#also 'adjacent' is so amusing to me

[wackywatchdotcom]

see, if you look thru my art, and if you read the fic i eventually post ud think i hate caine bc i do not depict him in a flattering light but i do not in fact hate him even remotely. frankly he is so fun and a character i greatly enjoy and who makes me laugh a lot

[crescentfool]

doing things outside of your usual is such a humbling experience...

[nereidprinc3ss]

diva

in which flirty!reader shows up to work in a bad mood and it’s spencer’s job to deal with her attitude. not that he minds. (bandages universe)

fluff warnings/tags: fem!reader, mentions of reader coming to work from a casual hookup, flirting, lots of teasing, the BAU being silly geese bc this is before all the trauma, insecurities about reader's job performance, spencer wants to be a cyborg, borderline cuddling hehehe a/n: nanana diva is a female version of a hustler (bandages!reader theme song) no but really i just missed them so much lowkey always accepting requests for these two!! I hope you guys likeeee bc i loveee them and also this was based on a request so i hope u see this LOL

As soon as Hotch calls wheels up in thirty you’re slumping forward, resting your head on folded arms. The to-go cup on the round table in front of you has long been emptied but you look at it longingly anyway. 

Morgan chuckles, slapping his folder down on the table next to you. “Aw, look at that. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

“It’s Sunday,” you groan. “It’s seven in the morning. Excuse me for not being ready to carpe the diem.”

“It’s just carpe diem,” Spencer interjects, standing and slipping his file into his bag. You sit up and give him the most indignant look you can manage, though it’s hard when you’re this tired and he’s that cute. Slacks. Sweater vest. Button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. An enviable waist. 

“Whose side are you on?”

He frowns, brushing a tuft of shining-clean brown hair out of his eyes. 

“If I was on anyone’s side other than my own it would cease to be their side. We’re all always on our own sides.”

“No, you’re on my side. Defend me.”

His brows only dart up and he looks back down to his bag. It’s a look you know well. Don’t get me involved. 

Morgan spins in his chair to face you, one elbow resting on the table. 

“I’m just saying, if this is your Sunday morning, I’d love to see your Saturday night, little miss forty five minutes late.”

“You heard Hotch say he called me half an hour earlier than everyone else. It was technically fifteen,” you frown. “And I… was at church.”

Rossi gestures at you with his coffee cup. “You step foot in a church, your shoes are going to start smoking.”

Your jaw drops. 

“Wow. I thought old people were supposed to be sweet. Come on, Spencer.”

Spencer knows better than to put up a fight as you get up and grab him by the hand not holding onto your cup and folder, dragging him to the bullpen to sit at your desk until the team is ready to go. 

He stands in front of you, hands in pockets, as you plop into your own chair. “I… can’t tell if you’re actually mad.”

“I am. At you. For not being on my side.”

Spencer sets his bag down and leans against the adjacent desk, arms folded. You stopped caring a long time ago if he’d notice you ogling the long, lithe lines of him. Maybe you never really cared, if you’re being honest with yourself. He’s a little harder to scandalize these days, anyway. But you’ll never stop trying. 

He bites his lip thoughtfully. 

“If you’re mad at me, why am I the one you dragged down here?”

“I’m not taking questions, Reid.”

He hisses. “Ouch. Reid.”

“Mhm. That’s how mad I am.”

“Okay, grouchy. Do you want a refill?”

You borderline pout, continuously perplexed by his kindness in the face of your insolence, but holding out your hollow cup for him anyway as you slouch lower in your seat. 

“Don’t call me grouchy.”

“Then don’t call me Reid,” he says, taking your cup as he passes, and you think you sense the faintest wash of amusement coloring his tone. 

The jet doesn’t do much to put pep in your step. 

“Aberdeen,” Morgan muses, letting his file closed on his lap. “Isn’t that where, uh, Kurt Cobain grew up?”

Spencer sits down in the chair next to you, setting the day’s third cup of coffee in front of you on the small table. “It is. It’s also where Washington’s first suspected serial killer William Gohl resided.”

“First of many,” Rossi amends. Reid nods. 

“In the US, Washington State comes in fifth place in terms of serial killers per capita. Some blame a widespread vitamin D deficiency. Just under eight hours of sunlight in the winter, the least in the contiguous United States.”

Emily gives an abhorrent rendition of a famous Nirvana riff, imitating a twangy electric guitar, before gesturing to your boss. “Hotch, you’re from Seattle. Did you ever get into Nirvana? The whole grunge scene?”

Hotch lowers his folder, giving her an unimpressed look. “Did you?”

While the exchange is amusing, the coffee is not perking you up and you’d like to be slightly less upright, if possible. You bump Spencer’s knee with your own, and he looks over at you obediently. 

“What’s up?”

“I wanna move to the couch.”

He nods and gets right back up. When you pass, and he doesn’t immediately follow, you turn around. Maybe the lack of sleep has rendered you unable to hide your look of contempt as he tries to sit back down. 

“What are you doing?”

Morgan snorts. “Uh oh. Lapdog almost forgot his training.”

“I am not a lapdog,” Spencer defends, giving Morgan a harsh look of his own, before following you, much to the amusement of the rest of the BAU. 

“Don’t listen to them,” you mutter as you step aside to let him pass. 

He settles into the corner of the couch. “I almost never do.” When you cozy up next to him, he seems surprised. “Um, hi?”

“I’m cold. You’re warm.”

“This is… unprofessional.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh my god. They don’t care.”

That’s enough to shut him up. Eventually he relaxes, and though he doesn’t put his arm around you (they remain crossed in front of him) he doesn’t seem too distraught over the way you’re leaning against him, head on his shoulder. The sky is a soft grey where you can see it through the little rectangles lining the far wall, like a pale tea with plenty of milk. 

“What’s up with you, anyway?” He asks eventually, gingerly, and though he’s bold to ask it you know the last thing he means to do is offend. Luckily for him, he’s your soft spot. You let your eyes flutter shut against the boxes of diffuse light. 

“Tired.”

“I know that. You’ve had three cups of coffee and you’re still about to fall asleep.”

“Well… that’s all it was.”

“Mhm.”

“God, you’re—” you lift your head, about to give him a good old fashioned verbal lashing, but he’s so sweet looking, and he’s so kind to you even when he’s not, that you deflate—all your air coming out on a sigh as you settle back against him. “I… was… not home, when Hotch called me.”

“Yeah, you said you were at church?” He sounds utterly bewildered. Your heart melts, and you can’t hide the fondness seeping from every pore as you look up at him through your lashes. He really is so beautiful. 

“That was a joke, Spence. I was with a friend.”

His brows knit and a faint blush tinges his cheeks. 

“Oh. I knew that.”

And he really is getting better at detecting your brand of sarcasm. One day you doubt you’ll be able to pull any over on him, and he’ll stop being so adorable and bashful and embarrassed and sweet all the time. You don't relish the thought.

“What were you doing this morning?” You ask, in a bid to quell the very embarrassment you covet, because you’re not actually a demon, despite what Rossi had implied earlier. 

“Sleeping.”

You hum. Imagine taking his hand. Don’t really take it. 

“Me ’nd you should hang out outside of work more often.”

“Like… in the mornings?”

“Uh, probably not,” you laugh, your own face heating at the implication he’s only sort of and undoubtedly accidentally making. “I mean—we could. We could have breakfast sometimes.���

“I like breakfast,” he muses. “I know a couple of good spots. I can show you when we get back. There are these ube pancakes that are like bright purple on the inside. Have you had ube? I think you’d like them. The pancakes and the tuber. They’re the same color as your laptop case.”

You giggle, too tired for anything more dignified and too charmed for anything less authentic. Spencer has a moment of apparent self-awareness and after a second chuckles along with you, and like 99% of your moments with him, it’s a nice one. 

It slowly fades, and you sigh. 

“We’d probably get called in right in the middle of breakfast.”

“It’s always a possibility,” Spencer agrees, and you feel him nod. He smells really nice—clean and sort of cedar-y. Warm. 

“You ever think about how we’re just… robot arms to do the bidding of the federal government? We’re not even people. We’re cyborgs.”

“I’d love to be a cyborg.”

“But then you wouldn’t be so warm and comfy.”

“If I were a cyborg I could install a heating element. I’d still be warm. I don’t know about comfy. Maybe if I kept the biomechatronics to one side of my torso.”

“You’d install a heating element just for me? So we could keep cuddling?”

He clears his throat. You smile to yourself. 

“Why are we cyborgs, exactly?”

“Because we don’t get personal lives. The job comes first. I could be doing anything. I could be in the middle of eating bright purple pancakes with my good friend and colleague Spencer Reid and it doesn’t matter. If we get called in we have to leave.”

“If we were in the middle of breakfast, we could just… take our food to go and finish it at our desks.”

“Well—I guess it would be different if it was us, but with my other friends… it’s kind of a bummer, sometimes.”

You’re thinking about the friend you left this morning. Nobody you’re particularly invested in, but you wonder if that friend is still asleep in bed—and you realize you don’t much care. You’re glad to be here, and not there. 

“I think if the job didn’t feel worth it to you, you would’ve left by now. But you haven’t. You can complain all you want, but you show up every day.”

You scoff. 

“Fifteen to 45 minutes late, depending on how you look at it.”

“That is… atypical. You’re usually on time.”

“Usually…” you repeat darkly. A moment passes. An uncomfortable insecurity begins to bloom and ache like a rotting tooth. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Do you think…” you falter, unused to this kind of vulnerability. A cloud swallows the jet and the cabin darkens into a place for secrets. “Do you think I’m worth the trouble?”

You know Spencer senses the unease like a sheepdog can sense a storm from the way he perks up next to you. He’s always been like that—incredibly attuned to the moods of others. You hope he doesn’t think profiling is just another of many learned skills. It’s a genuine talent, a sort of savantism in its own right. You can’t imagine him doing anything else as passionately as he does his job. Sometimes it almost makes you insecure. 

“What trouble?”

“Like… Hotch having to call me half an hour earlier than he calls the rest of the team. Or you, accepting my constant teasing. I know I’m—I can be kind of a diva. I don’t always really feel as professional as you guys. Or… qualified, maybe.”

You can imagine the way he’d narrow his eyes as he thinks this over, though you’d still like to see it for yourself—but you keep your head on his shoulder. In a way, he’s already getting a closer look at you than you usually grant to anyone. 

“I think… you’re good at your job. And you care more than you’d like to admit. That thing you do—where you sometimes show up a few minutes late, or you piss Rossi off on purpose, or you flirt with Hotch—I think… we all have things like that. We all self-sabotage, because it’s a really hard job, and I think we all wonder if we’re really qualified for it, or deserve to be in these positions, or if we even want the responsibility of trying to save people’s lives. But you’re a genuinely good person and a gifted profiler. And everyone else knows it, too.”

The deep thrum of the jet’s engine blurs the rest of the team’s incomprehensible chatting and the pounding of your heart into one big muddied streak of paint. Hopefully Spencer can’t feel the heat of your cheek through his shirtsleeve. 

“Oh,” you murmur. 

A moment passes. 

It’s a relief when Spencer’s anxiety comes bubbling up before your own can. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“No,” you hurry, “no, it was—no. That was really really nice of you to say. Thank you, Spencer.”

He relaxes. “Well… it’s all true.”

How could anyone ever deserve him? How does anyone get lucky enough to know a man like Spencer Reid?

When you burst through the other side of the cloud, the sun has come out. It burns away the milky early morning fog and makes your eyes ache just enough to finally wake you up. You blink and stretch against him like a cat. 

“Spence?”

“Hm?”

“I just want to clarify… I don’t flirt with Hotch. I flirt with you.”

[tinystarbites]

accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired

(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)

HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333

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Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.

“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“

“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.

“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”

Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?

“Therapy sessions?”

You just- ignore him.

“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“

Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.

He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“

You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.

“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.

Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.

“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-

You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.

“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”

You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.

“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.

“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.

Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.

“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.

You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.

“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”

“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.

You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“

“You.”

You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-

You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.

“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”

And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.

“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.

“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.

“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.

“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”

Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.

It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-

“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”

Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.

Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.

Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.

It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.

Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.

“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.

“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”

Youryouryouryouryour-

Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.

“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”

It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.

“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?

You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.

“Sure. Whatever.”

And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.

You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.

“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.

Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.

“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?

There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.

You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”

Oh.

Oh.

You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.

Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.

It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –

A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.

He never knew he needed this so much.

“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.

Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.  

“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“

Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-

Why?

Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?

There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?

“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-

Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?

“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.

“Spencer.”

The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.

He loves it.

“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.

Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.

You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.

He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-

“You like me?”

You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.

“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.

“You- You want me?”

Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.

…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?

“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”

Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-

“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.

He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?

“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-

“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”

Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.

“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.

Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.

Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-

It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.

A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.

“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.

“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”

And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)

You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.

You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-

It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.

“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.

He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”

ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”

“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”

And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.

“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.

Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”

At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.

You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”

And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.

“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“

“Hey, hey hey whoa. Spencer, darling. Penguin. Look at me, please?”

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-

Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-

“Baby, please.”

Spencer sobs.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.

“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.

Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.

“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”

Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?

“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”

He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.

He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.

Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.

“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.

He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”

You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-

And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-

He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-

“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.

You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.

He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.

You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –

“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“

You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”

Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”

He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.

“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.

“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”

You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”

“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.

“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.

Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-

“Please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“More?”

“More what?”

Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.

“More touch?”

Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.

You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”

He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.

“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.

“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-

“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-

“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”

You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”

The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-

It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.

You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.

The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.

Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.

But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.

Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.

“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.

“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.

You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.

You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.

You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.

You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.

When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.

“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.

“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.

You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”

That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.

“Words, angel.”

“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”

You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”

He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.

There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.

You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.

Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.

When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”

“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.

It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.

Probably the first reason.

He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.

Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-

“Take it off?”

You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”

Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.

Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.

Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.

He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-

“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.

You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.

Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.

“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”

Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.

Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.

Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.

Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.

Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-

fuckfuckfuckufuckfkcufuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkc-

You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-

“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”

It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-

He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.

“What do you say, sweetheart?”

There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.

“Yes, I want. Please.”

You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”

Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.

“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.

“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).

There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”

Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”

You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"

Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-

“Yes. That.”

“But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.

“Rossi? Rossi?”

“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”

Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.

He adores you with every fibre of his being.

“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”

And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”

You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.

Ah well. It was still worth it.

“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.

But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.

“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.

“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.

“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”

Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-

He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.

With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.

He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-

“You ready, baby?”

He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“

“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.

It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.

You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”

He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.

“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.

“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.

You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.

That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.

“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”

He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-

“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”

The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.

“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”

Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-

You give a particularly hard thrust and-

Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.

He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.

“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.

“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-

“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.

You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”

“Killing me with sex?”

“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”

He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.

“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”

Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.

“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”

He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.

Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-

“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”

He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-

“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.

“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”

Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”

You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”

Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?

“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.

You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”

“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.

There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.

--

Bonus

“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”

Spencer chokes on his coffee.

“What?”

“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”

Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.

“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”

Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.

“Shut up, Morgan.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @wasitforrevenge @wannabewolf @tommorecommendedfics @winterhi09 @theoraekenslover @chaewondrful @okeyhoezayy @busy-buzzing @laurakirsten0502 @redros3y @trashxqueen @kitty-kei @so-long-daisymay @hayleythecannibal @jsnsnsnszjzj @reeidsluv @kayane28 @moonysreid @desperately-seeking-serotonin @munsonslunchbox @tul1p-mimi @anuttellaa @pinkgomie @elizabethmidnight2017 @evrmorets @cyanidebitsg @bangchansdog @pinterestwhore145 @some-one-yiu-dont-kno @emma-e-a

i hope these work lmao, also let me know if you wanna be on my eternal tag list for any future Spencer fic ;)

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Late Night

Pairing: Dark Hawks x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

SUMMARY: Keigo hates threatning you - only when necessary.

WARNINGS: Implied Kidnapping; Threats.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

–

"Hey, c'mon, don't cry..." 

He tries, tentatively reaching with a hand but instantly stopping at the abrupt increase of your sobbing. 

"Y/n? Babe, pretty please..." he sighs, rubbing his tired eyes, "Let's just go to sleep, yeah? It’s getting late and I have to wake early tomorrow."

"Leave me alone." you howl the words out, as if you're a wounded dog. You feel like one, to be fair. Bunched up in a corner of this huge room, face contorted as you cry ugly tears and snot. 

It's only been a week since you were taken from the comfort of your life, and you still can't stop the aching pain that burns your heart whenever you think about it. 

During the day, it’s slightly more manageable to pretend that it’s fine, that you’ll eventually escape him, that everything will be fine.

But as soon as the dark cast of the night hits, it’s like all the overwhelming weight of sad reality starts to wear you down. 

You’re so tired of him. You just wanna go home and hide underneath the safety of your blankets. 

“Babe….”

Keigo sighs once again, leaning back at the adjacent beige wall as he runs his fingers through the blonde hair. 

"Hate to ask, but any chance you can speed this up? Not to the part where you relentlessly beg to go home, to which I'll say no - obviously." Keigo says with such normality as if he’s asking you to turn the lights off.

"Also not the part where you cry your pretty eyes out for another 20 minutes, yell shitty things, threaten me, and so goes on…”

You gulp, with a new batch of tears forming as he tilts his head to the side, lips curling into a half-smile as if your despair amuses him. 

“... but yes to the part where you finally shut up with the hysteria and we go to bed.”

You tearfully glare at him, indignation flaring up at his nonchalant words. 

“I hate you. You kidnapped me!" you continue, half-choking in your own tears, hoping the hatred and anger in your face is enough to show him just how much you hate him. “I hate you!” 

Keigo dismissively shrugs his shoulders, despite the new tension in his jaw as he glances at his wrist watch. 

“I’m not the bad guy here, babe.” 

“You-” 

“If I was the bad guy…” he interrupts you, an unpleasant glint in his eyes showing that deep your words didn’t sit right with him. “...right now I’d be punching a hole into your pretty face for being such a brat. Or maybe I’d be ripping your tongue out with my bare hands, so you won’t speak bullshit like that. Maybe you’d like that better?” 

Your eyes widen at that, body freezing as fear takes control of you. 

For most times Keigo is laid-back and chill, but times like these are the ones that remind you that he’s just as dangerous as a villain is. He could easily hurt or even kill you within seconds, and there was nothing your quirkless ass could do to stop him.

You are at his mercy, much like you’ve always been ever since he took you. 

You hate how helpless you feel. 

Keigo notices your mortified reaction and walks closer, crouching in front of you. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you, babe.” he says with a jovial tone. “But I really need you to behave, ‘kay?”

His hand elevates and he ignores your flinch as he brushes away a few tears. 

“Enough with the tears, you’re too pretty to be cryin’ like that.” he smiles, hand lowering to grab your forearm.

He stands up, pulling you with him towards the bed. 

“Now, let’s go get our beauty sleep.”  

[gloomunson]

The Set Up

Yeah, took me 11 months to post again, mind your business.

Smut bc of course it is. You and Eddie get set up on a blind date.

Word Count: 9847

You’d only really been told a few minor details about your date this evening.

He’s tall.

He’s loyal.

He’s easy-going.

He’s a lead singer in a band.

He’s tall.

Unsurprisingly, you were desperate enough to accept the date regardless of the brief description. He’d certainly matched some of it this far. He was tall all right. Towered over you in the brief moment he walked over to the table you’d already been seated at near the bar. He was pretty too. He was prettier than a bride on her wedding day. His lashes long and fluttering, lips full and glossy, eyelids glimmering with what looked like the remnants of eyeshadow that he must have second guessed and wiped off before he arrived. He had the hair of a rockstar, long, dirty, curly, windswept and effortlessly styled, though it must have taken him years of practice in his bathroom mirror to achieve that look, you were thankful he’d taken the time.

A few decent looking guys rolled through the bar during your wait. Some tall, some short, some certainly rockstar adjacent, none of them would quite have made the same impact as he had. But at least they’d arrived more closely to the meeting time set. He arrived 36 minutes late. You tend to be pedantic like that when you’re anxious. You thought about going home. You thought about drinking alone. You thought about chatting to one of the other guys lingering around too, but then he arrived.

He arrived strolling in like he owned the place, and you’d forgiven him at first. The leather jacket and the ring clad fingers taking away some of the pain of both his lateness and then the initial first date awkwardness. The apology wasn’t half bad either, he looked genuinely embarrassed and he looked at you with those wet brown eyes if his, the slightest glimmer of glitter at his lash line and you’d somewhat succumb to his efforts. But 30 more minutes into it with a maximum of 8 sentences said between the two of you, you couldn’t fucking fathom how this man had lead a band or gotten anywhere so far in life. He had nothing to say. He had the personality of a plank of wood. If the cocktails didn’t kick in soon, it was a wasted journey. You were rooting for him too.

You’d been trying. Small talk was exhausting but you’d at least attempted to cover the bases. You knew he was late because he got the train tonight. That he’d somehow at 28 years old never gotten one before. That he didn’t quite understand the correct platforms, scrambling and missing the first train of his. That he should have looked it up beforehand. The only reason tonight was the night he lost his public transport virginity was because his friends had warned him to leave his ‘shitty’ van at home. You guessed that meant he either had poor taste in vehicles or poor hygiene in the maintenance of one. Perhaps even both which was also pretty dire and preventative of things escalating between you.

You also knew that he’d admittedly not been on a ‘real date’ for quite some time. Probably because in peak musician fashion, he’d tended to have more flings and hook ups either before, after or hell, maybe even during a show. You’d also spotted the giant hickey on his neck to further assist that theory, not so much the location but confirmation that he’d not been one to shy away from casual sex, neither should he. But it was quite amusing that he’d attempted to conceal it for the sake of this date. Unfortunately for him, the shade was warmer than his skin tone, you’d spotted it pretty early on. He’d also nervously rubbed off a large portion of it. It’s a wonder he’d bothered to hide it and go on a date at all, he clearly didn’t need the set up.

The only saving grace during the awkward silences was the tapping of his fingers against the sticky high table. His hands were pretty. Fingers long and slender, precisely beating a rhythm into the wood that had so thoroughly not been deserving of it. His pale skin almost translucent enough that the bluey green veins pumping and pulsing beneath his skin were practically begging for your attention and they’d caught it. If there was nothing else coming from tonight, you at least needed to consider the attention those digits could provide in the backseat of your car that you actually had bought with you. Shit. Maybe that was the rockstars effect right there. Those damn fingers.

Suddenly the motion had ceased, his fingers retreating from the table, instead wiggling around in the air in a peculiar manor. He’d caught you. “My eyes are up here sweetheart.” You followed his fingers all the way up to the upturned smirk on his lips. He gestured to it so helpfully with his index finger too. “So, they are.” You remain calm, cold even. As if you’d not been caught drooling over him. “Must have gotten lost searching for a reason to continue this date.” He gulps, his Adam’s apple fighting for its life. He withdraws his hands, sinking them under the table to rub the nervous sweat off his palms onto his jeans instead. “That bad?”

He’s not surprised that you thought it. It was abysmal. Through no fault of your own, it was all on him. But the fact you’d had the balls to say it out loud. Though truth be told, you weren’t actually intending to. He was both aroused and mortified and it wasn’t an entirely new sensation to him. You were so far out of his league you may as well have been on another continent, planet even. He was painfully aware he had nothing about him to keep a woman like you interested. You were bubbly and smart. You were pretty. The kind of pretty that makes him want to throw himself over a puddle in the street so that you might walk all over him instead of dirtying your shoes on the ground, fuck a jacket, like in the old movies, you deserved better than a jacket. He’d tried to come up with compliments, stories, anything about his life that could be considered interesting or mildly intelligent, he came up with nothing.

He started tapping the second he broke into the library of previous conversations with his friends, hoping to steal an anecdote of theirs that he could pass as his own instead. He’d set the bar for himself so low that literally anything would have done, would have filled the gap in conversation. Like that one time his friend Jeff fell right off the stage during a set. Or that other time when the same friend Jeff got hit with pyrotechnics accidentally. He was far too slow, and you were far too lovely for him to look at. There was no chance of him successfully escaping into his own head to pluck that material out in a timely fashion when he could get lost in your glare instead. He just wanted to be in the moment with you, romantic in his head but was the romance in the room with them at the dingy bar they’d somehow both found themselves in? No, he didn’t suppose it was. He was completely fucking this up.

“It’s not great.” You admitted. You probably could have been kinder. Okay, you definitely could have been kinder, but you were so fed up with dates heading south, may as well speed up the process. He suddenly perks up. “Do you smoke?” You furrowed your brow for a moment before responding. “Like cigarettes?” You cringed that you’d even asked, of course that was what he’d meant. “Like weed.” He deadpanned. Finally, you found yourself cracking a smile for the first time that night. He finally felt he did something right for the first time that week. His friends had also warned him not to mention his affliction for pot. It’s not like the date could have gotten any worse, it seemed like the opportune time to pull that one out. “I wouldn’t say no.” You may as well get something out of this. Free weed with a hot guy was not something you were strong willed enough to pass up. If it lead to the inevitable make out session with them knee deep in the passenger seat afterwards then so be it.

“This is gonna sound really fucking presumptuous of me and I promise it’s not like that but uh, ha, I uh I have a room at the motel across the street.” You waited for him to stop mentally cursing himself for mentioning it, but it didn’t seem likely to stop soon. “You wanna smoke there?” You complete the suggestion for him. He nodded. “Figured it’d save us stinking out your car, know how hard it is to get rid of that smell.” Speaking from a literal decade of experience. “Very considerate of you.” You were already hopping from the stool you’d been sat on; he finally got a look at you in full as you made your way to the exit in front of him. He literally pinched himself.

You were unbelievable. It was a sick joke that his friends thought he’d ever have a chance with you. The only information they’d given him about you was;

She’s hot.

She’s a little blunt and direct.

She’s really funny.

She’s sweet once you get to know her.

She’s hot.

Hot didn’t even come close. The skirt cut way above the knee, your thighs thick, juicy and jiggling as you walked. Your tights an opaque black you’d assumed boring but still doing unspeakable things to him with the way they hugged you. He was about to get on his knees and crawl after you if only to get a better look at them. The fact you’d paired it off with a corset top was insane to him. A sheer black top was layered beneath it, sure, but it did nothing to hide your cleavage squished together and pushed up to the heavens as god intended. It was the kind of outfit to make a man do shameful, disgusting things to himself alone at night. That paired with the makeup, flawless and yet so minimal he’d only really picked up on it because of the neat little flicks above your eyelids. The accentuation of your lashes mixed with your waterlines coated in a cool white liner was actively destroying him. He had absolutely no idea what he’d done to deserve a shot with a woman like you and from that moment on, he couldn’t afford to let his nerves get the better of him anymore.

He chased out after you with a new found energy, similarly to a puppy chasing its owner. You arched your brow as he caught up with you, bouncing on the balls of his doc marten covered feet. “You’re kinda cold you know that?” You wondered if there was anything else he wanted to add to that or if he was done offending you there. “It’s really fucking intimidating actually.” A breeze blows over them, his curls combing back in the wind, his side portrait revealing itself along with the baby pink blush coating his cheeks. The street lights glowing behind him made him look pretty fucking angelic from your perspective. You felt yourself soften. “I’m sorry for that.” You looked down at your shoes, platform trainers you never went without, with a genuine remorse. “I know I must be hard to talk to.” You did feel embarrassed about the way you’d acted. You’d never really given him a chance. You tended to throw up a wall pretty effortlessly around new people. From the second he was late, your preconceptions plummeted into the earth. Perhaps you were too hasty after all.

“Hey it’s okay. I’m a big boy I can handle it.” He gestured to his chest as they walked more in unison. “We all have our shit.” He continues, suddenly bubblier than ever. “I for one, am fucking terrified of pretty girls.” He grinned, big and cheesy when you laugh, finally feeling like he’s accomplishing some level of charm. You even went as far as to tucking some hair behind your ear before the wind pulled it back away again. He wanted so desperately to reach out and fix it for you, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet, he had some serious impressing to do before he could reach that level of intimacy.

“No, I’m serious. Hard to believe I know.” You rolled your eyes. “Even harder when they’re a little mean.” He nudges your arm playfully, and boldly really, considering he was really pushing himself out of his comfort zone now. “I am pretty mean aren’t I?” You cringed. You didn’t want to be. You were just closed off and with good reason too, though he’d never question it, he could see it was there and something you were working through. “I reckon I can get you out of that shell.” You couldn’t stop smiling now, it was infuriating. “Like you suddenly came out of yours.” You elbowed him this time. He checked off a mental tally of things you did that made him think he stood a chance, so far he had two, which wasn’t a lot, but certainly enough.

“Sweetheart I’m gonna be honest.” He paused walking, you too, stopping in front of him, short and sweet and giving him your undivided attention and he wanted to kiss you, but it was so far from the moment for it. “You get set up on a date by your friends you expect it to be a failure right? Like you’re a fucking mess so naturally whoever they choose for you is going to be just as bad right? Half the time someone you’d never look twice at. As shallow as that is to say. But then I walk in and see, well you.” He gestures to you with both hands excitedly. “Shit I couldn’t believe it.” You shook your head. “You know you’re hot right? You act like it’s me who’s the hot one here.” He literally dropped his jaw, your confession wasn’t a complete blinder, he’d known he wasn’t ugly. There were some questionable attributes and insecurities of his, but he wasn’t ugly. He just hadn’t expected you to see that too. “Are you serious? I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me.” They start walking again, mostly because you feel so embarrassed and hot under the collar at the confession that you needed to put some space between the two of you again.

“The hickey on your neck says you know I’m right.” Of course you’d seen it. He instinctively reached to cover it, as if to say ‘oh that’s what that is.’ “Would you believe me if I said I was attacked by an octopus or something?” You looked at him seriously. “Yeah, no fair enough.” He snorted. He cursed himself for it. You thought it was fucking adorable. “We all have our shit.” You repeat his earlier statement. He genuinely beamed at you. “That we do.” They finally reached the motel, he leads you to his room, hands shaking like crazy, it could be the cold, it could be the nerves, either way, he struggled to slot the key in the lock. You cover his hand with yours, taking the keys, unlocking the door yourself. You were so fucking cute. He was losing his mind.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.” You waltzed in. Letting the warmth of the room engulf you in a hug. It’s not as bad as you’d pictured. It’s actually pretty clean. The walls freshly coated in off white paint. The carpet outdated but hoovered and surprisingly unstained. The sheets also outdated but again, cleaner than you’d expect from a joint like this. Suddenly fooling around in your car didn’t seem as appealing. Not when the bed looked so inviting. But that was planning too far ahead for you. Not far enough for him. He was picturing marriage and kids by now.

“Shut the fuck up.” He reached into his bag, bringing out a pre-rolled joint. “My, my, you do come prepared.” Unfortunately, he failed to notice the tiny lube packets thrown on the desk right beside the bag. “Safety first.” He wanted shooting. You’d happily shoot him. Though the thought that he might be the slightest bit interested in fucking you was making all your insides gooey. It was also real hard not to squeeze your thighs together. “Where to?” He scrambles, placing the joint between his lips, heading to the back of the room, another door, leading out to a shitty pool area, probably one of the most depressing scenes. Even the bright fuck off blue tint of the chlorine overdosed pool couldn’t brighten up the grey paving and metal fencing around it. The deckchairs missing half their legs, material spliced with a knife weren’t much helping it either. “Absolutely not.” He agreed, closing the door, locking it, throwing the chain on the latch firmly for good measure. He didn’t feel like dying there tonight.

They instead decide to smoke in the room, the windows open wide, the lights dimmed, some music playing lowly and gravelly from the clock radio at his bedside. He’s laid with his head to the foot of the bed, knees bent up, socks digging under his pillows on his designated side. You opted for propping yourself up at the headboard, pillows supporting your back, legs lay out flat, thighs pushed together. He’d so badly wanted to lay on them.

They pass the joint between them till it was half way through, the motel room hazy, the air thick, he damns it for hiding you from him. He just wants to get closer. “Whatcha thinking there?” You leaned forward, elbows on your knees. “So many dangerous thoughts.” He lets slip with a smirk. “Care to share with the class.” He groans, but he doesn’t mean it. “I share my weed, my time, my beautiful room, and you still want more?” He tsked at you. “If you’re thinking about me, don’t I have the right to know?” You offered back. “You have ownership over thoughts now?” You nodded. “I do. Better get them out in the open before you get into trouble.” You giggle at your own bullshit and that’s exactly what it was, complete and utter, couldn’t handle your weed bullshit. “What if,” he sits up, leaning back on his elbows. “The thoughts themselves get me into trouble.” You ponder it for a moment. “Then I really, really wanna know.” Your eyes lit up with a genuine excitement. “You’re so high aren’t ya little one?” You fought the urge to whimper at the pet name. “Tell me.”

He sighed. This time he sat up fully. You shuffled around yourself, crossing your legs. Your skirt so short you were well aware you weren’t covered by anything but tights right now but at least they were opaque, ish. He begged himself not to look. “Well, I was just thinking maybe we could uh…” he leaned in closer, his nerves started eating away at him when you leaned too, “we could shot gun. Maybe.” You chuckled. “If that’s as dark as it gets in that little mind of yours then your little fling,” you reached out, prodding the fading hickey on his neck, “must have been pretty abysmal.” He clicked his tongue. “Well, you certainly got me there huh.”

He leans up on his knees, lighting up before instructing you, “open up.” You were practically gawping at him as he inhaled, mouth propping open while he inhaled enough for him to feel his lungs aching. He reached for your face, thumb on one side of your mouth the rest of his fingers on the other, stretching your mouth wider, pushing the smoke right out of his own and into yours. Your eyes were open, just barely, eyelids heavy, pretty lashes fluttering, you had the audacity to moan when his lips pulled away without even kissing you. He was already fisting the sheets. It was over way too fast.

“You are way too fucking hot right now.” He stubs out the joint momentarily, placing it in the ash tray he’d now deposited on the desk. “Then why aren’t you kissing me?” He breathed a shaky breath, running his fingers down his face frustratedly. “That’s, that’s a good fucking question actually.” He practically bounced back onto the bed, you giggling away so fucking sweet, finally relaxing around him. His friends were right, you were a real sweetie deep down. He liked you at your bitchiest, any other version of you was a blessing on top.

Your hands stroke his cheek, startling him, you begin to pull them away, maybe a step too far but he’s pulling you back in by the wrists, depositing your arms lazily around his neck instead. “Just caught me off guard is all.” He lets his forehead lean against yours, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest. You smelled so good. He’d never forget it. Bury himself in it. You were more intoxicating than any drug and he’d sampled his fair share. “Don’t want you to regret this sweetheart.” He says it honestly, vulnerably. “You need to stay out of your head.” You’re calmer than he is. It didn’t take much. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna be.” He rubs his nose against yours, so close yet so far. “But do you even like me? Cause I swear, you were so out, now you’re all in I…” Usually it’s the guy who kisses the girl when they’re rambling on, but you threw the outdated stereotype right in the trash. You kissed him. The second you did, he cupped your cheeks, grateful you had.

It wasn’t the best kiss either of them had ever shared. It wasn’t electric or life changing or even passionate, despite the chemistry they clearly shared now. It was messy and miscalculated, and they clashed their teeth with a clanging sensation at least twice. “Okay stop, stop.” You pulled back, not too far but far enough for him to miss you. “What the fuck was that?” You were deadly serious. He was mortified. “I can do so much fucking better I swear to god.” He would beg on his knees for another shot immediately. “Just take it easy.” Your voice is so soothing, reassuring and encouraging, he leaned in again. “I really wanna kiss you too, Eddie.” His eyes pinged with tiny hearts. “You do?” He was so struck dumb by the sound of you saying his name. “Stay with me here.” He nods like a lovesick puppy. “Kiss me again.” You nudge him, this time he eased into it. It started as steady, gentle closed mouth kissing, before prying your lips open with his tongue kissing, which lead to him pulling you into his lap kissing. Then it was him raking his fingers through your hair kissing, elevating to softly whining into your mouth kissing and well, you can gather the rest, you were fucking kissing.

“That’s more like it.” You praised, tugging at his hair, his breath hot against your lips, a smirk befalling you when he pushed his hips right up into yours, forgetting the thin layer of fabric between them, hitting right at your core, a moan pouring from your mouth into his. You even felt his dick kick in his jeans. “Fuck baby.” He whimpered at you calling him that. “You gonna whimper and whine whenever I talk honey.” You stroked his chin, his lips chasing after yours, power going straight to your head. He was so far gone, be it the weed, be it you, he didn’t know and he sure as hell didn’t care.

“Can’t help myself princess.” Your turn to swoon. “Drive me fuckin crazy.” His hands run up your thighs. “This fucking outfit. Can’t believe I nearly bored you to death at the start. I deserve a world of suffering.” You just hummed and nodded, letting him mumble and mutter away. “Dressed so pretty for me. Shortest fucking skirt. Knew what you were doing.” He starts sucking on your neck, moving your hair out of the way to better bruise you. “Made so much fun of my neck, let’s see how much you like some marks of your own.” He teased. “You wouldn’t dare.” You fought back. “Already fucking there.” He bit down into the soft, warm flesh of your neck, soothing the toothmarks with a swipe of his tongue. You hissed at the sensation, all sorts of thoughts flickering through the space of your mind right now. Eddie’s tongue, Eddie’s tongue, Eddie’s fucking tongue.

His heart was fucking hammering in his chest, all senses heightened, craving you. Yours were just as bad, if not worse. You were notorious for becoming insatiable under the influence, so it was no surprise to you how quickly the pace had increased. His apparent and fairly large need for you too was enough to mean that he was swimming in a similar ocean. “Can we please take some clothes off, I feel like I’m scorching.” You pulled at your corset like it were made of flames. “Never gonna say no to that.” He leans in kissing you again. Hands reaching up your back to feel around the corset, trying to find the tie. It had to be there somewhere. You guide his wrists down to the bow which he carefully undoes. He tries to tug it off you, not understanding how exactly it worked, pulled at it, yanked it, unthreaded it, fiddling some more. He pulls from your lips, maximum concentration, head resting against your chest, muttering into it. “Why are you doing this to me?”

You stroke his head, flattening some of his untamed mane, soothingly kissing his crown. “An A for effort. Poor baby.” He hugged you tight, needy and clingy and so, so into you. “Definitely the least practical top for a hook up but they make my tits look great.” You offered as a consolation. He pulled back, not looking at you, but directly at your breasts, grinning like a fool. That was enough of an encouragement boost to keep him going. “They sure do.” By the time he rests back against them, you’ve unthreaded the corset enough to slip it off over your head, which he gladly jumps to help you do, chucking the wretched thing across the room once it was off.

“Holy shit, look at these fucking things.” You bit into your lip as he grabbed them, no gentle caress, just taking them in each of his massive hands, squeezing them, tugging them, bunching them together, pinching each nipple till you pushed your chest further into his grip. “Unbelievable.” He lifted the sheer top you’d had on beneath the corset. Watching them fall out bare, they were beautiful. They were big, not perfectly round, not in the least bit symmetrical, but full and hot and heavy in his hands. Your nipples hard and prodding at him with an unfamiliar shaped lump adoring them both. Metal. You’d pierced not one but both nipples. “You’re fucking kidding me.” He stares at them, no really, mouth open, gold fish popping, gawping at them. “You can still suck on them.” It was as if you’d read his mind, he was wondering it too and, thankful you’d said it. He feared he might never have left that moment otherwise.

The feeling was different. Nothing like he’d experienced before. Boobs were boobs to an extent sure but the metal bar adorning them both was so erotic, so delicious to him. He sucked them gently at first, too afraid to do too much in unfamiliar territory. Once you sighed softly in approval, encouraging his movements, he finally began to explore, licking, sucking gently pulling with his teeth, your breath hitching, sounds increasing, soft little moans that coursed right through his blood stream. His tongue tangling around the piercings were enough to alert you to any other skills he might have had in that department. You made a bold assumption that he’d knew his way around with few complaints.

“I need more Eddie.” You pushed your chest into him. “Fuck I need more.” You were so high, aching with need, bursting with lust. He managed to pull himself away, only to catch your eyes. “Need more what?” You scowled, less than impressed with his agender to torture you further. “Or should I ask where you need me, hmm?” You shuddered. “Where do you fucking think?” You snapped, agitated and unafraid to hide it. He lapped it up. This might be his one and only opportunity to have a woman of your calibre begging for his cock, you could bet your ass he was going to milk it.

“Where I’m fucking soaking you already.” You pouted, your thighs squeezing his, sweet little centre rubbing down onto the zipper of his jeans, catching just right. An entirely new tactic to get yourself what you wanted. He moved his hand down between them as if he didn’t already feel the dampness, low and behold, his jeans were fucking ruined. “Gonna do anything about it?” You urged him, pushing him further, you’d cross every line you had to if it made him act.

Finally, he grabbed your hips, ready to roll you both over throwing your back down into the mattress, his body lowering, slotting between your spread thighs. The weight of him pinning you down. “Yeah I’m gonna do several fucking things about it.” Your cunt fluttered around nothing, the tremors rising all the way up into the pit of your stomach. It was a flaming sensation, making you fidget and puff short little sighs of frustration into the room. You were pained by the lack of his touch even more so by the emptiness.

“That was hot.” You sighed; he smirked. “You’re hot.” His eyes rake over your body. “Look at you.” He ran his hands down your sides, he couldn’t decide what to play with first. So much choice, so much to devour. He was stalling. So nervous he couldn’t quite push himself to do anything at all. Just leaning back on his legs, not believing the sight before him. You reached out for his hand, not to bring it to touch you, even though you weren’t opposed to the idea. Instead, you just wanted to bring him back down to earth, offer him some solace. “You still with me?” You traced your thumb across the back of his hand. “We can hit pause.” He shakes his head, taking your other hand in his. “No fucking way princess.” He gulps. “I just needed to look at you, take it all in.” He pulls your hand to his lips, kissing it. “I might not get the chance again.” You sure hoped he would, as did he. “You have about 2 seconds to take a mental picture.” You mouthed “one, two,” before he leaned down, kissing you delicately on the mouth.

You tug at his hair, pulling his weight on top of you, wanting it actually. He grunts. “Please, take some damn clothes off.” He pauses for a moment. Shit. He couldn’t just keep his clothes on. He sits up, practically flying off the bed like an erratic little bat, flinging his jacket off, his shirt, struggling with his jeans too. “Shit, fuck, shit.” You’re leant up, arms behind you, watching him hop on one leg, trying to get his boots off whilst his jeans are halfway down his legs. You decide to show mercy, putting him out of his misery, slipping onto your knees, halting him.

He gulps, swallowing hard as he takes in the view of you there, topless, blushing, hair thrown over your shoulder, on your fucking knees. You unlace his boot, slipping it off his foot, one after the other, before tugging down his jeans, letting him step out of them. While you’re down there, you can’t help but peak, his sizeable bulge straining against his boxers, leaking. A sweet little wet patch calling to you. You move your face towards it, but he stops you. “Nuhuh sweetheart, no can do.” You pout, brows furrowing sweetly. He tilts your chin up toward him. “Want me to bust in 2 seconds flat? One more pout and I’m there sweetheart. Don’t test me on this one.” You roll your eyes before admitting defeat, effortlessly standing up again, sitting yourself on the edge of the bed.

“What do you suggest instead then?” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to compose himself as he approaches you slowly. "Why don't you lie back for me, princess?" His voice is low and husky, dripping with barely restrained desire. He wasn’t fooling anyone. You shift higher up the bed, leaning into the pillows while his hands already work at tugging your skirt down your plump thighs.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugging gently as he looks you dead in the eye. “Lift,” he commands, his voice firm yet gentle. It makes your stomach summersault. You comply, arching your back slightly as he slowly drags the short little thing down your legs, tossing it aside along with your tights, your panties left on.

Just as you ponder why he left them on at all, he pulls them up, between your lips, “for me?” You roll your eyes, mostly in hopes he doesn’t see the effect he’s having on you, “which part?” He takes a swipe, “the lace and the dampness.” You groan. He moves them to the side and pulls you apart, admiring you, sucking in a deep breath. “Stop staring.” You squirm. He ignores you, “I’m serious stop,” he looks at you, “shut the fuck up, I’m working here.” You face palm in embarrassment, he takes the win. He leans in, sucking at you, licking you, in all the wrong places almost as if he’s doing it on purpose. He cannot be serious. First the kiss now this.

You lean up on your elbows, watching him, as soon as your eyes meet his, he finds your clit, “oh there it is.” He smirks into it, you mumble, you’re not sure what. He hums. His breath is hot against you, you already felt like you were on fire and all he was doing was adding oxygen to it. But his tongue is so gorgeous and long, darting inside you. You forgive him. He’s fucking perfect and direct around your clit, plus his plump, pretty lips latched onto you, sending you to heaven. Felt so empty though, clenching down on nothing, needing more than what he was giving you. Maybe you were greedy, maybe you just wanted this man like no other. Maybe that was the same thing.

“More.” You sigh. He ignores you, purposely or accidentally you’re unsure. “Fuck more.” You repeat. He mumbles around you, lifting a hand to wave you off, nothing was stopping him now, “please.” His brow quirks up at that. “Pleaseee.” You say again. He rotates his finger as if to say, “keep going,” head still buried between your legs. “Please, babe, I need more, please, please.” The gesture continues. You groan, hips wiggling, his spare hand pins them. “Fuck, I need more, please, please more. Eddieeee.” He lifted his hand to gesture a chef’s kiss, and you wanted to crush his head with your thighs like a damn watermelon. He pissed you off even more when his mouth hesitated, leaving you with nothing for far too long, before he finally sucked on those same sarcastic fingers, pushing them inside you. He didn’t stop there; his lips were back at your clit. Your head was thrown back into the pillows beneath you, your back arching, hips bucking into him. “Fuck.”

Despite his theatrics, it was good, it was more than good. Everything increased by the weed of course but credit where credit is due and all that. You were drenched, whining, pushing your tits into your own hands. You were floating on a cloud. He was touching you so well. So, fucking well. You almost felt that band snap, stomach summersaulting with the realisation. Cumming, you were close to cumming. Fuck what if you sounded stupid? What if you made too much noise or fuss? What if he didn’t like the way you tasted? You psyched yourself out of it when you got too close, he furrows his brows, pulling away when you groan and mutter frustratedly. He came up for air like a diver who’d been underwater, hair pushed back, gasping for a breath. “What happened? Weren’t you there? Felt like you were there.” He’s not angry, not annoyed he’d failed, really he had only the look of concern.

“I was there.” You confirm. “What happened?” He still touches you, not to make you cum, just cause he wanted to, really wanted to, if you did though, that was a bonus. “I got in my head.” He nodded, understandingly. “Well, it’s a very nice head, I’d wanna be in there too.” He says it so comfortingly poking you. “But it’s kinda cruel to deny yourself, don’t ya think?” His fingers slip inside you again briefly, pulling out, seeing if you had any objection. “Think I think too much.” He laughs. “That’s what the weed was for.” You cover your face. “I don’t wanna force it, but I do want to try again, would you be okay with that?” The way he looks at you makes you want to trust him with your life. Eyes big and beautiful, soft for you. You agreed, the fact he wasn’t put off entirely was unfortunately a shock to you. “Okay.” You breathe, relaxing.

He builds you up again, much the same, consistency being key. “Close your eyes.” He talks you through it. You do so. He mumbles. “Just focus on how I feel, can you do that?” You nod but he doesn’t see, too busy, so you speak up. “Ye- yeah.” He continues. You focus, eyes closed, he feels good, wet, warm, “hmm,” his tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, torturously not dipping inside. “Oh.” Then his tongue licks at your clit, short, quick flickers, not overly exaggerated. “Shit.” His lips kiss and suck and hold the bundle with care, his finger pushes into you, slow and deliberate, gently hooking, as if tugging at that very string preventing you from getting there. “Fuck, baby.” He repeats, patiently drawing you near. Feeling you shuffle, feeling you tighten, hearing you whine as you near the edge, he tugs that string like it’s his fucking lifeline, and he needs it back in his possession, you crumble, back arching, moans loudening, he doesn’t let up until your thighs are shaking, breath laboured. “Fuck, fuck.” Your hips drop, body feeling like it’s plummeting from great heights, orgasm crashing over you in waves. He pulls away from you, he doesn’t grin like you thought he would, just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stares at you like you hung the fucking moon.

He climbs up your body, peppering kisses along your stomach, your chest, your neck, your jaw. His face comes into view over you, and he smiles softly. His eyes are glazed, and his pupils are huge. He looks high and sated, happy. And its infectious. He leans in to kiss you but stops himself. “Do you… I mean… can I…” You try to finish for him. “Kiss me?” He flashes his teeth a little, before biting his bottom lip. “Yeah.” He says breathlessly. Your nod is the only permission he needs before he takes your mouth again, cupping your jaw. You kiss him passionately, enjoying the taste of yourself mixed with his sweet mouth as his tongue glides along your bottom lip, dipping inside to tangle with your own. You can feel his erection pressing against your hip, aching, no, throbbing. You hum against his tongue, face moving, moulded perfectly against his, body rocking too, grinding against him. Both of you getting carried away, feeling free now. Comfortable.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he slots between your legs, hands reaching down to grip the fat of your ass in his hands, groaning, hips bucking into you when he takes hold. “Fuck.” You gasp. He continues kissing you, sucking hard onto your lips, biting a little, licking a little, tongue deep inside your mouth. He tries to be quiet but you can feel him panting a little against your mouth, hips pushing at you in desperation.

It’s now just a case of who breaks first. Neither of you willing to pull away for even a second. Despite knowing how badly you needed each other. His hips start moving more intentionally, grinding against you, making his own frustrated sounds which get smothered against your lips. You can literally feel his struggle between wanting to maintain control and losing it completely. His hands squeeze your ass tighter, spreading you, pulling you closer. Slotting you directly against his clothed cock. Your fingers dig into his chest, scraping gently at his tattoos there. He sighs at the catch of your nails. You test him again, firmer. Scratching him as he shudders. You do it again, there’s a whimper against your lips this time but he’s pulling away, he’d reached boiling point.

"Fucking hell.” He pulls back, panting hard. His eyes are dark with lust, his hair tousled from your fingers running through it. He looks down at your breasts, rising and falling with each breath, then back up to your eyes. “I wanna… god I wanna fuck you baby, can I fuck you?” His hands stroke over your shoulder, up and down, a gentle, tickling touch. “God I wanna fuck you.” You lean up, nose brushing against his, his eyes flutter closed, you feel them long bambi lashes fan at your cheeks. You chase his lips. Kissing him harshly. Dragging him back down against your body.

He cups your cheeks, kissing you back, tongue slipping into your mouth, but he still tries to speak. “That a yes?” You groan against his mouth. “Tell me it’s a yes.” He’s kissing across to your jaw. You crane your neck to give him full access. He nips at you, teeth grazing then squeezing, a punishment for leaving him hanging. “Shit, yes, yes you can fuck me. Want you to fuck me, stop being a fuckin vampire.” He chuckles against your neck, his body relaxing. He bites again but softly this time, before sucking where your shoulder meets your neck soothing any injury. His hips push against you. His length sliding against your slick, throbbing cunt. He’s so hard it hurts, you, not him, though maybe him too. “Shit. Condom?” He pulls back to look at you.

“You don’t have any? Mr wears a hickey on the first date.” You look at him in absolute awe. “How do you have lube and not condoms?” You dip in for another kiss. You couldn’t help it. “I uhh don’t have one on me no. And no comment on the uh other thing.” He mumbles against your lips. His heart pounding, stomach plummeting. He’d ruined everything. But your legs wrap around his waist. Sending him humming when your pussy grinds against him. His own hips matching yours. “You have any? Little miss perfect?” He asks quietly, sucking your bottom lip again. Your legs tighten around him. He whimpers. “Maybe.” His eyebrows arch. Fuck if you grind against him anymore you’re in for one hell of a sticky situation.

“Maybe?” He groans, face scrunching. “You wanna use me as a toy baby, just fuckin tease and never let me have you?” He doesn’t even hate the idea. There’s a sick part of him that wants it like that, but he pins it for a later date. He instead, kisses down your neck, sucking hard onto the same spot as before, in case you missed his warning. You hiss. “I’m on the pill if you even care.” His eyes widen. His pupils blowing out like that of a cat. Big, black, and impossible to ignore. He stops kissing you for a second, staring at your face in utter disbelief and perhaps even a hint of excitement, his Christmas coming early. Him too, potentially. “You’re on the pill? As in, I can come inside you? As in, I can fill you up? As in…”

“Offer expiring as we speak.” You rock your hips up against him, for something, anything. “No, nope, nuhuh, fuck no, no expiring, gonna just fuck you baby.” He kisses you back, practically tearing your panties just to get to you. His hands roaming over your body roughly. You part your legs wider like an invitation and he takes it. Breaking the kiss only to shuck off his boxers with ease before spreading your legs wide. You gawp at his cock, half sitting up just to get a better view. “Great, now you’re staring.” It twitches as he speaks, shy maybe. “Can’t help it.” You absentmindedly lick over your bottom lip, but he notices it, eyes locked on your face for any kind of negative reaction. “Big huh.” He huffs. “I’m serious.” You insist. “And the way you.. curve a little.” Your hands reach out to stroke him, but you pull your hand back as if you’d been bitten. No, you wouldn’t touch him yet.

He watches your hand pull back with amusement, frustration too. His own hand reaches for you, grabbing yours and guiding it to wrap firmly around him. “Go on, get a proper feel. Ain't gonna bite baby." His hips flex slightly, pushing his cock into your palm encouragingly. Smearing his precum against your palm. His voice was strained. “Spits though.” You swipe through the beading white droplets leaking from his slit. “Looks pretty dangerous to me.” He growls, his hips bucking into your hand, his own still over yours. “Woman," his face scrunches up, how he hadn’t cum, was a fucking miracle to him. “Want me to put it in?”

His hips jerk, he’s embarrassed by the whimper that leaves him when your wrist twists, experimentally touching him, torturing him. “Lie back, lie back and fucking move your hands.” He sounded pained. He was fucking pained. Your cheeks flush crimson. “Please.” He adds politely. Just in case he snapped a little too hard. But you liked it. You only blushed because the thought of squishing him inside you was enough to make you drip.

He watches you with barely restrained urgency as you lay back. The moment you do, he pounces, crawling over you like some kind of predator. Settling between your thighs with a relieved groan at the welcoming heat awaiting him. His cock jumps against you, and he can't help the frustrated grunt that escapes him. You rut your hips against him, and he just can’t get over it. Every fucking thing you do. Every little thing. You were so sexy. So incredibly hot without even trying. He takes himself in his hand, rubbing his thick, hot head against your pussy, swiping through, coating himself in your arousal and you both shudder. You grasp for his forearm, stopping him before he even has the chance to dip his needy tip into you. You were killing him.

“Let me in. Please baby you fuckin have to let me in.” He leaks some more precum against you, you like the way its feels, sticky and warm against your skin. “I will, I promise, just not like this.” He groans exasperated. “Then what? Like what baby?” He’s trying so hard to keep level headed here but you were testing him. He takes a new approach, pinching your lips around his length, fucking through them, head catching your clit, a sweet whine tumbles from your lips. He didn’t even need to be inside you to turn you to mush with his cock. “Just wanna wrap myself around you, you fucking idiot, want to touch you, hold you and fucking feel you properly not just lie here complicit in missionary.” It’s a wonder you manage to get it out at all, through laboured breath, his dick pulsing against you.

“He smirks down at you, his eyes glimmering, amused. “Then don't.” He leans down, pressing his lips to your neck, his hands sliding up your sides, around to your back then up to tangle in your hair. “Touch me.” He breathes, his voice low and husky. “Hold me. Wrap your fucking body around me.” He lifts you slightly. You wrap your arms tight around his neck, your legs hug around his waist, body clinging to his with all your strength. He lays you both on your side, the two of you sinking into the mattress, into each other, his cock lining up with you and you doing nothing to prevent him from slipping in, just letting his tongue catch yours as you moan for him, and he does too, the loudest you’d ever heard him, overwhelmed from plunging into your hot, wet little pussy. His hands rake over your ass, grabbing at it, pulling you further onto him, with no protest from you, just acceptance, just taking him and taking him so god damn perfectly.

His breath hitches as he feels you take every inch of him, your body moulding around his like some sort of fucked up puzzle piece. He groans, hands gripping your ass tighter, grinding you against him, him rocking his hips into your cunt, meeting you there. “Fuck," he gasps, his hips moving in a slow, deep grind as he slides in and out of you in this new position. "Feel so damn good around me baby." He mumbles against your neck. “So, fucking wet.” He ruts into you smiling against your neck. “Yes baby.” He moans softly; his voice muffled against your skin. “Like that.” He encourages, his hips snapping forward as he grips your thighs and pulls you closer. “Touch me.” He gasps, his breath hot against your neck. “Hold me.”

“Yes,” you tangled your fingers in his hair, he grunts as you tug. “I know, I know you like it baby.” You coo. "You god damn know it." He hisses, bucking his hips harder. "You pull my hair like that again." He warns darkly. "And I'll breed you." Your breath hitches, he feels you squirm, like you’re trying to get away from him. He curses himself mentally. “Too much? Way too fucking much?” He panics. “First fuckin date remember.” He rolls his eyes. “Already balls deep baby, too late for etiquette.” You huff. “Just maybe keep the whole breeding thing to a minimum.” He nods in agreement although he doesn’t miss the way you clenched around him as you said it, he took a mental note, not that it’d take, you had him scrambled.

Despite him nodding, he doesn’t really mean it. He’s already picturing you stuffed full of his cum. “Mmm.” He pushes those thoughts aside. “I won’t mention it again.” He promises, pushing his hips forward. “Pinky promise sweetheart.” Your hands lock in the promise, his forehead against yours, breath hot against your lips. “God can you… fuck can you move back a little, gimme some room.” He rolls his eyes but complies, shifting back slightly with a soft grunt, giving you a little more space between your bodies. His cock slips out partway, the new position allowing him to look down between you both, admiring the sight of himself disappearing inside you. "Better?" He huffs. Barely keeping it together. Feeling it was one thing, seeing it was another. The grip you had on him as he pulled back, far enough the tip caught your lips before pushing all the way back in, hugged tight by you, your hips bucking, back arching. You slip a hand down between your torsos, feeling your way down to rub at your clit, his eyes nearly bulge out of his skull, watching you rub yourself, fucking yourself on his cock, desperately humping at him. “Fuck, so much better, so much fucking better.”

"Jesus Christ." He curses under his breath. The sight of you touching yourself, fucking yourself on him, god it was enough to make him see heaven. He reaches down, his hand covering yours, pressing down harder as his hips begin to move, matching your rhythm. "So fucking pretty for me. Look at you go. Look at you taking it.” Your mouth parts, sweet little sounds coming out needy and desperate. Pathetic really. “Can I cum Eddie? Can I?” If you’d have told him at the beginning of the night that he’d end up here, with you begging to cum on his cock without him even pushing you to, he’d tell you to fuck off. Because there was no way in hell you’d ever stoop so low. But hell, was he glad you did.

He laughs in disbelief, his breath coming in short pants as he watches you writhe beneath him, utterly lost in pleasure, begging for it, for him. “Are you seriously asking permission right now?" He teases, hips never stopping their relentless grind against yours. "Fuck yes, cum for me. Never need my permission baby, you cum whenever you fucking want, however many times you want.” You sigh with relief, hand speeding up against your clit, his mouth comes crashing down against yours, hands squeezing at your hips. He kisses you till you can’t kiss back anymore. Till you can only moan and yell, and cum loudly, pussy squeezing him half to death. And when he spills, he spills hard, so hard he’s seeing white spots, head hazy, body engulfed in your flames.

You’re breathless, both run ragged. Trying hard to calm the racing beating of your hearts but to no avail. He collapses into you and you only hold him tighter, face buried in his neck, his hair drifting over you like a curtain and you don’t even care, too wrecked to give a damn but he does. He moves it away. He strokes your cheek, kissing it, soft, sweet, gentle blessings dotted across your face as he comes to. “Baby girl.” His hips shift a little, stirring his finish inside you, just checking it really happened, it really was in there, and it was. “You okay?” He pulls back to catch your eyes. Your makeup is a fucking state. mascara smudged, eyeliner gone entirely. “Define okay.” He smirks at your response, running his fingers through your hair to push it away from your face, better to see the mess he made of you. "I think I can answer that." He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Breathing, cracking jokes, looking at me like you wanna kiss me.” He pecks your lips again. “All signs of life are there.”

“Think I need the opinion of an actual medical professional.” Worry flickers over his face. “You serious?" He laughs softly, pulling back to look at you better, taking in your swollen lips, messy hair, red cheeks. "You feeling sick?" He asks seriously now. "Actual nausea? Headache?" He throws himself off the bed, ready to find his boxers and t-shirt. You whine at the loss of him inside you far too soon. “No, Jesus, come back. I was kidding.”

"Don't joke about shit like that." He crawls back on top of you, pressing his body against yours. "You're okay, right? Nothing hurts?" Your lips twitch into a smile. “Nothing hurts. You gave it your best go though.” He snorts, rubbing his face, his eye in particular. “Yeah well, gifted.” You shove him, playfully. “Where were you gonna go in boxers and a t-shirt hmm? Who were you tracking down like that without a car Ed?” Despite you making fun of him the only part he really focuses on is “Ed.” Sounds so pretty from your mouth.

He strokes his thumb over your bottom lip. He ignores the question, "say it again." He murmurs, leaning in closer. "Say my name." He whispers, his nose nudging yours. "Please?" He asks softly. “Not even listening to me are you?” You trace messy little patterns across his shoulder blades. “No ma’am. Not really." He admits. "You called me 'Ed' and fucked me up." He confesses, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. "I like it." He mumbles. "I really like it." He pecks your neck. “Kinda pathetic Ed.” He squeezes you, smiling, lips catching your neck. “I can live with pathetic. Try besotted even.” He pulls from you to catch your eyes. “Besotted already? Should I be worried?”

"Maybe." He grins mischievously, his hips shifting slightly, making you suck in a breath. "Answer a question honestly." He speaks softly. His fingers carding through your hair again and again. "No bullshit." He adds. "No snark." He smirks. “No promises.” You respond, his face falls. “Fine, whatever. Go on.” He rolls his eyes, trying to hide the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Really fucking helpful." He mutters but presses on anyway. “Truth time. You think I'm annoying as hell, right? Like, offensively annoying?" You nod. “Incredibly so yeah.” He laughs softly, his body relaxing. "Honest answers. God bless." He hesitates. “Would you get to the point?” He nods, plodding on. “Too annoying for a second date?”

Your lips quirk up into a smile. “You wanna see me again?” He blinks at you like you were speaking a different language. "Duh." He says, his face deadpan for all of a second before he's grinning again, his lips pressing against yours. "Gimme your number." He commands softly, breath fanning across your mouth. "Let me take you out. Do this shit right. Maybe not turn up late this time.” You pretend to ponder it for a moment. You pretty much decided you liked him from the second he kissed you, even if it was one of the worst first kisses you’d ever had. Because when the second one came around, stealing your breath like it was nothing, yeah, you knew alright. “I’m so down for that.”

He grins widely, a playful glint in his eye as he leans in, his lips barely brushing yours. “Well, well, well, looks like I finally managed to impress a girl without fucking it up royally." He teases, his hands sliding down to grasp your hips gently. “Congratulations.” You whisper against his mouth; it does funny little things to him. His heart skips a beat at the sound of your voice so close, so soft and sweet for him. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and before he can stop himself, he's smiling against your lips, a sweet, lazy smile that speaks volumes of the affection he's beginning to feel. “Think I’m in trouble here.” You kiss him gently. “Think I’m right there with you.”

[satorurize]

𖧧࣪ . ִֶָ๋ cw. yandere!gojo, breaking in the house, forced affection.

Satoru who doesn't understand the concept of personal space or boundaries, surprises you with a visit to your house, unannounced.

His long body lazily sprawled out on the couch as if you had known each other since forever when in reality he was just a coworker. You can already feel the irritation bubbling in your head and your eyes getting a little blurry from the instant shot of anger to see him throw his legs onto your pristine couch. How rude.

He swilves his head around as you enter, a lopsided grin plastering his face. "Welcome back honey, how was work?" He speaks with much casualness and your nose crinkles softly as you cringe. That emphasis on the pet name was clearly intentional seeing the victorious, toothy smile on his face at your reaction.

You don't really protest that he quite literally broke into your house, dropping your bag onto the armchair adjacent to the couch before heading to the kitchen to set yourself dinner. Satoru reminded you of a demanding cat that yowls and rubs it's head against your leg in desperation until you it realises that it's not going to get the attention it desires and eventually leaves.

So you thought would be the case with him..

"You know, I could get you sued for this... right?" Your question was more of a rhetoric, the cynicism of your chuckle made him smirk as you make yourself a cup of coffee to save the headache that Satoru Gojo was.

He knew all too well you wouldn't sue him but the threat was an amusement to him regardless.

"I just wanted to see you" He pouted, that puppied look on his face was almost believable, especially when he flashed his 'too bright for your liking' blue eyes, shifting his blindfold up to sit on top of his head. "You can't fault a man for wanting to spend time with his girlfriend, afterall."

So that's how he wanted to play this game huh?

"Since when am I your girlfriend?" The counter back question was fast, almost too fast, making the man raise his arms up in mock defence.

"In my defense, you haven't denied it either.." He sighed, making long strides towards you with his abnormally long legs, keeping you caged against the kitchen counter with his hands placed firmly onto the granite, the warmth of his mint bubblegum breath tickling the helix of your ear.

He hummed and the depth of his voice intonated too differently. Satoru slid his hand onto your tummy, giving it a daring squeeze and a nearly sensual caress, making you shudder.

"Also, I've already decided in my head that you're my girlfriend" He spoke in a saccharine tone followed by a silence that felt so heavy that even air felt too dry to swallow.

"You just haven't... caught up with me yet."

[wandaslovey]

𝒽𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓀

➺ mommy!wanda x reader

not my gif

wc ~ 1.9k

cw: fluff that turns into smut, mommy kink, cunnilingus (r receiving)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

you have your hand clasped over your mouth to try and silence your breathing. you inhale slowly through your nose, willing yourself to get a grip on yourself.

“5…”

“4…”

“3…”

“2…”

“…1”

you hear wanda reach the end of her countdown, her voice raising half an octave as she calls out the number one.

“alright little dove, here i come..” she calls out in a sing song voice. her tone was tantalizing and teasing, only heightening your excitement and adrenaline as you hide in the big cabinet built into the kitchen island.

“now where, oh where, is my little one hiding…”

you can barely hear her footsteps as she walks through the first floor of the house, her voice sounding a little muffled and far away from where she was currently standing.

“are you going to make it harder for mommy this time? you know it’s never very fun when you just let me win,” she taunts, her voice sounding a little bit closer than before. you hear her throw open the pantry door, her first guess as to where you might be hiding. she makes a small noise that sounds like approval. “oh good, not here in the pantry. looks like you learned your lesson from last time… although, i think you wanted me to catch you in there.. you didn’t even struggle, not even a little.” her voice was wicked and teasing. she loved to taunt you. you hear her walk closer to your hiding spot. you hug your knees tighter against your chest, your heart running a hundred miles per hour.

“are you in.. here?” she calls, opening the door to the supply closet adjacent to the kitchen. “hmm..crafty little dove. i swore i heard you here rustling around.” she shuts the closet door. you breath out a small sigh of relief, thinking maybe you really did outsmart her this time. you lean your head back, miscalculating your position inside the already small space, the sound of your head hitting the wood resounding through the otherwise quiet kitchen.

you hear wanda make a mock gasp of surprise and you instantly straighten up in your hiding spot, your arms wrapped so tightly around your legs as if you hugged them tight enough, it would protect you from being found.

she walks around the kitchen island, chuckling to herself as she kneels in front of the cabinet you were hiding inside. “malen’kaya ptichka…nowhere to run, my darling.” she pauses and then all at once, throws the cabinet doors open, a victorious grin on her face. “aha! there you are.. how did you fit inside here malyshka?” she marvels, looking around the enclosed space that normally houses the pots and pans. you look at her, your expression that of a bashful child who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“i..i moved them..” you stutter out in a small voice. your were a bit breathless, your cheeks a little flushed from the adrenaline currently coursing through your body.

“oh? before we even started playing? you sneaky little thing… you planned this didn’t you?”

your cheeks blush a deeper shade of pink as you nod your head, a cheeky little smile threatening to crack across your face at your own innovativeness.

“hmm, very clever little dove.. but it’s time to come out now. mommy’s found you, and now she wants to claim her prize…” her voice is alluring and for a second you contemplate obeying, but figure it would be more fun if she forcibly removed you from your hiding place. you make a show of resting your back against the wall of the cabinet, settling yourself as if to get comfortable in your spot. “don’t want to..” you say stubbornly, your chin jutting out.

“what do you mean ‘you don’t want to’? .. you’re really going to make mommy pull you out?” her eyes glaze over with a mixture of amusement and sternness. she always did find your cheeky attitude endearing, but she also had to keep you in line. she wouldn’t ever let you forget your place. you nod your head in silent response to her question, your face fixed in faux determination (it was really just stubbornness).

“oh really? you’re not going to like it if i do..” she warns, scooting her kneeling form closer to the opening of the cabinet. even though it was futile, you try your best to worm your way back into the corner, scooting away from her small advance.

“did you just scoot away from me? you’re such a brat. come…here,” she grunts gently as she reaches in and pulls you out of your corner mid sentence. as she drags you out, she picks you up, intent on setting you on the countertop. you fight against her hold half-heartedly, not really trying as you wanted to get caught in the first place. “it was a clever spot, i’ll admit. but don’t think you won’t have to put all that kitchenware back after i’m done with you.” she ignores your protests and sets you on top of the counter nudging your thighs open so she can stand between your legs.

“mommy wants easier access,” she offers as a brief explanation. “access to what?” you ask meekly, feigning ignorance as you easily slip into your roll as her innocent little girl. “to what?” she echoes, her voice dropping an octave. “do you even need to ask, milaya?” she then leans in, capturing your lips with hers as she plants not one or two, but three chaste kisses on your lips, humming against them as she does so. her hands resting just above your bent knees slide up your naked thighs, pushing your already short dress even higher. you squirm under wanda’s attention, which doesn’t go unnoticed by her.

“mm, someone’s getting a little squirmy.” she pulls back briefly, admiring the sight of you already slowly unraveling. she leans back in, kissing you again. “fuck, you taste good,” she moans softly into your mouth, one of her hands squeezing your soft thighs. you whimper, your panties quickly becoming wet with her ministrations. she tuts and pulls away.

“awwh, what’s the matter sweetheart?” you whine at her feigned ignorance, your legs kicking out petulantly. “you’re being mean..” her face twists into a fake sympathetic frown. “mean? i have no idea what you’re talking about. you like mommy’s kisses, don’t you?” her hand then slips under the very bottom of your dress, her fingers grazing over your panties. you frown, wriggling backwards away from her as she continues to tease you. she chuckles at your silly little attempt to escape her, her hands already hooking under the backs of your knees to pull you closer to the edge of the countertop. “come back here..” her eyes were darkening, flecks of green only visible here and there between the blackness. you can feel your own slickness now dripping onto your thighs, your panties already soaked through. with your legs open around wanda’s frame, you could both smell a hint of your arousal.

“don’t think you’re going anywhere.. mommy played your little game and found you, and now.. mommy’s..going..to..devour you…” she speaks slowly, emphasizing each word as she leans down until your lips are pressed together. she kisses you passionately, her desire for you evident in the kiss. her tongue slips into your mouth, forcing it open as she dominates the kiss. her teeth then bite into your bottom lip, her fingers hooking onto your panties. you moan, feeling her teeth tug on your bottom lip before releasing it. she fights with the material of your panties for a moment, your position on the counter making it difficult to take them off. she groans in frustration before bunching the material together at one side and ripping them off forcefully. you gasp in surprise, her sudden roughness catching you a little off guard. she quickly discards the soiled material, tossing it to the side. your legs press against her sides, your cunt dripping and aching for her touch. she mashes her lips against yours once more, her fingers dragging along your inner thigh before sliding to your core to feel your wetness. she hums her approval, the vibrations lightly tickling your lips. her thumb swirls around your clit a few times as two more of her fingers tease your entrance, gliding up and down your opening. she pulls away from your lips panting, hardly taking a second to breathe before she’s leaning down and her mouth is on your cunt. she licks a firm stripe up your dripping slit, her mouth closing around your clit as she sucks it into her mouth. you moan, your body arching into her face as your hands desperately grasp at the edges of the countertop. your legs threaten to close at the sudden intense stimulation. “nuh uh, you be a good girl and keep these legs open for me, hm?” her tongue swirls and prods at your pussy, never letting up for a second no matter the volume of your squeaks and whimpers. she then thrusts her tongue into your hole, effectively fucking you with it. she occasionally abandons the motion but only to swipe her tongue back up to your sensitive little nub. she shakes her head back and forth, all but moaning into you as she, well… devours you.

you feel that familiar coil in your belly, your hips steadily rutting against her face. her hands hold your hips firmly, her fingernails sure to leave crescent shaped marks once she finally lets you go. “ahh- mommy! i’m gonna cum! fuck- i wanna cum! please!” you whine, your hips bucking more wildly as you chase your high. she chuckles darkly against you, the sound muffled with her head stuffed between your legs. you can hear the embarrassingly wet sloshing sounds as she laps at your drenched pussy. she ignores your pleas, knowing you won’t cum until given permission. “mommy- mommy please! let me cum!” you could feel the coil about to snap and you knew that unless she stopped, you were going to cum without her permission. “cum for me, pretty girl. cum for mommy.” she encourages, her hands still squeezing your hips to try and still your erratic movements. at last, you allow yourself to fly over the edge, the coil finally snapping as you cum all over her pretty face. her hands hold you firmly, her tongue not letting up until she was sure she dragged out every possible morsel of pleasure from you. you whimper and whine, her tongue slowly licking up your now overstimulated cunt. “too much mama…too sensitive,” you mewl, your hands gently pushing against her head.

she hums, placing one final kiss on your clit before taking your hands in hers and kissing them both. she straightens up, standing before you with a satisfied smile on her face. she places a quick kiss against your lips before helping maneuver your body so you dress was back over your bum, now covering your unclothed center. “thank you mommy..” you murmur gently as you wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her close. “for what, honey?” she tilts her head, unsure what you were thanking her for. “for loving me like you do..” you smile cutely at her, your head slightly bowed as you peak up at her through your lashes.

“oh detka, we’re just getting started…”

[wordsofwhimsy]

【Ｏｐｐｏｓｉｔｅｓ　

Ａｔｔｒａｃｔ】 - Part Three

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice of life

Word Count: 2,177

Chapter Synopsis: A conversation at lunch, and a car ride home~

a/n: this is probably gonna be the last part where y’all are in HS, unless you guys like it set there. i was thinking next part would timeskip into college. ALSO i can’t decide if i want to let Mark go full psycho in this or make it an au where he’s not so bad 😭 would love some in put from you guys 👀

Part Two

You floated through your next classes like a helium balloon on a breeze. Every time someone said "strong" or mentioned dodgeball, your brain instantly short-circuited back to the idea of Mark knocking out someone’s tooth with a single throw. The boy was walking around like a teenage tank with a smirk, and now all you could do was giggle to yourself and replay every syllable he’d said to you during gym.

By the time lunch rolled around, the buzz had dulled into a soft, persistent hum in your chest — the kind that made everything feel shiny and a little too real. You weren’t expecting anything else. One conversation was already the highlight of your month.

So when Mark dropped his tray onto your table and slid into the seat across from you, you almost died.

"You're eating air for lunch, or is that supposed to be food?" he asked casually, nodding toward the untouched tray in front of you.

You blinked. Looked at your tray. Looked at him.

"I—it’s food-adjacent," you said quickly, sitting up straighter like posture might make you look more competent. "I just got distracted. You know, thinking about how gym class might've been the end of me."

He huffed a quiet laugh, poking at his own mystery meat. "Pretty sure you did more damage to yourself than I’ve ever seen in dodgeball."

"You threw a ball so hard it knocked someone’s tooth out!" you exclaimed, your voice cracking mid-sentence like a vinyl record. “Meanwhile, I just tripped on my own excitement.”

"Yeah," he said, smirking. "That was kinda hilarious. You, not the tooth."

You flushed but smiled anyway. "I mean, I was excited to talk to you again. Childhood besties reunited after years of top-secret government isolation — it’s dramatic."

His smirk faded just slightly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "So that part’s real? You said something about being in government custody yesterday."

You stiffened. Serious Mark had entered the chat.

You looked down at your tray, your fingers instinctively curling around the little dragon keychain dangling from your backpack zipper. He was glittery and red, with tiny felt wings and wide plastic eyes. He’d been with you for years.

“I—yeah,” you said softly. “That’s real. I wasn’t supposed to talk about it, but... I didn’t want to lie to you. No good friendship ever starts with lies, right?”

He didn’t say anything right away, just tilted his head like he was waiting for the rest.

So you took a breath. And then—pop. With a tiny shimmer of light, the dragon keychain blinked to life in your palm, stretching like a cat waking up from a nap.

"Meet Pesto," you said, your voice soft but proud. "He's not very threatening, but he's got a killer glitter breath."

Mark's eyes widened. "What the fuck—did you just bring that thing to life?"

You nodded, cheeks warming. "It’s like, my thing. I can animate small objects. Toys, charms, dolls, stuff like that. But it only works on harmless things. The GDA tested it a thousand ways and said it didn’t have any real combat application. So… they shelved me."

Pesto blinked up at Mark, then sneezed. A tiny puff of glitter poofed from his snout.

Mark stared for a moment, then laughed. Not a condescending laugh—more like a surprised, what the hell is even happening laugh.

“That’s fuckin’ crazy,” he said, shaking his head with an amused grunt. “That would be something you could do.”

You blinked, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or not. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leaned back in his seat, tray forgotten, arms crossing over his chest as a smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth. “I dunno. You’ve always been kinda… weird.”

You gasped, mock-offended. “Excuse me? I am an eccentric delight. There’s a difference.”

“Oh yeah?” he raised a brow. “Cuz I distinctly remember you bringing half your stuffed animals to school in a stroller once. You told everyone it was their ‘field trip.’”

Your face went nuclear. “They deserved an education!”

He laughed again, and this time it was warm — like sunshine cracking through the clouds of his usual too-cool exterior.

You bit your lip, still flushed. “I was seven, okay? That’s, like, legally protected innocence.”

“No shame,” he said, reaching over to gently poke Pesto, who let out a soft little purr. “You turned out kinda cool.”

You blinked at him. “Kinda?!”

Mark grinned. “Don’t let it go to your head, Stuffy.”

Your jaw dropped. “You remember my nickname?!”

“You screamed at me when I tried to give you a new one. What was I supposed to do, forget the trauma?”

You laughed, full and unfiltered, feeling something warm spread behind your ribs like hot chocolate in the cold. He remembered. He remembered you.

“So…” Mark leaned in a little, just enough to make your breath catch, “you gonna make that dragon do tricks or what?”

You gave him a sly smile. “Pesto is a dignified creature. He only performs for snacks.”

Mark reached into his backpack, pulled out a packet of gummy bears, and set it down in front of you like he was bartering with royalty.

Pesto perked up immediately.

“He’s easily bribed,” you said with a shrug. “We have that in common.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

His voice had gone a little lower when he said it — casual, but there was something in the way he was looking at you that made your stomach flip-flop like a fish on dry land.

You blinked, trying not to combust. “So, uh, any other hobbies besides terrifying bullies and delivering gym class concussions?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said, reclining back in his chair with all the smugness of someone who definitely knew you were watching him and absolutely liked the attention.

You were about to fire back a witty retort (or at least a halfway decent one) when the lunch bell rang, jolting you just a bit. Students began filing out, trays clattering and chairs scraping.

Mark stood, grabbing his tray and casually tossing a gummy bear to Pesto, who caught it with an enthusiastic mlem.

“Later, Stuffy,” he said as he walked past.

You turned slowly, watching him go, then looked at Pesto.

“Wait, are we actually becoming friends again?” you whispered.

Pesto blinked at you. Glitter sneezed out of his nose.

Later That Day

You coasted through your last few classes with approximately three brain cells functioning — one dedicated to remembering to blink, another repeating Mark’s “Later, Stuffy” on an endless loop, and the third having a full-on meltdown every time you remembered the way he leaned in and called you cool.

Needless to say, no academic miracles were performed that afternoon.

You shuffled out to the parking lot a few minutes after the final bell rang, your backpack slipping off one shoulder, dragging your feet to your junker car — the same sad, metallic rectangle of disappointment the GDA had generously gifted you when you were released from their "custody."

You threw your bag onto the passenger seat, climbed in, and turned the key in the ignition.

Nothing.

You tried again. Still nothing — just a pitiful cough, a flicker of the dash lights, and then silence.

You sat there for a second, staring at the wheel. “Okay, rude.”

You slumped forward, forehead hitting the steering wheel. “Come on, you overpriced tin can…” You turned the key one last time with a final, desperate hope.

RrrrRrrrRrrRrrrrr—cough—click.

You sighed, and just as you were pulling out your phone to check the bus schedule a sudden knock on your window made you scream.

You looked up and saw Mark standing there, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyebrow quirked like he’d caught you doing something embarrassing.

Which, to be fair… he had.

You rolled the window down slowly, pretending you hadn’t just hollered like a horror movie extra.

“Hey,” you greeted casually, ignoring the fact that your voice cracked halfway through. “You’re still here?”

He shrugged. “Detention. Again. You good?”

You sighed. “Yeah. I mean, no. I think my car’s kicked the bucket.”

Mark glanced at the hood, then back at you. “Won’t start?”

“Not unless I sing it a lullaby and promise it a better life,” you muttered. Mark stared at you, then blinked like he wasn’t quite sure he heard you right.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ weird,” he said finally, shaking his head with a slight smirk quirking at his lips.

Normally, you would’ve had a comeback ready. Something clever, maybe a little sparkly, definitely ridiculous. But right now? With your car refusing to cooperate, your ride home disappearing with the daylight, and your one big chance at a normal day crumbling in real time?

You just sighed, slumping back in your seat.

“…Yeah,” you said quietly, without your usual shine. “I know.”

Mark glanced at you, and something shifted in his expression — his smirk fading into something softer. He scratched the back of his neck, eyes turning up to the sky.

“C’mon. I’ll give you a ride.”

You blinked, not quite processing. “Wait—really?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, I’m just offering to stand here while you suffer. Yes, really.”

You lit up like a string of fairy lights, the earlier gloom lifting just a little. “Oh my god, yes. Yes please. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t say that until we actually get there in one piece.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “What is that supposed to mean?”

You reached for the door handle to get out—fully expecting to follow him to wherever his car was parked—but before you could push it open, Mark leaned in and gently—but firmly—closed it again.

You froze.

“…Uh. What’re you doing?”

He just gave you that same unreadable grin, one brow raised like he was having way too much fun with this.

“Sit tight.”

You stared. “Mark. What do you mean, ‘sit tight’? Why are you looking at me like that? What’s going on? Am I being kidnapped—?”

But he was already backing away, rolling his sleeves up like this was just another Tuesday.

You pressed both hands to the window as he crouched slightly in front of the car, stretching his arms and cracking his neck like he was getting ready to do something outrageous.

Which—spoiler alert—he was.

“MARK?” you shouted through the glass. “WHAT ARE YOU—WAIT—IS THIS—OH MY GOD—”

Then—with zero hesitation—he gripped the front of your car and lifted it. Off. The. Ground.

You screamed.

Like, genuinely screamed. Hands flailed, heart raced, every single organ in your body evacuated out of pure panic.

“MARK! MARK, WHAT ARE YOU DOING—OH MY GOD—”

And then—lift off.

The tires left the pavement and your car, your sad little tin can of a car, was suddenly soaring through the sky, held aloft in Mark’s arms like it was nothing.

You scrambled across the seat, hands splayed on the window, voice pitchy and horrified. “I’M NOT WEARING A SEATBELT—THIS ISN’T A ROLLER COASTER—THIS IS A TOYOTA—”

Mark’s voice rang out from outside the windshield, crystal clear and annoyingly calm. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

“YOU’RE HOLDING A WHOLE CAR!”

“Yeah, and you’re not dead. So… win-win?”

Wind rushed around you, whipping your hair into chaos as your apartment complex came into view below. You were screaming and laughing and gasping all at once — a ridiculous, adrenaline-fueled swirl of holy crap this is real.

And you kinda loved it.

Was this what flying felt like? Your heart pounding, the sky wide open, and Mark freaking Grayson carrying you through it like some twisted superhero Uber?

It was absurd. It was exhilarating. It was—

“—WE’RE GONNA GET ARRESTED!” you shouted out the window.

“Nah,” Mark called back. “I’m good at not getting caught.”

“THAT IS NOT REASSURING!”

A moment later, your car touched down with a soft bump outside your apartment building. Not even a scratch.

You sat there in stunned silence for three full seconds, then exploded out of the passenger side like a champagne cork, stumbling over your own feet as you pointed at him.

“WHAT WAS THAT?!” you gasped, looking at Mark like he’d just personally rewritten gravity. “HOW—HOW DID YOU EVEN—THAT WAS A WHOLE CAR!”

He flexed casually. “Pretty strong.”

You stared at him, open-mouthed. “Y-You could’ve died!”

Then he leaned against the hood and said it—smooth and cheeky, like he’d been waiting for the perfect dramatic moment.

“Nah, I’m Invincible.”

You stared another beat. Then you laughed—loud, shocked, and a little hysterical.

“That is the dumbest and coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He just grinned, arms crossed.

“Alright, see ya tomorrow, Stuffy.”

You stared after him as he took off into the air again, leaving nothing behind but the faint whoosh of wind and a lingering smirk on your face.

Pesto peeked out of your bag, blinking at you with wide beady eyes.

You sighed. “Did that really just happen?”

Pesto sneezed. Glitter.

———————

Part Four!

———————

Taglist! @maddyb-rapps | @sweet-3-whispers | @moradogreen | @rayaaa4444 | @luvvcharxo | @byteme05

[hummingbird24220]

Hellooo!! I’ve been having angsty feelings so could I request like a reader who is also considered a swordsman or something similar to that vibe and is in a relationship with zoro but lets say she gets kidnapped and is whipped on her back and she gets worried and scared of letting zoro see it because he preached that scars on a swordsman back is shameful but he of course is an absolute sweetheart about it

i love this. maybe im angst adjacent, thankies for requesting <3

Steel and Shame

Zoro x Swordswoman!Reader

Trigger warning: Mentions of torture/kidnapping (whipping), emotional distress

--

The clash of swords rang out like music to your ears.

You ducked, twisted, and brought your blade up in a clean arc, grinning as your opponent’s sword flew from his hand and landed somewhere in the dirt behind him. “Told you,” you teased, flicking your blade to the side. “You shouldn’t have underestimated a girl with better footwork than your mama.”

Zoro’s voice called out from nearby, amused and just a little smug. “He definitely fights like someone who’s never had his ass handed to him before.”

You turned mid-fight to flash a smirk his way, wiping a speck of blood from your cheek with your knuckles. “Oh, and I suppose you’re just over there taking notes from me?”

He deflected a strike, kicked the poor bastard in the chest, and cracked a grin at you. “If you were trying to show me how to trip on your own feet three times, then sure.”

You gasped dramatically. “Rude. I only tripped once—and I was dodging!”

“That’s not what dodging looks like,” Zoro chuckled as the last of the enemy crew scrambled to retreat, clearly outmatched. “Looked more like flailing.”

You both stood among the defeated thugs, breathing steady, the sun warm on your shoulders and the scent of victory thick in the air. The rest of the Straw Hats were finishing up nearby, with Luffy punching the last guy through a crate of stolen food and Nami yelling at Sanji to stop chasing heart-eyed after her mid-battle.

Zoro slung his swords back into place and walked toward you, a slight grin still on his lips. “Nice work,” he said, voice low, just for you. “I’ll give you credit this time.”

“Oh wow,” you said, pretending to swoon. “Praise from the great Roronoa Zoro? Do I get a medal?”

He leaned in slightly, his grin more affectionate now. “You want a medal, or something better later?”

You laughed, heart flipping the way it always did when he looked at you like that—like he saw no one else. “Surprise me.”

But then— Something shifted.

You felt it before you saw it. A second too late.

A cloth—damp, thick, and reeking of something chemical—slammed over your mouth and nose. You tried to shout, to twist away, but the scent hit your lungs like a punch. Your vision blurred. You staggered forward, reaching out—

“Z—!”

Then darkness.

And Zoro’s voice, furious and panicked: “[Y/N]?!”

But you were already gone.

-

Pain brought you back first.

A dull, spreading ache across your shoulders, like someone had poured molten lead into your muscles and let it harden. Then the cold—damp, foul-smelling, clinging to your skin.

Your eyes fluttered open in a dim room of dripping stone walls and flickering lanterns. The air reeked of wet soil and something worse… rot, maybe. You were slumped against a pillar, arms chained above your head, boots barely brushing the ground. Sea-Prism cuffs dug into your wrists, leeching away the usual fire that sang in your limbs.

“So,” you rasped, blinking the fog from your eyes. “You’re the one who kidnapped me? I thought kidnappers were supposed to be attractive.”

A figure emerged from the shadows with a squelching sound, like a boot in a swamp. Tall, dripping, with a body that looked like it had been sculpted from sludge and barely held together. Human-ish in shape—but something was off. You could see his eyes through the mud, yellow and narrow.

“Mockery,” he said, voice a slow gurgle. “Typical of swordsmen. All bark, no bite when the blade is gone.”

You gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, believe me, I bite. I just usually prefer it with a sword in my hand and my boyfriend watching.”

The Mud Man stiffened. “The swordsman—Roronoa Zoro. He’s nothing.”

“Really? Funny. ‘Cause you needed chloroform and cuffs to get the jump on me,” you snapped. “But sure. He’s the weak one.”

The mud rippled violently.

Then you felt it—a crack of air and pain as a whip tore across your back. A scream clawed its way up your throat before you could stop it, your body jerking forward as far as the chains allowed.

The second lash came faster.

You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood. But you didn’t cry out again.

“Where’s your pride now, little sword girl?” the Mud Man sneered.

You forced your chin up, even as your back screamed in agony. “I left it with the guy who’s going to cut you into pieces.”

Crack.

The whip sang again.

Then again.

By the time he left you alone, the room was swimming in red—on your skin, your clothes, the stone below. You sagged in your chains, trembling, breath coming in sharp, shallow pulls. Your back was shredded, every movement sending daggers of pain down your spine. You knew what Zoro had said once about a swordsman’s back. About how turning away was weakness. About how a scar there was a mark of shame.

And now— You had more than one.

You couldn’t stop the thought from spiraling. What if he sees them and hates you for it? What if you’re not worthy of standing beside him anymore?

You closed your eyes, jaw clenched, blood seeping from between your lips.

But even then, through the pain… You pictured him. Green hair. Cold steel. That look he got when someone touched what was his.

You whispered, hoarse: “Zoro… please find me.”

-

The forest was too quiet.

Too still.

The kind of still that set Zoro’s instincts on fire. His swords were already out—steel singing with every step—and his grip was tight enough to hurt.

He shouldn’t have looked away. Not even for a second.

“She was right next to you, marimo!” Sanji had yelled when it happened, face pale with panic.

Zoro hadn’t answered. He didn’t trust his mouth to form words through the rage.

He was supposed to protect you.

Now you were gone, and the sick burn of it sat low in his gut like poison.

“Over there!” Usopp pointed toward a half-sunken ruin just past the tree line. “Smoke. Movement. That’s gotta be it.”

The so-called hideout wasn’t much of one—more like a crumbling stone fort covered in moss and poor excuses for guards.

Didn’t matter.

Zoro’s jaw clenched. His world narrowed to a razor’s edge.

The first idiot who lunged at him didn’t get to swing twice. One cut—fast, brutal—and Zoro moved on before the body hit the ground. Another came from the left. Zoro parried, twisted, and crushed him into the wall. His swords were an extension of his fury now—each strike precise, deadly, and entirely unforgiving.

This wasn’t a battle. It was a massacre.

The crew tore through the base with practiced fury. Luffy went feral, rubber limbs breaking bones. Robin snapped necks with a flick of her fingers. Franky steamrolled three men in one punch.

Zoro barely saw them.

He was already heading toward the lower floors when Sanji called out, “We should split up!”

Zoro nodded. “Check every goddamn room.”

He turned a corner and kicked a door clean off its hinges.

Empty.

The next room? Empty.

The next—no. Sanji’s voice crackled over the snail transponder.

“...Found her.”

Zoro froze.

“Where?” he barked, already moving.

“Basement. She’s—” A pause. “She’s bad.”

Zoro’s stomach twisted.

-

Sanji’s POV

He hadn’t expected it to hurt to look at you.

But it did.

You were hanging limp in your chains, barely conscious. Your face was pale and slick with sweat. But your back—god, your back—looked like it had been torn open by wild animals. Blood soaked your shirt, the cloth sticking to raw, jagged wounds.

Sanji staggered.

Then swallowed hard.

“Merde...”

He stepped forward carefully. “Hey, hey,” he said gently, reaching to cup your cheek. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now, alright? Just hang on.”

Your eyelids fluttered, barely able to lift. You recognized him—just barely.

“Z-Zoro...?” you rasped.

He swallowed. “He’s coming. I promise.”

With shaking hands, Sanji undid the cuffs and caught you before you hit the ground. You whimpered in pain as your body curled reflexively inward.

“Easy,” he whispered, tucking you against his chest with all the care he had. “It’s alright now.”

He clicked open the transponder snail. “Chopper. Medical. Now. We’re headed back to the Sunny. I’m not waiting.”

“Got it!” Chopper replied. He was already running.

Sanji didn’t wait either. He ran. Sprinting through the blood-soaked hallways, you pressed against him like porcelain. He didn’t care about the mud or the blood. Didn’t care about the battle still raging behind him.

He just held you tighter.

-

The world came and went like waves—sometimes loud, sometimes black, sometimes blinding.

Pain, sharp and hot, bloomed across your back like fire eating through skin. You could barely breathe, barely think. Only fragments came through.

A warm voice. A careful hand. Chopper.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—this is going to sting—”

It didn’t sting.

It burned. Like acid.

You cried out, your voice hoarse and raw, but you didn’t fight. You couldn’t. You were too far gone. The only thing you could cling to was his tiny hoof pressing into your shoulder as he cried over you, whispering words through his tears.

“Why would they do this? This is monstrous... You’re not supposed to hurt people like this—!”

You heard a shuddering breath behind him—Sanji. He was standing there, fists clenched, shoulders trembling. He turned his face away when you tried to look at him. Pretended he wasn’t wiping his eyes.

More footsteps. More voices. The rest of the crew had arrived.

“Chopper, do you need—oh my god.”

Nami’s voice cracked like glass.

Robin gasped—then went silent, her hands pressing to her mouth as her eyes widened in horror.

Luffy didn’t say anything at all. You heard him step forward, felt the air shift, and then—

The room buzzed. With fury.

His voice came quiet. “Who did this.”

No one answered. Everyone already knew.

Franky’s jaw tightened as he looked at the wounds. “They used something barbed,” he said grimly. “Not just a whip. They wanted to rip, not just punish.”

Usopp made a choked sound. His hands covered his mouth like he might throw up. “I—I thought we were fast enough... I thought we could stop it—”

“Stop.” Chopper’s voice was shaking, but firm. “Please. Don’t talk. Just—let me fix this. Please.”

He was working so carefully, so gently. His hooves trembled with every bandage, every dab of antiseptic. He muttered instructions under his breath, as if giving himself something to focus on.

You didn’t have the strength to speak, but your heart thudded in your chest—like it knew someone was coming. Someone important.

And then—

You felt him. Before you saw him.

The air changed again. Denser. Quieter.

Zoro stepped into the room.

You couldn’t see him at first. You were half-facedown, cheek against the mattress, breaths shallow. But your eyes fluttered open just enough. Enough to see movement. Enough to see the stillness in his body as he took one long look at your back.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t draw a sword.

Didn’t clench his fists.

But his face— His eyes— They were hellfire.

It was the kind of rage that didn’t shout. It promised.

Everyone in the room looked at him. And no one said a thing.

You blinked slowly, struggling to focus through the haze. His figure was blurry at the edges, but your gaze locked with his.

And everything around you—pain, voices, the smell of blood and antiseptic—fell away.

His eyes met yours.

Your body trembled as your gaze locked with Zoro’s.

Just for a second, everything else was gone—just the two of you. His eyes, full of something so intense it could burn through stone, had softened. Just for you.

But that was worse somehow. So much worse.

You blinked—and your stomach twisted. Shame crashed over you in waves, hard and fast and dizzying. The pain, the memory of that whip, the blood, the helplessness.

You couldn’t let him see this.

You wouldn’t.

He was the one who stood tall after every fight, whose pride bled through his very bones. A wound on a swordsman’s back is a shame, he once said with that fire in his voice, the same fire you always admired.

So what did that make you?

You whimpered, weak and shaking, and tried to move. To curl away. To hide your back from his eyes.

“Don’t—” you rasped, choking on your own breath. “Don’t look at me.”

Your arms gave out, but you still tried to roll to your side. Even that movement sent a flare of white-hot agony through your body, stealing your voice and forcing a cry from your lips.

Zoro stepped forward instinctively, but Chopper was already at your side, gently pressing a hoof to your shoulder.

“[Y/N], stop! You’ll tear the stitches!”

“I don’t care—don’t let him see me!” you cried, voice cracking. “He’ll see—he’ll know—and I can’t—please, just tell him to go!”

You were sobbing now, the pain mixing with something deeper. Uglier. You couldn’t stop shaking. You wanted to disappear.

Sanji’s hand gripped yours gently but firmly. “Oi. Don’t do that to yourself,” he murmured, voice rougher than usual. “You’re not weak. Not to us.”

Luffy knelt beside you, calm for once, his hand light on your arm. “You’re still you.”

You gasped, panicking, trying to twist away again—but three pairs of hands held you down. Not to trap you. To protect you.

“You’re not alone,” Chopper whispered, weeping freely now as he cleaned another wound.

“I’m not strong enough,” you sobbed, the words ripping from you like glass. “I turned my back—I didn’t fight—I didn’t win—”

“And you lived,” Sanji snapped, voice shaking. “You survived something no one should have. That’s strength too, dumbass.”

You sobbed harder, the pain in your chest now matching the fire on your back.

Zoro hadn’t said a word. Not one.

And still—you felt him there. Like gravity. Like steel.

The others didn’t move. Didn’t push you. But they didn’t let go either.

And Zoro stayed. Just out of reach.

Just for you.

-

You didn’t hear him move.

You only felt it—his presence getting closer, like a shadow stretching toward you even in firelight.

You flinched, the sob catching in your throat as you tried again, feebly, to turn away. “Please,” you whispered. “Zoro, don’t. I don’t want you to see this. I can’t—”

“Hey.” Soft. Gentle. The calm in the storm.

You froze as he crouched beside you.

The others—Sanji, Chopper, Luffy—they all slowly let go, sensing something shift. Something private.

Zoro didn’t touch you right away. He just looked at you. And when he spoke, it was softer than you’d ever heard.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” he said, voice low and steady. “Not ever.”

Your face was hot, streaked with tears. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes again. “You said a swordsman’s back… getting hurt like this… it’s shameful.”

You hated how small you sounded. How broken.

“I was weak, Zoro.”

“No.” He said it like a blade drawn from its sheath—firm and clean. “You were ambushed. You were alone. And you still held on.”

He leaned closer.

His hand rose slowly, and he brushed your sweat-matted hair back, fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Then he pressed his lips to your forehead.

You shivered beneath the kiss, not from pain this time—but from how tender it was. Like he was afraid you’d break apart completely if he wasn’t careful.

“I’m scared,” you choked out, voice cracking. “I don’t want you to see me like this. I don’t want you to be… to be ashamed of me.”

Zoro moved then—finally, gently—cupping your cheek in his calloused hand. His thumb brushed just beneath your eye, wiping away the new tears that spilled over.

His gaze found yours.

And there was nothing in it but love.

“Listen to me,” he murmured. “You are not weak. And there’s not a single part of you that I’m ashamed of. Not one scar. Not one breath.”

Your lip quivered.

“You’re mine,” he said simply. “All of you. Even the parts that hurt.”

Your eyes shut tight as you cried again—but this time, it wasn’t from fear.

Zoro stayed right there, kneeling beside you, forehead pressed to yours, his hand never leaving your face. He held you steady. Let you fall apart.

And he was the one to catch you.

-

The breeze was soft today.

The kind that kissed your skin rather than stung it. The kind that whispered peace instead of dragging old pain to the surface.

You stood on the deck of the Sunny, hands gripping the railing as the sea shimmered beneath the morning sun. Your legs wobbled—weak from bedrest and bruised from the inside out—but you were standing. For the first time since it happened.

The wind caught the ends of your shirt, loose and carefully chosen. It didn’t cling. It didn’t show the thick, fresh bandages wrapped around your back. Not that it would’ve mattered—not to him.

Zoro was there. Of course he was.

Leaning beside you, arms crossed, not crowding. Just there, like he always promised he’d be. Close enough to catch you if you stumbled. But far enough to let you prove you could still stand on your own.

“How’s it feel?” he asked without looking at you, eyes on the horizon.

You took a breath. It tugged at the healing wounds. Still sharp. But not unbearable.

“Like I’ve got a hundred knives stuck in my ribs,” you said, offering him a small, dry smile.

Zoro glanced sideways. “Sounds like an upgrade from yesterday.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, and he smiled, just a little.

It felt strange—being in the sun again. Feeling the ship rock under your feet. Hearing the distant sounds of the others as they moved about the deck. Life was happening again, and for the first time in days… you were part of it.

But even now, with the pain duller and the fear quieter, you hesitated.

You shifted slightly, turning your body away so your back faced the ocean instead of him. A habit. A shield. Something your heart hadn’t quite let go of yet.

Zoro didn’t comment on it. He just took a slow step closer.

And then another.

Until his shoulder was brushing yours.

“Y’know,” he murmured, low and thoughtful, “when I said scars on a swordsman’s back are shameful…”

You flinched a little—but you listened.

“I meant me. My back. If I ran.”

He turned his head, eyes meeting yours with quiet weight.

“You didn’t run. You didn’t give up. You survived. That’s not shame. That’s something I…” He hesitated, then looked away with a small scoff. “That’s something I’m proud of you for.”

Your throat tightened, and you blinked hard, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, voice softer now. “Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

You reached for his hand without thinking—and he was already there, meeting you halfway. Fingers lacing through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I know,” you whispered.

Zoro didn’t say anything else.

He just stood beside you. Silent. Steady. Strong.

And when you finally took a step forward—slow, careful, but yours—he moved right with you.

One step. Then another. And another.

Healing wasn’t easy.

But with him beside you, it didn’t feel impossible.

Not anymore.

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Take it slow (Gale Dekarios x Reader)

synopsis: Gale and you share a tent for the night. The forced proximity is the perfect circumstance to explore each other more.

warnings: drinking, smut adjacent, reader is the first person to be with Gale after Mystra, heavy petting, dry humping, afab reader

word count: 1.8k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: Thank you to my darling @legitalicat for beta reading and also for listening to my honestly unhealthy Bg3 obsession. I love you💕

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The whole party sits around the campfire, drinking, celebrating another small victory. Spirits had been down lately, so this was more than needed and a night of light-heartedness feels only appropriate. You sit around in a big group until well into the night, when the first folks start retiring, leaving only a handful of people. Among them Gale, who after wishing everyone a good night, comes back to join you rather quickly. Garnering a few questioning looks.

“It seems like I am out of a tent for the night.” He explains his sudden return, one hand scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

You are about to ask what happened, when from the side Karlach loudly gives her own opinion.

“You should share a tent.” She laughs and wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

The suggestion garners a few drunken snickers around the group, but it also serves well to make your cheeks grow warm at the thought of sharing a space with the wizard for the night. Your nervous demeanour only furthers their giggles.

Gale however quickly lifts his hands in a defensive motion. “It´s quite alright. I don´t mind sleeping with- I mean sharing a tent with you. If you do not mind it either.”

His slip of tongue immediately produces more heat on both of your faces and gives the others a hard time not to burst out into roaring laughter.

“I do not mind it at all.” That secretly you had wished for this moment for a while now goes unsaid, though when he helps you to your feet your eyes linger on each other´s for just a second too long to still be platonic in nature.

Gale leads you away from the amused group by the hand and holds open the tent for you to enter before him.

Now alone with the wizard the tension in the rather confined space grows thick. The two of you lay stiff beside each other on the considerably too small bed roll, desperately trying to find something to say to lighten the mood somehow, to make each other more comfortable. Luckily for you, as you lay there so far away from the campfire, the cold seeps into your bones and makes both of you shiver.

“Would it be alright if I laid closer to you? Just to fight the cold a bit.” you ask in a croaky voice. Your fingertips drumming against the ground with excessive energy.

“Yes, yes naturally.” Gale replies fast, almost all but pulling you into his arms.

 Silence settles yet again as you lay your head on his chest, though it feels a bit less stiff than before. The scent of black tea, parchment paper enters your nostrils, accompanied by an undercurrent of sea salt and something citrusy to all mix for a scent that is so uniquely Gale. You can feel his chin rest against the crown of your head and instinctively bury your nose further into his chest. His hand runs up and down your arm with feather light touches, to warm you some more. The laughter from outside subsides to leave only the singing cicadas behind and the tension inside shifts to something much more than not being used to being so close so suddenly. Until you break under the weight of it.

Your lips tingle as they finally brush against his neck. Your heart is beating on your ears at how exciting it is, leaning in to repeat the motion over and over again. Sucking and nibbling at the skin ever so lightly. Gale’s skin warms up under your ministrations and his adam's apple bobs under a heavy gulp. Right as you pull away, he lets out a shaky breath. However, the two of you can't stay away for long, crashing your lips together. Hands grabbing at the other´s cheeks, necks and hips, anywhere they can reach for purchase. Your lips press together hesitantly at first, yet as they grow surer in what they are doing, stay slow, but crushingly passionate.

“Gods you’re such a good kisser.” You rasp against his lips. “I will never get enough of the way you taste.”

There is not a single trace of your initial bashfulness left as the kiss lingers longer and longer. Your hands wander over Gale´s arms to his chest, feeling his heartbeat drum against his chest to match the rhythm of your own. His fingers hook into your pants as your hands claw into the collar of his shirt pulling you into his lap and each other close until there is no air left between you. Nor is any breath in your lungs. The kiss is the only thing keeping the two of you alive in this moment. Savouring the sweet remnants of wine on his stained lips and the feel of their softness.

A guttural moan falls from his lungs, getting swallowed by you immediately. “Keep tasting me then.”

It's something he doesn't have to tell you twice. While you continue to breathe life into each other, you let your hands wander over the fabric separating each other’s bodies. Roaming the length of it repeatedly before they dip underneath. You gently drag your nails down his sides and back. Not enough to leave a sting but for a shiver to follow along with them. Ending with your hands running over the bulge between his thighs.

“Wait…” The wizard suddenly pulls away to stop you by laying his hands over yours.

You pull back as well at the sound of his voice, eyes fluttering open to gauge his reaction and the cause of the sudden stop.

The sight of his tousled hair, the shiny, swollen lips and the flushed skin. The heavily moving chest, in the dim light it's all so intoxicating.

“What is it?” You ask worriedly, taking hold of his hands and guide them to rest against your chest.

It takes a while for him to collect himself. “Yes, quite alright. I am not used to people touching me like this anymore. I…”

The frustration coming from him is palpable in his aura, but you on the other hand are filled with relief that he isn't shutting you out.

“We can take it slow. There is no harm in that.” You cup Gale's cheek in your hand and nudge his nose with yours.

A shaky sigh escapes his lungs in response to it. “I´m sorry. I must be so boring. You are probably used to more adventurous partners. You must think I don't want you now.”

“Hey, hey listen to me. There is no need to apologize. It is so exciting just to be with you. It is true I want you so much, but more than that I want you to be comfortable. So, if you do not feel ready to go all the way just yet, l am fine with that.“ While you coo at him reassuringly, eyes set on his, your fingers run through his beard.

He leans into your touch, practically purring at the soothing motion. He can´t help but nuzzle further into your palm. “Do you truly mean it?”

You don't mean to chuckle at him while he is being vulnerable, but the way he looks at you with those wide, dark brown eyes, you can't fight back the sound.

“Yes. Of course I mean it. I could never live with myself knowing I forced myself on you.” A chaste peck finds its way from your lips to his temple.

Gale seems taken aback by your understanding, though the confusion in his face doesn´t stay for too long.

“I have an idea. How would you feel about being the one to guide my hands over your body until you feel more comfortable with them wandering on their own?” You purr, biting your lower lip in excitement at the prospect of exploring him more.

His eyes glow up at the proposal and he slowly nods his head. “I think I would like that very much.”

Your hands, still holding his, find Gale´s chest, resting against it without moving. That alone has his heart beating faster an embarrassing amount, but so does yours as his own digits carefully begin to guide them. Shaky breaths mingle, your eyes stay on each other securely, meanwhile you feel the soft indigo fabric and the contrasting rough silver accents under your palms. Roaming over his upper body once more, caressing his neck and running through his hair. Every now and again your lips meet his to share a kiss or to press some chaste affection to his jawline or the column of his throat, which draw soft whimpers from both of your lungs. It gets the warmth in your stomach to swirl hotter than ever before and when you least expect it, Gale leads you underneath the shirt again. The feel of his still heated skin is exhilarating, but he still has a surprise left for you.

Gale lightly lifts one of his legs and flexes the muscles to rub against the bundle of nerves at the apex between your thighs, making you draw in a sharp breath.

“Fuck, Gale…” You breathe out, beginning to tremble just as much as he does. “That feels so good.”

The wizard is only able to hum in agreement, too focused on your fingers carding through his chest hair and teasing his nipples under his guidance. In search of more stimulation, your hips begin to move on their own. Rubbing your pleasure centre against his thigh, ready to stop at any moment. Yet as you do so, Gale groans and meets your stagnant motions. Your lips meet once more and just like this kiss your movement against each other´s bodies grow heavier and more passionate fast.

Before you know it, the wizard has left your hands at his hips to lay his own on yours to guide them instead. A tight winded knot builds in the pit in your stomach quickly, prompting your hips to grow more erratic.

“I am so close.” Gale barely manages to part barely far enough to moan into your mouth and is immediately met with the sentiment being very much reciprocated by you.

“I want to reach my peak along with you.” You whimper right back, desperate for the release that is threatening to take over the two of you.

The confession alone makes Gale´s hips falter and the hardened length in his pants twitch before erupting with his climax. A drawn-out moan fills the space that was otherwise only filled with your heavy breathing and pulls you right over the edge with him, your body weakly collapsing against his chest, while you bathe in the glow of your shared pleasure.

“Perhaps this might not be the perfect moment to confess this, but I think I have been in love with you since the moment I pulled you out of that portal.” You whisper weakly, eyes falling close at regular intervals already.

“On the contrary I believe there is no better time for this confession. I have felt similarly for a long time as well now. Though I have never dreamed of speaking my feelings out loud.” Gale answers in just the same quiet, intimate tone.

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Alright, time for another Merlin au! This one won the last poll, marked as "an au featuring Arthur being an idiot"!

In this au, set sometime in the three years between season 4 and season 5, Arthur, Merlin, and the knights of the round table get ambushed by a large pack of ferocious wyverns while on a quest. This time, Merlin couldn't be subtle about using his dragonlord commands to pacify them, and that was the only way to ensure that they would all make it out alive. So, Merlin uses dragonlord commands to make the wyverns leave and, in the process, reveals that's he's a dragonlord. However, he at least managed to keep his magic a secret through the ordeal, so he's got that going for him.

Arthur is, of course, rather upset about Merlin keeping this secret from him, and is even more upset when he learned that Balinor was Merlin's father and guilty that he didn't support his friend through mourning his father as Merlin had for him. However, Arthur can also keep things in perspective. After all, dragonlord powers weren't actual sorcery, apparently it was a magic-adjacent gift that Merlin had inherited at the moment of his father's death, whether he wanted to or not. Besides, it wasn't like Merlin chose to have the ability, so Arthur couldn't really hold the ability itself against Merlin.

And anyways, Arthur mused to himself at their camp after Merlin came clean to the knights the night after the the wyvern attack, it wasn't like there were any dragons left. The only thing Merlin could do was command wyverns. While that could perhaps make him a threat if he wasn't the most harmless person Arthur knew, they didn't even encounter wyverns that often.

So, Arthur was willing to just let this be a useful little trick that Merlin could use on the off chance that they ran into wyverns. Still, the image that the whole situation gave Arthur, an image of Merlin being a formidable, powerful dragonlord with devastating dragons under his command, was rather amusing.

So, as Arthur settled in for the night after hearing the last of Merlin's explanation, this wasn't going to be a big deal. Sure, he was still hurt that Merlin kept this a secret from him, but Arthur could understand why. Uther had killed all of the other dragonlords, so it made sense that Merlin felt unsafe with his father still on the throne, and since they didn't run across wyverns often, there was a very real chance that Merlin just forgot about his ability entirely until it was relevant again. That was a very Merlin thing to do.

So, everything was fine. Everyone with them looked comfortable with Merlin, and he knew that they would keep this a secret for Merlin's sake. If word of Merlin's dragonlord abilities got out, Arthur could always publicly grant him a pardon. After all, it wasn't like he had ever hurt anybody with it. The only thing he seemed to do with it was send wyverns away.

Arthur quietly snorted to himself at the thought. Oh no, the terrible powers of Merlin the dragonlord, telling some wyverns to shoo.

Arthur relaxed into his bedroll, listening to the knights settling in to sleep and their fire crackling a few feet away. The quiet noises were peaceful, but were broken a few minutes later by Leons seemingly innocuous question.

"Merlin, if you were already a dragonlord when we rode out to face the great dragon, did you do anything with your powers? I assume you're the reason Arthur made it out alive through the whole ordeal."

Merlin froze where he was sitting, a myriad of emotions passing through his face before his expression settled on a grimace. Arthur sat up, interested in hearing Merlin's answer. What truly happened that night with the dragon? In the comfort of his own mind, Arthur admitted that Merlin's explanation of Arthur slaying it was... unlikely, at best, considering that Arthur was unconscious at the time.

"Well, you'd be correct Leon. It took me a while to figure out how to use dragonlord commands, since I never got any instruction on how I was supposed to command Kil- the great dragon. I'm truly sorry that I wasn't quick enough to save the other knights."

Merlin hung his head low, with what looked like shame. Arthur frowned at his manservant. Surely Merlin couldn't hold himself responsible for their deaths? Every knight had similar guilt, telling themselves at night that they should've been faster, should've been better, should've been more aware, then maybe some of their friends would still be with them.

Every knight learned the same lesson: those thoughts were the path to madness. It was disheartening to see that misplaced guilt on Merlin as well.

Luckily, before Arthur had to try to articulate that, Leon seemed to have similar thoughts, and spoke to Merlin with a soft, reassuring smile.

"Merlin, they volunteered for that mission, and they knew the risks. You are not to blame for the dragon's actions. Now please, tell us, how was the dragon actually defeated?"

Merlin nodded at Leon's words, but the guilt remained on his face.

"I, uh, was able to find my dragonlord voice after Arthur was knocked from his horse. He hadn't managed to hit the dragon, and he was about to kill Arthur, but I couldn't let that happen."

Merlin glanced over at Arthur, who was valiantly trying to ignore the warm fuzzy feelings blooming in his chest at the thought of Merlin slaying a dragon single-handedly just to protect him. He wasn't some maiden in a children's tale!

"But, when I gave the order to the dragon to stop attacking, I- I couldn't-"

Merlin swallowed thickly before continuing.

"I couldn't kill him. He was the last dragon, the last of my kin. So, I ordered him to leave. I banished him from Camelot and forbade him from ever harming another human again."

This time, Arthur froze where he was sitting, and he could see that the knights were in similarly tense states. Poor Leon turned a rather disturbing shade of pale.

Finally, Arthur spoke up with a forced calm tone, the type that was only a thin veneer to panic.

"Merlin, you don't mean to tell me that the dragon is still alive? And it could return to Camelot to finish what it started?"

Merlin looked at Arthur and tried to reassure him, but Arthur could barely comprehend Merlin's words through his rising panic.

"Well, yes, he's still alive, but dragons physically cannot disobey orders given by their dragonlord. He cannot return to Camelot at all, unless I call for him."

Merlin tried to give him a comforting smile, but Arthur wasn't sure he could feel any sort of comfort at the moment. He locked eyes with Leon, who wasn't faring much better with his own panic. Dear gods, that monster was still out there! They had all been living under a false sense of security! And all the while, Merlin was smiling at him like there was nothing wrong at all!

Arthur took a deep breath and tried to think through the haze of his panic. Right, Merlin hadn't killed the dragon. That made sense, since Merlin hated killing anything at all, much less the most dangerous monster on the planet. Right. But, according to Merlin, the dragon physically couldn't enter Camelot or hurt any humans.

Information, what Arthur needed was more information. If he had more information, he could come up with a strategy to keep Camelot safe from the dragon indefinitely. Merin's orders had worked for now, but there was no guarantee that those would work forever.

Forever... wait a minute...

"Merlin," Arthur called out frantically, fueled by an awful thought. "How long does a dragonlord's order bind a dragon?" Please say forever, please say forever...

Merlin's eyebrows shot up, apparently not expecting Arthur to ask such a question.

"Well, any dragonlord's order is fully binding to a dragon up until the original dragonlord rescinds the order or the dragonlord dies, whichever comes first."

Arthur felt panic's icy fingers wrap around his heart. Arthur despised even thinking about any hypothetical death of Merlin's, couldn't fathom an empty life as the king without his friend, but this, this information put a whole new layer of dread onto the though, which Arthur previously thought wasn't even possible. He could see the other knights catching onto his logic as well, while Merlin still sat on his log, looking at all of them confusedly.

If Merlin somehow died, then his banishment on the dragon was lifted. And if that happened, there would be no dragonlord left to stop it from reducing all of Camelot to ash. If Merlin died, then Camelot was doomed.

This new knowledge sat heavy in Arthur's gut, putting him on edge. Balinor had been killed from a bandit's crossbow bolt, something that Merlin faced regularly while following Arthur around. All it would take was one lucky shot on a bandit's part, and all of Camelot would die.

One bandit attack gone wrong, one assassin from Morgana, one accident on the training field, one illness contracted from a patient, and all of Camelot would go up in smoke.

Wait... dragons lived for thousands of years... and Merlin would, if Arthur had his way, live for at least a hundred years, but everyone died eventually. The dragon would surely outlive Merlin, and then the only way that Camelot would still stand was if there was another dragonlord! But Merlin was the only one left, and it was passed down from...

from father to son.

Arthur choked on air as he realized it. Good god, what had his life come to?!

If Camelot was going to survive, Merlin needed to have a son, and have one quickly. For the continued survival of Camelot to be ensured, Merlin needed to find a wife and get laid.

Arthur wanted to start laughing hysterically. The fate of his kingdom rested upon Merlin's ability to sire a child.

Arthur stared at Merlin as the other man tried not to squirm under the shocked gazes of all the knights. Ok, he could do this, his kingdom would be safe from the dragon, he just needed a plan.

First, they needed to get Merlin back to Camelot, where he would be safe and away from murderous bandits. That part was easy enough, they were already heading back to the kingdom anyways. The knights had estimated that it would have taken them another three days to reach Camelot, but with all of the knights sharing Arthur panic around Merlin's safety, for both the sake of their friend himself and the kingdom, they were able to make it back in only two days.

For those two days, Merlin seemed more confused by their frantic and panicked behavior than anything else. His shocked and embarrassed face when Percival had helped him on and off his horse - "so he doesn't fall and get hurt", the gentle giant had rationalized - had been very amusing. All the while, Arthur planned out what they would do when they returned and repeatedly reassured Merlin that no, he wasn't too mad about Merlin letting the dragon live since Merlin could at least keep it away.

Then, they needed to ensure Merlin's protection in Camelot. Granted, there weren't many dangers in Camelot, but the clumsy fool could find danger anywhere. With his luck, Arthur would bet that Merlin would trip over some stairs in the castle and wind up bleeding out! That could be remedied by assigning knights to guard Merlin at all times in Camelot and keeping Merlin physically by his side as much as he could. Merlin raised an eyebrow at his new guards and schedule, which kept him glued to Arthur's hip at all hours of the day, but otherwise said nothing (besides a little mocking about how Arthur couldn't get anything done without him. Arthur tried not to think about how the familiar taunt rang far more true than he had ever realized.).

(Merlin, on his end, took these measures as a sign that he had lost Arthur's trust with the admission of letting the dragon live. What else was he supposed to think about knights following him 24/7 and being kept in Arthur's line of sight more than ever before?! Merlin consoled himself that it was by far more lenience than he had been expecting. Arthur hadn't threatened him, he wasn't being executed or exiled, Arthur was still treating him as a friend, and he had every chance to earn Arthur's trust back again. Really, if his punishment as just having to be with his knight friends at all times, then he could happily live with that.)

Still, Arthur didn't know how to go about the final part of his plan: ensuring that Merlin would have an heir to inherit his dragonlord powers and keep Camelot standing for generations to come. Of all of the trials and quests he'd faced, this one seemed to be the most daunting of all: finding a woman attracted to Merlin.

Arthur eventually settled on a plan. He'd have Gwaine accompany Merlin on long walks around the castle and the lower town, and the knight would report back to Arthur on which ladies had caught Merlin's eye, and which ladies Merlin had caught the eye of. Gwaine had a way to spotting attraction between people, something he frequently used to gather ammunition to tease his fellow knights with. With any luck, there would be some overlap between the two lists, and they could find some nice woman for Merlin to settle down with.

After a few weeks, however, Arthur found himself having to re-evaluate his plan. While Gwaine had reported that there were a good number of young ladies in the lower town that seemed to fancy Merlin, Merlin didn't seem to have eyes for anyone, which made their mission trickier.

Eventually, Arthur resorted to inviting Merlin over for dinner with him and Gwen, hoping to flaunt to Merlin how great the married life was and how Merlin was getting older and was running out of time to settle down and have children. To his disappointment, Merlin didn't seem to get the hint, instead telling both of them how much he appreciated them including him in their time together when they didn't have to. Arthur had to swallow back frustrated screams at his friend's obliviousness.

(Gwen, meanwhile, was perplexed by Arthur's push for Merlin to find a wife. At first glance, she would think that Arthur was worried about Merlin never settling down and starting a family, which was something Gwen sometimes worried about as well.

However, Arthur's push was more vehement than a concerned friend's. There was something there, some underlying passion forcing him to push Merlin towards a wife.

When Gwen finally realized the truth behind Arthur's efforts, it broke her heart. Gwen knew that her husband could be a bit old-fashioned in some ways, and that the prejudices that he must have grown up with as a noble were not easily shaken off, but still, that wasn't an excuse to be homophobic towards Merlin!

Gwen had figured out about her friend's preferences during the Lamia's attack, since Merlin was the only man unaffected. Truthfully though, Gwen had suspected long before that, given how Merlin had looked at both Lancelot and Gwaine. And while it was shocking for Gwen, she would support her friend no matter what!

So, she was very disappointed in Arthur's behavior. Arthur must have somehow learned about Merlin's preference towards men during their last quest, and now he was trying to pressure Merlin into finding a wife! She agreed that Merlin deserved a lovely family, but Arthur should not force him into the nobility's narrow definition of family! If Merlin wanted his lovely family to involve a husband instead of a wife and that's what made him happy, then that is what they all should wholeheartedly accept!

Gwen really needed to give her husband a stern talking-to before he could hurt Merlin with his prejudice!)

(Merlin, meanwhile, is far too sleep-deprived and stressed over keeping Arthur safe and the prophecy to even think about romance or starting a family. His disaster bisexual ass has too much on his plate right now.)

So, Arthur tries everything he could think of to find Merlin a wife. Unfortunately, Arthur is not nearly as good of a wingman to Merlin as Merlin was to him. Arthur had hosted many balls and feasts, making sure to invite attractive ladies around Merlin's age, but Merlin didn't even bat an eye at any of them.

Perhaps the only thing more frustrating than Merlin's lack of attention towards any of the young ladies of the court was the fact that, now that Arthur was looking for signs of anyone's affection towards Merlin, he could see how many members of his own court were smitten with his manservant.

And Arthur was just baffled because how?! How was that possible?! That Merlin, a lanky beanpole of a man with a blinding smile and charming wit and unending loyalty and eyes he could get lost in...

Where was Arthur going with that? Oh right. Merlin, with all of the suaveness of a wet sock, was somehow the object of desire for most of the ladies in waiting. Arthur was entirely baffled by it.

And just when Arthur thought that it couldn't get any worse, it did. It got so much worse when his wife sat him down and started lecturing him for some sort of prejudice that he was showing against Merlin by pushing him towards a wife, because apparently Merlin's eyes didn't stray towards women at all.

Look, Arthur knew that some of his own knights preferred the company of men, and he wouldn't begrudge them something like that. To each their own. But if Camelot was going to still be standing for Arthur's heir, Merlin needed to sire a son of his own.

After Arthur explained to Gwen the situation that they were in with the great dragon still alive and Merlin's life being the only thing holding the beast back from destroying Camelot, Gwen also became grave with the realization that they were stuck without a solution that would keep Camelot safe for the next generations.

Arthur moped around for a few weeks, unable to think of a single solution for the situation he had found himself trapped in. How on earth was he supposed to get Merlin to have a biological son if Merlin doesn't even like women?!

Wait, but Merlin had liked a woman, at one point. Perhaps his preferences had changed, but at one point, he was willing to sacrifice himself, to willingly confess to sorcery in front of Uther Pendragon, in order to keep the woman he loved alive. And Arthur knew that love like that didn't die easily. And Arthur should know, since he loved the same woman in the same way.

From then on, Arthur kept a keen eye on Merlin and his wife. He knew that his wife would never be unfaithful to him with Merlin, and Merlin had been nothing but supportive towards Arthur and Gwen's relationship, even when Arthur himself had given up on it. Still, Arthur knew that if Merlin had eyes for one woman in the world, it would have to be Gwen. He saw the way that Merlin looked at Gwen sometimes. Merlin didn't look at any other woman that way.

Gwen had confessed that she had romantic feelings towards Merlin at one point, and Merlin certainly had some sort of feelings for Gwen that went beyond platonic. Arthur swallowed dryly as he thought about it. Could... could that be the only way?

(Cue slowburn Mergwenthur, with Arthur trying to set up Gwen and Merlin together with a heavy heart, while the other two are kinda oblivious and mistake it as Arthur wanting a threesome, which they would be more than happy to go along with, along with Arthur slowly realizing his own feelings for Merlin.)

(Meanwhile, since Arthur's crap at communicating, Merlin doesn't actually realize that it all started because they thought that they needed Merlin to have a son to keep Camelot safe from the dragon after Merlin was dead. Upon Arthur finally telling him, Merlin then has to awkwardly informs them that he's immortal and doesn't really need to sire an heir.

Arthur, understandably, screams into a pillow at the news that his efforts were pointless, while his lovers laugh gently at him and start kissing him to make up for all the stress he had to go through.)

And that's all for this au! I hoped you liked Arthur's himbo-ness shining through one again!

Thanks for reading through my ramblings! :D

[lowkeycasanova]

took her to paris

roronoa zoro x strawhat!reader x trafalgar law

afab!reader

this pairing has me weak

warning: may induce lust (no condoms, voyeurism (?), slight choking, 18+)

word count: 3.1k

Law never felt the need to compete with Zoro. Yet he never thought it would take an alliance with Luffy to bring that flame of jealousy. But his stoic demeanor masked any emotions that hinted at vulnerability.

Of course you were connected to Zoro. You were part of the same crew. It would only make sense that everyone was close. You and that green haired swordsman were no different.

It was dinnertime. The rest of the crew has left from the table leaving you, Zoro, and Law alone. Despite having a little too much to drink, Zoro doesn't become wild and boisterous. In fact, the more jovial side of him comes to light.

Law tries to stomach the rest of what's on his plate but yet again, he was met with the sensation of bitterness while observing the easy rapport between you and Zoro.

Perhaps it was the way you and Zoro effortlessly made each other laugh. Or the shared glances that spoke volumes without uttering a word. Whatever it was, Law couldn't deny that a part of him yearned for a similar relationship with you. A relationship that went beyond strategic allies.

Standing up from your spot next to Zoro, gripping your empty plate and bringing it to the kitchen to clean. Law's eyes inadvertly diverted to you. Dressed for the New World weather, a tank top and shorts clung to your form, practically begging for him to get an eyeful. Sanji came from the adjacent hallway and stopped you. "I got it love." he told you.

You handed your plate to Sanji as he flashed his charming grin your way. Making your way back to the table, Law tried to look elsewhere as his eyes lingered a little too long, but was met with Zoro's gaze as he took a swing of his bottle.

Law hastily averted his eyes, realizeing he'd been caught, now pretending to be engrossed with the scraps on his plate, finishing them. He felt the weight of Zoro's fixed look, a subtle tension hung in the air mixed with a bit of awkwardness.

He smirked, confirming his suspicions.

He didn't have anything against Law. But there was something nagging in the back of his mind. Law is strong. Zoro knew that. His devil fruit power and intelligence make him a force to be reckoned with. And as a fellow swordsman, Zoro respected him. Hell, he was even attractive. But Zoro knew that Law was not giving him a run for his money.

**

"I could take you both."

That one comment you made was the catalyst for the position you were in now.

You didn't even mean it like that. It was just a joke. Right?

Sometimes you liked to get under Zoro's skin, playfully teasing him about his abilities as a swordsman. As if you could effortlessly do better. But his agitation never failed to amuse you. And now with Law here and knowing he's a swordsman too in his own right, it just came out. You didn't mean it and you certain didn't expect them to call your bluff.

"Oh yeah?" Zoro inquired.

It was silent for a moment, then you realized that not only Zoro was looking at you, but also Law. "Why are you both looking at me like that?"

"You ever had a threesome?" Zoro asked, ever so blunt.

Your cheeks immediately heated up. A palpable tension gripped the room as his unexpected, provocative question hung in the air. Law, normally composed, raising an eyebrow. He's not opposed to the idea, just surprised that Zoro brought it up.

"Wait...that's not.." you stammered, attemping to regain control of the situation. Law had an unreadble expression, and you wonder why he wasn't speaking up on your behalf.

Zoro took one last swing from his bottle and used his thumb to wipe the excess sake off his lower lip, which was in some strange way, seductive. "If you haven't noticed, we both have a certain..admiration towards you."

Law took a hold of his chair so that he could fully turn it to face you.

Your heart was thundering in your chest. Two both very strong, powerful, gorgeous men. And they both wanted you. Law hasn't spoken yet, but his body langauage says it all.

They were both special, in their own way. You liked them more than you'd like to admit. More than what was professional. But yes, you have thought of both of them in that way. However, it was always separate. The idea of a threesome never entered your mind. And now the opportunity was staring at you right in the face.

"Do you...want us to have a threesome?" you asked.

Law finally broke his silence, his tone deadpan. "Not the worst thing in the world."

He shot Zoro a look. Zoro returned a half smirk, satisifed with the answer. An unspoken agreement between them.

"Right here, right now?" you inquired.

Well, you didn't say 'no'.

"My bed might be better." Zoro shrugged.

Law's cheeks lifted as he had a closed mouth grin that stretched from ear to ear. The two men stood up simultaneously and with calculated precision, a blue spherical aura formed from the palm of his hand around the perimeter where he held absolute control.

Shambles.

In an instant, you were now in the bedroom. The king sized bed stood front and center and you felt your breath quickening. Law stood leaning against the doorframe, Zoro was a couple feet ahead.

They striked you as intimidating, although they probably weren't trying to be.

"So if I said yes, how would this work?" you asked. Law found his eyes turning to Zoro, who didn't mind explaining.

"Whatever you're comfortable with. It's all up to you. And this could be a one time thing, if you want."

The room was dark. The only light was from the moon making its way through the window, softly illuminating their features.

Law turned back to you, agreeing with his answer.

Zoro approached your first, his hands settling on your waist and dipped his head down into your neck and his breath fanned over your ear. "So what's it gonna be? You gonna let us show you a good time?"

Law watched as Zoro pressed a kiss to your shoulder and you visibly melted against him. He could see the moment when you made your decision. Your hands made your way around to his back and broad shoulders.

Zoro purposefully didn't want to do too much, allowing you to really make the first move. You pressed your lips against his and immediately kissed back, his grip on your waist tightened and his tongue grazed your bottom lip, causing you to moan. That made him smile.

He knew exactly what to do and your heart was pounding in your chest. With his hands on your waist, Zoro spun you around and now you were met face-to-face with Law, sans hat.

You never even heard him come behind you.

Zoro settled against your back and Law observed you as you looked up at him through your lashes, lips slightly puffy already. He'd never seen anything more beautiful. Zoro wrapped his arms around you and kissed the side of your neck. This whole thing was making Law dizzy. It was new for him too.

The two men weren't the type to want to share. But it seems as if they put their pride to the side for the time being and work together.

Law stepped closer, cupping your face before planting a kiss on you. He was a little softer than Zoro. Careful and cautious, as if any mistake would make you change your mind.

Zoro's teeth skimmed over your neck and you let out a moan at the feeling of him already hard behind you. You began to fumble with the buttons of Law's black shirt, anxious to get it off to explore the chest he was always slightly revealing.

Zoro chuckled against your neck. "Looks like someone's impatient."

You smiled against Law's lips and he used his hands to push his shirt off his shoulders. Your hands explored from his neck, to his abdomen, to finally the sensitive skin just above his belt.

Something switched in Law because suddenly his tattooed hand came around your neck and he pulled you away by an inch. You open your eyes and see his dark hair covering parts of his eyes. "No teasing." he stated. Even Zoro was taken aback by the sudden change of pace.

"Well this just got way more fun."

Zoro pushed your shorts and panties down and his hand immediately went to your slick pussy. He rubbed on it for a second before slipping a finger in, at the same time, peckering your shoulder with kisses instead of your neck due to the fact that Law's hand was still around it. You moaned at his motions, then biting your bottom lip to keep yourself as composed as possible.

Law's eyes flickered to where you had your lip in between your teeth, pressing a kiss to them in retaliation, eating up your sounds of pleasure.

You pressed your back further against Zoro's chest and he groaned. "Fuck," he pulled away form you. "Suck Law off while I get a better feel, yeah?"

They both let you go, Law going up on the bed, undoing his belt as you followed, getting on all fours as you waitied patiently for them.

After ridding himself of his clothes, Zoro made his way behind you, hands massaging your ass and he was breathing hard enough for you to feel it on your skin.

As soon as Law released his dick from his pants, you grabbed it with one hand and licked the tip.

"What did I tell you about teasing?"

Zoro chuckled slightly as he slipped two fingers inside you and you moaned against Law's tip, moving forward to get more of his length in your mouth. The vibrations drove Law crazy and his fingers were laced in your hair.

Zoro rested his weight on one hand and used the other to finger you. The sensation of him plunging in and out was about to make your legs start quivering. The sounds of your squelching pussy was enough to make Zoro go faster and he feels you clenched around him.

Zoro decides that he needs a real feel and pulls his fingers out. Lining up his own cock with your entrance, he slowly but surely pushes himself in. You weren't expecting that but by no means were you complaining. You let out a pleasurable sound, letting him know it felt good, sucking harder on Law as a result. His fingers tightened their grip in your hair as he bucked his hips forward to meet your mouth, meeting every thrust from Zoro.

You felt that feeling in the pit of your stomach and released Law's cock with a 'pop'. Focusing on your own orgasm as it came without warning, it shook through your body, toes curling as you moaned pretty loudly. Zoro, gritting his teeth, continued his motions until you stopped shaking.

He then pulled out with a grin. His dick shiny.

Your body, sensitive from the orgasm worked out of you, fell slightly limp. You flipped onto your back were about to put your and Zoro assisted in lifting your legs up, resting them on his shoulders as he kneeled at the edge of the bed, knowing you might not be able to hold them up on your own.

Zoro got settled in between your thighs. Although he had no problem with the previous position, he wanted to see you.

He dips his head and meets your throbbing pussy with his tongue. His eyes glance up at you with that mischevous look. A look that would make you squeal like a fangirl. In an attempt to avert your gaze out of shyness, you throw your head back, gripping the sheets, and he held your thighs to keep you in place.

Law didn't know what was coming next as Zoro seemingly took the lead, but wasted no time in improvising. He got on the other side and pressed his mouth to yours, in a spiderman kiss position, silencing your moans from Zoro's actions. His fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt as if to request to take it off. To acknowledge him, you began to lift it above your head and Law took it off the rest of the way.

Easy for him, you weren't wearing a bra, so he didn't have to worry about trying to take that off too.

His hands begin to knead your breasts while Zoro continues to eat you out, sucking on your puffy flesh while intermittently using his tongue with pressure. Despite both men going slow, you orgasm again from overstimulation.

It was obvious to Zoro that Law was a bit more wound up, and as the three of you momentarily caught your breath, he motioned for the older guy to come over and take his place. With you on your back, only one of them could fuck you at a time. Law, now completely naked, then took his place in between your legs, that were still flexed in the air, and Zoro got comfortable on the bed.

"You doing okay?" Law questioned as he stroked his dick in anticipation.

"Yeah." you breathed out, dizzy, but in a good way. You widened your legs slightly as to give him an invitation.

"Oh my-" you whined, feeling the ridges of his shaft as he slowly pumped to get started. Law hovered over you, resting his hands on either side of your head as leverage and you grabbed a hold of his biceps.

"So...fucking tight." he groaned. His voice was low and his words alone made you throb.

Zoro laid a couple inches away, jerking himself at the sight of Law fucking you in missionary. He's keeping himself hard while he waits his turn. Part of him wonders what you're thinking about right now. Which man you're thinking about. You've known him longer, after all. He softly touches your hair with his other hand, as a reminder to let you know that he's still there. He can't let his pride go that easily.

"You like this, don't you?" Law pants, quickening his pace. "You like having two men fucking you."

You barely got a word out before he was sliding from your body. He continued to retreat, glancing down to see his shaft emerging from your snug grip, shiny from your welcome. The flared edge of his tip peeked from your opening and he gritted his teeth and pressed back home hard with an unapologetic thrust.

With your legs hooked around his waist, he was hitting a spot so deep that you knew another orgasm would be approaching.

He stares down, in awe, watching as he goes in an out of you from tip to base. How small you are in comparison. He's suddenly filled with pride that you can take all of him.

"mhmm fuuuccck." you whimper out. As if Law wasn't already on the edge. He pants into your ear as he continues. He felt you clenching around him and he lost it. One more thrust and he's come inside you. You hear his animalistic groans as he sprayed your walls with his cum, the warmth taking over.

He stays inside you for a moment before pulling out and collapsing on the bed to your left.

Zoro then got up and slotted himself where Law just was, brushing hair from your face. "You ready for another?" He gave you a look of concern that let you know that if you refused him, he would back off, no questions asked. Your heart swelled in appreciation that they would make sure you're okay.

He was the one now to hover over you, kissing your lips as he rubbed his tip against your folds.

"C'mon Zoro. Please."

He's doing it again. Grinning like a villian. "Well since you asked so nicely..."

He finally sunk in. And not to mention some of Law's cum still seeping out. Your legs shook at the feeling of being filled again and your nails dug into that trademark green hair.

The way his lips moved skillfully with yours, occasionally biting at your bottom lip, was something magical. His muscles flexed with every movement. The sounds you were making and the way he felt the fluttering around his cock told him everything he needed to know.

Zoro could feel himself getting closer with every thrust and maybe he would've been dramatic and switched positions so you'd be on top, but there was something about missionary that he liked. Your head fell back against the bed and he liked seeing your face and the feeling of your hands in his hair and gripping his shoulders. He liked seeing how you responded to him.

"Feels so good." you moaned.

He hummed and moved his hand to your pussy where he loved on it again. Your legs tensed, your lips let out a mixture of gasps and whimpers, and your eyes shut as you felt yourself let go.

"That's it. Cum for me, babygirl." The sight of you trembling underneath him triggered his own orgasm. Your hands held the shoulders of the swordsman over you like he was a hero.

"Fucking hell." he breathed

He stilled and pulled his sopping wet cock out from your cunt and collapses on your right side.

And there you three lay, in post-orgasmic bliss. The sound of heavy breathing in your ears. Looking over at Law as you catch your breath, his hands rest on his abs. His eyes are closed and he has a soft smile on his face. This is probably the most relaxed you'd ever seen him. He looked...content. As if he knew you were staring, he opens his eyes and says,

"Are you alright?", bringing up his tatttoed fingers and brushing over your cheek.

"No, I don't think she is." Zoro speaks up on your behalf.

"I'm great actually." you laugh and turn to him. "Just a little worn out."

He laughs lightly while his chest still heaves up and down, returning your smile. "You look like you could pass out."

You were a little sleepy. There was a moment of silence before Law sat himself up. "I'll grab a towel to get yourself cleaned up. Understand?"

You nodded.

"Oh yeah, you go do that." Zoro stated, casually laying down on the bed with his arms resting behind his head as if sex wasn't still lingering in the air. "Can't have another crewmate's mess all over my sheets."

Law scoffs dismissively while putting on his shirt. "Not your damn crewmate."

Aaannd they're back.

sorry if the first half seemed rushed!!

[crguang]

moonlit thoughts

You find that Kafka is most photogenic when she doesn’t try and is instead authentically going about her day without a care for the camera following her every movement.

established relationship, fluff, gn!reader, g!p kafka but there’s no actual smut, very suggestive at the end though, 4.3k words

A/N: a new kafka fic from saturn after all these years… somebody please check up on them this might be a clone… in all seriousness, i wrote this bc i’m going through a rough patch writing wise and i’ve had this idea in my head for months that somehow brings me comfort so i tried to put it into words but kinda flopped. there was supposed to be smut at the end but i ran out of juice, i’m sorry </3

She takes up the right half of the frame; dressed in nothing but a white unbuttoned shirt twice her size and mini shorts to match, her backside faces the lens and is illuminated by streaks of silver from a moon you cannot see. Her tousled hair paints some of the scene amaranth against the midnight sky beyond. It’s a shame the glimmer of stars can’t be seen at this distance, it’d make for a prettier picture. Her lit cigarette is also hidden, though its fumes dance in the air ahead of her and visibly swirl above her head for only a few seconds after each soft exhalation of her lips. You adjust the frame. The clear patio door on the left, Kafka leaning on the hotel room balcony on the right. She lifts her head, blows the smoke in her mouth, and the shutter clicks. In the quiet undisturbed by the circulation twenty stories below, the sound is distinct and impossible to overlook. You take more pictures.

Kafka straightens up and slightly turns to face the adjacent bedroom, her cigarette held loosely between two fingers and the other arm resting on the railing. She brings it to her lips, smiles when the shutter clicks once more, then exhales through her nose. Her features are partially obscured by the smoke and her hair sways with the light breeze. You take another picture.

“See something you like?”

She asks you this often, whenever you stare too long or fish your camera from your bag to point it towards her. Her tone is teasing, her smile amused, but she particularly enjoys the honesty you reply with.

“Always.”

You sit up in the bed and fiddle with your camera to adjust some of the settings. Kafka pushes herself off the balcony and saunters to the bedroom, leaning on the doorframe. She watches you press buttons and rotate the lens to the left, then to the right, before lifting the camera back to her without a word. In between three shutter clicks, she runs her fingers through her locks to tame the stray hairs flying about. She doesn’t care how she looks through your lenses, she’s said so once back when you first asked for permission to capture her that way, so this is just Kafka. She takes another drag from her cigarette. Her bare chest falls with her next exhalation, not a goosebump in sight despite the cool air outside. The shirt covers her nipples and offers a peek into the gentle swell of her breasts. You zoom out to include the waistline of her shorts. After the tenth picture, she speaks up again.

“Can’t get enough, huh?”

You smile and press the shutter button. “Well, you know what they say— I’m making sure the sight lasts longer. Can one get enough of their muse? I don’t think it’s happened before.”

“Your muse?” Kafka chuckles at the comment and crosses her arms over her chest. “You almost make me sound like some kind of artwork you’re trying to capture.”

“Not quite. Just trying to recreate my reality.”

She hums low in response and shifts, her back against the doorframe, tilting her head towards where you sit cross legged on the thick comforter. The butt of her cigarette glows orange. Your shutter clicks.

“And what exactly are you recreating right now?”

“You, smoking after sex a little past midnight in a hotel room we’ll leave behind in the morning. Speaking of, blow your smoke the other way.”

“For the picture?”

“For my nose.”

Kafka lifts her eyes to the sky but the corner of her lips curves in a subtle smile. She relents and walks further onto the balcony. “Oh, fine, I’ll take my smoke elsewhere.”

She resumes her position against the railing to finish her cigarette in peace, no longer facing you. The minutes pass in quietude, you catch every shift of movement and straying lock of hair through the lens of your digital camera. You lie on your side and the device follows your line of sight. Since it serves as a substitute for your eye whenever it’s turned on, her frame now fills the screen in portrait mode. You don’t know what she’s thinking as she silently basks in this moment of calm, free of the things she likes most— excitement, movement, gunfire. A multitude of thoughts could be running through her mind, you still haven’t learned to read every part of it. What she keeps from you is often pictured by your camera anyway. She has a dozen kinds of smiles, all tucked away in a hard drive you keep hidden even from her; part of you is unsure of how she would react to the implications of your scrutiny and wishes to keep the semblance of authenticity she demonstrates once you find yourselves out of the crowd. Each unedited clip or photo represents your eyesight and is inherently intimate, something Kafka likes to pretend she doesn’t struggle with through confident smiles and half-truths.

Not hearing the soft clicking of your camera anymore, Kafka turns to glance into the room. You haven’t moved on the bed, the device hiding your eyes from hers.

“You still taking pictures in there?” She calls out, her voice carrying through the open door.

“No, I’m filming.”

She raises an eyebrow in mild intrigue. “What’s the film for? Making a documentary?”

“Maybe,” you answer noncommittally, “it won’t be the first I’ve made of you.”

You can see her rack her brain for memories of the last time you've shared a film you’ve edited with her as the main character and suppress a smile. While she’s seen some of your pictures, nowhere near the extensive collection you hoard, and even posed for impromptu shots before, she can’t recall witnessing any movie from you. Kafka snuffs out her cigarette on the railing and lets it free fall on the streets below. She doesn’t wait for it to hit the ground, instead padding into the room and making her way to the chair her favorite velvet coat is carefully draped over. You follow her steps with the camera.

“You’ve made a film about me before?” She asks curiously as she slips a hand into the front pocket and pulls out a green pack of chewing gum.

“Mhm. Are you surprised?”

Kafka pops a mint flavoured gum into her mouth. “More like curious.”

“It’s nothing grand. I just edited the numerous shots I’ve taken of you over the time.”

“That’s usually how you make a movie.” She’s unfazed by the deadpan look you send her way and climbs at the foot of the bed, sitting back on her knees. “How many shots are we talking about here?”

You finally lower your device to think. The last time you bothered to check the amount of content you have sitting in various files on your hard drive was a couple of months ago, and it went as high as twelve thousand. You can’t say for sure and you’re suddenly uncharacteristically embarrassed by the number.

“I don’t know,” you reply, “they’re all in my drive.”

“Mmm… Can I see the film?”

You pause. You don’t actually have anything to hide since she’s consented to all of these, it’s just that each shot is deeply personal despite them being of her. You feel they tell a story about yourself more than they do of her. They’re special in their own mundane way because they belong to you in every sense of the word, they embody your perception and thought process and everything you can only express through visual language. Kafka allows you a minute to ponder her request, her gaze flickering from the camera in your hands to your creased brow.

“…Really?” You’re still unsure, your thumb nervously tracing the device’s power button.

“Yes, really. I’m curious to know how you’ve perceived me through your lens so far. Sounds interesting.”

“I don’t know…”

She observes you for a moment and you can tell your hesitation feeds her desire to know more. Her index finger absently drums an unknown melody on her thigh.

“What’s holding you back?”

“I know you’re the subject, but these shots especially are… personal, I suppose.”

“Personal? I guess that’s to be expected,” she says, tone light. “I’m still interested in seeing them. I can handle seeing a few intimate shots of me.”

You sit up against the pillows and look down at your hands. The world is dark and quiet, and it’s just the two of you in this hotel room seemingly suspended in time. There’s nothing but open curiosity in the pink depths of her eyes bare of her beloved contact lenses; she sits in a dress shirt she stole earlier that day from a local clothing shop that isn’t standing anymore, the skin of her chest still slightly flushed with her previous arousal, and silvery highlights compliment her hair with a soft glow that contrast the shadows across her facial features. She’s chewing gum because you’re not a fan of tobacco, keeps a packet in her right front pocket that she no longer thinks twice about. She waits patiently for you to cave in, she knows you will eventually. You meet her gaze and a triumphant smile stretches her lips.

“Alright, but just one.”

Kafka crawls over and plucks a tissue from the box on the nightstand before she spits out her gum and bundles it up on the small desk. She settles near you with an arm propped against the pillows, brushing some strands of hair out of her face to see the screen better. You briefly leave the bed and rummage through your discarded bag for your laptop and encrypted hard drive before joining her side once more. She watches you power it up and type in your password. She’s a warm presence beside you, the familiar feeling calms your nerves somewhat. You take a couple of slow breaths as you retrieve a specific file— K in moonlight. You’ll be adding the pictures and clips you took just now to the same file when you get the time.

“It’s meant to look a bit old. I like how movies looked back then.”

She hums pensively but doesn’t add anything, her attention fixed on the video’s cover image: it’s unassuming enough, a simple picture of her relaxed brows and closed eyes while she dozes off, taken from the point of view of the one sleeping next to her.

You press play. The silent movie is short and made of decomposed footage of Kafka filmed in the various planets the Stellaron Hunters have fleetingly stayed on during their ongoing journey. Though the hours are never the same, the shots are all filmed at night. The editing is reminiscent of a visual diary, almost, where continuity doesn’t exist and every frame is filled by her in the moonlight; the moment when she’s just fallen asleep on silky sheets; in an empty, raining street walking ahead with an umbrella and a crimson moon above her head; footage of her coming closer to the camera, framed to emphasize her usual lazy strut, before it cuts to a chaste kiss captured through the standing mirror of your bedroom. The low lighting makes it so specific parts of her are visible through the lens. Her full face is rarely shown, just whenever she sports the same relaxed expression in her sleep. The Kafka next to you is captivated by the images progressing on screen, the one in the film is mostly unaware of the camera pointed at her— or pretends to be, used to your scrutiny.

As the movie continues, the tone shifts. The first seven minutes put a visual to words you haven’t uttered to each other yet, spinning mundanity into tenderness, or perhaps simply bringing forth the underlying affection that accompanies your routine. The next few ones attempt to convey sensations best felt through touch onto the screen. As is the theme throughout the video, the setting is dark, filmed in a pristine bedroom at night not unlike the one you’re currently in. Edited shots show pieces of Kafka's bare body with no barrier between her sensuous curves and the almost voyeuristic eye of the camera. Clips are cut and replayed to create discontinuity. You remember that night, she impulsively posed for you and gave you full access to her body, naturally, you jumped on the opportunity to record. The moment wasn’t planned so the footage is a little rough, as is the editing considering you’re not a cinematographer, just someone with a camera. Due to the inauthenticity of the subject, her eyes are hidden to frame her perfect smile instead. You’ve used the shadows of the room to your advantage, from Kafka’s on the wall to the ones created by your hand on her moonlit skin as it brushes her ribs, thigh, collarbone. There is movement all through the film, from the subject but also from the camera, who travels up the slope of her neck then abruptly cuts to the length of her spine and the thorny rose stem tattooed along its curve. The movie’s erotic and sensual undertone is an undeniable constant despite nothing explicit happening on screen.

You glance to the side. Kafka’s stare follows the movement of shadows on her own skin and the brief, tantalizing glimpses of her naked body. There’s an element of anticipation that sustains the viewer’s attention, leaving them hoping to see a pink nipple or further down her toned pelvis. You don’t intend to share this with anyone but you still decide to leave the most intimate parts of Kafka’s body to the imagination, kind of like they are with you. She watches your clumsy filmmaking attempt with a private smile and doesn’t say a word until the screen turns black and announces the end of your short film. Her pupils are noticeably dilated and with a slight bite of her bottom lip, you can practically see her mind wander into a realm of quiet contemplation.

“…Well, what do you think?” You speak up first, softly so as to not break her train of thoughts, and nervously tap the “delete” key on your laptop with a forefinger.

Her head tilts to look at you, the same smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes you’re not sure how to decipher. “It’s…” she begins, choosing her words carefully, “bold, sensuous, provocative… Very me. The first half is pretty sweet, lowers your guard for the rest.”

“It’s kinda sloppy.”

“It’s me. I didn’t even know you filmed something like this,” she admits, looking back at the laptop and reaching over to replay the beginning of the video.

She means the implicit intimacy of her life alongside yours, this side of her she never thought could be so obvious, yet it’s laid out for the both of you to see, plain as day and indisputable.

“You’re the one who posed for it, babe.”

She laughs quietly, not denying your words. She watches herself smoke on a rooftop she remembers trespassing on, blood spatter across her white sleeves. “True, I was the subject. But I didn’t know you took such artistic liberties with the footage. Didn’t think you could spin it into something so… seductive.”

You press a little closer to her on the bed, folding your knees and resting the laptop on your stomach. Her gaze is on the film while you turn your head to take in the soft lighting on her face.

“It was mostly you,” you say. “That’s just how you look.”

Her eyes crinkle in pleasure. “It’s all thanks to my natural beauty, then?”

“Not all, I did work on it. But yes. I think this is my favorite shot.”

You fast forward to a shot portraying dancing shadows on Kafka's bare chest like multiple hands seeking to grab a piece of her body.

Kafka hums in recognition. “I remember when you filmed this one, it took a couple of tries because you wouldn’t stop playing with my boobs.”

“Yeah, I have some clips of that actually.”

Kafka gives you an unimpressed look and rolls her eyes when you respond with a lopsided smile.

“In my defense,” you press pause to look at her, “you have very gorgeous boobs. They’re perky and sit prettily on your chest.”

Your straightforward assessment makes her chuckle but she absorbs the praise like a sponge in water. A teasing smirk forms on her lips, the creases around her eyes her very own way to preen.

“Oh, really?” She replies lightly, pleased. “Well, I’m glad you find them pleasing to the eye.”

“And to the touch.”

“Of course, you’re not only an admirer but an experienced connoisseur.”

Her voice lowers and takes a huskier tone as she maintains eye contact with you, her right hand deliberately drawing patterns on your abdomen. You shut your laptop and discard it on the nightstand then turn around to press a palm on the center of Kafka’s naked chest, pushing her onto her back and against the cool sheets.

“Yeah,” your knees are planted on each side of her hips and your hand brushes her open shirt further to the side before cupping her breast. It fills your palm with a satisfying weight. “They’re really pretty.”

Kafka lets out a low hum as you take command, she settles into the firm mattress and her chest rises steadily beneath your gentle touch. You caress the familiar path around her breast, the sensation sending a low thrum of pleasure through her.

"They are, aren't they?" She agrees, her words laced with anticipation while her gaze drinks in the desire etched on your features.

“Ugh, I can’t even reproach your cockiness this time because it’s true.”

Her smile turns smug at your playful chiding and earnest praise. Her body responds positively to your touch, arching into your absent kneading and snaking an arm around your waist to bring you closer. Her lips part silently when you flick her nipple with a fingernail. Her gaze darkens past the amusement in it though she keeps still for now, ignoring her growing arousal and instead focusing on your expressions as you run your hands across her sensitive skin. The fingers not groping her chest travel down her abdomen and leisurely trace her navel. You regard her body with unashamed admiration, it’s in every caress and every glance, and it’s a sort of high that she chases by baring herself to you.

“Don’t get excited now,” you warn her, eyes briefly flitting to hers, “I’m just enjoying touching you.”

She chuckles, a hint of a challenge in the air following her teasing reply, “Oh, I’m well aware of your enjoyment, baby. You’re not exactly subtle about it. But I won’t lie… I’m definitely getting excited.”

“We just had sex.”

“True, we did…” She slowly concedes and purposely trails off in a sultry murmur. Her splayed fingers trail up the expanse of your back over your shirt. She lays a hand on top of yours on her breast and encourages you to squeeze more firmly. She makes a show of gasping softly at the sensation. “You should know, though, the thrill doesn’t just stop at one time. It lingers, it builds… and it craves more.”

You harshly pinch her nipple in reprimand. “Don’t be corny.”

Kafka’s eyes shut for an instant, relishing the pleasure-pain zapping along her limbs like an electrical current. She inhales sharply through her nose.

“Corny, huh? Maybe I’m just feeling especially poetic tonight.”

“As I’m playing with your tits?”

A playful smile quirks up her lips. “Sometimes inspiration strikes in the most unexpected moments. And I happen to find your touch very inspiring.” She lifts her torso off the bed, pressing up against yours, and tilts her chin upwards. Her mouth brushes yours with every word she speaks and her hand guides your own down the lines of her chest and over her toned stomach to rest on the waistband of her shorts. “In fact,” she purrs, “your touch makes me want to write sonnets.”

“…Incorrigible.” Your hand doesn’t progress further and Kafka feigns a pout. “How are you still horny?”

“How could I not be with you touching me like that?”

You lightly tug at her shorts and your fingertips graze the coarse hairs that greet you, prompting a quiet sound of satisfaction from her.

“Like what?” You ask innocently, now fully feeling her soft hair and ignoring the hardening bulge that’s starting to take shape under her clothes.

“Mmm, like you’re going to be in trouble if you keep teasing me…”

Unashamed, Kafka grips your wrist and leads your hand lower, to the firm tent in her shorts silently demanding more of your focused attention. As your palm deliciously presses against her, her fingers curl around your nape and she captures your lips in a languid kiss. It’s slow and deep, meant to rouse your dormant passion, and she doesn’t let you go until your chest burns with the need to breathe freely. You lightly squeeze her growing erection in warning, she nips your bottom lip in retaliation. You can feel her smile into the kiss before her lips part in a gasp when you palm her just so, cheekily tracing the defined length of her shaft. She’s not wearing any underwear, courtesy of your earlier activities, and you can feel the warmth of her skin seeping through the thin garment. Kafka moans into your mouth as you stroke her, never one to hide how nice she’s feeling, especially since her throaty sounds of encouragement spur you on like nothing else. She gets what she wants without asking, and you forget why you were ever going to deny her in the first place.

“Aeons, you’re hot,” you breathe out against her lips after another raspy moan from her, “I could hear you make those noises for me forever.”

Kafka’s laugh is breathless, “Yeah? Are you going to pull out your camera, immortalize this moment too?”

“Don’t tempt me…” You let her steal another kiss from you and tilt your head upwards to allow her mouth to travel down your jaw. “I could make a compilation of every groan out of your mouth when you enter me.”

“A compilation, hmm…?” She licks a long stripe up to your ear, then sucks the lobe into her mouth. Her voice is hushed and sultry against your eardrums. “You have a collection of my moans, baby?”

“You’d be surprised. Though not that much, considering you knew I was holding the camera each time.”

You think your short film might have aroused her more than she let on; paired with her sensitivity from her previous orgasm just an hour earlier, she’s easily worked up in the palm of your hand. Your thumb applies pressure on her already weeping slit, staining the inside of her shorts with pre-cum you can’t wait to clean off of her throbbing cock. You feel her teeth graze your skin at the motion, and her grip on your neck tightens a tad. She doesn’t urge you to touch her properly yet, enjoying the pleasant sensation of anticipation swirling through her belly.

“I did know,” she agrees shamelessly, panting softly into your ear, “there’s something so exciting about you watching me twice… first through your own eyes, then through the camera lens, like you can’t get enough of me.”

You don’t contest her words. Your hand moves to her base and cups her balls firmly, and you swallow the intoxicating noise she makes with insistent kisses on her wet lips.

“I could show you,” you whisper, your breath short.

“Yeah?”

You withdraw from her not without a lingering kiss, bringing your wandering hand along, and climb off of her to reach for the laptop on the nightstand. Kafka exhales long and deep to regain some of her bearings. She glances down at her aching length and bites her lip, already missing your eager touch, but brushes some hair out of her face before turning to you lying flat on your stomach. Your chest still heaves with excitement as you look through your folders. She gets a premium view of your backside like this and can’t help slowly running a hand down the pretty curve of your spine while she waits patiently. You quickly find what you’re searching for.

You click on a video. Her eyes flit to the screen. The camera work is shaky and the room is dark so not much can be properly discerned, but a few seconds later the distinct sound of your voice rings out through the laptop’s speakers, soft and whiny, almost immediately followed by Kafka’s deep, throaty groans. She intently listens to the sweet, heated cries of pleasure you make and the recognizable, wet sounds of sweaty flesh slapping against flesh. Your head turns to catch her eye over your shoulder, a knowing smile playing on your lips.

“What do you think? Don’t we sound great together?”

Kafka smiles in response, eyes dark yet burning with an intensity that can only promise sore limbs in your near future. She drapes herself over you, her thick cock pressed against your ass and her chest flushed to your back as she pulls the tip of your ear between her lips. The video continues though it’s not very long, a harmonized version of your voices filling the otherwise quiet of your shared hotel room.

“I think…” Kafka murmurs hotly directly into your ear, patting the nightstand’s surface for your digital camera until her fingers close around the desired object, “we should make a different kind of movie. Don’t you?”

Kafka also gives you full liberty this time around but unlike the first short film you made of her in the moonlight, every blissed out roll of her eyes and flush of her skin is entirely authentic.

[tinystarbites]

accidents pt. 1.5 | Spencer Reid x Reader

Okay so, WOW. I am completely blown away by the response to my first fic on here, 120 followers in 6 days are you guys okay? Because I am definitely not :,). While accidents pt. II isnt quite finished just yet (thank you so much for being so patient with me<3 uni is kicking my ass already rip), I thought I'd give you all a small sneak peek, aka the first 800-ish words of the second part. I hope you enjoy and thank you all so so much for the generous feedback so far!! <333 I'll go rewatch my genetics lecture now yippie :,,,,)

here you can read the entire first part, please head the warnings! Same ones apply here. also, if you wanna get tagged in pt. II, let me know in the comments!

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Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

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oh spencer, you weren't quite as subtle as you thought. rip my boy. also whooops another cliffhanger? haha my fingers must've slipped my bad

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

[suugarbabe]

Softer Side (Pt 2)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Warning: smut adjacent? Lil fluff

The door to potions slammed open as Mattheo and his gang of friends filed in for class. His eyes met yours briefly before sitting at the table in front of you. “He truly is a right prick isn’t he,” the boy to your left whispered. “Who is?” You asked, not really paying attention to him. “Riddle and his band of miscreants,” the boy stated. You scoffed slightly, “Have you ever even spoken to Mattheo?” Your question puzzled him, “Do I need to?” You rolled your eyes, turning away from him for the rest of the lesson.

When you were finally let out you got up quickly, wanting to separate yourself from the ignorance of the boy next to you in class. You felt someone fall in step next to you. You turned to tell them off when you were met with a dimpled grin. “Hello, Darling,” Mattheo sweetly spoke. You couldn’t control the blush that creeped onto your cheeks, “Hello, Mattheo. To what do I owe this pleasure of your presence?”

“Oh, love, if just my presence is giving you pleasure…” he trailed off, smirk plastered on his face. You rolled your eyes, pushing his shoulder. “What are you really doing walking with me Mattheo? Won’t being seen with a pathetic Ravenclaw ruin your bad boy reputation?” You teased. Instead of playfully jabbing back Mattheo’s face turned serious, “I don’t think you’re pathetic, Y/n.” He threw an arm over your shoulder, “I also was just going to tell you how sweet it is when you defend me.”

“I wa- I mean, I just don’t think people really know the real you,” you stammered. Mattheo quirked an eyebrow, “Oh? And you think you do?” His tone was playful. You hadn’t even noticed he had guided you toward the Slytherin common you as you walked together. “What are we doing here? We’re going to miss Herbology,” you voice was soft. Truly you didn’t care about any class if Mattheo wanted to spend time with you.

“I figured you could tell me what you think you know about me, we’ll be alone in here,” he turned back to the stone wall, the door melting into view as he spoke the password. “Pura sanguine.” You rolled your eyes as you followed him into the common room, “Pureblood? How original.” He smiled at you over his shoulder, “Would you expect anything less?”

He led you to the black leather couches. You wouldn’t tell anyone else, but you quite liked the aesthetic of the Slytherin common room. You could see yourself spending a lot of time down here. “Sit,” Mattheo patted the spot next to him. You sat almost too obediently, making a small chuckle leave Mattheo’s throat. You blushed, pulling one leg to your chest and resting your chin on your knee.

“Oh don’t get shy on me now, love. We’re all alone. So tell me, what do you think you know about me.” He was facing you on the couch, his elbow leaning on the back as he rested his head against his fist. He had his famous shit eating grin, waiting for you to speak. You took a deep breath before starting, “I see you being a good person.” He raised his eyebrows, an amused look on his face before indicating with his hand for you to continue.

“I see you doing good things when you think no one is paying attention.”

“Oh, so you’re watching me, hmm?” You blushed at his words, “I don’t mean to, but after that first time I saw save that girl a few months ago I had to see if it was just a one off thing.” He grabbed one of your hands, tracing shapes in your palm, “And what did you discover, love?”

“That when no one’s looking, you essentially challenge every Slytherin stereotype. I’ve seen you volunteer your time in the library, clean up after your friends, I swear I even saw you laughing with a house elf last week.”

Mattheo smiled at this, “Winky is one funny lady, you should really get to know her if you get a chance.” You shook your head, smiling, “Well if you’re truly this kind and sweet person, why don’t you show it all of the time?” He sat up a little straighter, putting on a mocking tone, “Because it would ruin my bad boy reputation, right?”

“You are…so confusing sometimes,” you grabbed his hand that was holding yours before. “You allow people to have this idea of you, a terrible idea just because of your name, or your parents actions or who you associate yourself with. Why do you do that?”

He shrugged his shoulders, watching your fingers trace the scars on his knuckles, “Because I don’t care about what other people think, I know who I am. Other people’s opinions don’t bother me.” You nodded, “I wish I could live like that.”

“What, you can’t take people thinking you’re smart and attractive?” Mattheo chuckled. You blushed at his words, “People don’t think that about me.” Mattheo leaned in close, his nose brushing against yours ever so slightly. His breath fanned over your lips as he responded, “Well they should.”

In a moment his lips were crashing against yours. Your hand found it’s way to brown locks, instantly pulling on his curls. He growled into the kiss, grabbing your hips and pulling you to straddle his lap. You rolled your hips down, feeling him grow hard beneath you. He grabbed your hips tighter, bucking his hips up to meet yours. A gasp escaped your lips as Mattheo’s lips trailed down your neck, nipping and sucking, sure to leave a mark or two. Mattheo pulled back, admiring his work.

“These are gonna look so pretty tomorrow,” he smirked, tracing the marks on your neck. Your cheeks burned red as your buried your face in his chest. His hands rested just above your bum, lightly tracing his fingers up and down your back. You felt his chest rumbled as he chuckled lightly, “You know you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

You sat up, pushing a curl off his forehead, “I’m glad you think so.” You sighed deeply, “I can’t believe the Mattheo Riddle just gave me a trail of hickies. What will people say?” You feigned a shock face, placing a hand on your cheek. He grabbed your wrist, placing a kiss on the inside of it, “Why don’t we go see, yeah?” He picked you up by your waist, helping you stand up, following suit himself. He grabbed your hand, smiling as he led you out of the common room.