearly a lesser traveled area of the museum - a few of the lightbulbs overhead blown out and not replaced, the floor dingy and dusty. Perhaps those doors led to storage rooms or the place’s security facilities - but either way, the two of you weren’t supposed to be here. 

His insides filled with panic at the idea of getting caught. 

“Y/N-!” He called out your name harshly, but you cut him off by putting a hand in the middle of his chest and shoving him back against the wall. 

Hitting the wall easily knocked the wind out of him. It was a surprising amount of force - you were much stronger than you looked. Of course, he had seen you take down suspects before. He had witnessed you tackle grown men to the grown with ease and marveled in awe at your strength, but you had never used that kind of force on him. He had never imagined what it would be like. 

He found that it turned him on more than he could have imagined. The presence of your hand fisting the front of his sweater vest spread a dizzying heat through his body. He stared at you with parted lips and a slacked jaw as the lust and shock overtook him. 

“Are you gonna be good for me?” You asked. 

You stood away from him for a moment, removing your hands from him completely and leaving a few inches of space between your two bodies in the dim, dingy space. 

You were giving him a clear opportunity to use his safeword if he truly wasn’t comfortable with fooling around in such a public space. 

“We - we’re gonna get caught!” He whispered urgently to you, his voice hushed but still strained at the very thought of it. 

You found it entirely adorable - how scandalized he was by this. You had done far worse and you hoped that you could get him to sink to your level over time. 

“You let me worry about that, pretty boy.” You told him firmly. “Now - are you gonna be good for me?” 

You asked one more time, your voice demanding and hopefully fully relaying the meaning of your words. 

Spencer had a choice. 

And with you standing there, staring him down with heat in your eyes, looking like such a vision of lustful beauty, when he had been waiting so long for your touch, for your attention… it wasn’t much of a choice at all.

He only wanted you. 

“Yes.” He squeaked out quietly, swallowing thickly around his own doubt. “Yes, I’ll be a good boy.” 

You grinned a wide Cheshire grin at his words, and in a moment, you were on him. 

You possessively gripped at both sides of his blazer, easily bending him to your will. You surged forward and met him as you forced his body to bend downward, capturing his mouth in a demanding, heated kiss.  

It was a tiny murmur in the back of your mind, reminding you that this was actually your first kiss with Spencer. You had already seen him naked and made him cum, and you were just now getting to taste his sweet lips. It was a funny thought. 

In that moment, any worry about potentially getting caught easily flew from Spencer’s mind - any logic quickly dripped out of his ears. 

He moaned beautifully into your mouth, and as you echoed a sound back, you had to wonder why you hadn’t kissed him sooner. He seemed to be a natural at it - or, this was the one thing that he had some real practice at. Which you were entirely thankful for. His lips were smooth against your own, heated and desperate, surging forward with intense gyrating motions - almost as if he was trying to consume you with his intense hunger. 

Though in a moment, he easily fell under your control. 

You reached a hand up to the back of his hair and took a tight grip there, holding him like he was a beautiful object that you owned, just a toy for you to play with. He let out a sharp whine from the back of his throat, and his jaw fell slack for a moment, allowing you to bite down on his bottom lip - hard, assuring him who was in charge. 

The shock of pain from the bite had his hips bucking forward, and surely enough, you felt him fully hard, brushing against your hip through both of your clothing. He whined even sharper as he felt the roughness of the lace pressing against his cock, brushing against him with more force as he humped himself against you. It stung roughly and sent beautiful shocks of pleasure pulsing through him. 

“What do you want, pretty boy?” You breathed against his lips. 

Still desperate, needy for contact, he left a sloppy kiss on your chin before he spoke to answer the question. 

“C-Can I touch you?” He whimpered out quietly. “Please.” 

Your lips formed a wicked grin against him at this. 

“Anything over my clothes.” You told him. When his hands still hung limply at his sides, you threw in some encouragement. “Come on, baby, touch me.” 

You did have to wonder if he would have been bold enough to reach under the hemline of your dress - even if you hadn’t given him explicit permission. You wondered what he would have done if his fingers had gotten as far as your underwear. But with your instructions, he had full access to your ass and breasts and you were curious to see what he would do within the rules. 

You dove in for another kiss, boldly possessing his mouth with a commanding strength once again. He whimpered against your lips and - feeling as needy as he was, he eagerly followed your instructions and began feeling you up over your clothing. His hands started out humbly on your hips as your experienced, certain lips battled against his needy, rapid ones. But soon enough, he became anxious and impatient with simply grabbing on your love handles through the cotton of your dress, and he needed more. 

You yanked on his hair again and took advantage of his gasp-parted lips to shove your tongue into his mouth, your body pressed firmly against his with him leaning against the wall for support. His hands began to eagerly wander, consuming your flesh for the first time and truly getting a taste of what it was like to not just be commanded by you, but what it was like to be with you. 

He began grabbing the roundness of your ass in needy handfuls, his touch truly exploratory - he didn’t touch you with any skill, didn’t touch you like he was trying to get you heated and turned on. He touched you because he wanted to touch your body, badly. He was simply displaying his own hungry need for you without even considering shame in doing so. 

And that was something that caused you to moan into his mouth as you raked your tongue along his teeth. He even reached a hand up and shoved it between your two bodies, groping at your breast with absolutely no grace. He was digging his fingers into the flesh like he was trying to rip it off your body and possess it entirely. It was something so filled with need that it made you so damn hot, made your cunt ache between your thighs. 

You knew that you wouldn’t be able to end the day without cumming - whether it be with his help or simply having him watch and beg to touch you.

You had so many plans for him. And you couldn’t wait to see them all play out before your eyes.  

You felt his erection against your leg, throbbing with just as much need, and you felt that devilish urge rise up inside of you again. 

You pulled away from his lips with a wet smack, the realization hitting you once again that - yes, technically, you were in a public setting. The thought sent a thrill through you, but you had to be at least somewhat careful, lest you get caught. 

“You like touching me, baby?” You cooed against his cheek. 

“Yes, Miss.” He breathed out. 

When you opened your eyes partially, you had to contain a gasp. 

His glasses were fogged up. 

Just like something out of your fantasies, his glasses were clouded with steam from the heated exchange. But he didn’t seem to notice or care. From what you could see through the layer of dew, his eyes were screwed shut and he was far too focused on his lust. He was concentrating more on groping your breast with one hand and your ass with the other, giving small, aborted humps against your hip, clearly trying not to cum in his pants. 

Oh god. You wanted to see him cum in his pants. Badly. 

And it was rare that you didn’t get what you wanted. 

“You want me to touch you?” You asked, nosing along his long, beautiful neck. 

“Should - should we go home first?” He asked quietly. 

Clearly, he was still afraid of getting caught. 

“Hey, shh.” You breathed against his skin, causing him to shudder. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. You let me do all the thinking, baby. Just answer the question,” 

“Yes.” He moaned quietly. “I want-” 

You didn’t let him finish, and cut him off with another heated kiss. 

You distracted him with this, and he whimpered sharply against your lips the moment your hand was on him. 

You groped his cock harshly through his pants, your hand skilled in a direct contrast to the way his touch was clumsy and only fueled by need. You knew exactly what you were doing, knew exactly how to drive him where he needed to go. 

Your demanding touch closed the pink lace of the panties roughly around the sensitive skin of his cock. The feeling of it - being reminded of his little filthy secret, the thing that the two of you shared. That, on top of the fact that he had already been so close from the thrill of getting to touch you and grope you freely for the first time - that set him off so damn easily. 

He didn’t have a moment to warn you that he was cumming or ask for permission. The only warning you got was a pathetic choked off moan that came from the back of his throat before his hips jolted into your hand, and the stuttering movement of his legs was a sure sign to you that he had cum inside his pants. 

You pulled away from his lips to admire your work. 

His face was nicely flushed, continuing to add to the fog clouding up the lenses of his glasses. His hair was entirely messy and tousled, giving an absolutely sex crazed look to him even though he still had all his clothes on - clothes that were wrinkled and messy, adding even more to the look. His pants with a slight damp spot forming on the crotch as his load soaked through the thin fabric of the panties and began to soak into his pants as well. You couldn’t help but to give his sensitive cock an extra little squeeze through his pants, causing him to whimper harshly and shake at the touch. 

You loved seeing him so fucked out and pathetic. 

“I - I’m sorry!” He immediately began to apologize, reaching to pull down his vest in an effort to cover his crotch, as though wanting to hide the evidence of his orgasm that was rapidly soaking into his clothes. “I’m sorry, Miss!” 

Of course, he thought he had made some grievous misstep but breaking the rule - by not asking permission before he had cum. When it was something you had been gunning for, wanting him to cum for you. 

“Hey, shh, shh, it’s okay baby.” You murmured against his skin. “It’s okay.” 

Before he could think too hard about it or get too swept up in his emotions (and frankly, before the two of you could get caught in such a state) - you grabbed one of his hands and then dragged him out of the museum completely. You barely slowed from a brisk walk until the two of you got back to the car. Even with Spencer holding his vest down over his crotch out of embarrassment, if anyone took a second look at his wrecked hair, dewey glasses and kiss-swollen lips, they absolutely would have known what had happened to him, and you loved the thought of it. 

… 

You spent the entire ride home assuring him that he had done nothing wrong. 

It took a lot of soothing from your voice and a few well placed gropes to his crotch over the car’s console with your other hand on the wheel. This got him hard again, made him distracted from beating himself up for not being able to follow the rules explicitly. Instead, now he was focused on the way his throbbing cock felt swimming around in his own cum-soaked underwear. 

He didn’t need to feel guilty for not following the rules. You didn’t intend to punish him for breaking that rule, because he had just been too pretty while breaking it. Besides - you couldn’t imagine spanking someone so soft and new. 

You couldn’t imagine saying no to him. 

In all honesty, you kind of hated yourself for going soft. This would be the first time since you had become a dom that you hadn’t punished a sub for breaking a rule. But this wasn’t just any sub, this was Spencer. You couldn’t explain why, but he was just allowed to get away with things. He deserved to be spoiled. 

By the time you did get home, Spencer was breathless and filled to the brim with need once again. If his tears had been from self punishment and guilt at first, they were now from sheer need. He was desperately wringing his hands in his lap to keep from pawing at you because he felt that he had not been given permission to do so during the car ride. 

When you pulled into your parking spot, he looked over at you through his now clearer glasses lenses with big, wanting eyes. 

“You’re sure that you’re not mad, Miss?” He asked quietly, giving an adorably dramatic sniffle. 

“I am absolutely not mad, baby.” You told him. “It’s difficult to ever be mad at you when you’re so damn pretty.” You ‘booped’ his nose at this, and the smile he gave was so genuine that it made your insides glow with pride. “Now, what do you say we get you out of those soiled clothes and into something more comfortable?” 

“I - I didn’t bring a bag.” He said, looking over to his car across the lot longingly. 

“You didn’t bring a bag to the sleepover?” You cooed. “How silly, baby.” Spencer looked entirely downtrodden, as though all of his plans for the day were ruined. “I’m sure that I can find something for you to wear.” 

This conjured up a delightful image in your mind of him wearing more lingerie. But no, you needed to find him something comfortable instead. He had been good, and he deserved to be rewarded for it. You were sure that despite the size difference, he would be able to fit into some of your pajama pants with the waist tie knotted up a few times. Hopefully the waistband wouldn’t absolutely fall off him. 

He seemed more upbeat at this, and the two of you got out of the car and went up to your apartment, Spencer easily following your lead, as always. He carried your purse loyally, something you found to be a covert turn-on. You liked seeing the subtle ways he could serve you. 

When you got up to your apartment, you tossed your keys into the bowl where you normally kept them, and Spencer made a point of hanging the long strap of your bag on the coat rack - something you found so entirely cute. 

You then took Spencer to the kitchen to get him a glass of water to help him calm down. The entire time he drank it, you gently stroked his hair and told him what a good boy he was. This seemed to relax him entirely, which satisfied you on a deep level. 

Then, you grabbed his hand and steered him in the direction of the bathroom to help him clean up. With his shoes already ditched near the front door, you peeled off his blazer and threw it over the back of the couch along the way, not giving him a moment to speak about hanging it up ‘properly’ or whatever else was gonna come out of his mouth before you bustled him along to the next room. 

In your quaint apartment, the bathroom was at the end of the hallway, and he caught a small glimpse into your bedroom before you continued shoving him down the hall. He saw twinkling lights and pink silken sheets and felt his stomach tingle - it was nothing like he had imagined it, but he kind of loved that. 

Your bathroom was just as entracing. 

The tiles were pearlescent blue - obviously vintage, along with a clawfoot tub to match, and you had decorated everything with quite a beautiful sense of style to match. A floral blue shower curtain, a fuzzy blue bath mat, and a small golden cart in the corner holding all of your different products. Spencer had the urge to pick up the bottles and start smelling them, wondering if he could get more of your amazing scent right from the source, or if it was the unique, distinct combination of those products along with your natural skin oils that made you so intoxicating. 

You shut the door gently behind the two of you when you got him into the small room. He found himself pressed right up against the counter of the small bathroom vanity, his back to the ornate mirror and your back to the door. This left only a few inches of space between your two bodies as you looked up at him with a gentle, sweet expression. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” You told him. 

Spencer smiled at you. 

“And then, after you’re all nice and clean, I think you can have your reward.” You told him, your voice low and dripping with decadent promise. “You were a very good boy today.” 

“I was?” He said eagerly. 

Then, after a moment, he realized that he shouldn’t be questioning it. Because it was against the rules to question your judgment, and because you had just told him that he was deserving of a reward. 

“I mean - yeah, I was.” He quickly corrected himself, trying to sound confident in this statement. 

You let out a soft chuckle at this. Then, you gently grabbed his chin and pulled him into a soft, sweet kiss. 

“You were, baby.” You told him confidently. “You were a very good boy today.” 

You absolutely adored the look on his face as you said this. His features became so soft and hazy, almost as if he was drunk. Clearly he was so high on the praise, loving knowing that he had behaved well for you, that you were giving him your stamp of approval and that he was about to be well rewarded for it. 

“Do you know what you want as your reward?” You asked, curiosity bubbling up inside of you. 

Spencer’s eyes filled with equal parts glee and contemplation. This was such a mighty question. 

As the question hung in the air, you reached up and gently took off his glasses, placing them on the counter beside the sink. As good as he looked in them, you didn’t want to accidentally knock them off his face and break them while you were stripping him out of his clothes. You then reached for the bottom of his sweater vest, still reeking with curiosity as to how he would answer the question. 

He imagined all kinds of things - one of the obvious ones was of course, sex. Full blown intercourse. But something deep inside of him told him that he wasn’t sure if he was quite ready for that. Part of him feared ‘messing up’ and still felt self conscious - like he should perform well and impress you, even though you quite clearly took the lead and hadn’t been unimpressed with anything from him so far. 

Deep down, he did know that his first time would be comfortable, safe, and beautiful if it was with you. And truthfully, he didn’t want it to be with anyone else. He couldn’t picture his first time having intercourse if it wasn’t with you in his ear, cooing about what a good boy he was. 

But still, he wasn’t quite ready for that yet. 

You got the vest off over his head, humming a calming tune quietly under your breath - a sign showing him that you were okay with the quiet, giving him time to contemplate his answer. As much time as he needed. You got to work on the buttons of his shirt, slowly and delicately undressing him as though he were a precious doll. It was something that caused goosebumps to form across his skin. 

He thought more about it. 

So - he didn’t want to ask for intercourse. 

He definitely wanted to touch you more. He liked touching you - he loved touching you. He definitely wanted permission to touch you under your clothes, to explore your naked body. He thought it might be silly to simply ask for his reward to be ‘touch naked breasts please’. You might find that silly. 

No, he could do better than that. 

When you began to peel the sleeves of the shirt off his shoulders and it caused a quiet shiver through him, that’s when it struck him. 

“I know.” He said quietly. “I know now.” 

“You know what you want your reward to be, baby?” You prodded gently, gathering the fabric of the shirt in your hands and tossing it into the laundry basket behind you. 

Perhaps you would get up early the next morning and do a load of laundry to wash his clothes so he could have something to wear home. You were struck with the vision of him wearing a pair of your sweatpants and one of your big comfortable tee-shirts walking back to his apartment from your car. You wondered - if the two of you were going to continue having these ‘sleepovers’ if you should clear a drawer for him to keep some clothes at your place and vice versa. That seemed far too domestic in your mind, but it just made good sense, didn’t it? 

You were snapped out those thoughts when Spencer finally gave you his answer. 

“I want to give you pleasure.” He breathed out quietly. “You’ve given me pleasure. I want to pleasure you.” 

His choice of words was somehow utterly adorable and spine-tingling at the same time. He sounded like a dreamy paperback smut novel come to life. But as you reached for the buckle of his belt to continue undressing him, you had to ask for clarification, just to be sure. 

“What do you mean by that, Spence?” You asked, punctuating the sentence with the click of the belt buckle. 

“I -” 

He let out a hot breath as you pulled his belt completely from the loops and let it fall to the bathroom floor with a quiet ‘clunk’. His next words were paired with the sound of the zipper teeth on his trousers coming down. 

“I want to give you an orgasm.” He let out a quiet whimper when your hand grazed his dick as you worked the fly of the pants apart. “I want you to teach me.” He said quietly, his voice a lot weaker as he became dizzy with pleasure once again. 

“You want me to teach you, huh?” You purred. 

You became temporarily distracted from this thought when you peeled his pants down further and the most delicious sight was revealed to you. His cock, half hard and still trapped inside the pink lace - which was now stuck to his shaft completely with his own cum. Just as you had imagined in your fantasies, it was absolutely wet. Slick like a pretty pink floral second skin as it sat below his waistline, making his sticky pubes and his sensitive cock look even more sinful while he sat marinating in his own load. 

You couldn’t help yourself - you reached forward and greedily groped his cock through the lace. You went so far as to trap the sensitive pink cockhead between your fingers and wring the roughness of the fabric around it, knowing that it would get a reaction out of him. Spencer sobbed with overwhelming pleasure and bucked his hips forward, such a beautifully broken sound. When you continued the motion, he surged a hand up to grab your wrist as he twisted his body slightly away from you - clearly overstimulated. 

You stopped the roughness in exchange for a gentle petting of your fingertips, and you leaned in to nose across the skin of his neck once again. 

You surprised yourself when your next words flew out of your mouth, almost without restraint. 

“Hey, shh. It’s okay, Mommy’s just looking.” You told him in a hushed tone. 

The moment that the word escaped your lips - Mommy - your gut dropped with crippling fear. You thought that he would hate it or become disgusted by it. But he let out another whimper, and when you looked into his eyes, you were met with nothing but a sharp burning and a reckoning that he had absolutely no clue he would have liked to call you that up until then. 

You left the air blank for a moment, giving him time to adjust - time to back down from it if he wanted to. Or time to rise to it if he wanted it just as badly as you did. 

“M-?” He squeaked out, and you gave him patience. “Mommy?” He said quietly, testing the waters. 

He found that a warmth washed over him, and he liked it far more than he thought he would have. 

Your breath caught in your throat and you held back a moan. Your muscles shook slightly as you resisted the urge to jump him - to make him say it again, with more desperation, with more lust. There would be plenty of time for that, you told yourself. 

“Yes, baby?” You answered quietly. 

“Can I take them off now?” He asked, referring to the panties feeling damp and cold and uncomfortable on his skin at this point. “You said you had some pajamas for me?” 

You smiled at him. “I’ll take these off and clean you up a bit and then I’ll get you some pjs. Okay, baby?” 

He nodded. 

“Yes, M-Mommy.” He stuttered slightly, still wearing in the nickname - but he loved it. 

He loved how it was warm and comfortable and familiar, and much less formal than calling you ‘Miss’. 

‘Miss’ was a nice teacher, someone good at making rules, but ‘Mommy’ was someone he could make a home out of. At least he hoped that’s what the two of you were doing. ‘Mommy’ didn’t seem too strict about the rules, and honestly, Spencer liked that. 

You helped him peel out of his slightly wet pants and completely ruined, soaked underwear. (You would definitely be washing those for a future use.) You tossed both items into the hamper, and then peeled off his cute (once again mismatched) socks and tossed those aside too before you grabbed a washcloth and soaked it with warm water to clean him off with. 

The entire time you wiped down his cock, he let out sweet whimpers and gently bumped into your touch. By the end, it was almost difficult to keep him clean, because his cock was fully hard and leaking precum slightly as you smoothed the warm cloth over his lower tummy and made sure to gently clean off his balls. It was oddly adorable, him making a mess faster than you could clean it up. 

When you were satisfied with this, you tossed the cloth into the sink and gave him a kiss on the cheek, telling him that you would be back shortly with a change of clothes for him. 

It was only when he was standing alone in the bathroom that he felt exposed - only then realizing how truly well… naked he actually was. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to be embarrassed by it as he awaited your return. 

After what felt like far too many minutes for his taste, you returned with something pink and soft looking in your hands. 

The panties had been surprising, and while itchy, had made him feel… oddly pretty. He would be hesitant to admit it aloud, but you were already making him grow to like the color pink and how it made him feel. 

You unfolded the piece of clothing and held it up for him to look at. It was a pair of long pajama pants that obviously belonged to you. (Spencer worried that the waistband would be too large for him, even with the tie that was available). They were made of a silken, soft material that seemed like it would be very light and comfortable to wear. They were a rosy pink color, very girly and feminine. Very pretty. He also noticed that you hadn’t brought a shirt for him, but he supposed that he didn’t have to worry too much about that. You had already seen him naked. Twice now. 

“Good?” You posed. 

Spencer nodded. “Thank you.” He said, giving you a small smile. 

He felt that warmth coming over him once again when you helped him step into the pants and even pulled the fabric up over his body, going so far as to secure the tie around his waist, making sure the loose fabric wouldn’t fall off his hips. The thin, very unforgiving fabric easily showed every single detail of his cock through it - his hardness now perfectly outlined in pink, which only made the heat growing under your skin swell to a dangerous level. 

Lastly, you grabbed his glasses off the counter and put them back on his face, making sure that he would be able to see fully and pay attention during his next ‘lesson’. 

“There.” You said, giving him another sweet kiss on the lips. “Mommy’s good boy is all clean.” Spencer preened at these words. “And pretty as a picture.” 

You delighted in the obvious blush that this last comment drew from him. You couldn’t help it - you loved praising him so sweetly, especially if it drew those kinds of reactions from him. 

“Now, baby, I want you to go sit on the couch and wait for me.” You told him gently. “I have to go and put on something a little more comfortable for myself.” 

You held back a devilish smirk. Of course, he had to think that this would mean you were going to put on some casual cotton pajamas - something genuinely comfortable and not at all a fulfillment to the male fantasy. And sure, you felt comfortable in lingerie. It made you feel beautiful. 

That was part of the reason you were going to do it. 

That, and you felt the need to make everything special for Spencer. This was going to be the first time he saw you in such a state of undress. Of course, you could argue that him seeing you in your panties and camisole a few nights ago had been pretty much the same, and he had looked upon you like you were a goddess then. But it had been practically dark then and you wanted this to be well lit and truly a fantasy come to life for him. 

“Yes, Mommy.” He said, giving a small nod. 

He left and walked out to the living room, going to sit on the couch as you had instructed, and you felt a delightful mischievous streak as you went into your bedroom and picked out what you would wear. 

As you got dressed, you thought more about what he had said. 

He wanted to give you an orgasm. 

It would be very nice to have him inside of you. He had one of the nicest cocks you had ever seen - he was so long and beautiful, and seeing him inside of the fleshlight had caused you to imagine what he would feel like inside of you. 

But you knew that if you let him fuck you, he would be clumsy. He didn’t have the technique or experience. Or the stamina. That was definitely something you wanted to work on first. And with how he had reacted from cumming in his pants earlier that day - something you had wanted, he likely would have a crash and be terribly anxious if he came while fucking you and you didn’t get to cum first. 

Making you cum seemed to be his primary goal. 

That brought you to the thought of putting him on his back - riding him, essentially using him like a human dildo. It would be intensely hot - having him below you, completely at your mercy. Getting to listen to his moans and whines and getting to see him completely fucked out underneath you while his perfect cock throbbed deep inside of your pussy. It would be perfect. 

But - he wouldn’t learn anything that way. If he wanted to learn how to make you cum, it certainly wouldn’t happen like that. He would be fucked stupid and you would cum, and you would certainly enjoy yourself. But he would be brain dead and cum drunk. He certainly wouldn’t learn or retain anything from the experience. 

No - if he wanted to learn how to make you cum, and if he wanted to put his genius to good use, then there was one certain way to do it. 

You were fully satisfied with your plan. You took one last look in the mirror, and you were fully satisfied with your look, too. 

You had put on a push-up bra with a black and red lace pattern, something that displayed your breasts well. With the padding and the ‘push-up’ effect, it definitely gave the cartoonish, fantasy effect that you were going for. You had on the matching garter belt, which had a few lacy roses adoring it. You didn’t have it attached to anything, though you had considered wearing stockings, you didn’t think Spencer would like the texture of them. You thought he would much prefer to feel your naked skin against him. You simply liked the look of the garter belt hanging around your waist, accenting the plushness of your stomach. 

You also put on a pair of the matching lacy black and red floral panties - they were fairly cheeky, letting half of your ass hang out, and fairly sheer so that your trimmed pubic hair could be seen through the fabric in the front. And lastly, you had thrown on a sheer, long black robe over the whole thing, giving a very ‘Moulin Rouge’ look to the whole thing. Along with a pair of six black heels - the kind that hurt your feet and you would only use to, well - go to bed and keep your legs above your head while wearing. 

You looked like a sex dream, if you did say so yourself. 

Rather than walking into the other room to get Spencer, you went over to your bed and propped yourself up on some pillows in the middle of it, making sure the fabric of your robe was billowing and appealing around you before you called out to him. 

“Spencer, honey, I’m ready!” You called out. “You can come in now!” 

You heard him coming down the hallway and you swelled with eagerness, almost too excited to see what his reaction would be. 

When he pushed the door open, he immediately froze when his eyes were met with the sight of you. 

Standing in the doorway put him right at the foot of your bed, and he thought for sure - at some point between here and the museum, he must have died and gone to heaven. Framed by the twinkling lights that were wrapped around the head of your bed, propped up on a variety of fluffy pillows - you were an image of perfection. 

Your breasts were pushed up to your chin, especially with the angle you were laying at, so perfectly framed by the floral lace of your bra. There was so much for his eye to greedily consume, and he didn’t think he should be allowed to consume it all so shamelessly. The curved planes of your body, the beautiful, soft zig-zags of your stretch marks, like guides laid out for his tongue. The fabric showing just enough skin, showing off every curve of your womanly body, so thick and ready to dominate him at a moment’s notice. 

There was a gentle power in the way you were lounging back, framed by the black, soft fabric of your billowing robe - your whole body relaxed as you waited for him. It made him want to press his forehead to the floor in a bow to you, made him want to beg just for the precious permission to touch you. 

“Is - that-? Your-? Paja-mas-?” He squeaked out, every single word becoming a pitch higher, making his shock all the more apparent. 

“Kind of.” You told him with a giggle. “This is what I wanted to wear for my good boy.” 

“You - you wore this for me?” He swallowed thickly around these words, clearly in disbelief. 

If you weren’t mistaken, you saw his cock twitch inside those silken pink pants. You loved how even though the fabric covered him, the outline of his cock was so entirely visible. The band of the pants being loose had caused them to slip so low on his hips, even causing the top bit of his pubic hair to be visible as he stood there, entirely uncaring (and likely unaware) of it. 

“Yes, baby.” You told him. “Now, come sit on the bed.” 

Spencer rushed to follow your instruction, almost tripping over your bedroom rug in the process. That caused you to bite your lip, holding back a grin - you wouldn’t want him to think you were laughing at him, after all. 

Spencer gently sat on the edge of the bed with his feet still on the floor, his bum just barely grazing against your thigh. You found it adorable that he was still being so timid about making contact. 

You spread your legs wide, and gestured between them. 

“Come sit here.” You told him. 

“Oh.” He said quietly. 

He stood up then and looked at the space between your legs. His expression was very comparable to a man afraid of heights looking like he was about to take a dive off a cliff into deep water. 

“It’s okay, Spencer.” You assured him. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, remember?” 

“I know.” He said quietly. “It’s just - it’s all so new.” He whispered. “I - I want to be good.” 

You wondered if the last part was about his ability to behave and follow the rules, or… if it was about something else. 

“Spencer, baby, are you worried about impressing me?” You wondered aloud. 

The expression on his face at this was very telling - a flicker of embarrassment, his hands twitching as he ached to play with his fingers, wanting to distract himself from the conversation. 

“Look, I know you’re new to all this. I’m not expecting you to be some sex expert, or a porn star or something.” You assured him. “That’s why I’m here to teach you, baby.” 

“What if I do it wrong?” He asked, his voice still so timid, so small. 

“Then I’ll show you how to do it right.” You told him. “That’s why I’m here. I’m not gonna laugh at you, or yell at you. I’m just gonna show you what I like and how to do it right.” 

It should have been obvious. Someone of his talent, his caliber, someone who had everything come so naturally to him his entire life, someone who had accomplished so much at such a young age - he was terrified of tackling something unknown, something he was afraid to mess up. He was afraid of being a bad student. 

He had just enough time in the living room to sit and stew in those insecurities, and now you had to lovingly battle them. 

“Come sit with me, baby.” You urged, leaning forward to pat the space on the bed between your thighs. 

You scrunched up the fabric of your robe so he wouldn’t sit on it, and finally, he moved to crawl between your legs - kneeling on the bed with his feet tucked underneath his bum and his hands fidgeting in his lap. His knees were slightly brushing against your inner thighs, but he wasn’t sitting terribly close to you. That was something you left alone for now. 

You sat up slightly, leveling your body with his, and ran your hand along his arm, trying to soothe him. 

“So, you said you wanted to learn how to give me an orgasm, right?” You posed. 

Spencer nodded. 

“Come on, use your words.” You told him. 

“Yes, Mommy.” He said quietly, clearly still feeling insecure and hesitant. “I want that.” 

He could only imagine how beautiful it would be so see you writhing in pleasure - to hear you calling out his name as you orgasmed, breathless. To see your body arching up off the bed as he brought you to climax. He could only imagine the headrush it would cause him to know that he had caused it for you. 

“Well, I think the best way for you to do that is by using your hands.” You explained. “Stimulating me with your fingers.” 

“My hands?” He questioned, looking from you down to his hands in his lap. 

Honestly, it was never something he had thought about. Yes - he used his hands to make himself orgasm, but that was only because he was alone. The act of masturbation was more like a mind-clearing chore for him than anything. (Before you came into his life and turned all of his ideas about sex upside-down.) 

He did have to consider that you used your hands to stimulate yourself, to masturbate - but he had no clue how. 

But he guessed that would be part of the learning process. 

“Yes, baby.” You smiled eagerly. “And I know you’re gonna be good with your hands. You’re very skilled because you do all that sleight of hand and close up magic.” 

Spencer felt a rush of confidence at the praise, and couldn’t stop the grin that formed over his face at your words. 

“Well, you see, sleight of hand doesn’t actually require that much dexterity or skill, like playing a sport does, because it’s more so about practicing the same movement over and over again until it becomes ingrained muscle memory.” He explained, easily sounding in his element. 

You couldn’t believe how easily he had set you up for your next words. It was almost like he had walked into a trap. 

“Well, what I’m going to teach you is also about repetitive movements.” You explained. “And it will definitely become muscle memory for you over time.” 

Spencer smiled fondly hearing this. He was now more confident that he would be good at what you were going to teach him. 

“So… where do we start?” He asked, becoming that eager student once again. 

“Here, let me look at your hands.” You told him. 

He was slightly confused by this, but didn’t have time to question it because you snaked your hands under his palms where they were sitting in his lap. His dick had wilted slightly from the anxiety, so he was only half hard in his pants. But he let out a small whimper when you accidentally crazed against it as you took his hands in yours and lifted them up to get a good look at them. 

“It’s important that your nails are trimmed.” You told him, lifting his hands up close to your face to get a good look. “You don’t want your nails to be too long, or you might accidentally hurt me. And that’s just a general rule whenever you’re putting your fingers inside someone.” 

He became slightly intimidated at the idea of putting his fingers inside you, but he tried not to let it show. 

“I trimmed my nails last night.” He said, proud that he had done something good. “It’s a good grooming habit.” 

He didn’t want to bring up the fact that - per his germophobia, he always kept his nails trimmed because he was afraid of too much build up getting under his nails and making him sick (even though he washed his hands multiple times a day). But he was just glad he could do something to please you. 

You couldn’t stop staring at his hands. It was something you had noticed before in passing - but they were gorgeous. He had such strong, prominent muscles here. Long, thick fingers - he was going to do very well at this. Once he was well trained up, you knew you weren’t going to be able to go for very long without having those fingers inside of you. 

“Very good, baby.” You said, finally snapping out of your lustful revere. 

You raised one of his hands up and kissed the back of it. And then, continued on, kissing a path along his hand to his knuckles until you reached the tip of his middle finger. As natural as ever, you gently sucked his middle and ring finger into your mouth. Of course, you were just playing around, admiring. His hands were so nice that you couldn’t help but to have one in your mouth. 

“Oh,” Spencer moaned quietly. 

When you looked over at him, he was staring you down with lustful eyes. His lips slightly parted as his gaze locked onto the place where your lips drew his fingers in, taking him down to the second knuckle. You gently swirled your tongue around the digits as you enjoyed the thickness in your mouth. You could lightly taste floral soap on his skin and knew that he had washed his hands in the kitchen sink when you had sent him out to wait for you. 

After a moment of this, you pulled back, your lips separating from his skin with a wet ‘smack’. (Though you wanted it to be longer - you loved those fingers, you could have easily held them in your mouth for a long time). 

“Yeah, these are good fingers.” You assured him, giving him a deliberate wink. “You’re gonna be good at this, Spence.” 

Spencer shuddered with pleasure at this. 

You leaned back onto your pillows, making yourself comfortable while he watched in awe. 

“I’m gonna take off my underwear now. Is that okay?” You asked gently. 

“Yes.” He said, nodding eagerly. “Yes, Mommy.” 

You lifted your hips to wiggle out of them. When the fabric was at your knees, he naturally met you halfway, taking the panties down your calves and very delicately untangling them from around your high heels. He concentrated on the task in a way that told you he wasn’t even trying to take a premature glimpse at your naked cunt. It was entirely endearing. 

Once he had the fabric completely untangled from your shoes, you naturally moved your legs to bracket them around his body once again. This completely exposed your wet pussy to the cool air, and he stared at the underwear in his hands, clearly perplexed about what to do with it now. 

“Just toss it on the floor, baby.” You told him. 

He did so, and then, with nowhere else to look, his eyes locked onto your naked pussy for the first time. 

Paintings and pictures had shown him the scientific side or even the objective beauty of the female anatomy. But seeing you laid bare before him, adorned in lacy accoutrements - this was truly sexy. 

His blood ran hot, and his cock throbbed to full hardness in a dizzying record time as he laid eyes on the glistening lips of your pussy. Seeing how real you were - the way your skin tone faded from the shade that matched the rest of your body to the more raw, wet skin of your inner folds, clearly swollen with need. Your pubic hair, slightly trimmed and glossy with your wetness - everything about you was so real and it made Spencer’s cock ache. 

“Scoot a bit closer, baby.” You told him, hitch your knees apart further, spreading yourself open for him. “Can you see okay?” 

Your pussy made a wet sound as it spread open for him, and he let out a quiet gasp in awe as more of you was bared to his eyes. You were so beautiful, so raw, so perfect, so hot - he almost couldn’t handle it. 

You knew he was likely becoming too entranced to answer the question. With the way his eyes were so tightly locked onto your cunt, you guessed that - yes, he could see just fine. Just seeing the utterly entranced expression on his face caused a throbbing heat through you, you were sure that if he paid enough attention, he would be able to see the wetness actively dripping out of you. 

“Spencer, look at me.” You ordered sharply. “Look at Mommy.” 

Spencer forced his eyes up to your face, and you smiled at him when he managed to follow the order. 

“How much do you know about the female anatomy?” You asked him. 

“I - I’ve read books.” He answered quietly. 

“Good.” You told him, trying to be encouraging. “Do you know where the clitoris is?” 

“I - um-” Spencer looked down at your pussy and found himself suddenly nervous again, not knowing if he should touch you, or if he should point, or-

“You can put your hands on me.” You told him. “I’m here to teach you, baby. Let me be your… in-person diagram.” 

Spencer nodded. 

Then, as naturally as he possibly could, he reached down and put a gentle hand on the top of your mound. He was so feather-light that you had to forcefully hold back a laugh, feeling ticklish at the touch. With his palm mostly spread out mostly over your pelvis, he used a thumb to pull your pussy lips back. 

Then, he saw that very obvious swollen button staring at him. With the pointer finger on his other hand, he sought it out like a guided missile, entirely confident in his answer. Before he could truly think about it - he poked your clit with that singular finger, pointing to it as his answer. 

“There.” He mumbled quietly. 

“Oh-!” You breathed out sharply, your hips surging toward his touch. 

His touch had been so abrupt (especially after so much anticipation on your part) that it sent an unexpected shockwave through your body. 

Spencer immediately recoiled, believing that he had hurt you. 

“I’m sorry.” He quickly apologized. “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?” 

He drew back both his hands instantly, curling them up to his chest as if he had done something terribly wrong. 

“No, no you didn’t hurt me!” You quickly assured him, putting your hands up in a surrendering motion to drive the point home. “Everything is fine, baby.” 

“Then what-?” He asked, his voice very meek and small. “What was that?” 

“I’m sensitive, baby. My body is sensitive. And I wasn’t expecting you to do that.” You chuckled. 

Spencer gave a small frown, clearly believing he had done something wrong. 

“The clitoris has a lot of nerve endings.” You explained, giving a chuckle to try and lighten the mood. “That’s kind of the point. That makes things more pleasurable.” 

“Oh.” He said. 

After a moment, his body began to relax as he chugged with thought, his eyebrows knitting tight like they always did when he was pondering something. 

“Oh… so that was… that was a good stimulation?” He posed. 

“Yes.” You told him. “I want you to touch my clitoris because it feels good. It’s one of the easiest ways to make a woman feel good.” 

He nodded, and then he moved his hands to touch you again. But you had a thought first. You caught his hands halfway, and held them in your own as you spoke. 

“Listen first.” You told him. 

He looked at your face obediently as you explained it to him. 

“Typically, for women, there are two types of orgasms,” You put on your ‘teacher’ voice once again, and he relaxed and put his hands back in his lap, clearly eager and ready to listen, wanting to absorb the information to the fullest. “A clitoral orgasm or a vaginal orgasm. Can you guess what that means?” 

Spencer thought about it for a moment. 

“An orgasm achieved by clitoral stimulation versus an orgasm achieved by vaginal stimulation?” He posed. 

You grinned. “Very good. Good boy.” 

He grinned back, easily soaking up the praise. 

“So, it depends on the person you’re with, but generally, most women achieve orgasm through a combination of both clitorial and vaginal stimulation. And a good rule of thumb is to always ask someone what they enjoy,” You told him. He nodded at this. “And also, looking at someone’s facial expressions and body language can tell you if you’re doing well at stimulating them. It’s like profiling.” 

“Well… what kind of facial expressions and body language should I be looking for?” He asked. 

You found this oddly amusing. To you, it was obvious that a back arching and lots of moaning and an ‘O’ face meant good sex, but Spencer was truly just that fresh. He simply didn’t know. 

“Well…” You took a moment to gather a mental list for him. “Typically, someone makes a lot of involuntary body movements if the stimulation is good. Good sex stimulates your nerve endings, so it makes your muscles twitch, and it can even make your limbs flail around or make your back arch off the bed.” 

Spencer nodded, his face still very intense and thoughtful as he took this in. 

“And when people are enjoying sex, they usually make a lot of sounds. Gasps, moans. They might swear or call out your name. And most people do just tell you that they’re enjoying it,” You giggled. 

Spencer nodded again. Then he posed a thoughtful question. 

“What about facial expressions?” He asked. 

“I know it might sound strange… but, you’ll know an expression of someone lost in pleasure when you see it.” You told him. 

These words made his whole body tingle. And naturally, made him wonder what your face would look like when you were lost in pleasure. 

“What do you prefer?” He asked. “Do you prefer clitoral stimulation or vaginal stimulation?” 

“I prefer a combination of both.” You told him. “That’s usually what makes me cum the hardest.” 

“You mean ‘cum’ as in orgasming?” Spencer said, repeating back this vocabulary to you with pride. 

“Yes, baby.” You told him with a nod. 

He beamed at getting the answer correct. 

“I thought we could start with clitoral stimulation and then move on to vaginal stimulation.” You explained. “Usually it’s easy to… warm up with clitorial stimulation. It makes the vaginal muscles more relaxed before penetration.” 

You found it odd to be using such clinical terms - the words were so stiff in your mouth, but you supposed that it was the healthiest way to explain everything to him. 

Spencer nodded eagerly at this. 

“You should wet your fingers first. Maybe spit on them?” You posed - this was a selfish request, wanting the delight of seeing him suck on his own fingertips. 

“That doesn’t sound the most sanitary…” He said quietly, cringing. 

Hearing him say this presented a new goal in your mind - getting him so fucked out and pliant that mister ‘it’s actually more sanitary to kiss’ would let you spit directly into his mouth. 

You chuckled at his words, though. 

“Okay, well… there’s lube in the drawer instead.” You said, motioning toward your nightstand. “Like I said last time, there’s no such thing as ‘too wet’.” 

Spencer nodded eagerly and sat higher up on his knees to reach for the drawer. When he pulled it open, his eyes immediately grew wide at the array of… objects you had in there. Thick, veiny things, some round things he couldn’t even begin to propose the purpose of, something with small dots on it that looked like a cartoon tentacle-? 

Knowing that he would become too distracted by these things and want to start asking questions, you reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube and snapped the drawer shut while his mind was still racing. 

“Focus, baby.” You told him, putting a hand on his cheek and forcefully prodding his attention back in your direction. 

He definitely had a lot of questions about those things. But he would ask you those questions later. (Because he certainly wasn’t going to forget about anything he had just seen.) 

You handed the bottle of lube to Spencer. It was almost exactly the same as the one you had given to him and used with the fleshlight, except it was strawberry scented and the liquid was lighted tinted tinted pink as an association with the scent. It was your favorite to use with toys because the scent was absolutely delicious as a perfume in their air (and at this point, it was something you knew that you unconsciously associated with an orgasm). 

You were naturally wet. You were throbbing and needy for him. But you knew that it would be nice to be extra slicked up to help him along. 

After a moment of struggling (in which you pondered if you should interfere) he popped the cap, and then he looked from the opened bottle of lube to his hands. 

“Right, so-” He mumbled quietly. 

He poured a dollop on his extended fingertips that easily got carried away and dripped into his lap, and he gasped and began looking around for something to wipe it off his borrowed pants with. 

“You can clean it up later, baby.” You told him. “Things are gonna get a little messy right now.” 

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Right. Yeah-” 

Then, he looked back to the bottle in his hand, and before putting it aside, he poured a dribble of the pink liquid (likely more than he had intended) onto the top of your mound, causing you to gasp quietly as the coolness dripped down over your hot, needy pussy. 

“Is that good, Mommy?” He asked quietly, moving to put the bottle aside. 

“That’s very good, baby.” You encouraged him gently. 

“Okay - I - I’m going to - touch you now.” Spencer told you, announcing his movements in an entirely adorable way. 

You nodded. “I’m ready for you, sweet boy.” 

Spencer put his non-lubed hand gently on your inner thigh, and then angled two of his fingers back toward your clit again. This time when he made contact, he was much gentler, and you let out a sharp breath through your nose, warm tingles spreading through your pelvis at the feeling of him touching your swollen clit with such intention. 

With his middle and pointer finger, he began a strange sort of spearing motion, rocking his hand into your pelvis. He touched your clit as though it were a literal button he was trying to push over and over again in order to make you cum. The movement didn’t do much for you - except draw a slight stinging from the area. 

“Baby,” You caught his attention, drawing his eyes up from where he was intensely focused, staring hard at the place where he was touching your pussy. 

“Spence, it’s - it’s more like this,” 

You motioned with two of your fingers in the air, drawing small circles, demonstrating to him what he should be doing. 

“Sorry.” He mumbled quietly. 

“It’s okay, baby.” You assured him, reaching out and petting a hand through his hair. “It’s okay. You’re learning, right?” 

He nodded. “I’m learning. I’m gonna do better.” 

“I know you will, baby. You’re Mommy’s good boy.” 

This bit of encouragement and praise seemed to fuel him, and he took this new instruction with vigor. 

He went back to work using the motion you had just demonstrated and immediately, the difference affected you. His thick, cautious fingertips circling tentatively around your needy clit sent tingles up your spine, causing a warming glow to spread through your body that was slowly, but surely building up your orgasm. The beautiful artificial smell of the lube wafted through the air, and with the sight of Spencer in front of you, his forearm flexing slightly as he worked, it was all too perfect. 

You let out a gentle moan, and Spencer smiled. 

“That’s good?” He asked, looking from the spot where his fingers worked on your pussy up to your face. 

“That’s good, baby.” You told him, the stimulation causing you to become slightly breathless already. “You’re doing so good for me.” 

Spencer continued like this, running his other hand along your thigh, clearly feeling needy to touch and enjoy the softness of your skin now that it was freely available under his hands. His touch spread a warmth throughout your body that had you squirming under him, letting out more gentle moans under your breath. 

Spencer watched you in awe, so entirely pleased with the results. 

“You - you can go a bit faster, baby.” You told him, finding your throat slightly dry as your breathing sped up, more blood pooling in your needy cunt as his touch demanded it. “Speed up your fingers.” 

“Yes, Mommy.” He easily obeyed. 

Hearing those words in his sweet voice in addition to his touch, his fingers now moving in fast, delicate circles on your throbbing clit - it brought sparks through your body and caused slight tremors through your thighs. 

It wasn’t going to be the most earth shattering orgasm you had ever experienced, but it was going to be a good one, mostly because it was Spencer. Because you had him in your bed, calling you Mommy, wearing a pair of your silky pink pajama pants that his hard cock was now leaking a stain into. All while he concentrated on learning how to please you like it was the most important book he had ever read in his life. 

“Oh, Spencer!” You called out, arching your hips toward him. “Doing so good for me, baby! So good-” 

Spencer stopped his movements suddenly, and your voice caught in your throat as you looked at him with tense confusion knit over your brows. 

“What - what about the vaginal stimulation?” He asked. “You said you wanted me to do both, right?” 

You couldn’t hold back the breathy chuckle in your throat. 

If it had been anybody else, you would have immediately thought that they were edging you intentionally. But no - that wasn’t even a thought in Spencer’s head. He was simply eager to learn more, wanting to do the most to give you the best orgasm possible. He wasn’t content with mediocre. When he learned something, he wanted to be the best at it. And that thought caused any disappointment about your fading orgasm to be replaced by pride - you had somehow captured the best, sweetest boy, and you were going to use that to your full advantage. 

“Right, baby.” You said, still catching your breath. You swallowed to gather some spit in your mouth to talk properly before you continued. “Okay, you’re going to continue what you were doing with this hand, but first,” You said this pointedly, motioning to the hand that was unmoving near your clit, not wanting him to continue and impair your ability to properly explain. “You’re going to work your fingers inside me.” 

“What if I hurt you?” He asked, clearly timid at the idea that he might hurt you in any way. 

“You won’t.” You told him. “You start with one finger, because that’s smaller, so you won’t hurt me. And then once my body has adjusted to that, you can add another. So it won’t hurt.” You assured him. 

“So, I just need to use two fingers?” He asked. “Also, how do I know when to put the next finger?” 

“You can add three fingers.” You told him. “And I’ll tell you when to add the next one. And you’ll know because you’ll feel the muscles relax around you.” 

Spencer nodded. 

“So… what’s the best… kind of… movement?” He asked, awkwardly gesturing with his free hand in a way that made you giggle. 

He blushed with embarrassment at this, and you rushed to speak in the hopes that he wouldn’t feel awkward. 

“You’re going to move your fingers in and out. Like simulating intercourse. The repeated penetration feels good.” You told him. “Be gentle at first, and I’ll tell you if you should go harder or faster.” 

Spencer nodded. 

He began slow, gentle circles on your clit again, and you let out a small moan at this. And then he moved his other hand down, skimming the fingertip of his pointer finger along your folds until he felt it - that pulsing entrance waiting for him, needy. He thought he imagined it, but it almost felt like your body was trying to suck him in. 

“It’s okay, baby.” You told him, your voice gentle and encouraging, slightly hazy with pleasure. “You’re doing so good for Mommy.” 

These words caused his cock to throb inside of the borrowed pants, and feeling a pulse of confidence because of it, he pushed the thickness of his finger forward and breached your entrance with his touch for the first time. 

It was such a brand new feeling - having your wetness surrounding his digit, feeling your muscles clamping down on him. Feeling how hot your body was, especially compared to the lifeless coolness of a silicone fleshlight. It made him moan louder than the sound you easily trapped in your chest. You found yourself dizzied with a wave of pleasure at seeing his face so fucked out and hearing him moan like that because he was touching you. 

“You like it, baby?” You asked breathlessly, angling your hips into his clumsy, unmoving hands. 

Clearly he was so pleasure drunk and hazy that he had forgotten that he was supposed to be fingerfucking you. He was simply exploring, enjoying the feeling. You didn’t fault him for it, and you didn’t want to rush him, even with a filthy, needy ache growing deep inside of you. 

“You’re so warm.” He replied, his quiet voice edging between awe and another moan of his own. 

His eyes flickered between the place where he was touching your pussy and your breasts, heaving slightly with your labored breathing, and your face. Your lips dropped open slightly with pleasure, your eyes becoming glassy. He loved it so much. He loved you. He couldn’t get enough of this. 

“Your body is so hot.” 

You grinned widely at this. 

Maybe a huge part of the endearment came from the fact that you knew he meant temperature, and not the typical slang meaning your appearance. It was something that clearly surprised him, feeling how hot your pussy was while being in direct contact with it. 

“Thank you.” You told him. “Can you fuck me now, Doctor Reid?” 

“I - Right.” 

Spencer resisted the urge to apologize again, knowing you probably wouldn’t like it. And he tried to ignore how much it turned him on to hear you call him ‘Doctor Reid’ in this context. Instead - he set his attention on pleasing you. 

He concentrated on picking up a good rhythm - moving his fingers on your clit in circles while he gently drew back the other hand and began moving it slowly in and out, trying to penetrate you in a pleasing way. He instantly became entranced by the natural wetness dripping out of your pussy, covering his finger, his knuckles, spreading to his palm the more he moved his finger. He was fascinated by the way your muscles did seem to give way to him, your body opening up as if you wanted more. 

“Add another one, baby.” You moaned quietly. “Another finger.” 

So his instincts served him right. At least somewhat. He hoped that he could remember this for next time, and please you better with less of your instructions, working more off of knowledge and instinct like this. 

When he drew back his hand to do as you instructed, you added on some further advice. 

“It also works better if your palm is facing up.” You told him. “The curve of your fingers is working with my body, not fighting against it.”

Spencer had been prodding into your entrance, poking his finger into you in a more exploratory way - but he definitely understood this. 

“Yes, Mommy.” He said. 

He flipped his hand so that his palm was facing the ceiling, immediately fascinated by how sticky his wet finger was. Then he gently prodded forward again, his middle finger joining the first. He continued to draw circles on your clit - a rhythm that became clumsy and unfocused at times, because he was easily distracted by the feeling of your tight pussy clamping down on his fingers, trying to figure out how hard he should go. 

He was being incredibly tame, almost sloth-like in his movements, clearly afraid to hurt you. And he left you burning up, aching for release. The thickness of his fingers felt so amazing inside of you, better than you could have imagined - but he was so timid, and you hoped that you could draw more out of him. 

“Spencer,” You moaned lightly. “Go faster. Come on, be a good boy for Mommy.” 

You reached out and got a hand in his hair once again, gently cupping the back of his head and scratching your nails along his scalp. 

“Yes,” He hissed out, leaning his head into your touch. “Yes, Mommy. I’ll be a good boy. I’ll be so good for you.” 

He kept his eyes locked on you then, and, entirely fueled by the intense feeling pumping through his body, the pure need to serve you - he began pumping his fingers faster. Though it was clumsy at first, after a few moments, both of his hands fell into a natural rhythm with each other. His fingers circling your swollen clit became well timed with the thickness of his fingers pumping in and out of you, and in a few minutes - it became perfect. 

You went from letting out a few solitary sounds to every other one of your breaths becoming a moan, your lips perfectly parted, showing him how well he was doing. 

When he saw your heated eyes and your lips wrapped around those moans so perfectly, that was when he knew it - that was a face of desire. The one he would spend the rest of his days trying to recreate in you. 

“So good, baby.” You moaned out, your words becoming less durable as he stole them away with pleasure. “Go harder.” 

“Harder?” He warbled back. 

His wrist was beginning to shake, not used to this kind of repeated effort. (Truthfully, he wasn’t used to any more effort than hefting around a thick book for a while.) But he would keep it up for as long as it took to make you cum. He would do it until his arm fell off if he got to see you fall apart beneath him. 

“Yes, harder!” You confirmed, giving a firm tug on his hair to encourage him. 

Spencer let out a sharp whimper at this, and angled his elbow further between your thighs, trying to put less strain on the muscles of his wrist so he could do as you instructed. 

He began rubbing your clit with more urgency, and fucked his fingers into you even harder. He let out a moan as the sound then got to his ears - the wet slapping of his knuckles smacking up against the edges of your cunt, so rough and careless. He really was fucking you, he was taking over your body at your command, his touch was being used for your pleasure, and you were definitely being pleasured by him. 

“Spencer!” You howled, a sound that would stick in his mind forevermore. 

It was something that caught his entire body on fire in seconds and made his dick ache with red hot pin-pricks. He was surprised that he didn’t cum in his pants from that alone. But he was far too concentrated on keeping up the pace, fascinated by the way your pussy spasmed around his fingers, the way your thighs jolted and shook in a similar fashion that his legs had a few nights ago. 

“Oh, Spence! Good boy! Good boy, oh-!” 

You let out a sharp gasp and your head tilted back, and you seemed to gulp for air for a few moments while he continued to brutally fuck his fingers into you and rock his fingertips against your clit, angling your hips into the touches as though you were trying to get more from him. 

Though it seemed impossible, his knuckles were flooded with an even further wetness. And though he almost couldn’t bear to look away from your face, he did chance a glance down to your beautifully raw, fluttering pussy and saw that there was a distinct puddle of wetness on the sheets below you. You were the most gorgeous fountain he had ever seen. 

If he didn’t think it was out of place, he would have leaned down to lick you, curious about what your natural wetness tasted like. 

“Oh, Spence!” You squealed, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it almost seemed like you were trying to squirm away from his touch. “Oh - oh, baby! You can s-slow down now! You did - did s-so good!” 

Spencer slowed down, as instructed. And then - when he put it together in his mind, he gently eased off touching you entirely, feeling your pussy spasming and throbbing harshly under his touch. It was fascinating really, the way your body responded to him. He badly wanted to explore it more - explore it for hours uninterrupted. But for now, he had a simple question. 

“Was that the orgasm?” He wondered aloud. 

The unadulterated curiosity bleeding through his voice when he said this had you clenching hard around his unmoving fingers, so entirely turned on by the fact that he was just as awed by you as he was fine art or any thousand page encyclopedia. 

You couldn’t hold back the bright, breathless chuckle that escaped your lungs in response. 

“Yes, baby, that was the orgasm.” You told him. “What did you think?” 

“That was… spectacular.” Spencer told you, sounding almost as breathless himself. 

“You can pull your fingers out of me now.” You instructed, feeling slightly sensitive, unconsciously clenching around the digits and accidentally overstimulating your raw pussy in the process. 

“Oh. Right.” Spencer mumbled. 

He moaned quietly as he did so - loving the purely wet sound it made, like pulling away from a good kiss. He found himself in awe of the string of wetness that followed his fingers from your opening, like a thick string of salvia. He began rubbing his fingers together, studying it with utter fascination as you watched him with that concentrated look on his face again. You wondered how you had stumbled upon such a treasure of a man. 

Your eyes fell from his face to the prominent bulge of his cock still pressing into the front of those thin pink pants, the wet spot his precum made now even wider, and you immediately came up with a new idea. 

“Why don’t you touch yourself for me, baby?” You posed. “Your hand is already so nice and wet.” 

“Oh - I - I - should-?” Spencer stuttered out, looking from his glistening hands to the tent in his borrowed pants, a million thoughts flying through his very vast mind. 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay.” You soothed him gently. “Just tell me if that’s something you want. Yes or no.” 

“Yes.” He said, a desperate whisper on his lips. “Can - can you untie my pants for me?” 

You hummed in agreement and reached over, untying the well secured knot on the pants and then pulling the loose waistband down over his thick, excited cock, letting it spring out to hit his pelvis. He moaned quietly at this. 

“Make yourself cum for me, baby.” You encouraged him. “You were so good for me, you made me cum so good. Such a good boy. You deserve this.”

You began running your fingers through his hair again, something he seemed to heavily enjoy. Spencer - now wildly chasing his instincts, working on need alone and trying to push back all those doubts, reached out with those glistening fingers and gently dipped into your pussy again. The contact on your beating folds caused you to gasp, and Spencer shuddered slightly at this, mumbling out at an excuse. 

“I wanted-” He muttered quietly. “I just… wanted it to be wetter.” 

“Good boy.” You moaned out. You definitely didn’t want to discourage him from doing things like this. 

You wanted to mention the fact that there was a bottle of lube sitting less than a foot away. But clearly he had developed a fascination for your wetness, and you didn’t want to stifle that fascination in him or embarrass him. 

Spencer then took those slicked up fingers and stroked them across his cock. Just the knowledge that it was your wetness, the essence of your pussy touching his cock - that had dizzying waves fluttering through him that almost had him crumbling to fall on top of you. 

It took all of his remaining composure to stay upright. He was so furiously turned on that his cock was leaking precum like a sputtering faucet. He easily took advantage of that, cupping his hand into a well-known grip around his shaft and spreading that natural lubrication down from the sensitive, leaking cockhead to the rest of his dick. This caused his neglected, needy cock to easily light up and unconsciously buck into his own hand. 

“‘s too fast,” He whined out. 

His face took on a desperate frown as he continued to pump his hand over his cock almost mildly, almost as if he were afraid to go harder. 

He looked so beautifully wrecked - with his brows creased downward and his lip caught between his teeth, with that messy hand pumping his own leaking cock. 

“Too fast?” You asked, unsure what he meant. 

“It’s - it’s not-” He stuttered out, his brain becoming scattered and wordless to describe the feeling rushing through him. 

“Hey, shh,” You scratched your nails against his scalp again, grounding him. “Use your words, baby. Come on, be a good boy.” 

“Mommy!” He whined, his hips bucking forward desperately into his own hand, wetly smearing precum to the point where it became noisy. Your pussy throbbed at this and you resisted the urge to reach down and touch yourself, not wanting to distract him. 

“Baby, come on. Tell Mommy.” You ordered firmly. 

He sniffled loudly before he attempted more words. 

“Gonna end too fast.” He whined sharply. 

He sounded entirely petulant - as though he were truly upset that he was going to cum too soon and the night’s activities would be over. As though the two of you didn’t have plenty more nights to play. 

“It’s okay, baby.” You told him, reaching a hand over to thumb across his cheek, wiping away some of the frustrated tears that had escaped. “You did so good for me. You’re so good.” 

“I want more.” He whined out, clearly frustrated. 

“Mommy will always give you more.” You assured him. “But right now, you’re gonna cum for me.” 

He let out a wounded noise, some kind of protest, but his hips jolted as he continued to fuck his own hand. You had him right there. 

“Cum for me.” You demanded, your voice dark and demanding. 

It was a command he absolutely couldn’t ignore if he tried. 

“Mommy! Oh! Oh!” 

He let out a sharp cry as he came, and pumped himself through it. 

Neither of you had considered where he was going to cum. On his knees in front of you like that, he ended up in the perfect position to spill his load right onto your exposed cunt. Just like the last time you had played, he exploded with a massive power. Though he didn’t seem to have any care for where he was angling his cock or what he was cumming on, simply continuing to chant ‘oh, oh, oh’ under his breath with his eyes beautifully screwed shut and his mouth wide open, delicately pumping his hand on his cock to ride his orgasm all the way through. 

Thick, white waves of his cum landed on your pussy - startlingly warm, almost blazen hot compared to the cool air of the room. Something that easily made you moan, especially when paired with the beautiful sight of his orgasmic face in front of you and the way he so carelessly fucked himself, clearly only wanting to achieve his own pleasure and not caring if it was a good show or not - which was what made him so damn beautiful. 

When Spencer had milked himself dry, his cock starting to go soft in his own hand and the pleasant tingles becoming more like harsh pin-pricks of overstimulation, he put a hand on the wideness of your thigh for support, his muscles shaking. And then he finally opened his eyes. 

He felt even dizzier when he saw the sight before him - your gorgeously lingerie clad body and naked pussy now covered in the thick white of his spend. A small voice in the back of his head wondered if you could get pregnant from this, and another told him that - yes, it would be good if you did. You would look so good pregnant with his child. A child the two of you made together would be smart, beautiful, charismatic, brilliant and perfect in every aspect. 

He hadn’t even fully acknowledged that he was in love with you yet, but that was the moment he knew for certain that he wanted you to be the mother of his children. There was no other woman in the world who would be comparable to you - no other woman as perfect for the task. 

(He didn’t know that you were on oral birth control, so it didn’t matter if he had cum inside you - you weren’t going to get pregnant. Not without intending to.) 

“Oh, did I-?” He motioned toward the mess, seeming worried. 

Before he could apologize for it, you reached your fingers down and began lightly padding through it, and Spencer let out a wrecked moan at the sight. 

“You did such a good job, baby.” You told him, still entirely certain. 

Before he could comprehend it, you brought a finger up to your mouth - one covered in the combined essence of yourself and Spencer, and curled your tongue around it, moaning at the taste. Spencer could do nothing more than make unintelligible noises, and you giggled as you released the finger. 

“Good boy.” 

Spencer was dizzy and hazy from all the pleasure, and there was only one thing on his mind. 

“Can I have a hug now?” He asked, his voice still sweet and soft. 

“Yes, baby. Come here.” You spread your arms wide and Spencer practically launched himself at you. 

He laid completely on top of you, and you wrapped your arms around him, stroking up and down his back lazily as you enjoyed the peaceful calm of his breathing. 

After only a few moments, you felt him start to fall asleep like that. His muscles turned to jelly, and his breathing came out in long, soft puffs. He looked so adorable nuzzled into your breasts that you didn’t want to wake him up, even if the drying mess between your thighs was becoming uncomfortable, and you knew that he definitely wouldn’t want to sleep in it for too long. 

You continued petting your fingers through his hair gently. You would wake him up in a little while and get cleaned up, you assured yourself. 

You definitely weren’t falling for him, feeling things that extended far outside of sexual attraction. 

Nope. Definitely not.

...

Note: This is a Capsule Series, so each fic can be read as an individual oneshot. There is no overarching story, and no specific ending.

I am not currently working on a continuation of this, and I don't know when I will be. If you enjoyed this and you want to see more from me, I highly encourage you to check out the rest of the works on my Criminal Minds Masterlist.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Lesson Learnt Pt. 2 | John Price x Reader

Summary: After the initial incident that caused your meeting, Johnny sets you and Price up on a date at a little diner nearby.

Word Count: ~ 2.5k

Warnings: can’t say much w/o spoilers but random men, ghost being moody, Johnny being overly friendly, working in customer service…

A/N: idk what happened something possessed me when I made this, it was supposed to be fluff but then it exploded. hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist

Weeks had passed after the initial incident, and your life had quickly changed.

You’d broken up with your toxic boyfriend, now wondering how you hadn’t seen it earlier, and why you hadn’t listened to all your friend's advice and thoughts on him. You’d moved out, blocked him on everything, and found a new apartment closer to your simple job as a barista. It was enough to keep the bills paid, for now. At least until you finally got out of college with your doctorate in nursing science.

Having been in college for nearly eight years now, and not living in the dorm (there were far too many incidents on campus for you to trust any sort of campus police, not to mention the generally shady system of coverups) made it a little bit harder.

Student loans were threatening to suffocate you, but for now, you would focus on one day to the next. All of this, the annoying days that drug on, or the hard times, would all be memories before you knew it, and it would be worth it. Or at least you hoped.

Today wasn’t one of those super slow-moving days where customers were ordering hyper-specific drinks or getting the suspiciously old lemon cakes, only to complain about how stale they were, as if you could do anything about it. No, today was relatively normal, customers minding their own business after ordering, coworkers having idle chatter.

“M’ taking my lunch break.”

You said to your close coworker, Laney. Her honey-brown eyes shifted over to you, and she nodded with a little smile.

“Don’t take too long, might miss some cute boys.”

She teased, knowing full well all of your opinions on relationships right now. You wanted to wait until you had a stable income and were out of school. She’d heard it only about a million times. You huffed a soft laugh, deft fingers untying the knot in your apron as you set it up on a hook, walking out to your car.

Lunch break was about 30 minutes, which was more than enough for you to drive to the nearest cheap restaurant and pick something up. Clicking your key button and heading towards where you heard the beep of your car, you opened the door, sliding into the worn leather. It wasn’t a new car, not by a long shot, but it was your old faithful, and it had served you well for nearly ten years in a row.

You started the car, muscle memory kicking in as you drove to that place right down the road from your work. It was past the chicken shop, a place you would refrain from visiting for a while after seeing some undercover cops staking out there one night.

You turned and pulled into the parking lot, glancing around before opening your door, only for the cold air to nip at your bare arms, when you decided to slip on the warm leathery jacket, with the fur on the inside. The one that the man, John, maybe, had given you. You’d lost the piece of paper with their numbers on it to the washing machine, but oh well. He didn’t look like the type to live around here, anyway, so it wasn’t like you were going to see him again.

Walking into the restaurant, you strode to the front, placing a quick little order and paying with your card, before choosing a small circular table in the corner to wait for your food. This place was usually quick. You idly scanned the guests. Two large men sitting together, chatting. An older woman and what was probably her husband seated with a younger man and woman. Maybe some sort of family double date? A nervous-looking teenager sitting alone, knee bouncing. An old, thin man seated at the far end, mumbling incoherently to himself.

Not unusual.

You pulled your phone out, idly scrolling through social media before your name was called, and you got up to go collect your food.

~

“You sure?”

“M’ tellin’ ya, it’s exactly what Gaz said she looked like.”

Simon glanced out at the girl his sergeant seemed so certain about. He wouldn’t lie, you did match the description pretty decently. Just as he opened his mouth to point anything out that fought against Johnny’s claim (just to spite him, obviously, not because he liked watching Soap get all frustrated and start rambling on for an hour on end), he noticed it.

“She’s wearin’ cap’s jacket.”

Johnny’s brows rose as he snuck another glance at you. You grabbed your tray of food, walking back to the small little corner where your bag was on the seat. You were wearing their captain’s jacket. The brown leather, the slight fuzz in the sides and insides, the buttoned pockets….he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it earlier.

“Hell’s bells, been wonderin’ where that thing went.”

Simon only gave a little grunt in reply, eyes narrowed on you before he glanced back at his food. He didn’t want to seem a creep. He already knew he was intimidating enough to the normal civilian, and one of his “I-want-to-eat-your-firstborn-child” glares (named by Johnny and Kyle) probably wasn’t helping.

“Sounds like Price’s found ‘imself a pretty birdie.”

Johnny lit up at those words, a devilish grin lighting his features, one that Simon usually only saw before he demolished buildings or people with explosives. He was already dreading it before it came out of his mouth.

“We shoul’ set ‘em up on a date.”

“No.”

“Don’ tell me it wouldn’ be a good idea. Might keep him from giving us so many sprints at training, yeah? Ya know he’s been overworkin’ us lately…”

The slight pause Simon took was all Soap needed to continue spewing his disarming, convincing words that usually always worked on his Lieutenant. His lips further curled into a grin as he went on.

“He’s been so tense lately, jus’ let us do this for ‘im, help him relax some…”

“Fine. Get on wit’ it.”

Simon finally relented, suddenly finding his food very interesting to look at as Johnny got up, striding over to you with a confidence one could only expect from the Scotsman.

He glanced up, trying to subtly watch as his sergeant approached you. You were on a call with someone, the phone held up to your ear by your shoulder while you ate your fries, the main entree of your order already gone. When Johnny walked up, you immediately sized him up.

Paranoid. Simon didn’t blame you, living on this end of town. The only reason he and the guys stayed here was for the cheap flats they could get when on leave for a few months. Price had a little house more up South, but never visited it much, letting it gather some dust.

You took the phone from your ear, muttering something to whoever was on the other end, and hanging up. You raised a brow at Johnny, who in turn gestured to your jacket and struck up a conversation. Johnny was trying to look unthreatening, he could tell. Sitting down so he wasn’t standing over you. A small, easygoing smile. Trying to make you laugh, and succeeding a bit.

Five minutes in, and you were seeming more comfortable with him. He wrote something down on a napkin from your table with a pen in his pocket, handing it to you, giving a teasing wink which you snorted at, and walking back over to his and Simon’s table with a huge smile.

“Wha’ did you just do?”

Simon asked, suspiciously eying Soap.

“I set our cap’ up with a date.”

He beamed, and Simon only sighed, knowing that Price wouldn’t take it too well to be sent on a date with a girl he’d only just met a few weeks ago. A girl that hadn’t texted him since. But maybe, just maybe, it would go decently.

~

That had been one of the strangest encounters in your life.

A Scottish man introduces himself as a friend of Price’s, saying something about working together at their jobs and telling you he recognized the jacket you were wearing. So much for not ever seeing John Price again, considering his friend had just set the two of you up, and given you the man’s number too. All the while the gruff-looking man had sat at Johnny’s table, watching the interaction.

It had made you more than a little nervous, but nothing had gone bad. The Scotsman had been friendly, and even funny, but not pushing too far.

And now you had a date on Friday night.

When you got back to work, off of lunch break, Laney helped you into your apron, tying the knot for you like she always did.

“You’re late, what took so long?”

She knew you weren’t usually ever late. Always on time, punctual, even. You managed your time properly.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

She grinned at that, nudging you with an elbow as you started taking orders.

“C’mon, spill it.”

And you did.

You began with the incident a few weeks ago, which she’d mostly already heard about, then told her all about the Scotsman and his friend, and finally the date on Friday. Right when you were about to finish the story, you felt your phone buzz, and you took it out to check it despite usually keeping it on Do Not Disturb. A text from an unknown number, but you knew who it was.

“Sorry for my muppets bothering you, they don’t know how to keep their mouths shut.”

You snorted in undignified laughter, replying while an older customer complained, mumbling something about ‘this generation and their phones’.

“I’m assuming you’re talking about Johnny?”

“Yes, the one that barely talks in coherent English.”

“Aw, he was funny. I liked him.”

“Don’t go liking him too much. We apparently have a date on Friday.”

“I’ll see you there, then?”

“See you there.”

You finally silenced your phone, slipping it back into your pocket as you went back to work with a noticeable pep in your step and a warm, fuzzy smile you offered to customers.

Laney certainly noticed.

When your shift was over, ending quickly, she talked to you while walking out to the parking lot through the back exit.

“I can help you get ready for the date, if you want?”

She offered. You’d be stupid to deny, with the impeccable makeup and fashion sense that she had.

“Sure, I can swing by at 3. That’ll give you plenty of time.”

“You have any shifts the rest of the week?”

“Barely. Just little half-times I squeezed in between lecturers. Last year’s always the busiest.”

“See you Friday, then.”

You beamed at her, sliding into your car as she walked to your own.

“See you Friday.”

~

Some of the days passed in a blur, some dragged on slower than ever before.

Eventually, though, Friday rolled around, and you were sitting in your friend’s chair as she did your hair, your makeup light, but good. You were wearing a simple outfit, some clean jeans, and a cute brown sweater over your white shirt.

It was 4:30, and you had only thirty minutes to haul your ass out to the nice diner the both of you were meeting at for dinner.

“It’s fine, I need to go. Seriously.”

Laney gave you a look, but reluctantly started putting all her things away. You hugged her, mumbling thanks in her ear, before grabbing your purse that had all of your things in it and walking to the exit of her quaint home.

You drive to the diner, finding the parking lot to have the familiar old car you’d seen Price driving in the first place. You parked got out of the car, and walked into the diner, only for the server up front to inform you that you’d already been paid for, and she led you to a table where Price was seated.

He’d tried to dress nicely, you could tell. Beard combed and hair done, dressed in jeans and a comfortable-looking dress shirt. He gave you a small smile as you slid into the booth, and there was already a tray of crinkle-cut fries in the center.

“Hope you didn’ mind that I ordered, big fella like me needs a lotta food.”

He said with a chuckle, and you grinned.

“I don’t mind, trust me, my older brother devours food like no other.”

He smiled, a little bob of his head before his brow raised in mild curiosity.

“You got a brother?”

A nod.

“Yeah, name’s Gary. He’s quiet, but we love ‘im for it.”

“Me and the boys are just about brothers, wish they’d be quiet for once.”

You snorted at that, taking a sip of your water before the waitress came by and you ordered your meal. Price’s was the first to come out, he’d ordered a full English breakfast that the diner somehow served, despite it being around dinner time. Yours came out next, and you both idly chattered about your life, family, jobs (he was apparently military and off on leave right now, not that you minded), and whatnot.

When he was about more than halfway through his food, his phone began buzzing, and his face went serious as he held a small finger up to you with a slightly apologetic expression, taking the phone call.

He listened, and you simply continued eating your food, not minding. Everyone had to take important calls every now and then, sometimes it just wasn’t avoidable.

He gave a few gruff yes’ and no’s, before sighing as he replied for one last time into the phone.

“I’ll be right there.”

When he clicked off the call, shoving his phone into his pocket, he gave an apologetic look.

“It’s an emergency, can’t stay. ‘M sorry.”

You nodded in understanding.

“Is everything alright?”

You asked, and he nodded, face set in what looked like a grim determination. He called a waitress over, paying the bill before you both got up. He gave you a light pat on the shoulder as you both walked out, right before you went to your car.

“We could do this again, if you’d like. With no interruptions.”

“I’d like that.”

He breathed an audible sigh of relief at that.

“I’ll text you when I can.”

Before he began walking to his car, getting in. You walked to yours, opened up the driver’s side door, and slid in before you saw his jacket sitting on the passenger seat. Cursing to yourself, you grabbed it, having it in mind to go take it to him before he left.

Before you could move, though, a hand clasped over your mouth.

A cold prick of pain in the back of your neck. Liquid.

“Don’t scream.”

A voice warned as if you could make any noise at all with a hand over your mouth.

An overwhelming sense of heaviness overtook you, and your vision began swimming, before turning black as your eyes fluttered closed.

“What’re we getting ‘er for?”

“Bargaining chip.”

Tags:

@yearninglustfully

@ashy-kit

@theoslove

@mayoforthewin

[lotus-tower]

it is horrific what we’re allowing to happen to children right now. if covid causes cognitive dysfunction and decline in adult brains, what impact will it have on small brains that are still developing? many children who are too young to even be vaccinated are catching covid, as well as a whole host of other opportunistic infections. children can get, are getting, long covid. children aren’t sick often because it’s “normal” or “good” for them—they’re sick often because they’re more vulnerable than adults.

children have no choice but to be sent to schools where they get sick again and again. they don’t have the ability to distance themselves from their parents and establish boundaries, they’re entirely reliant on their carers. if their parents do not believe in covid prevention, they have no means to protect themselves. they don’t have the ability to consent to what is happening to their health.

schools are not just allowing children who are sick to attend class anyway, they’re borderline mandating it. schools as an institution care more about meaningless attendance records than about students’ wellbeing. the classroom is an environment where all factors incentivize students coming to school sick.

there are horrific accounts from parents about kids being sick 24/7, never having energy, struggling with schoolwork. there are horrific accounts from teachers about their young students being different these days, unable to handle the usual schoolwork, showing signs of that classic covid “brainfog.” i’ve seen evidence of schools making their tests and criteria much easier in order to maintain an acceptable pass rate instead of addressing the actual core problem in the slightest.

i often think about a comment i read once about how someone knew it was fucked when no change happened after sandy hook, when the US decided and enshrined the fact that children were acceptable sacrifices. this is how it feels. this isn’t just about the US though. children are getting reinfected with covid again and again worldwide. this is about the entire next generation.

they didn’t choose any of this. they have no power to stop this whatsoever. none of us consented to this, obviously, but children most of all. most of them don’t even have any idea what’s happening to them, and won’t for years.

there needs to be a push for schools to adopt better covid prevention measures, like better ventilation and air filtration. but even more crucial, and much more difficult, is to do away with the ideology at the core of how schools are designed. just like how workers deserve sick leave, children need to be able to stay home when sick. no jumping through hoops for a doctor’s note to be accepted, no strict time limit. schools obviously know that 1 student staying home sick is less disruptive than 20 students being sick and unable to do their schoolwork. they know the math, but they aren’t after efficiency. just like companies know that happier workers are more productive. that’s not the point. it’s more obvious than ever what is choking our societies to death on every level.

i’ve seen university unions who’ve won teachers the right to demand masking in their lessons, the right to have air filters installed in their classrooms. the same needs to happen for K12 schools, especially since young children can’t advocate for themselves. parents could theoretically wield a lot of influence as well—but let’s face it, most are uninterested in or actively hostile to the idea of better air for their children. efforts to combat this need to be organized, sustained, and coordinated.

imagine how current children will feel once they grow up and look back and realize that their health was compromised before they even learned to speak, that they were born into a sick world, that they were born to be sick, not inevitably but because people preferred things this way.

[ceesimz]

I Did It All.

"Alexia Putellas, what do you have to say about leaving the pitch for the final time?"

Twenty years done, not enough. Twenty years more, too much. A discrepancy far more complex than it needs to be.

Days spent treading the same grass that legends of the past had once done, winding and weaving fluidly through near faultless defences, roars of awe following as stars returned back to their rightful place in the sky with each jump of celebration.

Nights spent in clubs and restaurants, surrounded by people high on glory with medals around their necks, a privilege some may argue wasn't warranted. Though, when stadiums filled to their capacities chanted just one name over and over as if it was the holiest sacrament of Catalunya, fighting against that was as close to blasmephy as one could get.

To now slip off into the unknown, leaving behind only a name that no longer gave way to the presence of a figure the fields didn't deserve. The future would never know her, only her name, only her stats, only her achievements. Perhaps it was best to keep it that way.

Decades of critics speaking in such a way it was almost sacrilegious, months of shame in the media for purely being a human in the worst era of her life, weeks of slander and insults for fighting for rights in a system built to spite her, twisting her kindness into a weakness. But always, the rightful figure rises, pulling the sword from the stone and raising it to the skies in triumph. The crown could get heavy, but not once did it falter. Not once did it fall.

With the final few imprints of her boot studs as she stepped off of the turf, she simply relinquished the responsibility and handed the legacy over to the next generation, trusting them indefinitely to carry the honour in the same way she did. It wasn't just the handing over of a torch; it was the exchange of a rite of passage, a way of life, and a promise to uphold the standards of excellence and righteousness she had engraved into the sport she gave her life to. This passing of the baton wasn't solely focused on the end of something though, no, it was the beginning of something far more important than people could understand. It was time for the up-and-coming stars of the sport to take the pen and write their own chapters into the history books, encompassing the opportunity to build something even more empowering than those before them.

Allowing the armband she had worn with great pride to slip off her arm, she shed the weight of a thousand battles, all of the lessons she had learnt from each victory and each defeat now etched into every fibre of her being. The world watched as she exited the field for the last time, an understanding wordlessly divulged between millions at the recognition that this was a landmark moment.

Kaleidoscopes of nostalgia flitted past her eyes as if it were an old film roll, freeze-frames of time portraying unimaginably euphoric moments. Only for them to never be experienced again. Though every cheer, every chant, and every image of a shirt worn with her legacy stitched into the fabric of it, flooded through her veins, and would for evermore.

The high regard her peers held her to, whether she had come across them on the pitch time after time or never met them at all, was a testament to the irremovable mark she had left on the beautiful game. Other countless memorable figures that were desperate to meet her, brands desperate to work with her, all these examples of her undeniable impact.

Alexia Putellas never cared about being immortalised in her sport. She was just a girl from the outskirts of Barcelona, chasing a dream with her loved ones holding her hand along the journey. Some of those hands had slipped away as time went on, but that meant she only gained more guardian angels to watch over her. With a family as tight-knit as hers, each member past and present a constant reminder of her purpose, she never lost faith. Sure, there were moments where it faltered a little, but no matter how much people tried to make a mockery of her failures, she would step back up; each comeback better than the last.

Her longevity was unrivalled, performing to the highest standards near enough all the time, even when others didn't deserve to witness it. Still, she gave away every part of herself to a sport that tried to silence her and failed to give equity until the latest moment possible. Always undervalued and unappreciated in her place of work, but did that stop her? Dampen her spirits? No, of course it didn't. And she had ample evidence to prove it; awards, trophies, medals, and most importantly to her, an easier path paved for those following in her footsteps.

The final chapter was about to finish though, the book of a near flawless career soon to slam shut.

Football would feel the loss of her absence, but like the story of Ozymandias, the dust will blow over and erase her stature, the nature of the sport will run its course and she'll be a figment of the past. Her time had come, and she had done everything and more of what she needed to do.

She moved from an ever-present figure to just a silhouette with a few steps.

Here, now, at the crescendo of a note-worthy career run, there was only one way to answer such a question.

"I did it all."

[lenaboskow]

i'm bored at work so here's an updated list of everything tommy kinard has ever said or done that makes him a bad person who hasn't changed/learned from his mistakes (even if he's not being inherently/explicitly racist anymore) (before you come at me for saying people can change, here's my previous pinned post from 7x05 that explains how he hasn't. i go into it more here about the back half of the season, but all of these points still stand)

season two

chimney begins

the first thing tommy says to/about chimney is "did you forget to tip the delivery driver?". if it wasn't for the fact that they had asian food delivered and chimney is asian, this could've been passed off, but instead they chose to have the first act of racism/general harassment be done by tommy, not the racist captain.

then when they return from a call and see chimney dutifully cleaning, tommy says to chimney: "you're still here?". not inherently racist, but still rude

we get some montages of chimney being left out/harrasef, and tommy is always at the forefront. it culminates in the locker room scene where tommy says "i don't think about you enough to hate you", which again isn't inherently racist but it is rude.

at the end, the only way chimney manages to earn a semblance of respect from tommy is by saving his life, which is fucked up. you shouldn't have to save someone's life to he treated with dignity. but fine, maybe tommy learned his lesson, right?

wrong

hen begins

at the beginning, tommy, chimney, gerrard, and a few others are standing up in the loft while hen walks in. gerrard says a few racist/sexist words, and chim stands up for her. tommy just stands there, not even looking like he might want to say something. not saying something when it happens is almost as bad as doing, and obviously chimney, who'd been there a shorter time, was brave enough to stand up for her.

then tommy, during a meal, tommy says about hen: "new york bitchiness is a compliment?". there's no non sexist explanation for this comment

actually that entire meal, he ignores chimney's attempts move the conversation away, which says a lot

again, general enabling of the racism and sexism

during hen's "see me" speech, tommy looks pissed off to be there, and then proceeds to look annoyed when he apologizes to her at the end of the episode (if you can even call it that)

post begins episodes

now, we don't know a whole lot about how hen and chimney interacted with tommy after the events of their begins episodes, but we do know they weren't close enough to keep in touch after. chimney loses touch for two years immediately after he leaves, and by season seven hen forgot that tommy worked at harbor. i don't know about you, but that doesn't seem like behavior for people who worked closely for ten years.

season seven

7x04

this episode was from buck's pov, so it's actually the time where tommy is the most tolerable. that doesn't mean he doesn't have his moments, though:

calling buck "kid" and "evan" is a weird way to introduce a love interest. tommy calling him "kid" shows that tommy is aware of the age difference, which as i explain here is at least the same as buck and abby's (and here why that screenshot of tim saying he's 40 is irrelevant). also, tommy calls buck "evan" with no on screen explanation, and we know that lou was explicitly told tommy isn't "allowed" to call him buck. you know the only other characters who aren't allowed to call him buck? his parents. that's all I'll say.

we don't really see much of tommy again until the basketball scene, and then it's focused on buck and eddie anyways, so the next time we see him and buck really interact is the loft scene (which is telling about who buck was trying to get the attention of, but that's a different conversation). in this scene, tommy makes a condescending remark about how "we weren't trying to make you feel left out" and "eddie can have more than one friend", which... again, brings us back to the age difference because it sounds like (in context) that tommy is reprimanding a child. having them kiss right after that was definitely an interesting choice (in terms of their relationship)

7x05

oh the date. i have so many feelings about this. we know that tommy knows buck isn't out, because buck told maddie they purposely picked an out of the way spot, and despite the face tommy made at the comment, he didn't seem surprised when buck told him it was his "first date with a dude" (it seemed more like a "i already know this, you don't have to repeat it" face). because of this, the way tommy acted when eddie showed up and freaked buck out has no excuse. the closet comment? even if tommy didn't know buck wasn't out and decided he didn't want to date someone who wasn't out, he shouldn't have made that comment knowing it could out buck to his best friend, who he clearly wasn't ready to tell. lucky for buck, eddie's an idiot (affectionate) with a one track mind (buck) and didn't register the comment.

then we have tommy leaving buck at the curb. leaving the date isn't the problem, it's the fact that he didn't tell buck until he got in the uber, which obviously upset buck (though he was admittedly more upset over lying to eddie). the rest of the episode is spent on buck coming out to eddie, and we don't see tommy again until buck is apologizing for the date, which... why should buck have to apologize for not being ready to come out? buck did nothing wrong on the date. if you just figured out you were queer and hadn't had the chance to tell your best friend before they accidentally crashed your date, you'd react the same way, don't try to tell me otherwise. it was tommy who should've apologized, plain and simple.

7x06

the bachelor party. tommy's excuse for not dressing up made no sense to me... he was obviously going to have to change anyways, so why not put in a little effort for your date? i see people saying that only eddie put effort in, but henren was dressed too, just more subtly. tommy chose not to dress up, and made a half hearted excuse of "they had henleys in the 80s" (which you would know, wouldn't you, 70s baby?)

then we have tommy leaving, which fair he's on call, and we don't see him again until the hospital kiss. this is the only time we see tommy look remotely interested in buck the entire episode (every other time he has an rbf face, even when they're hugging).

7x09

we only see tommy during the medal ceremony, and he still manages to say something to piss me off. "enjoy it while it lasts" because he can't indulge his boyfriend for two seconds. it's becoming a pattern, i'm afraid

7x10

the date scene was a weird way to end their s7 relationship. buck was opening up about his trauma, tried to find middle ground by saying "so we both have daddy issues" (nothing in the context made it seem sexual, in fact i didn't realize until tommy made the joke, so it's possible buck didn't either) and then tommy says "i don't" despite admitting that he did only a few seconds before. buck says with a slightly resigned (barely there, but still there) tone, "but you think i do" and tommy responds with "god i hope so". any other context and it would've been fine, but buck had just been talking ahout how his father figure literally died and came back to life. there's a post somewhere (pretty sure it was an ask someone sent me actually, if i can find it i'll link)that talks about how buck has a habit of going along with his love interests to avoid causing waves, and how that's exactly what buck was doing in 7x10, and it makes perfect sense. if buck had a problem with it, he wouldn't immediately say. he'd sit on it for weeks before even considering bringing it up (like natalia and death, and how he avoided taylor in s5). even if he wasn't uncomfortable, it doesn't take away from the fact that the timing was weird and buck wasn't in a good headspace to respond properly.

in conclusion

tommy is repeatedly a bad person. just because he hasn't said anything racist or sexist since season two, it doesn't negate this. you'll notice that almost all of his scenes are here, if not all. the writers have chosen to have him repeatedly look bad and like someone who only cares about himself (with the way he constantly tries to defend his actions by blaming gerrard, and how he only cares about his feelings about being out), but the bt stans are too excited at the prospect of two white men kissing (or just two men and they don't care who, thus dumping eddie, it depends on the bt) that they choose to look past it and hate on ryan/eddie instead.

these last three months in the fandom have felt so different compared to the rest. the fandom i knew pre s7 would never act this way. is it because lou is a nepo baby? i know it's not because of his looks. but either way, i'm disappointed, and hope s8 treats us (fans who actually care about the characters and don't actively want less for them) better

(if i missed anything, let me know and i'll edit the post to add it)