#because if you fuck around - you will find out

[sukunasweetheart]

hear me out on bully!sukuna okay...

warnings; highschool setting, DUBCON, dry humping, thigh fucking, unprotected sex, sex in a confined space, semi-public sex, breeding, sukuna is kinda mean but is a simp at the same time, groping, cum in panties, just lots and lots of cum, "just the tip" he lied, mentions of pregnancy risk, ?cheating, sukuna the toxic tsundere but is horrendously down bad and perverted, eventual or mildly submissive sukuna?, this isn't gonna be the healthiest relationship - but its to be expected tho bc its a bully fic so..

Word count; 5.5k

bully!sukuna bothers you because he has a weird complex with you - preferring to be outright hated by you rather than deal with indifference or facing possible rejection.

it's often teetering on the edge of actual bullying; his existence is more of a nuisance than a serious distress to you.

he often loves getting on your nerves by tripping you up with his foot, only to catch you himself, or he purposefully bumps into you in the hallways making you almost topple over - like the fucking asshole he is. and you'll never forget the time you happened to get paired up with him on an assignment and the bastard had the audacity to try and take you both down by not doing his part. in exchange for his participation, he had you carry his bag for him around school for a week...

and he only gets more thrilled the more you fight back or retaliate.

sukuna likes to call you names, often using very condescending and colourful insults against you. and he likes to harass and chase off any potential boyfriends that come your way. that last one pisses you off the most. you want a boyfriend so bad, and that bastard is being such a huge cockblock. god forbid a girl wants to get laid. all your friends have had their first times already - why can't you?!

and he's back at it again too, after finding out that another guy confessed to you at school today. you accepted it. obviously when he wasn't watching. for a damn reason.

he finds out your last class was P.E today and you find yourself cornered in the locker room, empty of girls except for you. you ended up lagging behind as you were texting your new boyfriend over your phone after class. you try to walk past him to go home, but he traps you against your own locker.

you end up snapping back at him, having had enough of it.

"what is wrong with you? you know what? i think you're obsessed with me!" you shout back, shoving at his chest.

"who do you think you are, to stop me from getting a boyfriend... what, do you like me or something?" you speak without thinking, in a fit of anger.

"i bet you do! i bet you go home every night and jerk off to daydreams of me. is that right?" you go off, pushing every button you can.

sukuna falls silent. you expect him to argue back, to deny all your claims fiercely, and then go storming off, having heard enough of your nonsense.

but he's glaring at you, tight lipped, ears and cheeks turning bright red.

"...why're you silent all of a sudden? say something..." you continue awkwardly. "don't tell me... you actually...?"

"shut up," he hisses at you. "just shut up, for a second."

he wears an expression you've never seen on him before, and seems to be thinking about what to say next. he looks as though he wants to say something.

you open your mouth to tell him 'nevermind', but the sound of a small group of girls approaching the locker room is audible, which interrupts the both of you, and you panic. just what kind of rumours would spur on if they caught you and sukuna like this in here? you only just got your first boyfriend, there's no way you're gonna let this bastard ruin that for you!

thinking quickly, you open up your locker and roughly push sukuna inside, and then jump in after him. you shut the locker door quietly and peek outside through the little gaps at the top. the girls come in, having come back to get something that they left behind. what terrible timing.

one of the girls walk up a little close to your liking and you end up moving your body back as far as you can, your back pressing up against sukuna without thinking. and then you're startled by the low and quiet groan you hear behind you.

whipping around, you see sukuna with clouded eyes and a tightened jaw, barely able to fit inside this narrow locker. but he doesn't find it in himself to feel uncomfortable or annoyed at the situation.

after all, your ass is pressed up tightly against his growing bulge right then and there.

you were right about what you'd said earlier. he'd always daydreamed of a moment like this, pumping his cock at the thought of doing lewd things with you...

you turn back to the front, panicked. what the fuck? why does he look... like that?

kinda hot...

shaking your head, you try to ignore your beating heart, praying that the girls exit the locker room soon so that you can quickly escape from this situation.

meanwhile, sukuna's hands struggle to keep away from you as his brain begins to short circuit, dick helplessly twitching in his pants, chest heaving but it being of no help - as the locker fills with the scent of you in it, the sweetness of your shampoo and perfume, making his heart pump harder.

you slowly shuffle forward a little, trying not to lean against him so much. when are these girls leaving... you think to yourself. they've started gossiping amongst themselves, sitting on the bench. goddamn it!

large hands fall onto your hips and pull you back toward him. you feel him grinding his crotch against your ass, and you know that whatever is poking you is definitely his fucking boner.

"what the fuck, sukuna? s-stop," you whisper to him as quietly as you can.

sukuna has stopped his thinking in itself entirely. whatever's making him act right now is nothing but his pure and selfish desires. there's no way he can resist you when you're the one who climbed inside your own locker with him. he needs to relieve his ache somehow.

he gets more and more handsy with you as each minute passes. his large hand snakes up to fondle your clothed tits as he continues to discreetly dry hump your ass.

you should be disgusted. you should jump out right now and snitch on him and call him a molester right in front of these girls.

but good god, this feels like... nothing you've felt before. his wandering hands. his immense horniness. this tight enclosed space. the size of his boner. it's all making you excited in a weird way, and you're starting to feel aroused at your core.

sukuna is doing his best to get some pleasure from this minimal friction he's getting inside his tight space, but it's not enough. the desperation and arousal claws at him, his dick hurting from how tightly it's sitting in his pants. he swallows on nothing.

fuck it. he's already started. why hold back now?

you feel a shift behind you and the sound of fabric and a zipper being undone. is he...?

you gasp softly when something hot and hard gets pushed between your thighs. it's... it's pulsing. you can't believe this is happening. with sukuna, out of all people? should you be mortified or intrigued? you fear that the latter might be truer.

there's ringing in his ears. not a single logical thought is occupying his brain as he thinks purely with his dick at the moment, having waited so long for a moment like this. fuck, he's so hard. and it only excites him more that you haven't leapt out of this locker yet, running away from him. even though you could. his heart is on the verge of beating it's way up to his throat.

small, shallow thrusts. you feel his heavy cock rub up against your inner thighs, and both of his large hands are now groping your clothed breasts lewdly. he unbuttons your blouse, and then messily pulls down your bra, as he's desperate to feel the real thing, and you can't muster the strength to swat him away. when his fingertips tease your nipples, you have to stop yourself from making any noise. you've always wanted someone to touch you there...

never did you know that someone would be sukuna. you grab his wrist in a fit of desperation.

"you're a fucking pervert... what the hell are you doing?" you tell him a tad bit loudly, trying to deny the heat in your cunt.

"... did you guys hear something?" one of the girls suddenly ask outside.

your heart drops to your stomach as this sets off a panic inside you again. a big, warm hand clasps over your mouth, shushing you effectively.

"quiet..." he mumbles into the shell of your ear, and it weakens your knees. it never occurred to you that he's always had an attractive voice. a wave of goosebumps wash over your skin.

you look down. you can get a tiny peek of his tip whenever he thrusts in... it's so fucking big. you can't possibly fit that inside you, could you? when you catch that it's glistening with precum, your pussy squeezes around nothing.

one hand still over your mouth and the other teasing your tits, sukuna is busy slowly chasing an orgasm, regardless of the girls that have gotten a little wary outside. they soon forget about it and continue their pointless chatter.

fuck... his cock is so close to your cunt. the thought of it makes him shudder. he's almost there.

your hands are semi-clawing at his hand that's still against your mouth, when you suddenly feel him cease the incessant groping at your breasts. instead, it goes under your skirt - a finger loosening your panties up to fit his fat cock beneath the flimsy fabric.

there it is. your bareback fuckin' pussy. he has to bite his own lip to hold off groaning out loud. he does his best to slide his dick in and out against your slit - being restricted in movement due to the tight space, but make doing somehow.

you're actually thankful for his hand covering your mouth up, as you would've definitely moaned out loud if it weren't for him. it's unreal how turned on you are right now. does he feel it? all the slick pouring out of you? it's so, so strange. you were so sure that you didn't want this with him before, but not anymore...

it grazes over your clit over and over, painfully teasing, and you need to orgasm so badly.

sukuna jolts his hips against you, giving a final short thrust as his tip catches the fabric of your panties - he presses his own face against your neck to effectively silence himself as he reaches his first high.

you shudder as his dick pulsates between your thighs so strongly, making a hot mess in your underwear, cum spilling out in thick ropes - you feel the heat of it on your poor cunt, and you shiver as sukuna inhales deeply against your neck, his breathing wavering, dick aching for more even as it continues to spill heavily, creaming your panties. his tongue licks a stripe up your neck, causing you to shiver.

it's a pleasure that's greater than he could've ever given himself alone. but he wants more. he needs more.

you're in the middle of trying to gather yourself again, but you again, feel him moving his hips. just what is he up to now...?

your eyes widen when you catch onto how he's trying to thrust himself inside you now. there's no way... you struggle against him but he holds you still - mouth still firmly silenced by his palm.

the best he can do is have the tip inside. but for now, it's enough. he doesn't care - as long as he can get whatever pleasure that's available...

"j-just the tip..." he whispers with the smallest voice he can manage, against your ear again. it turns you on so good.

you can't help but enjoy when he gropes at your chest again, his tip bullying it's way in your desperate and wet hole, popping in and out, in and out, in and out.

even with just the tip, you're about to lose your mind. you want more, but at the same time you're scared what'll happen to your mind if he shoves that whole thing inside you.

sukuna's brain is yet again short circuiting as he dips the tip of his cock into your hot and slippery cunt - making him feral and desperate to get deeper. yet, what's stopping him is this confined space that suffocates him. there isn't enough oxygen for both of you here, and he wonders whether it's you or the lack of oxygen that's making him endlessly breathless.

oh, he's close again.

he's going to cum again, but this time inside. you want to protest, but you've always wondered... does it feel good to have it spill inside? regardless, you still try to struggle against him purely because you don't like the thought of sukuna knowing that you're enjoying this. even though it's already too late.

he holds you so tightly against him - before letting himself loose once again - tip poking into your pussy as he pumps inside, balls clenching. your hole is welcoming, and it puckers around him mind numbingly, milking his heavy cock for everything he has. you feel the warmth of his seed reaching inside you but not very deep - most of it trickles back out onto your panties. he twitches against you harder and more intensely, hips shoving into you messily.

you're both out of breath...

...and that's when both of you hear the girls leaving the locker room with muffled laughter, successfully avoided noticing you and him inside.

they turn the lights off before they leave, and the locker room turns dark and silent. you're now sweating against sukuna - and the moment you feel his hands loosen against you, you push the locker door open and step outside, unsure of what exactly you're trying to run from. sukuna himself? or the fact that you might be forming some kind of attraction to him? to the way he treats you?

but alas, no matter how fast you think you are, you could never beat sukuna's reflexes. in that quick momentum, he's pursued you outside and grabbed your arm - before pulling you back and shoving you against the now closed locker door.

"where do you think you're going?" he asks with a deep and low voice, vein popping on his forehead and looking desperate and an intense blush being permeated on his face. why is it that it's always made you feel so squirmy, whenever he cornered you like this? the size difference, the strength difference... the pervert here is not only him, it seems.

your needy gaze flutters from his eyes down to his exposed cock. it's veiny, throbbing, and leaking messily. it looks heavy and most importantly... it's so fucking big.

in the blink of an eye, sukuna has hiked your legs up, holding you up against the lockers, making it so that you cannot run from him again. it's game over.

"having the nerve to try and run after seducing me with your ass..." sukuna mutters angrily, lining his dick above your cunt and tummy, showing off how deep it'll reach if he slid it inside.

"no- i didn't..." you protest weakly, heart hammering with excitement. "idiot... let me down."

you tell him, despite your arms that loop around his neck.

"your voice is lacking it's usual sharpness," sukuna tells you breathlessly, flipping your skirt up and pushing your panties aside. it's still wet with his previous loads. oh- he can't think straight.

"wait-! something that big won't fucking fit!" you tell him, only now the fear beginning to hit you. moreover, you're afraid he'll end up breaking you and stop all rational thinking - this is dangerous.

"it will. i'll mould the shape of your insides to my fuckin' cock," sukuna insists, eyes focused on your wet glistening pussy. so pretty.

he pushes it in. but he doesn't stop there. he pushes it in all the way. balls fucking deep.

your eyes widen and when he thrusts the whole thing in one go, you well and truly break. legs trembling, pleasure washes over you and you cry out a moan.

"fuck-! did you just cum? are you cumming?" sukuna asks, panting, slowly sliding himself in and out as your cunt spasms around him. soon enough, he speeds it up and makes sure his tip is bullying your cervix with each deep thrust, eyes rolling back as your walls welcome him so warmly and clamp down on him.

"haah- haah- mm, fuck! you're so fuckin' tight! ugh, 'm gonna bust again," he slurs messily, hips moving non-stop. the unkempt bush of his pubic hair gives friction against you adding onto your strange sensations of pleasure. drool begins to roll out from the corner of your mouth.

his balls have never felt heavier as they slap against your wet ass each time he slams his cock inside, slick pooling out of you and creating droplets on the floor. he has a lot to give you... and your cunt is being so agreeable, the way it sucks on him, warm and wet. it's turning him animalistic, no thoughts running inside his brain except to fucking breed this hole. breed you.

not inside... not inside... you think, not realising that you're not saying it out loud.

"i'm gonna do it inside. i'm gonna-!" he hisses, hips stuttering at the last second.

"ugh- shit! 'm c-cumming... fuuck... fuck!" sukuna cusses deeply, thighs trembling as he continues giving tiny, but sharp thrusts even as he's spilling into you while buried to the hilt.

it's hot. you can feel that it's thick. there's so much. even more than his two previous loads. sukuna's face being twisted in pleasure puts you in awe - and you unknowingly tighten your pussy around him as he orgasms inside, joined to you hip-to-hip.

he's never felt such a deep seated pleasure in him before. he continues to gasp and shudder with every stringy spurt that he knows is reaching your womb. what if he actually knocks you up? what if his seed takes? it's a scary but thrilling thought. the thought of you swollen with his baby... all rational thinking has been thrown out the window due to this pleasure.

sounds that you never could've imagined coming out of sukuna continue to spill from his lips... he slides his cock in and out and squeezes every last drop out of himself, and he suddenly brings his lips to yours, kissing you feverishly. both of you pant over each other while making out messily as he slowly begins to thrust into you over and over again. he's going to get addicted to this. he's going to crave your pussy everyday from now on.

sukuna sucks on your tongue like he wants to swallow it. your arms hold onto him for dear life.

all too suddenly, he brings you off the locker, arms hooked under your legs and palms supporting you by holding onto your ass cheeks.

the kiss breaks, and catch sight of sukuna's lust-filled eyes as he moves you up and down his cock using his monster-like strength. and you're held up by him like this, you can't do anything to stop him. just cling onto him and take what he gives you.

"f-fuck, sukuna... ooh-! t-too deep," you mumble with tears in your eyes, gasping from the way his tip kisses your womb effortlessly. he's seriously too big for his own good.

"keep saying my name like that- it'll only make my dick harder," he pants, continuing to use your pussy like a fleshlight. his thick load has made it even wetter. he can feel your slick beginning to cream up around the base of his cock now, and it makes his chest well up with something like pride. does he turn you on that good? this hole of yours refuses to run out of lube.

the absurdly obscene plap plap plap sound of flesh against flesh, makes for the lewdest echo in the locker room. that, paired with the mild darkness, and the possibility of being seen by someone coming in during after-school hours, makes for the perfect thrilling atmosphere for such feral sex.

it's driving you mad. the echoing, the subtle anxiety, the smell of his sweat.

it's marvelous...

another orgasm hits you like a bullet train. gasping, you whimper as he continues fucking you through it this time, relentlessly thrusting into you regardless of your pulsing walls.

"shit... your cunt's clinging to me," sukuna groans, feeling blessed to see you get undone by him, by his cock. the fingertips of his large hands against your ass sink deeper, the pleasurable knot in his stomach getting tighter once again.

"you and your uselessly big dick... fuck you," you chide breathlessly, doing your best to keep your sentences clear even as he plunges into you with an unforgiving pace.

"clearly not useless when it's made you cum twice now, right?"

"shut up-"

you get cut off when he begins to thrust faster, as you witness the very moment sukuna's eyes become blank with pleasure, getting ready to empty his balls again.

"slutty fuckin' cunt. latching onto me so greedily... can't stop- thrusting-" he mumbles, gripping onto your ass tighter.

you can't help but sigh with pleasure when he begins to fill you up again, twitching and pulsing like crazy inside you as he spills so much seed like he's peeing.

"ohh, shit... cumming s-so hard..." he breathes out shakily.

you're starting to feel full. but you get the feeling that this still isn't the last one. desperate kisses are pressed against the side of your neck as he takes some time to relax a little again, thoroughly finishing deep into you, hips jolting every now and then.

he carries you over to the bench in the middle of the room, where he lies you down and brings your knees closer to your chest, fully exposing your cunt to him, whole. his dick still squeezed into you.

with a hoarse shaky groan, he slowly drags his thick cock in and out of you in this position, with only the heavens knowing how he is still hard after so many orgasms.

you give a small yelp as he speeds up - your plush walls embracing him warmly and filling up his balls once more. god, he doesn't think he'll ever have enough of this pussy. of you.

"idiot! e-enough.. take it out... i'll get- pregnant-" you warn him not-so-convincingly, with gasping moans between each word.

"c-can't... you're... sucking me in so good... can't stop-" sukuna replies with no thoughts in his brain other than to relieve the throb in his erection again. it's driving him up a wall, too. the flesh of your ass that softens the impact everytime he drives his hips into you. your squeals and whines of euphoria. your exposed breasts and glistening clit. he burns every detail into his brain, to make sure he remembers forever...

he doesn't even know what number round this is, but it amazes even him how he feels like he's already edging close to another climax. it's pathetic and ridiculous of him. but he can't help the fact that you push him over so easily.

the number of tissues he'd run through just from jerking off every time he thought about you all night... you have no clue.

recalling those moments makes him feel even more determined to chase this final orgasm even more rigorously. it won't be difficult, not with how your cunt swallows him up so nice.

"fuck.... i- i like you. i've always liked you..." sukuna mumbles out the sudden confession slowly.

"stupid... bastard... you say this now...?" you say as you sigh in pleasure, almost being close to your own climax as well, this position setting off yet another deep arousal in you. after all that bickering and tormenting - he has the audacity to confess to you? only after cumming inside multiple times?

"can't give any excuses can i?" he voices with a curt laugh - finding himself to be pitiful in this moment as well.

"but it's true... i- fuck- i like you so much..." he groans, hips getting faster.

your eyes begin to blur with tears again... sukuna thumbs your clit gently... and then you arch your back with a gasping squeal. sukuna too, hisses as he pumps you full for a final time, letting his dick drain itself in your fluttering hole, hips and thighs jerking uncontrollably while his tip leaks spurt after spurt through your cervix, overflowing you to the maximum.

after dumping his final load, he slowly drags his large, twitching cock out of you with a pop and lets it rest against your gaping cunt, pulsing weakly against your clit. his thumb pushes your panty lining aside to keep your pussy exposed for him to see. your hole is still gaping and thrumming, as if missing him already and he's watching with awe as big globs of his spend trickle out of you thickly. if he wasn't so exhausted, the sight of this would've made him hard again.

sukuna lets go of you and lets your legs rest on the bench, as you're still panting from the exertion, mind numb from that last orgasm. he seems to loom over you for a second, before leaning down, arms caging you against the bench, knee between your legs, to kiss you on your glossy lips. it feels good, but you wouldn't want to admit that out loud to him.

"i like you." he repeats again, after breaking away from you. he wonders why it had taken him so long to admit this fact. once he got it out, it became an easy thing to say. you look at his face and he looks so pathetic in your eyes, the usual look of cockiness and mischief being wiped away. he says it as if he's pleading you, and you know what he's asking for, what he's unable to say out loud. he probably wants to be your boyfriend.

it's strange to see the puppy eyes of your literal arch nemesis, and it's also strange to hear his voice give you a love confession. it makes you mad. it makes you angry. not because you hate it, but because you don't hate it.

he sees it. he sees the instant your eyes glint with anger, and he very swiftly dodges the head butt you try to give him at the very last second.

"move, idiot," you say sharply, glaring at him.

alright, he probably deserved that one.

you stand up and fix your bra and blouse before gathering your things from the locker before leaving without another word - sukuna follows you outside in a fit of mild anxiousness.

"hey-"

"you. take responsibility and buy me some plan b pills. and a pregnancy test kit," you interrupt, looking back at him.

"...alright," he responds rather obediently, after a nervous swallow.

after you turn back around to continue walking, the tiniest smile grows on your face... sukuna looking nervous is something you never thought you'd see. maybe you can use this to your advantage.

your phone vibrates in your hand. it's from your new 'boyfriend'. a sweet message saying he's excited to see you again tomorrow. you delete the notification with a little bit of guilt on your mind. you'll leave tomorrow's issues for tomorrow.

in front of the chemist, you languidly stand around outside waiting as sukuna does as you'd asked him. truth be told, it was because you didn't want to buy them yourself, out of embarrassment. you know he doesn't care about how people sees him, so no harm done there.

when he comes back out with the bag, he holds it out to hand it over to you. but when you try to grab it, he lifts it away.

"you're gonna break up with him, right?" he suddenly asks, with a rather serious expression on his face.

you ignore the question and try to grab the bag, but he avoids you again.

"...right?" he emphasises. he doesn't intimidate you at all anymore, not after knowing about his feelings for you.

"it's none of your business?" you tell him, finally snatching the bag. he doesn't look too pleased about that answer. you take the pills quietly and shove the rest into your bag.

"okay. now go home," you shoo at him. "i'm tired."

"you haven't answered me yet," he says firmly, holding onto your wrist.

"you'll have your answer tomorrow," you reply in an exasperated tone, shaking off his grip.

"and just letting you know. if it turns out positive, i'm never speaking to you again," you warn him with a deadpan face. in the back of your mind, you're pretty anxious about it, but you know according to your cycle, today wasn't a fertile day. that, and with the pill... it should be alright.

sukuna stiffens up and opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it again.

"and don't follow me. if you do, i'll also never speak to you again."

you're not that serious about not talking to him ever again, but you believe he deserves to feel as anxious as you do.

"... i wasn't planning on stalking you anyway. jesus," sukuna mutters, kicking at the dirt on the ground.

you narrow your eyes at him, and then continue your way home.

he scratches the back of his head in frustration. it's like he's skipped a lot of steps towards you and it's coming back to bite him in the ass. ah, well. nothing he can do about it now.

sukuna starts praying that the test comes out as negative.

-

in the end, you decided to become the asshole and just break up with the guy over text. what was there to even really 'break up' anyway? it was for less than a day...

regardless, the news seems to run across the entire school and your friends begin to pester you about why. you can't tell them the truth. what could you even say? 'oh, i got railed good by the one guy i despised in school and it made me end up changing my mind'? fuck that.

he walks towards you after school with seemingly high spirits.

"so... i heard you broke it off after all," he approaches you after hearing the good news. you'd been ignoring him all day, but he's hoping you'll stop once the day was over and there was no one else around to watch them.

you continue to give him the silent treatment, walking along without sparing him a glance.

"hey," he grabs your forearm to stop you from walking.

"stop ignoring me. please."

you only spare him a glance because he added 'please'.

"...i don't see how that changes anything between us," you finally respond.

"right. surely not," he responds, voice thick with sarcasm.

"is that the correct attitude you should be taking? i broke up with him because i felt bad i fucked someone else while we were together. not because i like you back," you shoot at him, crossing your arms.

"oh, give me a break. you were barely with him for one day-"

"sukuna. do you want me to like you back?"

sukuna falls silent, looking at you with annoyance yet also simultaneous desire.

"if you want me to like you... then you need to work for it. make up for all the mean things you've said and done to me."

"...how? what should i do?" he asks, daringly, stepping forward towards you.

you wordlessly take your bag and shove it against his chest with an aloof expression on your features. it startles him for a moment, but looking at your face, he understands what you're asking of him. he slowly smirks and slings your bag over his shoulder, on top of his own.

"easy. anything else?"

"...i'm kinda hungry. take me somewhere good to eat. you pay."

"so... a date?" sukuna hums teasingly, trying to hold your hand.

"nope. you're gonna act as my lackey for a few weeks. it's payback. after that... well, we'll see," you say as you dodge his hand.

he can't wipe the smile off his face. you're clearly playing around with him, but he doesn't hate it. it's another form of attention, is it not? he'll have plenty of chances to make you his from now.

little does he know... he's the one that will become yours in the end.

you know the drill! dot points bc im lazy as fuck!!

okay well, first off the test does turn out negative, lucky for him... from then on you make him wear condoms whenever you have sex

but before that, he spends a few weeks running around to try and appease you

everybody shocked to see the big bad bully is being so obedient, and little do they know...

mmmaybe you give him little rewards every now and then, some sneaky kisses or so, just to keep him afloat... and then you withhold your body from him again

still carries your bag for you everywhere

has to deal with the frustration of not having boyfriend privileges yet... always itching to touch you but you wont allow it until you think he deserves it

sitting between his legs but not letting him be handsy with you is torture. maybe he'll break the rules a bit and hug your waist anyway

love the thought of him borderline begging for your touch because he's so hard from spending so much time being so close with you and it's been well over three weeks since he's done anything remotely sexual with you

maybe you'll feel a little turned on by his pleading that you cave in a bit, and take him to the public restrooms for a few handjobs

he will take anything he can, the opportunist...

and you'll have plenty of fun edging and toying with sukuna until he's shaped nicely into being a good obedient boyfriend for you

bully sukuna trope was inspired and set alight by @gojos-thot-patrol btw, link to his fic here... mine took a completely different path but it was a similar concept in the end ✨️👌

Masterlist

[navybrat817]

Okay, lovelies. Power went out and I can't do my work. 😭 So indulge with me if you will and Happy Moanday.

Good Vibrations

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 650

Warnings: Established relationship, fingering, dirty talk, inappropriate use of Bucky's arm (or is it?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

Banner by the talented @cafekitsune

Just imagine that you're in the mood, but Bucky still has some work he has to finish up. The man wants nothing more than to spread your thighs apart and indulge. And he will. He’s hard just thinking about wrecking pretty hole, but he really does need to get one more thing done before he can.

So he gives you his arm to warm yourself up.

“You want me to use your arm?” you ask.

He doesn't always use his prosthetic, but offering it to you to get yourself off?

“Think of it like a personalized vibrator,” is all he says before he gets back to work.

“Then give me a mold of your cock,” you tease, hearing him laugh before you leave him be.

Propping yourself up on the bed once you’re naked it feels strange to put the metal hand between your thighs. The rest of the arm rests on your torso, the weight pleasant and not heavy. It’s easy to imagine Bucky is right there beside you, encouraging you.

“Play with your clit and open your pretty pussy up for me. Get it nice and wet.”

And you do. You rub the thumb along your bundle of nerves the same way he would. You're careful when you slip a finger through your wet folds before you push it into your soaked channel. It feels good because it's his finger. And…

It starts vibrating.

You jolt with a surprised moan when a second finger joins the first, the vibrations making your walls clench. The thumb on your clit increases in pressure, making you moan again. It dawns on you through your rising pleasure that you aren't controlling the fingers.

Bucky is.

“Neat trick, isn't it, baby?” you hear from the other room, your body quivering. “All I have to do is think about what I want my hand to do to you and it does it. You’re so wet, aren't you? Fucking yourself on my fingers.”

You cry out when the fingers thrust and curl, searching for that spongy sweet spot that only he can find. “Bucky, please,” you beg.

Your heart pounds in your chest and you can't grip his hair since he isn't between your legs, so you play with your tits instead. Pinching your nipples, groping the soft flesh. His hands and mouth always feel incredible and you can't help but push your hips down as the fingers move faster.

“Take a picture and send it to me,” he calls out with a groan and you know the not-so-subtle beautiful bastard is likely done working and jerking off. “Wanna see my fingers in that sweet pussy.”

It isn't easy to grab your phone with your ragged breathing and trembling form, but you somehow manage. Spreading your legs wider, you do your best to capture the best image. You almost drop your phone when he adds a third finger, the vibrations increasing more. Fuck, you were going to spiral in the best way.

“I… I got it…” you whine, biting your lip when you see the picture and press send. The sight of his metal fingers opening you up is so dirty, so filthy, so hot. Now you want to take more photos for him to jerk off to layer. “Please. I’m close.”

“Come all over them, baby,” he grunts. He sounds as close as you feel. “Make me proud.”

You snap, coming apart at the seams and calling out Bucky’s name as the fingers fuck you through it. You soak them and the sheets beneath you and the vibrations don't stop. The fog is still in your mind when you turn your head and see Bucky naked in the doorway, his cock thick and heavy in his hand and a smirk on his handsome face.

“Ready for round two?”

Clenching around the metal inside you and letting out a sultry moan is the only answer he needs.

Nothing to see here, lovelies. Go about your business. ❤️ And I hope my power comes back on soon. Love and thanks! ❤️

[prlssprfctn]

I need more of Jason's and Lois's duo, so here is my humble little scenario — Jason accidentally starts writing articles under her wing after being back from dead.

It starts like this: Bruce kinda announces the rest of the League that the Second Robin is alive, and in fact, Red Hood is him. It is confusing as fuck, but honestly, at this point, everyone is used to Batman's antics, so they just nod along. Clark decides to casually drop the news to Lois, too.

Clark: Do you remember the Second Robin?

Lois, without getting distracted from her work: Oh, of course. Batman asked my autograph for him once. And he mailed me a few of his writing stories once. He was such a talented kid.

Clark: He is alive again!

Lois: Oh.

Lois, pausing and glaring thoughtfully at her computer: ...Do you think he is still into writing?

So, Lois reaches out to Jason, suggesting to try writing again because the Daily Planet needs more talented people, and she can't find anyone normal for months now. And Jason accepts. They end up choosing him a pen name, and it goes just... perfectly. Lois is glad that someone matches her enthusiasm and does the job perfectly, Jason is in awe about working with his second favourite woman alive (after Wonderwoman, of course) and doing the thing he likes.

Jason, irritated as fuck, calling Lois: Hey. I don't know if you have seen the latest president's meeting, but, please, tell me that I can—

Lois: Yeah, son. Drag his ASS. I will deal with the rest.

Jason: Don't tell anyone, but you are my favourite Super.

Lois: Don't tell anyone either, but you are my favourite Bat.

Lois: Now, on a completely unrelated note, do you think Red Hood can assassinate the president—

Naturally, Jason doesn't intend to tell anyone about his new job. No one suspects a thing anyway, and he is working from home, expect for times, when he visits Lois to hang out. Everything is fine.

Until Tim.

Tim, coming for dinner at Kents, by Kon's invitation: Hey, everyone— Jason?

Jason, who is giggling with Lois about their the most hated coworker: Uh. No?

Tim: JASON!

So, Tim knows now. He agrees not to tell anyone, but it doesn't mean that he is not going to tease Jason subtly around others. As usual.

Tim, casually, during the family breakfast: By the way, had you guys read articles in Daily Planet recently? Their new writer is fire.

Jason, tensing up: ...

Bruce: Really? Which one?

Tim, smiling politely: Oh, his name is Peter Austen. His writing style is SO good, and he is always SO on point, I ADORE him.

Jason, half-flustered, half-irritated: (gesturing Tim to shut up)

Bruce: I'll check his articles later today, then. Jaylad, had you read any of it?

Jason, grumpy as hell: You know me. I only read that crap for Lois.

Tim: That's a shame. Because I love this man SO MUCH.

(On the other side of table)

Dick, whistling: Damn, I think Lil Wing is jealous.

Damian, nodding: Todd definitely wishes he could be Drake's favourite writer.

[yeyinde]

surreal/psychological horror + Soap where you agree to house sit for a coworker when they take off for a vacation. but a man shows up and tells you he's supposed to be staying there too.

their son, he shrugs. came home on leave from the military. crashin' here. thought mam might'a said somethin'.

she didn't, but it's fine. and he's harmless. sort of. maybe. you're not sure, really. because he's a little pushy. has a wild temper that ebbs and flows at intervals you can't really keep up with. tempestuous. mercurial. but he makes dinner. he tells you about what he did—not all of it, but some. like why he was sent home as he gestures to the raw scar on his temple.

need some tlc, he quips with a sharp grin. and lucky him because he found the prettiest little doe waitin' fer him.

harmless. a soldier. you can trust that, right?

but he stares at you with a naked hunger, like he wants to eat you alive. but it's gone when you really look. and sometimes, things go missing. your clothes. panties. odd stuff around the house. he hides the newspaper in the trash before you can see it. says the cable is out on the television—Netflix only. no news. he can't—he can't bare to see it. trauma. you wouldn't put him through that, would you, doe? no. you're a good girl. the best.

(at night, asleep. a nightmare; his rough voice in your ear: his good girl. so good for him. so wet—)

and it's just three weeks.

you'll be fine.

(—even though you taste him in the morning. on your lips. your tongue. the back of your throat. salty, bitter. but—there's a pack of salted licorice on the table. fifteen pieces, it reads. maybe you ate them. fuck, got such a pretty mouth, doe. you count each piece. gonna make me cum. fifteen. it's fine. it's fine. there's an ache between your thighs. a tenderness you lie to yourself about as you ignore the stickiness pooling in the gusset of your panties. fuck, doe, ahm gonna—)

absolutely fine.

until your coworker calls after finally getting cell reception. chatting in your ear about her vacation. normal. totally normal. and her son? you tell her. he's been a real help around the house, too (but she should maybe talk to him about sneaking into your bedroom at night because that's so weird, it's so strange; you don't want to wake up to a man staring at you in the dark, or catch the scent of sage on your pillow anymore, the lingering heat—please tell him to stop doing that because when you do, he just gets a weird look on his face like you're the problem, and it's just all so—)

"what son? we don't—we don't have a son—"

the phone line cutting out doesn't really surprise you. and neither does the creak of the floorboards. the solid weight of a chest against your back. the press of metal. a warm, firm palm folding over your throat, anchoring you in place.

a soft, mournful coo:

"ah really didnae want ye tae find out like th', doe. ah thought we had time together." his hand tightens. breath heavy, ragged against the shell of your ear. "but we gotta go, doe. it's time for us tae leave—"

(maybe you should have pushed back harder against letting him hide the paper, or barring you from watching the news. you might have seen a familiar face.)

[be-xkyy]

Is it bad that I wanna have the yandere men’s babies? 🫣 Cowboys, Sugar Daddy, etc. I’m curious though how some of them would react if reader was enthused to settle down with them and start a family? 🥰

Please don’t stop the breeding/pregnancy kinks

Hi! that's a good question anon and I'll answer it right now.

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★

Yandere reactions to a reader willing and happy to be with them and have their babies.

Yandere Farmer link

This grumpy man doesn't jump for joy or anything, in his mind he doesn't understand why he would be elated by the simple fact that you know your place and where you belong? You belong beneath him receiving his fat cock in your greedy pussy. End of story.

He already thinks he's old (maybe just a little...) and that he's running out of time to have a family and you accepting your place without making a fuss takes a huge weight off his shoulders, he takes you to live with him that very day and oh... you'll realize that this man has the stamina of a bull and the same softness.

As soon as you arrive he already has you bent over the kitchen table with your cheek pressed against the oak wood while his fat cock abuses your pussy, his fat balls slapping your plush ass with a dirty sound while a large hand holds you tightly by the back of the neck squeezing the little hairs deliciously.

From that day on you will have your poor pussy sore and overstimulated because he will fuck you all the time and at all hours.

He fucks you in the morning when the rooster wakes up and doesn't even crow yet but he's already buried deep in your pussy, he fucks you in the barn on a pile of hay when you go to feed the horses, he fucks you in the afternoon when he takes a break after hours in the field under the sun, he fucks you in the shower when you go to bathe to clean off the dirt from a productive day of work and he fucks you when you go to sleep with his calloused hand squeezing your throat, your eyes are rolled back as he fills your fertile pussy with his thick cum for the eleventh time that day.

That repeats itself every day so it's no surprise when just a month later you find out you're pregnant, did that soften it? No really I keep fucking you mercilessly and squeezing your throat until you see stars but you notice him rubbing your flat belly from time to time.

"The children in my family are big— when the baby grows up you may feel a little uncomfortable at first but don't worry, you will feel better during the seventh or eighth pregnancy."

Yandere Cowboy link

Well, reader actually does like yandere Cowboy (since she doesn't know what a bad person he really is) so from the start she wants to be with him and does what he asks her, she stopped taking birth control when he asked her to, she let him fuck her where he wanted and kept her legs up with a pillow underneath for half an hour so his semen wouldn't leak out because he asked her to.

Besides the fact that he knows how to take advantage of her, she's too young and naive and believes that besides her father he's the only one who loves and values ​​her, so it's normal for her to let him sneak into her room (secretly from her father obviously) to fuck like rabbits, he squeezes her in a tight mating hold that barely lets her breathe keeping her legs pressed down almost touching her ears.

He pumps his fat cock into her pussy frantically as she lets out low mewls, he uses a calloused finger to rub circles on her tiny clit that tightens around his member from the overwhelming pleasure she feels and he lets out a guttural growl as he watches her delicious tits bouncing right in front of his face, with one final thrust he cums deep inside her womb flooding it with his swimmers.

"That was so good baby doll, ugh— ha! I bet after this I'll get you pregnant with twins, and if that's not the case we'll try again and again until it works."

Yandere Dilf link

I'd be over the moon, really. He already believes you're his wife, he's believed it since he first saw you holding his son (very delirious) and for you to accept that fact so happily and willingly to be his, to have his babies, would only increase his already enormous delusions.

You won't be going to college anymore, of course not. You'll stay home to take care of his son and prepare everything for when he comes back from work, as a reward he'll make love to you every night without exception, he'll fuck you fervently with one of his hands covering your mouth, muffling your high-pitched moans while his cock drills your swollen pussy mercilessly.

He'll kiss your tits and neck before licking the salt off your skin as he tells you how much he wants to fill you with his babies, that you'll be the prettiest mother ever, all fat and round with one baby in your belly while you hold the other on your hip, he keeps repeating those things over and over again until he finally reaches the limit by cumming deep inside your swollen pussy just like it should be.

"Darling— let's do it again, what if once isn't enough...? Come on spread your legs."

Yandere Sugar Daddy link

Honestly this man is arrogant as fuck when he sees how happy and willing you are to be his and have his brats, he'll end up gloating while pinching your cheek telling you how proud he is that you came to your senses and are his good little girl.

Obviously he'll take you to live with him in his mansion a big one so his future children can have fun running around all over the place, you'll drop out of your law career after all now you have him and his kids soon so why study? He'll fuck you anywhere, he'll fuck you on his private jet forcing you to ride him while the embarrassed stewardesses serve champagne without making eye contact, he'll fuck you on all fours in front of the fireplace filling you with his cum over and over again scolding you playfully when his cum comes out of your pussy staining his 50 thousand dollar carpet he sticks two fingers in your pussy plugging you.

He doesn’t stop fucking you when he finds out you’re pregnant, he doesn’t stop fucking you when you’re 7 months along and your stomach is all big and swollen, he lays you down on the bed making you ride him you bounce up and down as best you can while his hands rub your ass before moving up to your belly heavy with his child, his child, just the thought of him doing this to you turns him on so much, he ends up cumming inside you every time, without fail.

“Fuck— I wish I could put another one of my babies inside you right now, see you even more swollen with my children. Shit— move again.”

[aqueerkettleofish]

And another thing.

Most conservative comedy is a response to the existence of comedy that mocks conservatives. It hurt their feelings, so they're lashing out with three intentions: to give Da Base an alternative form of comedy to listen to, to push their propaganda and talking points, and to get revenge.

I remember when Fox tried to start their own version of the Daily Show, and they started out with Anne Coulter and Rush Limbaugh. And it died, because while Da Base was glad the show existed, even they didn't find it funny.

Whereas if you watch the comics they're pissed at-- they don't have an agenda. Politics are a target-rich environment, and the fact of the matter is that, when you're working with the facts, Conservatives lend themselves to mockery a lot more. But, to use the Daily Show and their alums as examples, they mock Everyone. I've heard more jokes about Jews from the mouth of Jon Stewart than from bigots, and I'm from fucking Alabama. Josh Johnson can tell jokes about white people to a crowd full of mayonnaise and we will laugh uproariously, because he's funny, not cruel. And then he'll turn around and tell jokes about black people, and white people can laugh with him, because again.... funny, not cruel. John Oliver spends more time emasculating himself than he does on the entire GOP.

Hell, SNL had Jim Carrey play Joe Biden. And let me tell you, you don't have Jim Carrey play a real person in a comedic role unless you're mocking them. (He's actually a great actor, but he's best known for being a live-action cartoon character.)

[push-the-heartbrake]

𝙄 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝘽𝙚 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨 // 𝙎.𝙍

Summary: “Tell me what you’d like for us to do together.” — or the one where Spencer finds in himself his first serious relationship and must navigate intimacy for the first time too.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader (she/her)

Word count: 14.2k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ♡ Virgin!Spencer, dry humping, Spencer cums in his pants bc why not, fingering (f! receiving), some insecurities and sex used as a coping mechanism mentioned but otherwise very fluffy.

A/N: Happy (belated) Valentine! Set in the same universe as THIS, so go read that first if you want to know more about how they met and their dynamic. English is not my first language and please tell me what you think? That's all for now ♡

The early morning light seeped through the heavy curtains—thick and dark, softening the edges of the dawn—yet still, the light found its way, spilling in through the gaps, casting pale, golden shadows across the unmade bed. You stirred beneath the weight of the blanket, tangled around your bare legs, drifting in that fragile space between slumber and waking. The air was cold—the kind of raw, unrelenting cold only January could bring—lingering in the room, palpable even beneath the warmth of the sheets.

Sheets. They were Spencer’s dark green sheets. 

You stretched, finally waking up. The room was filled with nothing but the low hum of the radiator and the audible breaths from the man beside you. The world outside is still asleep. Soon, car engines would rumble to life, footsteps would slap against wet pavement, and the sky would brighten into daylight. But for now, your tired eyes had nothing else to focus on but his steady breathing. 

You shifted onto your side, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight. Spencer was lying there, still soundly asleep. His hair was a mess as it fell over his forehead, lips parted with the slow rhythm of his breath. Your heart did a… thing—an erratic, fluttering thing that Spencer would probably have a precise physiological explanation for. To you, it was just nerve-wracking. You wanted to reach out, to brush the hair from his face, to trace the line of his jaw, to simply exist closer. Alas, a small space remained between you, as if you’d drifted apart in the night. Cuddling wasn’t off-limits, but whatever was unfolding between you two was still new. 

So new that it was scary for you both.

New in the sense that touches didn’t come instinctively, that words didn’t fall from your lips without second-guessing yourself—that every. single. advance. felt like a make-or-break moment. 

Like—whoops—you kissed him too hard, too long, and now he was going to think that all you wanted was to sleep with him. 

You didn’t. Or you did, but it wasn’t why you liked him. 

You liked that he was smart, that he could ramble on for hours just like you could—except he usually made more sense. You liked that he was sensitive, that it felt like you could tell him anything (even though you never did). You liked that he was observant, that he noticed the small things most people overlooked. Like how he’d bring you dinner from your favorite restaurant during your evening shifts at the library. How he’d carry your bag on the way home because bringing work home with you meant lugging around a fuck-ton of books. How he knew you liked honey in your tea but couldn’t stand when it was substituted with sugar. The little things.

That he was stupidly attractive and that you had raging hormones inside of you truly came second to all of that. 

Right on cue, Spencer’s eyes fluttered open, pulling you from your train of thought. With tired movements, he stirred around in bed, finally finding you to look at. 

Your heart clenched at the sight of him. 

“Your hair is getting long, Spence,” you mumbled, your voice gruff from not having spoken yet today. 

Spencer’s lips pressed together in a small, sleepy frown as he blinked at you in slow, uncoordinated intervals. His hand moved from underneath the blanket to softly tug backwards at the hair that hung before his eyes. 

He’d gone from being terrified of you seeing him shirtless to almost always sleeping without wearing anything on his upper body. You heard yourself sigh at the view of his exposed neck and collarbones as the covers slipped down. His skin looked so soft. You knew that it was. Yet it wasn’t just yours to touch. You didn’t dare to. 

Flipping onto your stomach, you smushed your face into the pillow, breathing in the scent of the laundry detergent he used. A simple, clean, and understated scent that went up your nostrils and clouded your brain like it was a fucking drug. 

You saw in your periphery how Spencer rested his hand next to your face on the mattress, casually with his palm flat against it. It almost tickled in your fingers, wanting to reach out and touch him. 

A sound slipped from him, something between a sigh and a groan, low and strained. He shifted, but not closer. His hand twitched against the mattress, fingers flexing once before going still. Freezing, almost.

Your brows furrowed. “Why do you look so uncomfortable?” 

“No, uhm—” 

You pushed up slightly, watching his expression. “Spencer, is something wrong?” 

“Stop talking, please,” he muttered, eyes squeezed shut.

You blinked at his sudden plea, concern creeping in just as he bolted upright, sheets falling from his body and landing messily on the bed again. 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” he announced. 

You propped yourself up on your elbows, brows drawing together. “That’s all?” 

Spencer didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hand shot out, grabbing his pillow with a clumsy sort of urgency. He held it in front of himself, almost like a shield.

Your gaze flickered between him and the pillow, realization hitting like a slow burn. “You’re taking your pillow to the bathroom—oh!”

Heat flooded your face as the truth settled. A grin threatened to pull at your lips, but you bit down on it, trying to keep your expression neutral. Spencer’s back went impossibly straighter, his grip on the pillow tightening like it had betrayed him. You fought the urge to tease him. His entire body radiated embarrassment, his cheeks a deep shade of red, and for all the things Spencer was—brilliant, logical, analytical—he was also so deeply, painfully shy about certain things.

Morning wood was a normal phenomenon. You knew that Spencer knew that. In a weird way, you felt a sense of pride because of it. It had happened while he was sleeping next to you. Sure, it was an involuntary response many times. But Spencer had also literally asked you to stop talking because you affected him. Didn’t make it any less mortifying for him, though. 

“Spencer, you don’t have to be embarrassed,” you said gently.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he all but rushed into the bathroom, shutting the door with a sharp, definitive click.

You exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking your head, falling back onto the mattress. “Did you just lock the door?” 

From inside the bathroom, you could hear rattling. His voice came, muffled but unmistakably miserable. “Can we please forget that this ever happened?” 

“I mean, yeah we could do that. Orwe could talk about it like adults.” 

Silence.

Your lips formed into a grin.

“Are you at least taking care of it in there?” 

More silence.

Then, finally, a defeated, “I’m—I’m gonna wait it out.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up, rolling onto your side to cuddle back into the covers. “Suit yourself.”

A few minutes passed before the door creaked open again. Spencer hesitated in the hallway outside his bedroom, looking both exhausted and like he wanted to disappear. His face was still a little pink, his hair a mess from sleep and, presumably, from pressing his forehead against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. The pillow was no longer needed as a shield. No imprint could be seen through the flannel of his pajama pants, because of course, you looked. 

You tilted your head, your smile softening. “Over now?” 

“I need to get to work,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “But we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

You sat up fully, resting against the headboard, watching as he moved toward his dresser, already reaching for a change of clothes. “You’ll get a case and be gone for a week,” you pointed out. “I know how this works.”

His hands stilled for a moment.

“So,” you continued, “can I talk while you get ready?”

Spencer hesitated, then gave a slow nod. He kept his focus on his dresser as he changed out his sleepwear for his everyday attire. 

You took a breath. “I know that we’ve… experienced different things—” 

“I haven’t experienced anything,” Spencer cut you off. 

“You made out with Lila Archer in a pool. That’s something.” 

He huffed, throwing you a look over his shoulder. 

“Okay. Low blow. I’m sorry for that.” 

One drunken night out with the team (well, sober for you and Spencer), and you had found out so many things about Spencer that he probably would’ve never told you himself. 

You sort of knew to not make fun of him because of his lack of experience, but you also had this thing where your brain just said the first thing it could think of in every goddamned situation. It got you in trouble, but in this case it almost felt necessary to show him how casual a conversation about intimacy could be. 

You kicked the covers off of your legs and sat on the edge of the bed before you continued talking. “We’ve lived different lives, done different things, but if we want to figure us out together, then we have to talk about the sexual stuff too—” 

“But I don’t know how,” Spencer pointed out, walking around the room to face you, standing so close but not close enough. A few inches forward and his legs would be touching yours. 

You sighed. “I’m not saying we do it all right now. I guess I’m more asking how you feel about it. If you can explain it without running off to hide the next time you wake up with a boner?”  

Spencer’s face twisted at your direct use of words, and you could easily spot it. All for being casual… when your crude words might actually do more harm than good. 

He sat down next to you, still half-dressed with a button-up shirt undone and his tie in a tight grip in his hand. 

“I don’t take opportunities,” he simply stated. 

You frowned in confusion. “Yeah, you do.” 

He hadn’t reached his level of success without recognizing opportunities and pursuing them. His intellect alone wouldn’t have guaranteed anything. He had to view the world as something to learn from, to make something good or at least knowledgeable from it, which he had in your eyes.  

“No,” he corrected, turning slightly. “I mean, like social ones. I don’t put myself out there. And now I’m a grown man with no experience. That feels wrong.”

“Wrong in what way?” 

Spencer’s jaw clenched as he swallowed, his gaze dropping to where your hands rested in your lap. He exhaled, his fingers curling against his palm. “It feels like I should’ve just gotten drunk in college and gotten it over with.”

A surprised snort came from you before you could stop it. “Spencer, you were a child when you went to college.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” he admitted, “the first time.”

You shook your head, smile lingering. “Well, you still shouldn’t have done anything you weren’t comfortable with. And if you aren’t comfortable now either, that’s fine. But please, talk to me about it before you push me away.”

Spencer’s fingers flexed once before he reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. You liked when he was the one to initiate contact because that meant you weren’t crossing any of his boundaries. 

“I don’t want to push you away. I’ve just never felt this way before,” he murmured, voice hesitant. His grip on your hand tightened slightly. “And it scares me. Honestly. But the idea of never moving past this, of never trying for something more… that scares me even more.”

You squeezed his hand in return. 

“Okay. That’s good for me to know. We can work with that.” 

You hadn’t realized how tense the mood was until you saw Spencer visibly relax at your words, his shoulders slouching down as he let go of your hand to start buttoning his shirt. 

“I guess I should get ready too,” you murmured. 

Before your legs could even hit the floor, Spencer’s palm pressed against your bare thigh, his touch gentle but firm, halting you in place.

“You know you don’t have to leave just because I am,” he said. His gaze, soft and lingering, traced over your face. “You’re allowed to stay. Sleep some more. You’re working the night shift, right?” 

You hummed in confirmation, only focused on the warmth from his hand spreading through to your skin, creating a ball of fire in your stomach. Your little sleep shorts did nothing to cover the skin he was touching. He probably wasn’t even aware of how he was affecting you, seeing the contact as simply innocent. 

“Mhm, so stay,” he urged. “There’s stuff in the fridge to make breakfast.”

Spencer shifted, scanning the dimly lit room until he spotted his bag on the floor. Leaning over the side of the bed, he rummaged through it before pulling out his keys. With a small jingle, he dangled them in front of you.

“I’ll leave you my home keys. Lock when you leave and throw them in my mail slot.” 

Your fingers closed around them, the metal cool against your palm. He had a little keychain with the Las Vegas welcome sign. That the sweetest man you’d ever met was from Sin City was still a juxtaposition you almost couldn’t believe. 

“Spence?”  

He tilted his head, looking at you musingly. 

You smiled, your fingers treading to tug lightly on the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Kiss me before you go.” 

For a second, he just sat there. 

Then, slowly, the bed dipped as he braced himself against the mattress, his palm planting next to your waist. His nose brushed yours, and the warmth of his breath ghosted against your lips. There was a pause—a heartbeat—before he closed the space between you.

He kissed you, soft and hesitant at first. 

If you asked Spencer, he probably knew the exact amount of kisses you’d shared. Or he could at least calculate some sort of estimated number. You just knew that it was still a new, almost paralyzing feeling for you. You couldn’t even begin to fathom the nerves that he was feeling. 

But when you kissed him back with more intent, when your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt, you felt it. The way he melted, just a little.

When he pulled back, his forehead lingered against yours, breath unsteady.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

Then, with a reluctant sigh, he straightened, stepping back to finish getting ready. You crawled back beneath the covers, letting your head hit the pillow once again. 

You watched him with quiet amusement as he pulled on a sweater, smoothing it down with precise, almost methodical movements. His hands moved quickly—buttoning his cuffs, slipping on his watch—but there was an unspoken hesitation in the air, something that made him pause every so often. 

“You’re staring,” you pointed out. 

He huffed a small breath through his nose, shaking his head as he picked up his bag. “I’m… acknowledging.”

You raised a brow. “Acknowledging what?”

Spencer didn’t answer. He simply smiled and swung the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder, adjusting it absently before making his way to the front door. Just as his fingers curled around the handle, he hesitated.

And then, slowly, he turned back.

You were still in his bed, tangled in the sheets, looking entirely at home. He almost wanted to laugh at how it made him feel, seeing your bare foot stick out or how your hair was a little messy from sleep. 

Spencer wished he understood why his heart did a… thing every time he looked at you. The thing, where it felt like it was doing somersaults around in his ribcage. 

He swallowed, forcing himself to speak. “I don’t do this,” he admitted. “I don’t casually wake up with someone and… feel okay about leaving.”

You smiled, smushing your cheek against the pillow. “You’re not leaving. You’re going to work.” 

“You don’t mind me rushing out?” 

“I love having a big bed all to myself. Go to work, genius. I’m a phone call away.”

Spencer’s grip on his bedroom door tightened before he finally turned to leave. He stepped into the hallway but couldn’t help himself—one last glance. One last look at you in his bed, at the imprint he had left beside you, at the way you had settled into his space so effortlessly.

As he walked to the train station, a pep in his step, he had the time to reflect on what had actually happened this morning and how it was something that he had never actually experienced before. 

Someone else seeing him aroused. 

And his stupid inability to talk about sex. Well, he’d had to do it for a few different cases. But that was objective facts about the human psyche and sexuality as a concept. This was as subjective as it could be. It was literally about his own… penis. 

His inability to have sex was an even worse subject for him to think about. Inability was maybe the wrong word. Was it more about how he hadn’t wanted to? 

You were right, though. He hadn’t seen the point in doing it in college, not because he was emotionless and only focused on his studies and career, but because if he had done it, it wouldn’t have been meaningful. He needed sex to be meaningful to serve the purpose he felt like it would have in his life. 

It’d be pointless for him to have pointless sex. That was clear, and still true. 

But then you’d stormed into his life with your unapologetic way of being—your sharp wit and easy laughter. You had your own layers he had yet to peel back, but it didn’t scare him as much as it did excite him to know you that way. You, with your warmth and your patience, with the way you made him feel wanted without expectation, like he wasn’t some puzzle missing too many pieces to be worth solving.

And you were the furthest thing from pointless to him. Intimacy with you didn’t feel like something to analyze or rationalize. It felt like something to want.

Life felt futile without a sense of contribution, without the feeling that his experiences grew with him rather than passing by like scenery outside the window of a bus. The people around him changed, but he remained the same as he had been at age fifteen—only more rugged, more worn-out, and with a face that now bore the knowledge of what Dilaudid did to the body. He couldn’t let that stay the same anymore. He had to learn to see it differently.

Fuck, he needed to figure this out.

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

Spencer turned off the engine as he parked, letting the windshield wipers go one more time to take away the last lingering raindrops. It was late in the evening, and the streetlights reflected gold through the windows. He sent you a quick text that he had arrived before stepping out of his car. The cool February air hit him as he adjusted his scarf, his own breath fogging up his glasses that he had to wear when he drove. 

He scanned the street for the house number in the address you had texted him, spotting it quickly. The building itself was a modest townhouse. A little worn down but full of character, with overgrown and leafless rosebushes lining the front of it. The windows of your friend’s apartment glowed warmly against the night, the silhouettes of moving figures behind sheer curtains. He could hear muffled voices, occasional bursts of laughter, and the faint notes of an indie song playing scratchily from a speaker. He recognized it as something you’d listen to, but nothing more distinct than that. 

He hesitated near the entrance, slowly walking up the stairs to the front door, taking in the view showing through the curtains. 

Girls' night. Spencer was no stranger to the concept. He and Morgan had been turned down plenty of times when they’d tried to tag along with the women of the BAU after work. He’d also seen them the next day—giggly, whispering, exchanging knowing looks about whatever had happened. He wondered if you’d be the same. Would you come back all giggly, or did girls' night mean something different depending on the group? He didn’t know your friends, after all.

A second later, the door swung open, and there you were—stepping out into the night, huddled in your coat. You didn’t notice him right away, busy adjusting your bag over your shoulder as you waved something off behind you, closing the door with a thud. 

Something being one of your friends that Spencer could just about see a sliver of. 

Turning around, he watched as you almost got scared of his presence, not expecting him to be standing so close. You lifted your hands to your face in mild shock, and Spencer couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. 

“Red?” he asked, tilting his head in mild curiosity.

Your nails. Newly painted a bright red color. So painting nails was part of girls’ night. For weeks after you started seeing each other, Spencer had quietly wondered how your nails were always so perfectly done. He now knew that one of your friends was training to be a nail technician and would gladly accept anyone whose fingers she could practice on. 

You glanced down at your hands as if just remembering them. “For Valentine’s Day,” you replied matter-of-factly. 

Spencer hummed, taking the opportunity to hold one of your hands in his own. Was he supposed to ask you to be his Valentine? Before he could respond with anything more, the muffled sound of laughter and movement from behind the door stopped him in his tracks. And he watched you shift uncomfortably because of it. 

“Can we walk to the car, now?” you asked, almost dragging him down the entrance stairs, your eyes flickering between the door and where his car was parked. 

“Why are you in such a hurry?” he croaked out, almost immediately clocking what he thought was embarrassment from your side. Down the stairs, he gripped your hand stronger, making you unable to walk further. “Do you not want your friends to see me?” 

The way you instantly turned to face him, eyes wide with disbelief, made something tighten in his chest.

“You really think that?” you asked, voice soft, a little breathless, like the idea alone was absurd. “Spencer, no—it’s the opposite, really.”

He blinked, lips parting slightly, but before he could ask what that meant, you sighed and pointed with your free hand up to the apartment again. “My friends are standing in the window trying to get a look at you.” 

Looking up, the sheer curtains betrayed them. All of them huddled close to the window to see… well, what were they supposed to see?  

“I’ll get a text in approximately 30 seconds where they will guesstimate the size of your penis and how you are in bed.” 

You deadpanned the words. Spencer would never understand how you did it. It didn’t faze you in the slightest, as you moved to get your phone from your coat pocket. 

Spencer choked. “What? But we’ve never—”

Sure enough, your phone buzzed with a new text message. He didn’t get another word in before you read it out loud. 

“Grower, not a shower. 4 inches soft. Probably kinky in a subtle way, like he’ll tie your hands up while asking about your day.” 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, adjusting his glasses like that would somehow hide the way his flustered blush was spreading up all the way to his ears. He barely managed to form a coherent thought, let alone a response. 

Instead, his brain short-circuited, flashing between two equally mortifying thoughts: (1) The fact that your friends—people he had never even spoken to—were speculating about his sex life. And (2), the fact that you were standing here, repeating it all so casually, without any indication that it embarrassed you in the slightest.

Did they really think that? Did you?

And worse—could they be right?

Because, if he was being honest, Spencer had thought about it. A lot. Maybe more than was healthy. He thought about the way it would feel, the sound you would make. The way he imagined your body to look naked was some sort of fictional image burned into his mind like some old TV screen. Would he like to tie you up? Would that hurt your wrists? 

He had thought about it so much that the idea of it actually happening made him feel like his entire body would shut down.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

He was scared that you were so special to him, and that he could never be special enough to you. Because you’d done it all before. Even your friends knew that. To the point where they expected it from you—that your sexual endeavors were common enough that they became a casual topic of conversation. Spencer believed that Morgan might faint if he told him that he’d been thinking of having sex with you, like obsessively thinking. If it did happen, you’d always be special to him. Hell, even if it never happened, you were special enough to probably linger in his mind for decades. To you, it was possible for him to just be another number. A notch in your bedpost. Not that you’d ever describe it like that. He knew that. But still, the premise remained. 

“See?” you said, nudging him lightly, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. “We should’ve started walking when I said it because now you’re all embarrassed.”

“I’m not—” he started, but faltered, because clearly, he was. “Could they really guess all that from just looking at me?” 

“I don’t know, you’re the profiler,” you pointed out, trying to drag him closer to the car again, but Spencer stayed rooted. “They’re mostly doing it to mess with me because I refused to share any gossip with them tonight.” 

“Is that what girls’ night means? You just sit around and gossip?” he wondered out loud. 

You snorted, shaking your head. “Oh, like you don’t know the ins and outs of Morgan’s love life?” 

“That’s different,” he argued immediately. “I never ask to know anything, but he tells me anyway.” 

You shot him a pointed look. “And you listen.”

He opened his mouth to counter, but quickly shut it again because, well… you had a point. Instead, he huffed, looking down at the sidewalk as he let you make your way to the car. 

After a beat of silence, he glanced over at you, still holding your hand in his. “But really, do I look like I would… act like that?” 

The hesitation in his tone made you pause, turning your head to take him in properly. He wasn’t just flustered anymore—he was genuinely unsure because he had never even considered how people perceived him in a… sexual manner. 

You exhaled, tilting your head at him. “I don’t know what you want me to say—that you practically have a sign on your forehead saying virgin? Would that be better?” 

“No, no,” he said quickly. “I just…” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know how to talk about this.”

Your expression softened. “I know that, which is why I wanted us to go immediately.” 

He opened his mouth, grasping for something to say that would make him feel like he had some semblance of control over the situation. “You didn’t have to read that text out loud.” 

“It’s impossible to lie to you. You know that.” 

By the time you both reached the car, Spencer rushed ahead, opening the passenger door for you. It was instinct, something he did without thinking. But when he turned back to see you watching him, something flickered in your expression. 

“I should learn how to talk about it, though.” He cleared his throat. “That’d be useful for when it eventually happens.” 

He watched you smile as he said it. He hinted at it actually happening. That it was something he wanted. 

“We don’t have to hurry,” you assured as you slid into your seat. 

Spencer swallowed hard, moving around to the driver’s side. He slipped into his seat, hands gripping the wheel, eyes stubbornly focused straight ahead as he started driving. He could feel your gaze on him, patient but knowing. 

You knew him. Even after quite a short time. He couldn’t exactly remember the date on which he first saw you at the library. But it had been 36 days since your first kiss on New Year’s Eve. And you knew him.

He didn’t have to hide a single part of himself from you. Because you seemed to like them all. Or, at least, understand them all. From the shy little boy who was too smart for his own good, seeing his mother get sick and his father turn absent—to the messy adult version of him who had struggled with addiction and closeness in any sort of relationship. You understood them all, though the layers. And you liked some of them to the point where it made you visibly affected. And you protected him in ways that he protected himself too. 

Spencer could only hope to get to know you well enough to understand all versions of you. That you’d let him in, even to your darkest corners. Because he liked you so much it hurt, and felt protective over you in a way that wasn’t even comparable to the most helpless of victims he’d encountered. 

“Don’t do that thing with your tongue.” 

That startled him enough to glance at you. “What thing?” 

“Poking the inside of your cheek with it and looking all smug.” 

Spencer blinked, confused. He hadn’t even realized that he was doing anything, completely lost in his own head. “Is it disturbing for you?” 

“No, it’s distracting. You look hot.” 

“Oh.” He blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. “S-should I drive to your place or mine?” 

Smooth segue, Spencer. Really smooth. 

“You’re assuming we’re spending the night together? Awfully presumptuous, Spence,” you said, placing a hand on your chest to mimic being offended. 

Spencer tried to keep his face straight, forcing a serious answer from you. 

“Drive to your place, it’s bigger.” 

“But I’ve never even seen your apartment,” he argued. 

“For good reason,” you muttered. “It’s messy.” 

“I do not care.” 

“Fine, my place it is,” you sighed, telling him where to drive. “But if you’re mean about it, I’m kicking you out.” 

Spencer only nodded. 

He saw you relax into your seat after that, turning the heat down in the car, humming along quietly to whatever was playing the radio. Spencer thought about how he could easily get used to having you next to him, especially in simple moments like this. Picking you up, or coming home from work and seeing you in his space. Or maybe him being in your space. It almost clouded his brain, the easy domesticity. He had to remind himself that he was driving a couple of times. 

And then he thought of it. A joke, really. He could do that sometimes—think of something to say in conversations long after they had ended. Usually it was to save himself from remembering something embarrassing or unfitting that he’d actually said, but this time, he just wanted to make you laugh. 

“It’s more like 5 inches soft, by the way.” 

“Excuse me?” 

You squealed, leaning forward while also staring at him with eyes wide open. Your hand gripped the car door, and Spencer was momentarily scared your nails would scratch the interior. 

He grinned, acting unbothered. “Just thought I’d let you know.”

You exhaled sharply, your hand still gripping the door, trying (and failing) at holding back a giggle. “I’ll deflower you right in this car if you want to.” 

Spencer felt the color drain from his face at the sound of your words. He couldn’t beat you at your own game. That game being dropping the most sexually charged remarks in casual conversation. 

“No?” you teased. “Then stop with the dirty talk.” 

This was going to be a very long short drive. 

.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

On Valentine’s Day, Spencer found himself at the train station after coming home from a difficult case in Detroit. It had been such a long and simultaneously hurried process that he hadn’t even realized that they were coming back home on Valentine’s Day. Garcia’s homemade pink cupcakes waiting for them at the office had refreshed his mind. 

So, now he stood at the train station in D.C., unsure of whether to go home, to the library, or to your apartment. Mostly he worried about you picking up his phone call, pacing the platform with his phone pressed against his ear. Or maybe he was worried you wouldn’t pick up at all. Your shift had just ended. You should be able to answer. He really should’ve asked you to be his Valentine instead of waiting until the 14th to even think about it, or what if you found it all to be capitalist bullshit anyway—

“Hi Spence! How’s Michigan?”

Your happy voice coming through the speaker in his phone halted his spiraling thoughts. 

“Hi—Uhm, I’m actually home, or at the station. We could wrap up early and not have to spend another night.” 

“Well, that’s good, I guess. Successful case?” you wondered, breathing heavily. He could picture you walking around the library with quick steps, which was what you were doing by the sound of it. 

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Spencer answered. He’d noticed that you were often too curious for your own good. Every time he could tell you details from a case, you regretted it afterwards, not actually wanting to know such gruesome things. “Why does it sound like you’ve just run a marathon?” 

You let out a breathless laugh. “We had a bunch of arts and crafts for the kids today, and they made a whole mess. Glue, glitter, paper scraps everywhere. And I swear, once kids figure out how to use scissors, they think they’re unstoppable.”

A faint smile tugged at Spencer’s lips as he imagined it. You were so good with the kids coming to the activities organized by the library. 

“Sounds chaotic.”

“Oh, it was,” you confirmed. “Somehow, a three-year-old managed to glue his own sleeve to the table, which, honestly, is kind of impressive.”

Spencer chuckled, rubbing at his temple. “Remind me again why you do this voluntarily?”

“Because it’s cute,” you shot back. “And because somebody has to make sure kids don’t leave libraries thinking they’re just boring old book storage units.”

His smile widened, but before he could respond, you hesitated.

“So, uhm…” you started.

Spencer picked up on it immediately. “You’re running late?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

He glanced at the clock. He hadn’t even made it home yet, and he already knew you were going to exhaust yourself staying behind to clean up. “You know, we don’t have to—”

“But I’ll tell you what,” you interrupted, voice decisive. “Since you’re on my side of town, why don’t you go to my place, and then I’ll show up when I’m done cleaning up?”

Spencer hesitated. He still wasn’t entirely used to the casual intimacy of something as simple as waiting for you at your place. But then again, this—the way you made space for him so effortlessly—was exactly why it had never felt overwhelming.

You didn’t press him for an answer, just kept going, voice slightly distracted like you were already multitasking. “I’ll tell my neighbor to leave my extra set of keys under my doormat right now.”

Spencer nodded before realizing you couldn’t see him. “That’d be great,” he said instead. “I’ll see you later.”

There was a pause, just long enough for him to picture you—probably still standing in the middle of the library, hands on your hips, surveying the mess before sighing and getting back to work.

Then, softer, “Mhm. Buh-bye, Spence.”

The call ended with a quiet click, and for a long moment, Spencer just stood there, staring at his phone.

Being in your apartment alone? Yeah, no. That was weird. 

* * * 

Spencer arrived at your building just as the streetlights flickered on, the city settling into early evening. A bouquet of tulips in his hand, clenched in a tight grip as he made his way up to your level. They were a mixture of red, white, and orange tulips. 

He remembered Garcia once going on a rant about how no woman had red roses as her favorite flower and that men only gave them as gifts as custom and because they hadn’t cared enough to get to know the woman’s actual favorite flower. 

At his quick stop at a flower shop, Spencer had cursed himself for never asking about your favorite flower. But he at least knew he couldn’t buy roses. If not for you, then for the sake of Garcia not being disappointed in him. 

So tulips it was. They were a symbol of affection, after all. He’d read about their symbolism stemming from the Persian tale of Farhad and Shirin. A tragic love story not too far from mirroring Romeo and Juliet. And the colors—red was for love, white was for honesty, and orange was for understanding. Spencer wasn’t sure if he’d tell you all of that. Maybe if you asked. But it was still a nice thought for him to know that his gift had a meaning as is, beyond his intention. 

He rounded the corner to your door, only to pause when he spotted an older woman standing by it, hands clasped in front of her as if she had been waiting for him. Her hair was a soft gray, pulled back into a bun, and she wore a thick cardigan. Kind eyes appraised him from behind gold-rimmed glasses, and when her gaze dropped to the flowers, her lips twitched in approval.

“Tulips?” she mused. “Good choice.” 

Spencer blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Oh—uh, thank you?”

Her smile deepened knowingly. “You must be Spencer.”

“I am, yes.”

She gave a small nod, then reached into her cardigan pocket, pulling out a keyring. “I’m Edith, the neighbor with her keys,” she explained simply. “She asked me to leave them under the doormat, but I figured I’d wait and hand them off in person.”

“Oh, right! Thank you,” Spencer said, taking them carefully from her outstretched hand.

The woman didn’t step away immediately. Instead, she studied him for a long moment, eyes twinkling with something he couldn’t quite place. And then, in a softer voice, she added, “I know it’s not my place to pry, but be kind to her.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly. “Of course,” he said quickly. 

The neighbor hummed, satisfied but not entirely done.

“You’re very welcome to take care of that girl,” she said gently. “Because I don’t think anyone else does.”

It wasn’t pity in her voice. It wasn’t sadness, either. It was just an observation, simple and steady, spoken by someone who had been watching quietly from the sidelines, possibly for a long time. 

He swallowed, fingers curling slightly around the keys in his palm, not having the time to overthink what she’d said. 

“I will.” 

The woman nodded once before turning to walk up the stairs, heading back to her own apartment. 

Spencer watched her go, then turned back to your door.

He let himself inside, stepping into your space. Spencer had adored your apartment ever since the first time you had him over, that time he’d picked you up from girls’ night. 

It was a small space, crowded with your things. You’d moved in fresh out of high school. It was something about not being able to wait any longer to get out of your mother’s house. Then you’d stayed in the same apartment all through college and when you started working at the library. 

And yes, it was messy. But you were a bit of a mess yourself, so it only made sense. It wasn’t unclean in any way, but you placed things around you without any rhyme or reason. You were still able to find everything, though. Spencer had noticed that quite quickly, observing you in your own space. While he’d lounged in the bed after one of your now very casual sleepovers, he’d seen you find your sweater hung on the kitchen door and your favorite tea mug on the bathroom sink. 

There wasn’t a pattern. He had a pattern for most things in his own apartment. But this made sense to you. 

Spencer dropped your keys in a bowl on a table in your entryway. He didn’t want to feel any responsibility over them. It was weird enough to be alone in your space. 

The apartment was eerily quiet as he kicked off his shoes and took a seat on your couch, the tulips placed on your coffee table. He’d wait for you to put them in water, not wanting to go through your kitchen cabinets looking for a vase. 

He thought he could read for a while or maybe turn on the TV. But he didn’t end up doing anything. He mostly looked around the room, twiddling with his fingers as his eyes lingered on your bookshelf and on the artwork you had decided to hang on the wall. 

The blanket draped over the couch, was it handmade? The coasters on your coffee table, were they souvenirs? The Polaroid pictures blu-tacked to your bedroom door, who were they off? 

Spencer could spend hours asking you questions, he thought. He’d find your reasonings interesting even if they weren’t. 

If it had gone ten minutes or an hour when you barged in through the door with the loudest sigh he’d ever heard, Spencer couldn’t answer. You didn’t even say hi when you saw him sitting on your couch, you just dropped your coat to the floor and smiled, taking in the sight. 

“Tulips?” you exclaimed, dropping your bag on the floor too the second you noticed the bouquet lying on the coffee table. Toeing off your Converse on the way over, you looked at him, eyes wide with excitement. “I freaking love tulips!”

Spencer shifted where he sat, lips curving into a small smile. “I hoped so.” 

“But why? For Valentine’s day?” 

His face warmed, and he hummed in acknowledgment as you picked up the flowers, inhaling their scent. 

Spencer watched as you busied yourself placing them in a vase of water, moving around the kitchen like it was second nature. He was about to tell you to leave them in their wrapping to soak for an hour before cutting the stems, but you seemed to already know that. It was supposed to make them last longer. You loved tulips enough to know that. Spencer saw that as a positive indication. 

“I totally didn’t plan anything special for today,” you admitted, walking back into the living room and placing the flowers back on the table. “Did you want us to do something?” 

“Not really,” he answered. “I just got home from a case, and you have acrylic paint on your shirt. Safe to assume we’re both too tired to go out?” 

You glanced down at your stained crewneck and groaned. “Ugh. Yeah. That tracks.”

Your next move shouldn’t have surprised Spencer as much as it did. 

Standing in front of him, you lifted the sweater over your head, the shirt you had on underneath rising with it slightly. The skin of your stomach exposed to him, but what he focused on was how your belt cinched at your waist and how your slacks basically fitted like a second skin before they flared out at the legs. 

“How do you get them to fit so well?” he asked before thinking. 

With your head peeking out from the sweater as you tugged it off, hair getting messy in the process, you raised your eyebrows in amusement. “Spencer, are you staring at my ass?” 

His mouth opened, then closed again. He had definitely been looking.

You only laughed, shaking your head. “I tailor them myself.”

Spencer exhaled, grateful for the shift in conversation. “That makes sense,” he mumbled. “They look nice.”

You walked off to your bedroom, throwing the stained sweatshirt into your hamper of dirty laundry like you were the next big thing in the NBA. 

By the sound of it, you were changing out of your clothes completely. If Spencer had stretched his neck, he might’ve been able to see it through the door. But he didn’t. It didn’t feel appropriate even though he suspected that you left the door wide open on purpose. 

You tiptoed back into the living room wearing shorts and a big t-shirt, your bare feet barely making a sound across the old wooden floors. Spencer should be used to seeing you look so casual, but he was unsure if he ever would be. 

“I got you that book you were looking for, by the way. Someone returned it today,” you started to say as you bent over to rummage through your bag. “And uh… this,” you hesitated, handing him not only the book but also a bright pink slip of paper. “A very insistent little girl told me I had to make my own.” 

You’d made a Valentine’s card. For him. You’d made it for him. Holding the pink paper in his hands, Spencer’s heart squeezed at the sight—messy crayon doodles, slightly uneven letters spelling out Happy Valentine’s Day. It was simple, kind of ridiculous, and absolutely perfect. 

He couldn’t get a word out, simply staring at it. 

You plopped down on the couch beside him, sprawling out with ease, moving pillows and blankets around. At first, you bent your knees to not touch him, but then on instinct you moved them to be in Spencer’s lap as he got the book and card out of the way. 

Your toes matched the red nail polish on your fingers. He hadn’t noticed that before. 

“Why did you want it, anyway? Didn’t think it was your kind of poetry,” you asked, not bothered by his lack of reaction to the card. 

Although, maybe his silence was enough for you to see through him like glass. He’d never gotten a Valentine’s Day gift before. Garcia got everyone cupcakes, sure, but he’d never received one with romantic intentions. 

“It isn’t. But you read it and seemed to enjoy it.” Spencer straightened, finally finding something to say. Answering questions was something he could manage. “Also, the poem about being a vacuum cleaner seemed too odd to ignore.” 

You’d mentioned it once at the library. The second time you talked to each other. He’d been reading a book on Nobel Prize winners, and you’d approached him, offering him tea and questioning him about his job. A John Cooper Clarke poetry collection in your lap. There was something about a poem and a vacuum cleaner. He remembered thinking that he had to read it, no matter how stupid it sounded. 

You snorted. “Yeah, it’s… weirdly moving.”

Spencer placed the card on the coffee table, patting it with his palm like it meant something. He’d have to save it. Put it on his fridge or make a shoebox of memories with you. 

He then started going through the book. It was muscle memory for him. If he had a book in his hands, he would read it immediately. 

The poetry was so simple, it only would’ve taken him minutes to finish the entire thing. But once he read a line out loud to you, seeing a happy and content smile, he knew he couldn’t hurry through it. So, he read it to you instead. 

The couch was just big enough for the two of you—him sitting upright against the armrest, and you sprawled across the cushions with your feet in his lap, half-buried under a blanket. With nervous fingers, he’d started to trace absentminded patterns on your shin.  

The air smelled faintly of old books and lavender, your signature candle flickering softly on the coffee table next to the tulips. Every now and then, Spencer would pause between stanzas, glancing over at you like he was gauging your reaction. Most of the time you interrupted him yourself, feeling the need to question something. 

“I wanna be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust.” 

You blinked at the ceiling. “What does that even mean?”

“I think it’s a metaphor.”

“For what? Codependency?”

“Or devotion,” Spencer theorized. 

“I wanna be your Ford Cortina, I will never rust.” 

You squinted. “Is that a reliable car?”

“Pretty sure they’re not. Must be irony,” he answered. 

The next interruption wasn’t your doing. You felt the shift before you saw it—his gaze lingering, the gentle press of his fingers against your shin turning more intentional.

“What?” you asked out of curiosity. “Did I miss a spot when I shaved or something?” 

“No, uhm…” He ran his thumb lightly over a faint line near your knee. “Is this a scar or a birthmark?” 

“Scar, I think.” You twisted slightly to glance down. “Might be from when I tried to pick up skateboarding.” 

Spencer’s lips quirked. Yeah, that sounded about right.

“Does it look gross?” you asked. 

He couldn’t fathom a scar looking gross. Not when it was healed. Because if he thought that about someone else’s scars, what would they think about his? 

“I’m not one to speak when it comes to scars,” he mumbled, hesitant.

“I think yours are kinda badass, from stuff you’ve lived through,” you reassured him, a light sparking in your eyes. 

“Skateboarding is cool,” Spencer tried to argue.  

“I never even managed to stand on the board,” you muttered, a smile shining through. “I have another scar on my ribs from scratching my entire side on the sidewalk.” 

He had momentarily forgotten about the book. His focus was only on the skin his fingertips traced and how the scar made a little indent from where it had been scratched open. 

“Can I see it?” Spencer asked without thinking. 

“Not without, like, flashing you my boobs,” you answered plainly. 

Spencer’s fingers abruptly stopped moving as he first thought he hadn’t heard you right. Then he realized that he had asked to see a scar on your ribs. And your ribs were close to your breasts. That was how the human body was shaped.  

“Oh—” His brain seemed to stutter, like a skipping record. “Would that…?”

“You don’t think it’d be a bad idea?” You sat up from your lying position, taking the book in your hands as you bent your legs over his lap. “I could do it. It’s not crossing any boundaries for me. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” he murmured.

You smiled back, shifting so you could press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. He tensed slightly beneath you—not in rejection, but in that way he always did when he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Good,” you whispered.

For a second, you just looked at him. He could sense that you were trying to read his reaction. He wasn’t sure he had a reaction. Or at least one that was reasonable.

Tucking your lower lip between your teeth, a small sigh escaped you. Spencer only briefly had time to wonder if you were disappointed, but your attention turned back to the book, a finger tracing the page to find the next line of the poem. 

“If you like your coffee hot, let me be your coffee pot.” 

You snorted. “Okay, now he’s just saying words.”

Spencer cleared his throat, trying to concentrate on something other than the fact that you basically wanted to be shirtless in front of him. 

“Isn’t that the point of writing? Putting words together?” 

“Smartass.” You scrunched your nose at him.  

He let his eyes linger on the page for a while before he read the next words. He didn’t realize their meaning until they left his mouth. 

“You call the shots, I wanna be yours.” 

You were so close to him. He could hear your breaths, feel them if he focused. The bare skin of your legs touching his covered ones, a burning sensation through the fabric. It was like his ears started ringing by how quickly his heart was beating. He could only wonder if yours was beating even half as fast. 

Spencer wasn’t avoiding eye contact—not exactly—but he was looking at you like he was working through a puzzle, like he was waiting for the right words to magically fall into place before saying them.  

“I have to start thinking rationally about this,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You furrowed your brows. “This meaning sex?” 

“I guess…” He hesitated, his lips pressing together. “It’s about you, in general.” 

“And by that, you mean?”

“It’s biology,” he stated, the beginning of a ramble. “Attraction is a chemical process driven by neurotransmitters. It releases dopamine and oxytocin that are associated with the feelings of reward and attachment. The limbic system is highly active in people experiencing romantic attraction. Essentially, the brain treats attraction like an addiction, reinforcing behavior that leads to emotional and physical closeness.” 

You tilted your head. “So… that’s what’s happening here? Biology?” 

Spencer let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “It is. That’s why you make me incapable of thinking straight and why I get so nervous. I have to realize that it’s biology even though it feels like fiction to me. Does that even make sense?” 

“Nope.” 

“Great. Well—” 

“Spencer.” You sat up fully this time, your legs folding beneath you as you shifted to face him, placing the book on the table with a thud. “There is nothing rational about love.” 

Love. You’d used the word love.

He wanted to continue explaining, but he wasn’t sure he wanted it to make sense. Maybe you were right. Even though there was a scientific explanation for everything he was feeling, there was also a reason as to why people turned to fictional stories when they searched the matters of love. The feelings were allowed to be so irrational that they felt impossible. 

“And that’s not me confessing my love for you, by the way. That’s kind of early, but we’re en route to love, right? Neither of us is in this only for sex?” you continued talking, your hand reaching out to hold his. 

Spencer heard himself laugh. It would be the shittiest sex-only relationship ever, because, well, you weren’t having sex. But then he nodded, agreeing with you—you were in too deep to call it casual. 

“Morgan called you my girlfriend today, and I didn’t even try to correct him. I used to always do that,” he said, something hesitant in the way he admitted it because he was still trying to make sense of it himself.

With an assertive move, you grabbed his hand. “Good. We’re on the same page.” 

Spencer looked down at your joined hands before glancing back up at you. He swallowed. “I’m your…” 

“You’re my boyfriend,” you confirmed, and the way his lips parted slightly, like he was tasting the word, made you squeeze his hand again.

“I’m your boyfriend.”

You nodded, smiling. “Yeah. And don’t overthink it, okay? We can just… be.”

You said it so simply. Easiest thing in the world. Spencer wanted to believe it was. His mind couldn’t accept it so easily, though. It worked overtime in general, but he wasn’t sure he had ever thought so much about the same thing. Being in a relationship, having a girlfriend, sex. He almost wished he could preoccupy his mind with other things, some difficult chess strategy or some foreign literature. But no. It was all you up there. 

And what did you think about it? He didn’t know. 

Spencer cleared his throat, saying, “I’m not sure I’ve asked you how you feel about all of this.” 

“How do I feel about sex?” 

You made a little confused face, and Spencer nodded as an answer, letting the room go quiet as you thought of what to say. You fiddled with the fringe of a blanket with your free hand, the other still holding Spencer’s. 

“I think…” you exhaled. “I think you respect me more than I respect myself.” 

Spencer found it miraculous that you were able to keep eye contact with him even though the smallest of tears formed on your waterline. 

“What’s it been? Over a month? And you haven’t seen me naked,” you continued, almost a surprised tone in your voice. 

45 days. It had been 45 days. He had to force himself to not say it out loud. 

“You haven’t asked, or just… done. Nothing. I’m not sure I know how to react to that. I feel like I should have to throw myself at you to make you like me, but you’re not like that.” 

“I like you just as you are,” Spencer whispered, unsure if it was the right moment for him to speak. 

“I know that, but it’s new for me. I haven’t done all this with someone who actually cares before,” you said, voice sounding like you were constricting the words. 

Your grip around his fingers tightened, and Spencer found himself rubbing circles on the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb. He didn’t dare to reach up and touch your face, but he wanted to. 

Your lip noticeably quivered as you continued, “I haven’t always… valued intimacy the way I should have. And I haven’t exactly been with men who saw beauty in being with me instead of just lust.

It was strange, the way those words made his chest ache. 

You’d mentioned it before—when he admitted he was a virgin, you’d said something about finding it a little amusing that someone could go so long without sex, especially when it had been a coping mechanism for you. He assumed that meant earlier in your life, but truth be told, he didn’t really know. 

Spencer thought back to what Edith had said in the hallway. She’d said that no one had been taking care of you. That didn’t necessarily mean you’d been alone, just that you hadn’t always surrounded yourself with the best people.

And yet, looking at you now, he couldn’t see it. You made it look effortless—being warm, being kind, holding him close like it was second nature. How you were so well put together that no one would ever even notice things you’d been through unless you told them. And you didn’t tell anyone. 

He struggled to picture it—the same girl who had made him a handmade Valentine’s card, who curled up against him on the couch like she belonged there, had also been the girl who once used to stumble home drunk or high, clinging to some guy whose name would be forgotten in the morning. The thought alone made his stomach twist. Someone having their way with you and your mind having convinced you that you didn’t have a choice—thinking that you were so desperate to be liked that you didn’t even mind if it was only for a moment. 

It didn’t fit. You didn’t fit with that image.

Or maybe you did, and he just didn’t know it yet. There was still so much to learn about you, so much you hadn’t yet shared.

Spencer watched as you almost turned on yourself, his silence becoming too much for you to deal with. It hadn’t been his intention to make you uncomfortable, or to make your words seem even heavier than they were because of his lack of reaction. 

“You’re not too good at talking about this either, are you? About what you want?” he wondered, keeping his eyes on you, trying to convey that his silence wasn’t judgment. It was attention. 

A soft huff of laughter escaped you. “No, I guess I’m not.” You paused for a moment before adding, “But I like taking it slow. It makes it feel… different. Special, like it never has before.”

His chest tightened. Like it never has before.

He didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to put into words the way it made him feel—some odd mixture of relief and sadness. He wished he didn’t, but it was relief he felt when he realized that while everything of this was new to him, some aspects were also new to you. The blind leading the blind in a way. 

“I’m sort of scared of being too much for you,” you murmured. “Or for everyone, really.”

Spencer inhaled sharply, shaking his head almost instantly. “But you’re not—”

“And you don’t think you’re ever going to be enough, do you?” you interrupted, watching as the words hit him like a direct shot to the chest.

His lips parted, but no sound came out. He blinked at you, caught off guard, his fingers tightening around yours like he needed something to hold onto. It wasn’t a question. Not really. It was an observation. A fact. One he couldn’t even bring himself to deny. He felt inadequate in every sense when it came to intimacy. 

You reached up, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “We make an interesting pair, huh?” you mused.

Spencer exhaled a quiet laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Interesting was definitely a synonym for dysfunctional in this case. 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “We really do.”

You smiled, leaning in until your forehead pressed against his. You were curled in his arms now, your chest touching his, hand resting on his shoulders as you searched his face. His breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers came up to rest gently against your jaw, his touch featherlight, reverent.

“Tell me what you’d like for us to do together.” 

“I—” He swallowed. “I think I’d like to kiss you for a while. If that’s okay.”

You nodded gently. “Can I sit in your lap?”

Spencer couldn’t form a sentence to answer, but he lifted his hands, inviting you to move closer. Not closer than you ever had been before, but it was by far the most intimate position you’d found yourself in. 

You straddled him, knees on either side of his hips and your ass pressed against his lap. Your exposed thighs painted before Spencer like a landscape of skin. Before he could look at your face, his eyes were glued to the slight pattern of your skin, with scattered scars and birthmarks. 

Close enough, Spencer snuck in a light peck on your lips. The first of many, he hoped. 

Your hands lingered by your side before you lifted them to slowly rest around his shoulders, tickling the skin of his neck, diving your fingers in his hair to stroke his scalp with gentle tugs. He liked it so much that a little noise left his mouth as he couldn’t help but feel his body melt against yours. 

Spencer’s arms were stiff, palms pressed against the couch cushion. He didn’t know if or where to touch you. 

You started to litter his face with little kisses—on his cheeks, jaw, and mouth. He canted forward to meet you halfway, overwhelmed by the feeling of your chest pressed against his. 

Pulling back, you cupped his face, simply looking at him for a moment. “Your face should come with a warning sign. You’ve got bone structure like you were carved out of marble by Da Vinci or something,” you said, leaning back in to kiss him.  

“You’re thinking of Michelangelo,” he mumbled, although the words got lost against your mouth. 

“Huh?” You didn’t stop kissing him.

“Nothing.”

Yeah, it was nothing to bring up compared to what was going on.

He always felt like he had gotten the hang of kissing someone, but with you it was a new sensation every time. And with your tongue slipping inside his mouth, your teeth grazing his lips—an open-mouthed and messy make-out session—he might as well have been fifteen all over again.  

You teased him, and he knew it. Panting in his mouth, gnawing his lips raw. And your hands, god your hands that never stopped wandering. It was innocent, fingers through his hair or running along his arms, but still enough for Spencer’s brain to go haywire. 

He wasn’t sure it was intentional the first time you did it, but he felt your hips move against him. A slow brush forward that could’ve just been you adjusting your position. Spencer’s response was instant, a sharp breath leaving his mouth, entering yours. He was convinced it wasn’t intentional when you simply continued kissing him. But then you did it again. Not once, but repeatedly. 

Spencer was getting harder with every instant your hips ground against his, and surely you noticed it too, because he could feel you smiling through the kisses. 

“You’re allowed to touch me, y’know?” 

His head snapped up at your words, stopping the kissing. 

“But—uhm, where?” 

You gave him a look—one of those knowing, amused looks. “Anywhere. Did you want to see the scar?” 

His throat went dry. He managed a nod.

“So, touch my waist and take my shirt off.” 

He didn’t expect you to be so direct. Maybe he should always expect that from you. 

Spencer took his time, gazing at you sat on his lap. Your lips were wet from kissing, and you had mascara smudged under your eyes. He found you breathtaking, sitting there in a frumpy old t-shirt, smiling at him like he was the dumbest thing ever. 

Carefully, he let his hand settle on your thigh, fingers barely touching your skin. He saw how your eyes followed the way his hands moved, slowly upward, sinking his fingers into the skin in a way that made it spill out between them. 

When he finally reached the fabric of your shirt, he pushed it up, letting his eyes find yours as a way to reassure that it was indeed okay. You did nothing but nod, helping him slowly peel it over your head. Spencer was too busy looking at how cute your face scrunched up when the collar got caught around your head to see that you weren’t wearing a bra. When you carelessly tossed the shirt onto the floor and then let yourself just sit still in his lap, that was when Spencer took in the sight of you, bare aside from your shorts. 

Spencer was pretty sure his eyes went as wide as dinner plates. 

Taking him out of his trance, you started talking, doing a little shift with your hips and crossing your arms over your chest. “This might be the first time I’m nervous about being naked in front of someone.” 

Spencer tilted his head, talking too fast for his own good. “You didn’t mind getting undressed when you had to help me shower after my injury.”

“Wearing a bra and shorts is not the same as being naked,” you stated. 

He dared to move his hands again, finding your arms, absently tracing the skin. You relaxed, uncovering your chest again, letting him see your breasts again. Admittedly, he had a hard time focusing on your face, but he tried his best. 

“What are you nervous about?”

He watched you hesitate, your lips pressing together before you shrugged. The movement was small, but Spencer saw through it. You were trying to sound casual, but the slight tightness in your voice betrayed you.

“What if you think I’ve got weird nipples or something?” 

“T-they’re not weird,” he blurted, far too quickly, and immediately cringed at himself. He scrambled to recover. “Perfectly normal, in fact.”

“Perfectly normal?” 

“Well…” He cleared his throat, cheeks still rosy. “They’re kind of pretty.” 

You giggled in disbelief. “You think my nipples are pretty, Spence?” 

“I think you’re pretty,” he corrected. “And they’re attached to you, so yeah. Pretty.” 

“Well, why don’t you touch them, then?” 

He couldn’t argue with that. As his hands traveled up the sides of your body, he began to stroke the underside of your breasts, taking in the way you reacted to his touch. 

That was when he saw it. The entire reason you were in this position. A puny little scar on the right side of your ribs. Scratched your entire side on the sidewalk. No, it wasn’t longer than an inch. 

Spencer could feel the faint ridge of the scar beneath his touch, but he wasn’t thinking about that anymore. He was thinking about how warm you were, how soft. He was thinking about how insanely close you were to him, how his breaths hit your skin as soon as they left his mouth. 

He cupped your breasts fully, admiring the way they fit in his palms and how the ample skin felt malleable to the touch. Your nipples pebbled under his touch, and your breathing turned quicker as he twiddled them slightly between his fingers. 

“You can kiss them too, y’know.” 

Spencer took in the feeling of having some sort of control over his emotions and over the situation. Fuck yeah, could he kiss them. He started at your sternum with a soft peck, then traced down the valley between your breasts. He looked up at you through heavy eyelashes, his warm brown eyes staring you down as his lips explored. Your jaw slackened, nodding at him reassuringly.

When he took your nipple between them, he heard you hiss at how he purposely teased you. He sucked on the tender skin, mouth on one as he cupped the other. Spencer felt so lost in what was happening that he didn’t even realize he was almost biting down on your skin, grazing your nipple with his teeth until a high moan escaped you.

Your hips rutted forward again, his boner now something that couldn’t be ignored. And by the look of it, the friction was enough to cause you pleasure as well. Spencer wasn’t even sure he’d seen that as a possibility before. But your shorts were thin, and the material of his pants was rough enough to rub your heat every time you moved. 

Spencer only pulled away when his lungs burned for air, releasing your nipple with a soft, wet pop. For a moment, he stared, mesmerized by the way it glistened with his saliva, a fleeting mark of what he’d done. 

You looked at him, grinning. 

His hands found a comfortable space in the divots on either side of your waist as he watched your hands fall from his shoulders down between you. You didn’t touch, or take things any further. They just simply rested on him—on the prominent tent in his slacks. 

“Was, uhm… was this all that you wanted for us to try?” Spencer whispered. 

The air in the room had somehow turned harder to inhale. Humid.   

“I thought I’d start with something less explicit before I tell you that I want your dick inside of me.” 

Spencer now forgot how to breathe. Completely. 

A little giggle escaped you as you took his face in your hands, your palms cold against his skin. Or maybe he was just impossibly warm. He didn’t want to think about how he must have looked—hair a tousled mess, skin pinking, probably blushing all the way down to his toes.

You pushed his hair off his forehead, tilting your head as you asked, “I’ve made you all flustered, haven’t I?.” 

Spencer groaned, pressing his head back against the couch like he was seeking divine intervention. His boner, the elephant in the room, lodged in the space between your bodies, wasn’t enough for you to notice? 

“Do you enjoy torturing me?”

You laughed, hands placed aimlessly on his chest. “I don’t. I just think it’s cute.”

He opened his eyes, peering at you warily. “What’s cute?”

“You.”

Spencer let out a long breath, shaking his head. “You can’t just call me cute after—” He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Never mind.”

You bit back a smile, leaning in again, your nose brushing his. “I mean it, though.”

His hands, which had remained mostly still against your waist, flexed slightly. “Me being cute?”

“No.” You kissed the corner of his mouth. “That I want you.”

Spencer’s breath caught, and for a moment, he just looked at you—like he was trying to memorize this moment, like he wanted to capture exactly how it felt to have you in his lap, saying things that he never thought he’d hear from you. Or anyone for that matter. 

“We don’t have to be nervous,” you murmured. “I think we’re both allowed to want each other.”

“I do want you,” he admitted. “I just… I want to do this right.”

“You will. Let me take care of you, Spence.” 

He didn’t have much else to say when your lips were back on his, tongue slipping into his mouth. Your hips, god your hips, began to move with more intent, practically squeezing his bulge between your crotch and himself. And your tits, moving with every bounce you made. 

Every inch of his skin turned to goosebumps as your fingers sneaked under his shirt, ripping it from where it had been tucked in to his pants. You scratched his skin, and he could imagine the contrast between the red polish and his pale complexion.

Spencer no longer hesitated to explore you. His hands were in tight grips on your hips, wandering to the curve of your ass as he helped you move in rhythm. Glancing down between you, he swore he could see a damp spot blooming on the fabric of your shorts—but that wasn’t what captivated him most.

The best part was when you broke the kiss, gasping for air, your lips parted in a breathless moan. He could shamelessly watch how your face twisted in pleasure. You had an innocent delicacy to your facial features despite the raw need in your body’s movements.

Oh, was he really watching an angel… 

The both of you quickly got lost in the hazy feeling of not knowing where his hands on you started and where your hands on him ended. Spencer heard how he whined with each of your movements, but he couldn’t have cared less, hips bucking uncontrollably, canting forward to meet your thrusts. 

“Does it feel good?” you murmured, grazing your teeth against his lips. 

A strangled breath was all he could reply with, his hands roaming endlessly for something to grab, something to ground him. 

“Don’t stop, p-please.” 

So he could form words, only that they were pathetic. 

It didn’t take long between when Spencer realized that the friction alone would be enough for him to orgasm and it actually happening. He’d been too pent up for too long of a time to even think about holding it back. The feeling so rushed that he couldn’t warn you, or even say something to you. All that left his mouth were stuttered moans and curse words. He normally wasn’t one to use rude words, but this was uncontrollable. 

“Oh god, oh fuck—” 

He felt a warm liquid spreading from where his cock was tucked in pants, soaking through to stain the fabric. His body froze, and he tried his best to stop his panting breaths as ropes of cum continued to leak out. Out of instinct, his hands left your body, flying up to his achingly blushing cheeks. 

You abruptly stopped moving at his reaction, taking in the sight for a second before your hands clutched around his wrists, moving his hands from covering his face. 

“No, no. I’m not even giving you the right to be embarrassed right now, Spence,” you said sternly, your eyes flickering between him and evidence of his release. “That was like the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

He kissed you to shut you up. Soft, gentle kisses that calmed him down and made you rest your weight back down onto his thighs. Lost in the fact that he’d just had his first orgasm in front of someone else, his mind wandered to you, and if you’d enjoyed it as much as he had. But… you hadn’t finished, had you? 

Spencer pulled away, distraught at the thought of taking but not giving. “You didn’t—” 

“No, but that wasn’t the point of this,” you cut him off, further explaining, “Sex isn’t always about making the other person cum. This time, for instance, I think it was mostly about us getting more comfortable with each other.” 

“But we still didn’t have sex.” 

“Sex is whatever you want it to be.” You let out a little sigh, not out of annoyance but out of amusement. “If this is all that you’re comfortable with, then this is sex to you.” 

That made sense, even to him. But now that he had gotten a little taste, he couldn’t wait to be comfortable for more.

“B-but I do want more,” he argued. “More of you.” 

“We’ll get there.” 

“You don’t want me to help you out now?” 

He wasn’t sure where his sudden confidence came from, and by the look of it, neither did you. Your eyes went a little wide as you struggled to answer. Spencer felt a sense of pride at the fact he could make you nervous. 

You shyly looked away, mumbling, “Only if you’re comfortable.” 

“I am. I promise you that I am,” he assured you, turning your face by a light grip on your chin. 

You could move your hips against him with all intent to make him feel good, but you got visibly flustered at the thought of him doing the same to you. Adorable. 

“How—I mean, I could continue getting off on your thigh,” you said quickly, tucking your hair behind your ears in a practiced, nervous manner. “Or you could use your fingers.” 

“Fingers. Can I use my fingers?” 

You hummed while nodding, agreeing immediately, kissing him quickly. 

Making room on the couch, you both tossed some of the decorative pillows on the floor before Spencer laid you down on your back, him halfway spooning your side so that you both would fit.

The kissing continued as Spencer thought of what to do. He’d read a lot about it. He should be able to figure it out. His hands found home, massaging the plush skin of your thighs, thinking that was a simple way to start. Your chest rose as his fingers trailed over your body. You were desperate. 

But maybe so would anyone be if they’d essentially been very close to climaxing and then having it all ripped away. 

Spencer felt so unconvincing as his fingers fumbled with the elastic waistband of your shorts. You were about to be so naked, and he was still fully dressed. You didn’t seem to mind, though. Actually, you were very quick to untie the shorts yourself, pushing them down your legs and then onto the floor. 

Your panties were a simple white with little floral lace details. And he’d been right; you’d soaked right through them. He looked at you carefully, his brown eyes studying yours as his hand played with the lacy upper hem. 

“Keep them on, just—fuck, touch me.” 

He looked at you, twisting and turning under his touch, words falling out of your mouth carelessly. 

Then his hand made contact with your warm, sticky skin. 

First over your pubic bone and then over a slight thatch of hair. 

Spencer brushed what he thought was your clit with featherlight touch, taking in your reaction before delving his fingers between your folds, a surprising feeling with how velvety smooth the pooling wetness he found was. His digits circled down over your entrance before retreating. 

You bit your lip to the point where it looked painful, keeping everything on the inside, turning your head into his chest. 

Spencer stopped moving his hand, using his free one to tilt your head right back, forcing eye contact. “I wanna hear you. Tell me what to do.”

“Move a little higher,” you said, a whine coming from your throat as soon as he followed suit. With a little calculating, Spencer concluded the little bud he was touching was your clit. “Oh, fuck—right there, Spence.” 

He used his pointer and ring finger to slowly explore, moving in gentle circles, touching a place that made your stomach tense and breathing sharpen and separate. Spencer could look at you all day as you enjoyed yourself, letting out a little floating laugh between moans, crinkling your nose as he touched the spot again and again. 

“Kiss me,” you asked between breaths, your eyelids getting heavy the faster his fingers moved. 

His free hand stroked against your jawbone before he leaned down to kiss you, not knowing if he was doing it right. But apparently he was, by the way you whined under his mouth, eyes rolling back. 

“Should I—” He swallowed. “Should I do something more? I read that many women can’t climax from penetration and that clitoral or oral stimulation is easier—”  

Your eyes went wide as he spoke, interrupted by his continued movements. “Fuck, Spence—You wanna use your mouth on me?” You shook your head, hiding into his chest again. “No, this is enough. You’re enough.” 

His fingers slipped between your folds with more ease, hearing the wet sounds he could bring from your pussy. The more he moved, the more he wanted to turn you into a sweet mess at the touch of his fingertips.

“God, you’re gonna make me—” 

You tensed up, and Spencer felt it. And then you let it all go. 

It was like you lost all stability in your bones, turning into a fluid source of warmth in Spencer’s embrace, as his fingers slid messily over your clit, losing momentum, your underwear soaked and stretched out over the back of his hand. 

Spencer had been unsure of if he could notice if you faked an orgasm or not. He now knew that there was nothing fake about you. You let out a last, long breath, and Spencer slowly circled your clit before he pulled his hand away, letting it linger on your naked stomach. 

“Was that okay?” he felt the need to ask. 

You looked up at him, breathing still uneven and your eyes slightly dopey, practically collapsing in his arms. “Okay? Spencer, you were fucking amazing.” 

As Spencer held you, right there on your couch, and you slid your palm over his his chest, resting it tight above the place where his heart was still erratically beating, he felt himself lose control over basically everything. The world narrowed down to you—your skin, your scent, your breathing. Not that much else mattered to him. He wasn’t sure it ever would again. 

“I wish I met you earlier in life.” 

The words left him before he could stop them, and maybe it was a little ridiculous—like meeting you earlier would have suddenly made life easier, like it would have changed anything at all. But still. He truly wished that.

You kissed his neck, murmuring, “We’ve got all the time in the world, Spencer.” 

His fingers skimmed along your arm before settling at your waist, holding you close. You felt so softagainst him, so warm, but after a moment, he felt the residual stickiness of sweat and everything else clinging to both of you. His nose wrinkled slightly, and he knew you caught it before he even spoke.

“Do you wanna go change? Wash your hands? Can’t imagine it’s comfortable being sticky.” 

You probably felt just as sticky as he did, but Spencer could tell—he knew—your suggestion had less to do with yourself and more to do with him, his germaphobia, and his sensory issues. Because you were always thinking about him, about the things that made him uncomfortable, about the ways you could make things easier for him without making a big deal out of it. And wasn’t that just the sweetest thing? Spencer thought so. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, helping you stand from the couch, legs looking a bit wobbly. “And you should go pee. Prevents UTIs.” 

“I know that,” you muttered. 

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitched. Sitting up himself, he let you slip away, watching as you padded across the wooded floors. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to seeing your body being so casually naked. But he would love the future time he’d spend trying to get used to it at least. 

“You wanna watch a movie?” you asked, voice sounding almost drowsy, as you picked up your shorts and t-shirt that had been thrown on the floor. “I got The Princess Bride on Blu-ray, and we could order Indian food.” 

Spencer could do nothing but smile, his mind echoing empty of thoughts. “Sure thing.” 

Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think ♡ And yes, for those of you who didn't know, the Arctic Monkeys song is originally a JCC poem.

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - v

selkie!soap x reader. depression. strangers to "lovers." shower sex. cunnilingus. smut. manipulative soap. oysters as an aphrodisiac. unstable narrator. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

You watch him over an open book.

It’s an old romance, something from the eighties. Classic bodice ripper, billowing sleeves, tight corsets, mullets and heaving bosoms and all. Naturally, it’s set on a pirate ship, the heroine as the unlucky spoils of a merchant ship raid and the hero a lusty captain able to pierce her virgin’s desire for sexual depravity.

It could only have been more pointed at you if it had been set in the North Atlantic—it isn’t—but you glare at Soap’s back anyway.

He must be able to feel it, because he stands straight at the wheel, shoulders thrown back, occasionally flexing.

The freak.

You’d realized the joke he’d been making, once your heartbeat had slowed. Hiding the pelt somewhere obvious enough for you to see it. You live in the age of the internet—you know what it’s supposed to mean.

And you kind of hate him for it. Now, post-coitus, you can’t shove it away into a box—he is the most attractive man you’ve ever encountered. Rugged and handsome, competent at everything you’ve seen him do, seemingly at home wherever he finds himself. Everything makes him smile. Nothing seems to disconcert him.

And a nice big cock he actually knows how to use. Certainly the best lay you’ve ever had.

What every woman traveling solo, you think, longs to encounter on a solo trip across the world, but will never acknowledge looking for. An answer to an unaddressed desire; proof that satisfaction is out there to find, if it’s searched for.

A lover with no conditions. Someone willing to strip your inhibitions away, knowing your protests are only token.

You had not been searching. You’d given up searching.

And now he mocks you—with every satisfied glance he throws over his shoulder.

“Good book?” he asks, all casual and pleased. “S’ one a’my favorites. Tell me when you get to the naval battle.”

You frown. “You haven’t read this.”

He gives a little huff of amusement. “Read all of ‘em, bonnie.”

No, this is where you draw the line. A good cook, a good fuck, and a romance reader? No. No, you absolutely will not take this.

“Sure you have, Johnny,” you grouse, “you read every single stupid book on that shelf. Sure. Hell, you’ve read books that aren’t on that shelf. You’ve read every new release from the last six months, even. Why not.”

He looks at you again over his shoulder, mouth curled. “Aye. Needed ideas, once a’knew you were comin.’”

He says it matter-of-factly, with only a little bit of pride. As if it was a natural step in the process of getting ready for your arrival—renovate the croft. Stock the fridge and pantry. Plan some island excursions.

Study the erotic mind of the average woman to divine how best to seduce her.

Your frown deepens, and you lift the book higher, making it a barrier between you and him. Loser. Couldn’t he just go to the mainland for a few days if he wanted pussy? Not like it would be hard to find, for him.

You resolve to ignore him for the rest of the trip. A petty endeavor, maybe, but it’s the only one you can make.

But six hours is six hours, and you can’t read the whole time. Periodically you have to get up to stretch your legs, and the windows wrapping around the bridge draw your attention to the sea outside.

Johnny drives the trawler at a remove along the coastline, keeping close enough to the islands for easy viewing. The denizens of the Hebrides are out en masse, enjoying the clear weather, joyfully populating the land- and seascape in the absence of human interlopers.

Porpoises, so much smaller than you might have expected, periodically catch the wake of the boat, swimming alongside, playful and curious. Gulls loop in the air above the dunes, fronds of grass fluttering in the breeze. Gannets, stark white, arrow down into the waves, wings folded back pin-straight as they spear their quarry—silvery fish that boil the surface of the water in their frenzy.

Some removed part of you enjoys their pleasure secondhand. The normally-grey ocean is vibrant in the sunlight, crystalline and sparkling and as blue as Johnny’s eyes.

He seems to be in a good mood, too, although that could just be because you let him fuck you. You feel his eyes on you even as you refuse to look at him, dancing along the curves of your body the same way his fingertips might.

At one point—“Bonnie, I know you’re sulking an’ all, but c’mere.”

He gestures you over to the cockpit, and—embarrassed at being called out—you join him. He brings a hand to the small of your back, stepping behind you and pointing over your shoulder.

A gray wall of passing cliffs, and crags of rock jutting up from the churn at their base. You see ten or twelve grey-and-white seals lounging across every available flat surface, some cuddled in groups of three or four, apparently unbothered by the periodic spray of breaking waves.

“No’ where I’d choose to have a kip, personally,” Johnny says, sounding amused.

You turn your head to look at him, hard. His eyes soften when they meet yours, and he tilts his head to kiss you, undeterred even when you flinch away from it.

His hand tightens across your back, fingers digging in. He sucks your bottom lip between his and caresses it with his tongue, as he edges beneath the hem of your shirt to spread his hand across the warming skin of your back.

“I’m mad for ya,” he murmurs when he pulls away, blush high on his cheeks.

“It’s been two days,” you deadpan.

He presses up behind you, open hand sliding around to press into the low part of your belly, right at the sensitive crest of your mons; you can’t help your gasp when, at the same time, his erection nestles into the cleft of your ass.

“No’ to this,” he purrs in your ear. “Feels like it’s been forever, for this.”

When his fingers start making their way beneath the waistband of your pants, you grab his hand and wrench it away, scoffing.

“You’re just a fucking horndog,” you sneer, betrayed by the heat spilling through your core.

“Aw, you break my heart, bonnie,” Johnny simpers, but there’s a mocking edge to it. As if he knows exactly what you’re hiding.

You step away from him, folding your arms across your chest and staring out at the basking seals instead. Then—

“There’s one in the water,” you say.

A few meters away from the rocks, a round head pokes up from the surface, bobbing with the rise and fall of the waves. Its eyes are slitted closed, nostrils dilating.

“Aw, he’s bottling,” Johnny says affectionately, when he comes over to look. “Look at his wee face.”

You remember suddenly your encounter of the previous day—another lone seal, resting apart from its fellows.

“I saw one on the beach,” you say, “yesterday, after you dropped me off. A big one. You didn’t say they might show up.”

“Male?” he asks, and you nod. “Peripheral male, then. I’m no’ surprised.”

You sigh. “And that is…”

As if magnetized, his hands find you again, this time settling on your waist. It seems that Johnny’s touch is something impossible to escape, in his vicinity. He drags them down over your hips and back up almost idly, as if he’s not even thinking about doing it.

“There’s dominant males, and then there’s the rest of ‘em. Only the dominant ones get to breed at the rookeries, see? And the rest of ‘em have to wait around for the females to leave to have their chance.”

He leans into you from behind, nose in your hair, and you hear him inhale as his hands tighten.

“Once a peripheral male finds a female alone, separated from the colony, ready to go back out to sea—well, that’s his chance to pounce.”

You frown, mostly to yourself. “No matter how the female feels about it.”

“We’ve been over this,” he chides.

He brings his lips to the curve of one ear, then the soft spot behind it. His nose finds the juncture of your neck and shoulder, where the capillaries that he broke with his teeth still throb whenever you press your fingers to them. He inhales again, deeply.

“Why do you do that?” you grouse, unwilling to give him the win.

“Like how you smell,” he says, doing it again.

His tongue caresses the bruise before he closes his mouth over it—but he goes no further than to kiss your neck twice more before returning to the wheel. It leaves you reeling, half-dizzy with arousal, and when you stomp back to your seat with a frustrated growl, he only glances over at you, smirking, and laughs.

He finds a berth in the early evening to park the trawler, and at that point you’re thankful for any kind of solid ground to set your feet on, as well as enough open air to disperse whatever pheromones have saturated the enclosed space of the bridge.

You’ve been half-tempted the whole time to make him drop anchor and drag him belowdeck toward the nearest flat surface big enough for the two of you to share; as it is, you’ve simply stewed in your own juices instead, hot with angry arousal and ignoring the slick pooling in the gusset of your underwear.

Johnny steps out into the cooling air in his usual kilt and sweater, and you once again huddle in his jacket, aromatic with his musk, as he leads you onward. This time, unlike the last excursion, he insists upon holding your hand the whole way, callused fingers worming their way between yours, the captured air hot and humid between your palms.

Callanish turns out to be a henge of standing stones.

Meters-tall megaliths, squarish and narrow like broken teeth, surrounding a burial site and extending in two directions as if lining a road. Inevitably evocative of its cousin Stonehenge, with the notable exception that you are allowed to go up and touch the stones with your bare hands.

“They used ‘em for that TV show,” Johnny informs you as the two of you circuit the main ring. “Well, no’ these, they probably had styrofoam for that, but they got the idea from these.”

You lay your free hand on the nearest stone; it’s cold, and rough to the touch, a day’s worth of sunlight evidently not sufficient to warm it. Tiny spots of moss and lichen cling to the old stone, green and eggshell white.

“Why are we allowed to touch them?” you say. You think of bronze statues, rubbed to a golden gleam by millions of tourist hands.

“That’s Lewisian gneiss, bonnie,” says Johnny, laying his hand, much larger, next to yours. His thumb teases the side of your pinky. “Doubt you could make much of a mark on it. This rock here? Three billion years old.”

You look at him, seeing his profile. The expression on his face is soft—not unlike the way he looked at you earlier, on the way here. He spreads his fingers over the stone, tendons furrowing down the back of his sun-weathered hand.

“No’ just older than us,” he continues. “Older than what we used to be, a’fore we were us. Was there when we first made fire. Was there when we came down th’ trees. Was there all the way back when we left the ocean for the first time—”

He looks at you, then. The setting sun catches in the dips of his irises, setting jewel blue aflame.

“An’ it’ll be there, bonnie, when we go back.”

The wind curls around the stones with the chill of the oncoming night. Even despite the jacket, despite the walk up to the site—you feel it penetrate beneath your skin, deep into your bones.

You choose derision, to reject the shiver.

“And you have this all memorized,” you say.

Johnny doesn’t respond. He continues to stare at you, mouth in a relaxed, but inscrutable line.

You suddenly remember that you do not know this man; though he’s told you enough about himself to fill out his background—you don’t know him. You don’t know how he feels about most things, what’s important to him, why he may find one thing or another meaningful. Not the way you’d have to, in order to understand why the gaze he fixes on you feels so significant.

Whatever you’re supposed to understand in the way he looks at you now, you don’t have the ability to discern. The only thing that occurs to you is that, perhaps, you’ve finally managed to offend him.

It does not satisfy you as much as you might have imagined—

In fact, the thought drops through your belly like a rock.

Again. You did it again.

In the one place you thought you’d never have to face this—you did it again. Here is someone who seems to like even the worst of you, and you somehow found an even uglier side of yourself to show him, a squirming thing that cannot help but sling itself around with no heed for the damage it can cause.

But when you open your mouth to say something reparatory, something that certainly won’t fix what you’ve broken no matter what he might say, his expression softens into something thoughtful.

“Visited when I first came here,” he says. Completely unbothered. “After the discharge an’ all.”

You blink. Sharp heat and the numbness of cold, warring across your face.

“Why?” you ask.

“Dunno.” He shrugs, and lifts his hand from the stone, smiling ruefully. “I was a bastard back then. Didnae wan’ anything’ to do with anyone anymore. Mad at the world, a’was.”

Shucked like an oyster; scaled like a fish. Heat wins out, even in the growing chill. Tender skin scalding itself.

“And what,” you say, reflexively nasty, panic whirring up behind your breastbone, “you thought—you’d get some sort of, magical insight here?”

Johnny laughs. “Naw, a’was just pissing my money away, bonnie. Thought I’d come up here an’ try t’ knock one over.”

Tight chest. Can’t breathe. You step away from him, far away, hide it like you’re looking at another of the standing stones, but a stabbing pain spears upward through your diaphragm.

In—count—hold—out—

“Could you?” you ask, wringing something like a normal tone out of your voice.

“Nope. Paid for it later, though.”

He says it casually. He hasn’t noticed. You reach out to the new stone, drag your fingers overtop of the rough surface, imagine every little bump flipping the friction ridges of each print like pages of a book. Cold—the rock is cold. The wind is cold, and sharp with the smell of rain. The jacket is heavy on your shoulders.

The jacket smells like Johnny.

“I’m sure the park wardens weren’t happy,” you say, feeling your heart slow in your chest.

“No,” he says, and—with the silence of a lightning strike—“I drowned, afterwords, first time I went to sea.”

You look back at him. The wind picks up, ruffling the ends of his mohawk; on the horizon, a rind of darkness splits the clouds from the earth.

“You drowned?” you repeat.

The hem of his kilt flutters and dances. His gaze is intense—the angle of his brow unreadable.

“Aye, bonnie. I did.”

Your ears begin ringing—as you stare at him, you get the sense of dreaming. There’s a distinction to Johnny that contrasts the landscape framing him, a sharpness so focused that everything else lenses around him.

“Why—why are you here?” you find yourself asking, though you’re not entirely sure why. The question leaves you as if surfacing on its own power.

The corners of his mouth quirk—although for once, he doesn’t smirk at you, the way he always does.

“You tell me,” he murmurs.

He holds you in the tilt of his head; in the depths of his eyes, currents pulling you downward. You inhale, and expect, for some reason, water to pour into your lungs.

Then a gust of wind buffets the two of you. Johnny turns, surveying the sky. Breaking the spell, he says, “Come on, let’s get back. I don’ like the look a’that storm.”

Halfway back down the path, the front overtakes you; rain begins sheeting down, ice cold, needle-precise into your hair and down your collar. Johnny grabs your hand again even as you start worrying about slipping, and though the torrent veils the way, the both of you make it back to the trawler in one piece.

Back on the bridge, a red light blinks on the panel by the wheel. While Johnny attends to it, flipping a switch and bringing a microphone on a curly wire to his mouth, you squeeze your hair out over the sink nearby.

“This is Soap on the vessel Sea Ghost,” he says, and waits for a response.

“Soap. Drop anchor somewhere. Looks like a storm’s coming in,” a gruff voice comes in.

“Yeah, Cap, we noticed,” Johnny says with a laugh, turning and smiling at you. “We’re moored, dinna fash.”

“Good. Looks like it’s just for the night. Clear enough in the morning.”

“Barry. You got everything? Shops’ closed tomorrow.”

“Never will understand why. But yes.”

“It’s a holy day, Captain,” Johnny says pleasantly.

Price grumbles something about damn Catholics and their damn rules, which just makes Johnny laugh.

Then, “Gaz is here. Made it in after you left.”

Johnny’s posture shifts. Similar to a dog hearing the turning of a doorknob; amorphous attention coalescing, finding a target to point at. Anticipatory. Tail twitching, winding up to wag.

It’s a new reaction, to you—you’ve never seen it before.

Johnny lifts the transmitter to his mouth. He holds it there for a silent moment, before saying, “And Simon?”

No response from the other end of the line, pulled taut, as if snagged. Then Price responds “Haven’t heard yet.”

Something passes over Johnny’s face. Some flex of the muscle in his jaw. An expression held in check.

That’s—

That’s familiar.

“Alright. Back tomorrow then.”

“See you.”

He replaces the mic on its hook.

Thunder claps somewhere over the distant, open ocean. The trawler creaks and groans as the wind swirls around it. Yellow lamps illuminate the warm, wooden space, but are unable to penetrate the lowering blackness outside.

Tension—you can feel it drawing tight, see his shoulder blades shifting closer together. It aches in the muscles of your own back. He faces away from you, like you’re not there—

He turns to look at you. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t look quite real. As if he’s forcing the expression on his face.

“Poor bonnie,” he croons, looking you up and down. The tenor of his voice is saccharin-sweet and thick. “How’s a hot shower sound to warm up, hmm?”

Your belly pinches. “Sure.”

He leads you down a steep flight of stairs into the stomach of the boat, showing you into a single bedroom. The space is cramped, wedge-shaped—barely enough room for the double bed shoved into the middle of it, sheets and blankets gathered in rumples across the top. The unique musk of its occupant wars with the smell of lacquer; the walls are lined with orangey planks, evoking the sailing ships of old.

Directly to the left of the entrance, an open door leads into a small bathroom, into which Johnny guides you, hands on your hips.

“Go’ plenty a’ drinking water stored upstairs so take all the time you like,” he says. “Here, lemme show you how the taps work.”

You half-expect him, after the instruction, to stand there and watch, waiting until you undress. And he does hesitate for a moment, hovering in the threshold, before giving you a practiced grin, telling you to enjoy yourself, a closing the door behind him.

You stand in the middle of the tiny room for an uncertain heartbeat. Assumptions lurching. Almost—hoping.

His heavy footsteps climb back up the stairs.

So, you peel off your damp clothes and drop them into a pile on the floor, stepping naked into the shower. It’s far less mildewed than you might have worried of a single man living alone. Hot water chases cold out of your hair, streaming with pressure far superior to the cottage’s installment.

You realize your toiletries are still above deck, in your bag, beneath the two paperbacks Johnny packed that you haven’t gotten to just yet. You could step out after him—

You don’t do that anymore. You promised yourself.

The floor sways as the shifting sea rocks the trawler in its berth. You reach for the bar on the wall to steady yourself.

One version of yourself is sometimes able to fool the other. The truth is, you could have told him to stop at any time. Put your foot down, hard. Just because he owns the house you’re staying in doesn’t mean he gets to decide what your entire vacation is going to look like.

You scoff at yourself, without any humor. Vacation. Like you’d ever believed this was anything more than self-imposed exile.

The truth is, water takes the shape of the container it fills.

There’s a chill still present in your hair follicles. Impossible for you to identify until now; live with an ache long enough and it stops registering, until it’s balmed with a moment of relief. This is where the addicts begin; experiencing, for the first time, a complete absence of pain, as if it had never been there in the first place, and, once that pain is restored, the ruthless pursuit of its elimination.

Cold rain outside, warm rain within. You stand in the flow, listless. Steam rapidly clouds the empty spaces around you, gathering in droplets on the wall, drizzling down again.

That’s where the mistake is. Pain is never defeated—only deferred. Its panacea provides only diminishing returns, until it’s useless. Until you might as well be swallowing sugar pills or drinking seawater to assuage your thirst.

But you keep doing it. You remember too well how it felt. You chase it down because now you know how it feels.

At some point you have to understand that it always ends poorly.

The bathroom door opens again, and then the shower door, spilling yellow light into the shadowed recess—

Johnny.

The expression on his face is inscrutable; mysterious, as his gaze moves down your body, following the streaming water. Your arms curl around your chest in a perfunctory attempt to conceal yourself, even despite the futility of the effort.

He’s naked, and half-hard, a refrain on the previous night. One hand holds the travel-size soaps and gels that he must have dug out from your bag. He steps in behind you—enclosing the two of you in together.

“Sorry, bonnie,” he murmurs soothingly in your ear. “Had t’make sure we were tied up for the storm.”

The space is not even suggestive of being big enough for two people. You hear the squeak of the shower wall against his shifting back, hot skin slipping against yours as his hands draw you back against him by the hips.

“Dinnae want you t’slip an’ hit your head,” he murmurs, massaging the fat of your pelvis, as if there’s any reason to make excuses for what he’s doing.

Half-raised hackles petted down too easily. You relax into his touch, even as you disdain it. Your heart tremors in your chest.

“What’s going on tomorrow?” you finally ask. “Who’s Simon?”

Pathetic. A jealous lover, after less than forty-eight hours.

“Old task force,” he answers, kissing the back of your head. “Little reunion, food an’ beer, mostly.”

You half-expect him to go immediately for your breasts, or maybe your pussy. His cock is stiffening against the small of your back. But instead, he opens one of your bottles, squirts some pearly body wash into the palm of his hand. Rubbing a little to lather it, he puts his hands back on your hips, and begins massaging it into your skin.

Inward, up your stomach. Pressing into the soft parts of it, with the water slicking his way. His mouth touches the back of your neck—softly. Tenderly. With all of the languor you rejected the previous night, and not enough space for you to slap it away again.

His lips press inward, looking for the bite he left, which he lays his tongue on as if in contrition, licking it like a dog with a wound. The comfortable warmth of the shower swelters with his added body heat; the steam pulses in time with the heavy beats of your heart.

One hand slides up your body, fording your thoracic arch, the wedge of his hand ascending the length of your breastbone. He cups your jaw, bubbles between his fingers, one of your breasts nestling between his bicep and forearm.

He tilts your head to the side as he cranes his head further into your neck, lipping at the space behind your ear, kissing delicate, sensitive skin, as his other hand drags soap around your ribs, beneath and over both breasts, up into your pits and back down again.

A doll in his hands, bent along the shape of his will. He shifts his hips, frotting his erection against you.

“Johnny,” you breathe. “Johnny, this isn’t anything. This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Aye, bonnie,” he hums. “Whatever you say.”

He licks a hollow in your throat.

His other hand dips lower, sweeping down into the crease of one thigh to round the lower swell of your hip; then back up again, fingers spreading.

The stall compresses your arms close against you; the only space you have available to lay your useless hands is on his arms. The dark hair you find with your fingertips is coarse, wiry, plastered to hot skin with water. The spray seeps between the both of you, streams in the runnels of flesh pressed together.

Between your legs, your clitoris heats, awakening even though untouched. You give a small whine, and Johnny huffs a little chuckle in your ear, suckling your neck as his fingers make the descent back, rinsed in the falling water, teasing your pubic hair before nudging your folds apart.

He finds you slick and aching. He only dips lower briefly to wet his fingers, and then, as he settles a light touch over where you’re most desperate for it, relief razes through your nerves in a sudden wash.

You search for the back of his head, slotting your fingers into the ends of his mohawk at the nape of his neck. He hums against you, hand dropping down from your jaw to cup one breast in his palm, weighing it, thumb flicking around the pert nipple in the same tight circle he draws around your clitoris.

Orgasm, usually so obvious on approach, sneaks up on you, quick and quiet, but when it takes you it floods you, rather than knocking you down. You tremble all over, the follicles on your scalp standing on end, the nerves down your back and sides bending like dune grass to a wind.

Your long, breathy cry reverberates against the shower walls, and you lean heavily back against Johnny’s body, grip tightening where you have your hands on him.

He twitches against your back, but he makes no move to chase his own climax. He only turns you carefully, when you recover, and lays his hot, open mouth on yours, tugging your hips close enough to trap his cock against your belly. This time, the wall is cool at your back, the crown of your head moving against it as Johnny angles himself deeper, sliding his tongue between your lips.

“C’mon,” he says, when he finally pulls away. His pupils are huge, black dilation swallowing the blue. The spray fills the empty spaces between the strands of his mohawk, fluffing the hair a little as it courses down the shaved sides of his scalp. “Need to get my mouth on you again, bonnie.”

This time, when he eats you out, he does it at his leisure. Licking honey off a spoon. So lightly that you whine at him, find the energy to bitch at him to do it like he means it, but tonight he does not indulge you.

No—he mouths at you, eyes closed, curly lashes against his cheek as you lay belly-up on the rumpled sheets of his bed. The heat of his tongue in your cleft is the only source of warmth you have as the rain lashes at the outside of the trawler, but the hot shower still lingers in your skin—

Humid. Sticky. Sweat gathering beneath Johnny’s palms where he holds your thighs to his ears, as if mimicking the way your sex will clutch around him when he enters you. Slick and tight and viscous.

When he crawls up your body—nosing at your belly, your breasts, inhaling as if your musk is something he’s trying to get drunk on—he fucks you slow and deep. You stop being able to tell if it’s the storm rocking the boat, or the weight of his hips rolling against yours, one of his hands on the headboard for leverage and the other on your mons, pressing down with the heel of his hand to feel the head of his cock moving in you.

Tacky skin catching on the grind; heart speeding up as he grins at you from above, thumb tapping your clitoris. Enough to wind you up. You reach for his hips with your clawed hands, digging your nails into the meat of his ass—firm, muscle tensed, twitching every time he bottoms out.

“Johnny,” you finally beg, on the edge of a sob, “please, Johnny, please—”

Breath leaves him like a steam valve turned, pressure carrying an uninhibited moan. He ignores your plea, hips rolling slow, forcing you to feel every inch of him in and out of you, every ridge—every vein pulsing on the surface of his cock.

His eyes are closed still; when the widest part of him catches the rim of you around him again, his mouth drops open, lips pink and bitten.

Lost—he’s lost in pleasure, in the feeling of you around him, pulling him in. You watch his chest as it heaves, the flex of his stomach as it tightens—the twitch in the muscles of his arms as the impact of each thrust ripples up his body.

Look at me, you want to say. Look at me. I’m right here. Look at me.

“Again,” he groans, choked, restrained, hands gripping your hips. “Say it again, bonnie—”

“Please—” you whine, on the edge of a sob, “please, please, please—”

Thumb metronoming at a quick tempo where you need it—you seize, back arching, tightening around him so narrowly you could force him out—

He snarls, sharp and hard, thrusting into the resistance, hands falling to fist in the mattress. Breath coming rough and fast, sweat dripping from his forehead into the cups of your collarbones and down between your breasts. Hard and fast now, pushing in as far as your body will let him, and a final, long moan tears from his parted lips, liquid heat flooding you as Johnny goes rigid with a climax following only moments after your own.

Pelvis flush with your thighs. He doesn’t let a drop escape, pushing against you, lifting your hips from the bed.

“Tha’s right,” he slurs, eyes hazy when they open. “Tha’s right, that’s where it belongs.”

He collapses on top of you, almost crushing you with his weight, as he seeks your mouth out with his. He moves his hips against yours with shallow thrusts, whining in his throat.

“Didn’t you—” you pull your lips away, too hot, too cold, buzzing and exhausted, “didn’t you just finish?”

He tongues at your cheek instead, and then down your neck. “Doesnae matter, is no’ enough. C’mon, bonnie, wrap your legs aroun’ me, please…”

After he is finally spent—long after you’ve had enough energy to do more than lay beneath him and let him use you as he pleases—Johnny diverts briefly to the galley, bringing back with him a plate of oysters and a pry knife. It’s his bed, so you don’t complain about shell fragments, but you resolve to make him change the sheets anyway, shifting uncomfortably to find a spot that isn’t soaked.

“Was on this boat,” Johnny says, as if picking up the thread of a conversation only recently dropped. He picks up one of the oysters and shucks it open. “When I drowned.”

The way he says it, you’d think it was a casual thing, something he barely thought about anymore, but the line of his brow is low and serious.

He hands you one half; you bring the shell to your lips and tip it upward. Brine slides across your tongue, flesh smooth and buttery. Johnny watches you with soft eyes before having his own.

“Price was with me. I told him to fuck off, but he said he wasnae gonna let me take it out alone the first time ever. I was a bastard back then, I told ya. We went out in a storm, like this one, even though any eedjit could take a look outside and know it’d kill him.”

You flick at the edge of the shell with your fingernail, looking down at your hands. “Why’d you do it?”

“Dunno. Had somethin’ to prove, I guess.”

“That you could still do stuff like that?”

He doesn’t respond, so you look back up at him. He angles his gaze toward the mess of your hair—the new hickies he’s left on your neck—the bead of your nipples in the cold. The hard angles of his face soften.

“All my life,” he says, measuredly, “all I wanted to be was a soldier. An’ I couldnae anymore. Even though I was better. Hell, I was better than better. But I couldnae go back. That was it. It all wen’ on withou’ me.”

He breaks open more oysters as he talks, hands steady and deft around shells and knife. When he finishes, he slides the plate into your lap, and reclines to face you on his side, propping his head up with his hand.

“We wen’ out when the waves were as tall as a man, an’ us hangin’ onto the railing for dear fuckin’ life,” he continues. There’s a faraway quality to the tone of his voice. “Only life wasnae so fuckin’ dear, was it? I could’ve held on tighter, I think. I fell off.”

“And Price pulled you out?”

That feeling again, meeting his gaze; caught in the arms of a whirlpool, being dragged down. A vial in a centrifuge, constituent parts separating.

“No,” he says, “he didnae.”

“Then…”

“Eat, bonnie.”

There’s a stillness to him that feels unnatural. Johnny is a man who should be constantly in motion, gesturing with his hands, bouncing on the balls of his feet, tapping any available surface with rolling fingertips. Instead, here in front of you, he’s still as a statue. Chest softly rising and falling, but otherwise completely placid.

He gazes steadily at you, down at the plate, and then back up. You sigh, and pick up another shell.

“I don’t remember exactly what happened. I remember getting pushed down deep, real deep, then getting forced up again, on a current or something. Not far enough to get any air, mind. I thought, I’m gonna die out here, an’ I didnae want to.”

He shifts then, a little forward toward you.

“That seemed important, you know? I didnae want to die. Dinna think the sea would’ve given me up f’ I did. It knows. Sometimes it doesnae care. But I guess that time, it did, ‘cause after I blacked out, next thing I know I’m wakin’ up on the shore.”

Something hard shifts in your belly.

“Cap found me a bit later, bringin’ the boat in. Gave him a real scare. Think it turned some of his hair gray overnight. After that…a’was no’ the same. How could y’be, after that?”

You—you don’t want to know any of this. You don’t care. You didn’t ask. His story drops expectation on your shoulders, heavy, custom-tailored, laden with understanding that sands your abraded nerves.

All of this is too much. The damp sheets beneath you, the food, the sex. The fact that you picked the last place in the world thought you could ever meet anyone, let alone someone who—

“And now you have a seal fetish,” you sneer.

Who understands.

Indulgent. This is indulgent, reckless, idiotic in the extreme.

Soap reaches out, and wraps a large, sun-brown hand around your wrist, the one still holding the oyster. Pulling it towards him, he opens his mouth and then tips the flesh from the shell. He slurps it down, noisily, mimicking the sound of his mouth and tongue on your pussy.

“Something like that,” he says, with a sharp, cocky grin.

He changes the sheets. Dims the lights. Plasters himself around you as the storm blows itself out, arm heavy over your waist, thigh and knee nested inside yours.

He’s warm at your back, musky with the mingling aroma of dried sex and sweat.

Sturdy. More real than anything that’s ever put its hands on you.

Johnny, who the sea loved so much it spat him back out. So treasured by the world that a bullet to the brain couldn’t even take him away from it.

Who, by the sound of it, means so much to the people in his life that they would follow him to the middle of nowhere just to keep an eye on him.

Bile churns in your stomach.

next chapter early access

a/n: two chapters left!

[copper-16]

Remind Me That There’s A Room To Grow Part 3

Broken, rueful, and mended as it should have been.

(a/n: Part 3, here we come! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting on these, I'm so grateful! Reminder for anyone who likes a musical touch that you can find the Spotify playlist here, if you would like. Please enjoy this part, and I would love to hear your feedback about the note at the end!)

Alexia sat on that damn park bench for God knows how long. 

She didn’t care if she got no sleep or looked absolutely insane sitting there for hours on end. The things you had told her rattled around in her brain disconcertedly, unending every single thought that attempted to interrupt. The brunette had gone from feeling like she was the most stable and vindicated person on the planet to a feeling as though she were a shell of herself. 

This whole time, there had been so much more to the story than she ever could have imagined. And though she knew it really wasn’t their fault, resentment flared within her at how quick Eli and Alba were to blame you for everything. 

Everything in Alexia felt anguished. Just thinking about looking at your face made the Catalan feel nauseous, stuck on how distraught you had been. It wasn’t as though she could blame you either, not when she had been so irate. 

She had allowed herself to be influenced by every single person around her instead of trusting you, as she always had. She should have trusted herself, should have trusted the fact that she knew something was wrong. The last nine years had been spent giving you the benefit of the doubt, but when it came to it, she had treated you with such animosity. 

Never in a million years had she expected the reasoning behind all of this. 

Cancer. It seemed impossible for someone who was only eighteen years old, but it wasn’t as though stranger things hadn’t occurred. Now all Alexia managed to think of was how scared and alone you must have felt. She had lost you, but she did so when she was chasing her dreams. You had to watch her leave you behind because of a situation entirely out of your hands. 

All this time where she had felt abandoned, and in reality it was the other way around. 

What an absolutely fucked up situation. 

When the footballer finally stood, a chill wrapped around her and caused her to shiver violently. She didn’t remember it getting cold, but it wasn’t as though she cared about the temperature when her mind was a ruction of emotions. 

She booked it back to her car, driving herself toward her Mami’s house in what would have been considered a fury. The brunette knew that her sister was there as well, so she could kill two birds with one stone.  

When she arrived, the brunette barged through the door with no care at all for the hinges, her inner turmoil gathering and growing with each and every step she took. She found her family in the kitchen, enjoying some dessert with a glass of wine in each of their hands. 

“You were wrong,” Alexia seethed, almost heady with the amount of wrath she felt within her. Eli and Alba both turned to her in an instant, instantly confused at the animosity in her tone. It was so rare to hear the brunette truly upset in the way she was right now, and they glanced at each other for a second before they turned to Alexia fully. 

“What happened?” Alba asked, very confused as to what her sister was talking about. They had no idea that the pair of you had talked, but Alexia didn’t care to give them context. 

“You both blamed her for leaving me behind, you made her out to be the villain and she never was! This was all of your fault, how could you do this to me? How could you twist my mind in such a way?” Alexia snapped, her whole body tense with rage. 

“Alexia, what the hell are you talking about?” Alba demanded, understanding dawning on the subject her sister spoke about but still confused as to the circumstances. 

“She was fucking sick, you two. She let me go alone because she had cancer, and she didn’t want me to have to live through it when I was moving away. She broke up with me so I could go chase my dreams and build my career without being bogged down. She gave up her own happiness so that I could have my own,” the brunette spat, her face red with exertion. Whether it was to keep her anger inwards or to stop the tears that burned in the back of her eyes, the Catalan was unsure.   

“She did it to protect me, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt for her decision for a decade before you two got so defensive and twisted my mind. She was never the selfish person you made her out to be, she was always the most selfless, empathetic, compassionate of all of us!” Alexia argued, and she seemed only to be growing more and more in her anger. 

“Alexia–” Eli tried to interrupt, but she was quickly cut off. 

“No! I don’t even want to hear you two attempt to explain yourselves. I don’t want to hear it. I loved her, I love her now, and I’ve fucked it all up with your words in my mouth! She left the conversation in tears, she told me to leave her alone. If you two hadn’t been so horrible about the whole thing, I never would have been so skeptical in the first place!” Alexia was ready to burst at the seams, and she couldn’t handle it. 

“Now Ale, we only did that because we wanted to protect y–” Alba attempted to interject, failing just as her mother had. 

“I don’t even want to hear it! I am so angry at the two of you, especially considering that you hardly let me get a word in edgewise about her character. She grew up with us, she loves us, and she trusted you with her heart just as much as you trusted her with mine. So don’t sit there and say anything, but maybe think about your own actions!” Alexia finally demanded, her words fervent in manner. 

When her mother and sister said nothing but looked at her in shock, the brunette shook her head and chuckled austerely, not a trace of humor in her tone. 

“God, and now you don’t even have anything to say for yourselves,” she looked around at her mother’s kitchen as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. The midfielder was aware she was only redirecting her anger onto two people whose blame was minimal, but the affliction in her heart needed somewhere to go. 

“I have to go, I will talk to you two later,” Alexia said after a second, defeat heavy in her expression as the anger began to drain out of her. It was replaced by an excruciating misery that weighed on her shoulders exactingly, as though it knew that she was really the one to blame in all of this. 

She felt as though she had lead in her shoes as she walked out to her car. The drive back to her apartment was done in complete silence, the Catalan unable to deal with anything other than the chaos in her mind. 

She barely made it one step in the door before the first sob bubbled up her throat. She finally allowed herself to succumb to it, sobbing so hard that her ribs ached and her eyes swelled, and she had nobody to blame for everything except for herself. 

—

Every single person on the team could immediately tell something was wrong with Alexia when she showed up at training the next day. 

Alexia had always been the most dedicated of them all, relentless in her pursuit to be better. She was endlessly pushing herself and those around her to be their best selves, and it paid off. The team worked hard, and they looked better than ever. The Catalan had helped to lift them from relative obscurity into a team that people feared to play, and as much as Vicky was their fearless leader, every single player would tell you that the Catalan was their beating heart. 

But today? Well, today the brunette looked about two steps away from death as she walked into the changing room.  

Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Her hair was mildly unkempt, her skin sullen, the bags under her eyes endlessly listless. She kept her head down, and changed as though she wished she could curl up into a ball and never be seen again. The midfielder was usually a quiet person, but today she seemed…unobservant. 

Somehow, that made all of it seem worse. 

Jenni and Mariona were instantly alarmed because they knew what had happened, while the other girls were both confused and in a state of shock. Nobody had ever seen Alexia this clearly upset, considering the fact that she typically kept things close to her chest. 

To be this outwardly downtrodden was incomprehensible, to the point where the rest of the team wasn’t sure how to act toward her. They all seemed to avoid her as though she was radioactive, and she made no attempt to engage with any of them. 

Jenni, Mariona, and Vicky, however, had no problem marching over to the Catalan as they created a concerned cocoon around her. 

“What happened Alexia?” Vicky questioned gently, only to receive nothing short of the death glare back from Jenni and Mariona in response. 

“How did it go?” Mariona amended quietly, hopeful that they might have been able to draw out some sort of reaction from the midfielder. It was clear the conversation had not gone well, but they did not know why. 

And sure enough, Alexia’s entire face flashed into something nearly venomous, and she shook her head with what looked to be a clearly concerted effort to remain in control. 

“Nothing. I would appreciate it if everyone left me alone and we could conduct training as normal, like we are supposed to be doing,” she managed to grit out pointedly, her voice bolstered with hostility and malice. The three women looked around at each other, none of them in the least bit convinced, but the mutually agreed upon decision seemed to be that they clearly weren’t going to get anything out of the brunette right now. 

The midfielder was a monster at training that day, and not in a good way. 

Every single ball was launched with a lethal ferocity. Every single pass was too hard, every single first touch sloppy and heavy.  

None of the movements were reminiscent of the Alexia that everyone had come to know. It wasn’t great football, it wasn’t even good football. The midfielder was clearly angry at something, and the longer practice went on, the worse it got. The Catalan was frustrated with herself, bitter and enraged at how she seemed unable to play with any ounce of grace. 

It felt ironically similar to how she seemed unable to converse with you without accusation, a thought she was ruefully reminded of. 

It was when she sent a ball flying angled toward Caro’s head that Vicky and Marta finally pulled the midfielder aside brashly. The captain of the team had taken one look at their manager, whose expression agreed with her own, to know what needed to be done. 

“You’re done for the day,” Vicky stated without an ounce of discussion left in the conversation. Alexia certainly wasn’t in the mood to be ordered around as she decisively brushed them off. 

“I’m fine, we still have another half hou–” The brunette was cut off without even managing to finish her sentence. 

“No. You are done, you’re going to go back to the changing room and take a long shower. You’re going to get dressed and go home and process whatever you’re trying to avoid right now by almost murdering your teammates,” the Barcelona captain dictated with even greater finality, her eyebrow raised as though she dared the younger woman to argue with her. 

Alexia looked posed to respond, but when she caught Marta looking back at the Norwegian with worried eyes, she felt the fight drain out of her. The older Spaniard had always had a sweet spot for the nervous Wolfsburg transfer, and seeing it right in front of her eyes made her deflate like a balloon. 

She knew that look. 

She had lived that look before, when she hadn’t fucked all of this up seven ways to Sunday. 

With a reluctant, apologetic glance at Marta, the midfielder nodded her head. She turned on her heels, much to the surprise of her co-captains, who were honestly expecting more of a pushback. 

As they watched the midfielder walk off the pitch, they stared at the way her body seemed to curl in on herself, almost as though the brunette couldn’t bear to stand up straight as she stared down at her feet. 

“What the hell happened?” Marta asked Vicky as she looked over at her captain. But the Barcelona captain was unable to tear her eyes away from Alexia’s retreating form until it disappeared into the building. It was only then that she looked over at Jenni, who hovered a short distance away from them with a look of unease on her face. 

Vicky shook her head before she turned back to the pitch. 

“I honestly have no idea,” she replied curtly as she made direct eye contact with Jenni, who seemed to understand the silent request of her captain as she turned back toward practice. 

When the team filed in after training was done, Alexia and all of her stuff were gone, nowhere to be seen. 

—

Nine years. 

You had lived with the grief of losing her for nine years. You would never change your mind on the decision, but God did it feel as though you were sucking the blood out of your body. Even all of these years later, it still stung to think about how much you had lost in that moment. 

Alexia took every ounce of happiness and peace with her when she left. While you still had other friends, you were by no means alone, it was never the same without her there. You hardly had to speak a single word for the brunette to understand where your mind was at. There was a closeness to the two of you that was impossible to replace. It hadn’t been the same after she had left, no longer having a confidant who held space for you. 

Your father, while a lovely man, was never terribly involved in your life. He loved you, but having children was never his dream, and with how much he worked, you rarely saw him. It was a loss that you didn’t feel rather acutely, especially not when Jaume had swept you into his orbit through your friendship with Alexia. He had loved you like a daughter, and you cherished him for it in a way you had never managed with your own father. 

Your two younger brothers, Leo and Adan, had struggled when you had gotten sick. They always looked up to you as their protector and ring leader. Seeing you unable to help, organize, and work as you usually did was strange for them, especially considering the fact that they were only fifteen and fourteen at the time. And while you spent much of your childhood watching over them with a loving gaze, it was your mother who stepped up to take care of them more. 

Your mother Paula was a lovely, exuberant woman, if not a touch frazzled. She was a better entertainer than she was a mother, but there was no question she loved the three of you. The two of you had been a team in helping to raise the boys, because while your mother had wisdom you were steadfast in your ability to calm. You had been a significant help in raising the two boys, and your mother had come to rely on you as a result. It had all gotten thrown out of place when you had gotten sick. Your mother tried to pick up the slack, bless her, but she struggled. She did as best as she could until you were declared cancer free, and able to help pick up some of the slack that had been created. It helped that your brothers were compassionate and kind, never one to try and cause too much trouble. 

Your mother passed away just a few years ago because of a brain aneurysm, much to the devastation of your father. While you missed her terribly, you never needed her for stability and strength. That was found on your own. 

Chemo treatments were mostly done on your own, a book and a sick bag in hand. It was a tough three months, but you made it through with as big of a smile as you could muster. A friend would accompany you occasionally, but they never quite knew what to do when they were there with you. Not that you faulted them for it, but it only made you more exhausted having to entertain on top of feeling ill. 

After a grueling few months, the tumor had shrunk enough to be surgically removed, and a few rounds of radiation killed off the last of it. It had been less than a year to get rid of everything, though in your mind it had felt much longer. 

Overall, the treatment had gone well from a medical perspective. You had responded well and were declared to be in remission swiftly. You were young and otherwise healthy, making you the perfect candidate to respond to treatment. 

That didn’t seem to account for the ache that persisted deep in your chest, but it wasn’t as a result of your sickness. The sense of loss that pervaded your mind for years afterward was impossible to banish. You had not made a mistake, and yet your mind and body betrayed you with a wanton amount of unearned yearning.

There was a restlessness that existed within you, a restlessness that needed to be solved and yet had nowhere to go.  

You had begun university toward the end of your treatments and sped through a track in finance, turning heads each and every way you went. There was always a level of intelligence to you that you were aware of, but investment analysis and management came naturally to you it seemed. 

Though you had the opportunity to go earlier, you waited dutifully for your brothers to finish school and go off to university before you left your hometown. Leo ended up in Valencia for school, and a year later Adan made the decision to stay in Madrid for his degree. 

Once you were certain your brothers were settled, you began to dig for opportunities in your own career. The work you had put in paid off, and you had offers not only in Spain but France, Italy, the United States as well. 

You didn’t care about any of that, though. You took the one job that put you directly in Barcelona and decided to figure it out from there. 

There was a safety and security to being in the same city as Alexia, even if she had no clue you were there. You were thankful for the move, honestly, thankful for the opportunity to meet new friends and build your own life. The sun forever shined and the city was exciting and vibrant, devoid of the reminders that face you everywhere in Madrid. 

Both of your brothers ended up staying in or returning to Madrid, living near your mother until her death and trying to stay vaguely connected to your father. He had struggled immensely in the wake of her passing, but both Leo and Adan never seemed to mind stepping in to keep him on the right path. 

By all logical standards, you had a wonderful life. An amazing group of friends, a job you really enjoyed, hobbies you found interesting. It felt like the whole package of what someone would want in their life. 

But you found in the morning after your talk with Alexia, there was nothing you wanted to do with this life. You simply wanted to be left alone to rot, and you found that you didn’t care who disagreed. The longing in your heart threatened to swallow you whole, your hatred for your decisions every single day of the last nine years. 

You had finally been honest with Alexia, you had told her the truth…but was it worth it? 

Based on the feeling inside of you right now, it wasn’t worth it. 

You would have taken anger over devastation on her face any day. 

You loved her too much to care about your own peace of mind. 

And yet…

—

Alexia nearly jumped out of her skin when she unlocked the door of her apartment, only to find that Jenni was sitting on her couch with a glass of lemonade and a raised brow. The midfielder did a complete double take, confounded when she reminded herself that the door had in fact been locked before she came in here.  

“How the hell did you get in here?” The Catalan asked with confusion as her heart rate struggled to return to an acceptable level. She looked around her apartment with a perplexed glint to her expression, as though she expected to find the answer laying in front of her in the form of a crowbar or something. 

“Oh please, we’ve been friends for many years. We are both allowed to have our little secrets, no?” Jenni diverted, and Alexia shook her head instantly, looking toward the striker with a lost expression. 

“What – no?! That doesn’t mean you get to break into my apartment! How did you even get in her–” 

“This is not the point of this conversation, Alexia,” Jenni cut her friend off easily, ignoring how bewildered the brunette was as a result of her surprise appearance. The striker settled, a concerned look flashing across her features. “You fucked up that conversation, didn’t you?” 

“You’re not allowed to just barge in here whenever you want!” Alexia spat, a sudden rush of anger coursing through her at Jenni’s words. Defensiveness coursed through her veins with a fury, and nobody had managed to pin her down for long enough to have a real conversation with her. 

Until now, apparently. 

When the raven-haired woman leveled her with a disbelieving stare, the Catalan’s shoulders collapsed just slightly. When Jenni wanted something, she was like a dog with a bone. She would stop at absolutely nothing to get it, and the midfielder knew there was no way of getting out of this conversation with anger or deflections. She sighed forcefully, settling her keys down on her kitchen counter and pressing her head into her hands. 

“I did,” she conceded after a moment, her voice shaky and impossibly quiet. When she finally looked up, the torment inside her entire body seemed to reflect in her expression. Jenni felt horrible, seeing how torn up her friend was. 

“I fucked everything up Jenni, everything. I came into it with so much aggression and fear, and made all these accusations I don’t even really think I meant,” she admitted with a humorless chuckle, an echo of agony in her words. 

Silence cascaded around them, the air thick with regret and despondency. 

“She was sick,” Alexia revealed after a moment. She glanced up at Jenni, struggling to control herself. “She was sick, and so she broke things off because she couldn’t leave, but she wanted me to. She saved my career, made a sacrifice for my own happiness, and in return I screamed horrible things at her. What kind of person does that make me?” Alexia pleaded, her voice cracking over the last sentence. 

Jenni thought about the question for a moment before she shook her head and looked back at Alexia. There was a compassion in her expression, and the Catalan forced herself to look away in the face of it. She didn’t deserve it. 

“It makes you human, Alexia,” the raven-haired woman countered, her words soft and sympathetic, almost saccharine in their amount of sweetness. 

“No it doesn’t,” Alexia grumbled under her breath, but Jenni was quick to continue. 

“Yes it does. You did not have all the information at the time. And okay, you said some things you regret? Go apologize for them then! You made a mistake, and you feel remorse, Alexia. That in and of itself means that there is love and compassion in your heart.” 

“And if she doesn’t accept that apology?” Alexia shot back, fighting to be kind as she was gripped with fear. She looked over at Jenni with a flame in her eyes, anything to hide how upset she truly was. It was easier to mask it than it was to face it, after all. 

“Then she doesn’t accept the apology, and life moves on. But you won’t know if you don’t even bother to try,” Jenni offered as she walked over and placed a hand on her friend's shoulder comfortingly. 

“Forgive yourself enough to give her the opportunity to forgive you. If she was in your spot, you would do the same. If she cares as much about you as you say she does, I think you have a fighting chance,” the striker suggested, her voice gentle. The brunette remained deep in thought, thinking hard about Jenni’s words. The raven-haired woman let herself out before Alexia could even formulate a response. 

And while there were a lot of thoughts swirling around in Alexia’s mind, perhaps the top of the list was that she really, really needed to get a locksmith to her apartment. 

—

It was a thought that often consumed the brunette as her career began to take off. It had been a question, something that weighed on her mind in the dark of night when she lay alone. 

Was it worth it? 

The duty to herself, to her career pulled at her endlessly. Everyone around her was dedicated to their career, putting it above their family at nearly all cost. And she understood, she wanted to be the best. The pull to change the sport, to leave a legacy behind that made women’s football better than where she had started. 

But what was the cost? 

How many family dinners had she missed? How many birthdays? How many celebrations? 

How many moments had she missed, even just the mundane, small things in life. How many inside jokes and how much late night laughter had evaded her because of this choice? 

And she knew that her family loved her, and that they understood how important her career was to her. But it never took away from the fact that she was gone often. That unlike her teammates and peers, she spent the least amount of time with her family as the years had passed. Whereas many of her friends grew more committed to their families, getting married and even having children, football had become her sole focus in life.  

Other than you, she had never been in a committed relationship with anyone. Her friendships were from football, everything in her life had revolved around football. Protecting her image, embracing the game, doing whatever she could to advance the team and herself to perfection. 

It wasn’t until you had stumbled back into her life that suddenly she remembered what it had been like to live a life. And sure, she knew that her career was different now, much more intense. But the Catalan also knew that you never would have allowed her to become so overwhelmingly immersed into her career. 

It was less the time commitment and more the mindset she approached her career with that had changed in your absence. Alexia had always assumed that in order to be the best, she had to be so devoted to football in every aspect of her entire life. That there was no room outside of it for distractions. 

Her friends hadn’t become worse because they had loved ones, because they took a step back. They were still dedicated, but also well rested and prepared. 

The two of you had been together for so many years, and then football had been the thing to divide you. It was Alexia’s career that had been prioritized above you, a decision that you had made and believed in. 

Had you really ever thought you were more important than football? 

Had she done that? Had she felt that you were more important than football? 

All she could think of was how you were sick and alone, a burden to bear alone when you should have been loved and supported. 

Alexia was not angry that you hadn’t told her, not by a long shot. But she was furious with the circumstances, with her own choices, with everything else in the situation besides you. 

You had meant so much to her, and she had let you go without any recourse. She never even considered that there was so much depth to the decision you had made. 

And now here she stood, trying to pick up the pieces of something that had gone from broken to shattered entirely. 

Alexia knew that she loved you. 

That she still loves you, even after all this time. There were parts of a person that never changed, and she saw it in your expression. 

Even after all this time. 

Her career came first in every aspect of her life, but maybe just this once it didn’t have to. Maybe some personal happiness was deserved, maybe it could be her choice to try and fix this. 

Maybe she deserved a break, or some peace, or to undo all of the mistakes she had made in the last decade. Maybe the choice she made here would make her better, and not worse. 

The brunette had no idea if you still loved her anymore, not after the appalling things she had said, but she couldn’t let it go without at least trying to get you back. 

She had lost you once, and she wasn’t prepared to let it happen again without a fight. 

—

Alexia can’t bring herself to pick up the phone and dial, so she took the coward's way out and texted you to ask for your address. 

Much to her surprise, you answered her. It’s nothing more than the address rattled off, but it’s there. The brunette felt her heart constrict for a moment at the thought that it wasn’t really your address, that you had sent her a fake location. 

But at the same time, even if that were the case, a part of her would understand. For all the years that she had been hurt and alone and yearning desperately for you, it had been the same for you. 

The choice you had made was impossible, indescribable even, and Alexia knows in her heart that her career wouldn’t be where it was without your sacrifice. You had sacrificed your own dream so that she could live hers, and when it all came back to the two of you all these years later, she had completely desecrated that sacrifice without a second thought. 

She continued to be appalled with herself over that entire conversation. It was all she saw every time she closed her eyes, the words she had said rattling around in her brain all night long. 

The look on your face as she dug herself into a deeper hole, filled with disregard for how much care you had tried to give the situation. It was never going to be perfect, but you had tried to be perfect. And in that moment, she had acted as though it wasn’t enough. 

It was. 

You had always been more than enough for her, regardless of whether you two were together or not. 

Every single time she had laid in bed since, memories both good and bad of the two of you had pooled in her eyes, rolling down her cheek and escaping onto the pillow beneath her. 

She had lost her curiosity inside the ferocity of her own judgement, and she regretted it with every molecule inside of her. She regretted it so much that it made her feel physically ill, to the point where she no longer cared about being appropriate or saving face. 

It was late in the evening when she drove over to your apartment. She had a plan to go on Sunday morning, but it was Friday night and her self restraint had ground away until it no longer existed. 

The Catalan took the steps two at a time up to the third floor, knowing that each moment likely brought her closer to you. She hoped it did, at least. It was highly possible that you were out with friends or doing something fun, as you should be. 

But still hope gripped her with a strength she was unaware she ever had. Loving you was never the detractor she had spent the last decade convincing herself it was, but was where she got her strength. 

Loving you had breathed life into her and she was silly to have ever thought differently. 

She knocked on the door to your apartment before she could stop herself from overthinking every single one of her life choices. Her knuckles struck against the wooden door exactly three times, each one more forceful than the lost. 

The brunette waited with everything in her for the sound of anything in the wake of knocking. Any movement, any sign of life, anything. The seconds felt like hours and years as her heart rammed its way into her throat. 

And then she heard it, the softness of your voice as you called out that you were coming. 

Alexia was known for being a stoic person, never one to overly show emotion. She kept everything close to her chest, and rarely did she express how she was feeling. It took hours of knowing her, and even then she was still hesitant to show weakness. 

But the tears were pooling in her eyes even before you opened the door. 

And there you were. 

Standing in your pajamas, a book in your hand and an expression of mild surprise at the sight of Alexia nearly in tears at your door. It certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, though you knew the footballer had your address.  

“Ale?” You questioned softly, your voice barely there. The brunette swallowed thickly, trying and failing to conjure an apologetic smile. 

“I am sorry…I meant to come later but I couldn’t…wait,” she finished lamely, rather breathless as she fought to keep the pressure in her throat from turning into full blown sobs. You stared at her for a second, at how tense she was, at the anxiety written across her face. After you had tucked some of the hair away from your face, you stepped back into your apartment and widened the opening of the door. 

“Would you like to come in?” You proposed, and the footballer took your offer up with a shaky nod of her head. 

The brunette trailed after you further into the apartment. It was a large apartment, but it felt cozy and lived in. Half-burned candles and ear-marked books were strewn around the space, and a throw blanket could be found on every surface. 

She remembered that you had always run cold. When the two of you were young and in love, she would whisper to you about the warmth Barcelona would offer, even as she provided you plenty of her own body heat as she laid curled around you. 

“Alexia?” You probed lightly, and she shook her head as she glanced up, realizing that she had let her mind wander. Concern and compassion stared right back at her. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she replied harshly, trying and failing to be discreet as she wiped at her eyes. 

“You don’t have to be,” you said delicately, gesturing toward the couch. “Why don’t we sit down?” 

You couldn’t help but realize that right now with just one look at Alexia, you already forgave her. Every line etched into her skin was written with devastation and contrition. Somewhere deep within you knew how she felt, and knew that she did not mean the things she had said. 

There was so much information to process, so much confusion and chaos, that you had both lost yourselves. 

Maybe there was an opportunity to be found again. 

You weren’t going to let the weakness of one moment detract from the opportunity that lay in front of you. 

You led her over to the couch, and the pair of you settled down across from one another. You sat with your back against one arm of the couch, while Alexia was across from you, her hands on her knees. Her knuckles were nearly white, and you wished in that moment to reach out and soothe the ache in her heart, even if you knew that you couldn’t. When the midfielder turned toward you, all you found facing you was suppliance. 

“I cannot explain to you how sorry I am,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I had no idea the sacrifice you had made for me, I had no idea that there was so much more behind all of this. I was foolish to believe that you broke up with me over something selfish or petty.” 

She seemed to bite her words back, as though her self-loathing was simply too great of a burden to contain for a moment. When she settled, the Catalan continued. 

“I never should have spoken to you that way. The truth is that I’ve spent the last nine years missing you, thinking about you, unable to get myself over the years we spent together. It feels as though you’ve been out of my life as long as you were in it, and I hate that. I hate that I haven’t been able to grow with you. I hate that when I lay awake at night I miss you with an ache I cannot even begin to describe to you. I hate that I wasn’t able to be there for you when you needed me. I hate that your sacrifice probably saved my career, even though I wish with everything in me that I was there for you when you needed me,” Alexia finally admitted, deciding to be nothing but brutally honest. 

“And I won’t lie to you and say there haven’t been other women in the years without you, but God it never compared to you. I didn’t give a shit about any of them, and I never really expected to. You’re intertwined within my soul in a way I don’t even fully understand, and living without you feels like walking around missing a limb. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over you, and I tried to force football down my throat because if it was the reason I lost you, it had to be worth it.” 

“I miss your smile and your laugh. I miss the way you roll your eyes at me when I do something ridiculous, or how patient you are with me when I get frustrated. I still find myself looking for you in every crowd, at every family gathering, everywhere. When I finally did see you again, it felt like a fever dream. The one thing I’ve wanted for the last nine years was granted to me, and there you were.” 

“You were standing there so perfectly and in one piece, and inexplicably, you seem to care about me still. I never could have imagined that happening, even if I dreamt about it every single night of my life that you haven’t been in,” Alexia continued, allowing herself to take a deep breath and center herself. Frustration passed over her face for a moment, entirely  

“I fucked this up royally, I know. I let the fear in my heart and the fear that those around me held get in the way of seeing the truth, and I need you to know how sorry I am. I never should have treated you that way. I never should have acted toward you with such hostility. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know that everything I said, I don’t believe. You are brave and wonderful and empathetic, and so, so, extraordinary. Please do not let anyone else ever say that you are not,” Alexia urged, looking at you with such clear intent you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

“I still love you, Flori. I think that I always will. My heart knows what it means to love and be loved by you, and nothing will ever compare to that feeling. My heart was always yours to break, and I don’t care if you do it once or twice or a million times. All I know is that even if you don’t feel the same way, I need you to know that I love you,” Alexia said with finality, barely able to see against the blur of tears that swarmed in her eyes. 

You stood up from your end of the couch slowly while her eyes tracked every single one of your movements. You walked closer to her, settling down next to her as closely as you could while you reached over to place your shaking hands against the frame of her face. 

“You big, blithering idiot, of course I still love you,” you whispered fiercely, your face scrunched up somewhere between disbelief and teasing. Alexia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was even holding, the entire upper half of her body collapsing into you. 

It was easy for you to catch the brunette, cradling her against you as she sobbed without restraint against you. It was easy to rock her back and forth softly, while you whispered sweet nothings into her ears. And it was just as easy to pull her away from you and utter the words she never thought she would hear. 

“I forgive you, and of course I still love you Ale. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and you still are. I’m right here, and I don’t plan on going anywhere, if you’ll have me. We might have lost our chance when we were young, but maybe we can have another one?” You proposed hopefully, almost with disbelief. Neither of you ever expected for this to be anywhere near possible, but here you both were. 

The Catalan’s expression broke entirely, silent tears rolling down her cheeks in defiance as she placed a hand on your arm and held it tightly. 

“I’m here,” was all she could manage, but it was enough. 

You leaned into her slowly as you glanced down at her lips, giving her time to pull away. It was a concern you needn't be worried about when she met you halfway, the feeling one of muscle memory even after all this time. You could taste the salt from her tears and yours as you kissed her. 

“Please stay,” you murmured through the ball in your throat as you pulled away just a touch, and Alexia gripped you impossibly tighter as she pulled you into a hug. 

For the first time in nine years, you fell asleep that night with the footballer’s body curled around your own, the feel of her chest breathing steadily against your back as she held you in her arms with content. 

It was the first time in a long while that you had felt warm enough when going to sleep, and hope ballooned inside you fervently. 

(a/n: So…anyone up for parts 4-10?)

[alpacaradio]

There really is no excuse. Taken with much generosity, its constant discussion of transmisandry is coming from a place of hurt - but as soon as it's talking about trans women, you can immediately tell that OP has never really understood one.

I've never met a trans woman who hasn't grappled deeply with the expectations of masculinity on her and indeed often that very thing led her to identify her own womanhood. I found my own way to recognizing who I am through grappling with the expectations on me and how uncomfortable I was with them!

It was a role that I always implicitly rejected and was uncomfortable with. This story is so common I think it more likely than not you've heard it if you know even a single trans woman. To know many and not be deeply familiar with it seems ... almost impossible. I can only conclude that the OP hasn't really listened.

And in all of this, "if transmascs need to sit for hours and unlearn transmisogyny, fine. but" but nothing at all, because you clearly haven't done the work to put anything after that sentence making demands of a community. You're talking about us like you've done the work to really know and understand trans women, and you've even appealed to multiple evil tranny behaviors, behaviors I've literally never seen from any trans woman, to the point where I think the problem is mostly you.

It is so easy to see that so much of what is in genderqueerdyke's response is specific issues with specific trans women being projected onto an entire community, including so many things which are obviously a consequence of simply not listening to or refusing to believe us.

Yes! I know sex workers, too! Yes, our bodies are constantly fetishized for our maleness even though we are not male. And yes, there are clients who seek out trans women specifically seeing us as men. We're surrounded by chasers. What I find surprising is not that a sex worker you knew had clients who told her they were attracted to her for her maleness, but that you refused to believe her, because I'd say it's more likely than not that any trans woman who's ever done sex work has been told that very thing. But you refuse to believe the things women have told you, and so you put doubt on that part of our experience too. You had to make our lived experience sound impossible, so that describing our experiences sounds like bigotry rather than fact.

I'm so annoyed I popped into second person, but I do not really want to talk to it at all. I don't want it to talk to me or anyone else; I want it to stop talking about trans women entirely until it can fucking believe even one of us and not talk over us and decide our experiences for us.

Any time someone says, "I need to unlearn X? Fine, but" your hackles should be raised. This is someone that really should not be trying to speak about the community of trans women.

I guess this is something the community has generally known about Equinox, but damn, this isn't a mistake or something you can just apologize for; this is evidence of an entire way of thinking that underlies every rant I've ever seen about transmisandry. How am I supposed to believe any differently when I've only ever seen it post through all of this and never really actually grapple with it? How are we supposed to get "solidarity" when solidarity means putting up with the abuse of being bombarded with this belief system the moment we let our guard down? the moment we're comfortable with ourselves? @genderqueerdykes is not someone who can truly be in community with me, and I think not someone to feel comfortable around as a trans woman. If I were its friend I would hold my cards damn close to my chest.

Pretend you didn't see that.

This is a level of transmisogyny that is somewhat hard to comment on because the things that one would normally point out as transmisogynistic implications are said so brazenly that there can be no pretense about any of the involved parties being unaware of it. The authors know, the readers know, everybody understands that this is pure transmisogyny. There is no plausible deniability.

It's an attempt to establish proximity between transfems and cis manhood in every way possible. Their bodies, their histories, their "socialization", the way they are treated by others, the way they treat and view others, their ways of thinking, even their self-conception. Every aspect of their being is cast as essentially male. Transfems are being called "men" in all but name - and not just any "men", they are made into embodiments of the worst aspects of hegemonic manhood. Not just male socialized but continuing to benefit from male socialization. Not just engaging in abusive behaviors stemming from male socialization but being afforded the freedom to do so because they continue to be treated as men. (Suffice it to say that this does not align with reality)

This is unadulterated sex-essentialism and it's intentionally being used to delegitimize and devalue the standpoint of transfems in feminist discourses. It's clear that the author is projecting transmisogynist ideas onto transfems and simply assumes that these ideas must be correct without considering any alternative. (The fact that transfems do not internalize "male socialization" has been reiterated many times over and should not have to be continually reasserted. This is a baseline level of understanding that we should be able to expect and demand from members of our community.)

Misogyny is framed as being contained within the realms of sexed bodies and gendered socialization in such a way that it allows for the casting of transfems as people enacting misogyny without being primary targets themselves - like cis men.

The claim that the animosity some transfems exhibit towards men comes from wanting to "prove" their womanhood serves the double purpose of casting their womanhood as inauthentic and denying the misogyny they suffer at the hands of men. One would be hard pressed to find a more cruel mischaracterization of transfems' experiences than this.

The cynical misappropriation of the standpoint of the people this screed is directed at by the use of "we" despite making it abundantly clear that the behavior that is being criticized and its supposed causes exempt people such as the author from the possibility of engaging in it should also be noted as an attempt at weaponizing a compromised version of standpoint epistemology against transfems.

The only plausible target audience for this kind of rhetoric are those who carry extreme ressentiment towards transfems and are susceptible to softened formulations of TERF ideology. These are the same kinds of ideas that TERFs have tried to push into trans spaces numerous times, e.g. under names like "sex-conscious feminsim".

A formulaic "retreat" from this post consisting entirely of platitudes has been published after the author received backlash for it but nobody is under any obligation to accept it and they absolutely should not. A person who was very obviously attempting to promote TERF ideology in trans spaces and in the same stroke accused transfems of being uniquely prone to making false accusations is not trustworthy, even if that person backs down upon realizing that the reception is more uniformly negative than anticipated.

@genderqueerdykes @gateway-2000 is a transmisogynist, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Its entire worldview is permeated by transmisogynistic assumptions, ideas and biases at a fundamental level. It has straightforwardly expressed an understanding of transfems' interiorities, their experiences and their social positions that is so incorrect that one has to wonder how someone holding these views could have navigated trans communities for a considerable amount of time without encountering the many transfeminist rebuttals to all of its demagoguery. How could someone with even a passing level of familiarity with TERF ideology or "gender critical feminism" read and espouse these ideas without recognizing them? It's completely unthinkable. It's not unreasonable to assume that it simply misjudged the consensus within its audience as being sufficiently anti-transfeminist for ideas such as these to fall upon fertile ground and it is now going back to waiting until the time is ripe to reintroduce them and to expressing them in more subtle ways until then.

But you can't un-ring a bell.

We can and should assert boundaries against reactionaries engaging in obvious subversion such as this. Refusing to do so is a deleterious error in judgement. This is very far beyond the limits of what any trans community that wants to consider transfems a part of itself can be allowed to tolerate.

[awakittie]

hey i would like to make a request but i couldn't find your rules so if you don't feel comfortable with it you can ignore this.

jinx x reader where the reader is jinx's girlfriend but they are at odds and haven't spoken in a few days and the reader goes to a nightclub and dances sensually just to piss jinx off and make her jealous so she roughly fucks the reader as punishment and they end up reconciling in the end

wc. 2.9k

warnings. doomed yuri, toxic jinx, toxic relationships, honestly everyone is mean in this, implied drinking, fingering, brief mention of death, ooc (especially lux), lux is jinxs’ ex, modern au, implied cheating

( divider creds: @cafekitsune )

the morning beams through the drawn curtains, doing little to protect you from the hot rays of sun. you accept defeat after a few tosses and turns, sitting up and wiping the sleep out of your eyes. it’d been days now, days since you’d stormed out of her apartment.

her lack of communication had been the last tick in your ticking time bomb that day, and you were just about ready to explode when she’d gotten all jelly at you dancing up a storm with your friend. her slim face shivered with anger, and she seethed through clenched teeth — when you asked her what was bothering her, hand on her thigh, she’d just turned away pouting.

jinx always had trouble with being dismissive, you know this. you’ve known about her past issues with relationships (not romantic!), but that’d never warranted her treating you like this.

sometimes she even uses the excuse that it’s her first relationship, ‘i don’t know how the fuck you want me to improve when this is my first time, and you’re on my ass about being better 24/7!’ or whatever she said.

something about giving her a break, too.

so that’s what you did.

drunken curses, middle fingers and slamming doors later and you’re stumbling down the street. it was easy to find where you were going when you were so honed in on her. like a moth to a flame, you arrive at lux’s house — she says about 3-3:30 in the morning, the blank stare she gave you with the information proof enough she didn’t appreciate it in the slightest.

your best friend had opened the door, groggy from sleep with hair sticking up on one side, coated in sweat. all you can think about is the sleep she must’ve had while you were busting your ass off arguing with jinx.

you turn to face the time on the clock, and—

BANG!

“it’s 5 in the evening, you know that?” she stands by the door, hand placed on her hip like a scolding mother would to their child. she shakes her head, silky light hair slipping over her shoulders.

“yeah, yeah..” you sigh, letting yourself flop back on the bed.

“don’t yeah yeah me,” she hisses, swinging off the door frame to saunter over to the closet in the corner of the room. “we’re going out tonight. but i’m starting to reconsider if you’re going out looking like that.”

you hear the smile behind her voice, and you scoff out a laugh, rolling your eyes up to the popcorn ceiling that groans under the forces of the wind outside.

speaking of — you sit up just enough to get a good look at her, brows furrowing at her outfit of choice.

“going out where? going out in the freezing cold where it’s reaching ridiculous wind speeds?” you eye the white dress she adorns, the glitter bouncing off the furniture and reflecting tiny sparkles, like stars on the yellow walls.

she narrows her eyes at you inquisitively.

“to that one place. y’know the one downtown everyone’s buzzing about. durr.” she states it like it’s obvious what she’s talking about, crossing the room with a pep in her step.

“you act like i should know what you’re talking about.” you call out to her. your limbs ache, every inch of your body feels like you’re on fire, fingertips sizzling as you grasp the covers to pull them back.

“then get to know!” she counters, poking her head around the corner. “please get yourself ready, because i know how you are when you leave shit to the last minute.”

poking your tongue from between your lips, you gesture her away with a swat of your hand, like a lingering fly. she obliges, shutting the door behind her and you find yourself alone once again — too alone.

the silence feels deafening, and all you can think about is jinx, how she’d fill that void right up. when you reach for your phone you’re half expecting to see her notification pop up, on any account really.

but nothing.

those random pictures she sends you throughout the day? none. not even a text.

the last message sent was that night, it was you giving the final text that simply read ‘fuck you’. the two ticks beside the text tells you she read it.

a pang of embarrassment washes over you. that was corny as fuck.

you wonder what went through her head when she saw that. did it make her upset? did it make her happy? was she glad to have to not worry about you anymore?

you’ve thought about texting her, truthfully you’ve thought about it more than you probably should.

fuck, you need a night to yourself.

if a night to yourself means going out with your ex’s ex to a nightclub, you’re screwed.

which is where you find yourself now, sat at a table with a group of lux’s other friends. you don’t know these people, and you feel weird barging into their space. thankfully, they’re welcoming enough — as welcoming as shoving half empty cups in your hands can get.

with the designated job of being the bartender for the night, you don’t do much other than just sit around. you feel lifeless, like a robot programmed to respond only when spoken to — which wasn’t often as they’d typically look right through you in a conversation.

lux would give you soft glances every so often, asking if you’re okay, but you can tell she’s caught up in the rush of being with friends.

that’s okay.

this was suppose to be a night to yourself anyway, you tell yourself as you wander seamlessly over to the bar. you could indulge in a drink or two — you need it.

you were just about to order yourself a drink before lux came rushing over, hands clasping your shoulders and shaking you there. you balk, eyes wide at the sudden whiplash.

“you have no idea who i just saw!” she cries, laughing between laboured breaths. you eye her curiously.

she must be talking about an old friend from school or something, or maybe one of her old hook ups she’d forgotten the name of. typical lux.

“uhh, no, i don’t.” you cock your head before she’s reaching out to pinch your cheeks between her head, snapping your head to the right to see—

oh, fuck.

“of course she’s here.” you spit, now feeling yourself growing riled up. your fingertips buzz, and you feel all the emotions you’d felt from that argument simmer back up. you feel hot.

she looks how she usually does; hardened at the edges. her heavy boots sit idly against the table in front of her, ringed fingers curled over whatever blue concoction she’s drinking. she’s rocking her usual hard rock wardrobe, leather studded jacket slung lazily over her shoulders that rise and fall steadily as she takes in the stuffy environment.

“right?” lux whispers back, like jinx could hear her from across the busy room. “imagine she followed you, like some creepy stalker!”

she jeers, wiggling her fingers teasingly over your shoulder till you cringe away, swatting at her hand. you feel yourself shrink when jinx’s eyes pass yours. time seems to slow, and you swear you feel your heart drop into your stomach. she doesn’t seem too pleased to see you, top lip quirking up into a grimace when her blue eyes flit to lux sitting perplexed by your side.

she looks like she’d drop kick you in an instant if she reached you, and that thought alone is enough to give you an ego boost.

you bite back the smirk that threatens to part your lips, and you glance over at lux, turning between the two of you. jinx seems to have lost interest at this point, shaking her head and turning to take a sip from her miscellaneous drink.

fuck it.

“let’s dance,” you swoon, snatching lux’s hand into your own. she seems starstruck, gazing at you through a filter jinx no longer seems to view you through.

you’re typically way too nervous to be doing this, let alone dancing by yourself. you move against lux with a lack of confidence — truthfully it’s her doing all the moving; hands guiding your body against hers, sliding down to your hips when you bump closer, giggling like two schoolgirls over a collective crush.

you’re clumsy on your feet, always have been. it’s always been jinx to guide your dancing, ‘step on my feet’ she would giggle, holding your hand to her chest like something sacred.

it’s when lux presses closer, hand coming up to grasp for your jaw that you realise what you’re doing.

you near gag in her face, cringing away and shoving her with more force than you would’ve liked.

“wha—!” she gasps, arms open like you’d just offended her and the generations before her. “hey, what did i do?”

you hear her from over your shoulder as you rush out — out and more importantly away from everyone. you weave through the crowd, shoving past ignorant people when necessary and apologising when you should.

the bathrooms.

‘no one goes in there’ you tell yourself as you round the corner, nudging the door open with your shoulder. out of everywhere to be at a club, surely peoples options don’t narrow down to the bathrooms in the back, no?

you’re pretty fucking wrong. terribly wrong.

your hand flies up to your mouth instinctively at the smell radiating from the bathrooms and the sight of her, hunched over the sink. her knuckles are white with strain, pressed against the countertop where her bag sits against the wall.

she looks rough.

her eyes meet yours through the mirror, lips curling up in a half grimace — half smirk.

“i saw you.” her voice is raspy and broken, carrying the weight of all her emotions.

“i should hope so,” you shoot back, letting yourself slump against the wall, arms crossed over your chest. you feel exposed now, more than in that room full of strangers you don’t know.

yet you still feel at ease, somewhat.

jinx clicks her tongue, licking over her teeth before turning to lounge against the sink, body now turned to yours.

“you’re hard to miss dancing up her like that.” you can taste the bile that spits from her mouth with those words, and you outwardly flinch, nodding away like you understand her point.

because you do.

why were you dancing up her ex like you didn’t have a girlfriend waiting at home for you? sure, a negligent one but still a girlfriend. you’re no better than her for what you did.

you’re not sure if its the twenty odd cups of coke you had (stomach issues) or the stuffy air that seems to clog your lungs — but you feel the bile rise in your own mouth. you want to scream, you want to cry.

you want to hold her, tell her how sorry you are. you want to feel her on you, you want to hit her, scream in her face for how she’d made you felt.

“i miss you,” you tremble. your voice is small, just enough to be heard by the two of you and the two of you alone. “i really miss you.”

you don’t meet her eyes, gaze drawn to the mismatched tiling on the floor by your feet. you kick at the grime gathering there, finding particular interest in a small stone amongst the sound of her breathing and your own heartbeat in your ears. you could die right now.

“prove it.” her voice, low and raspy, cracks through the otherwise monotonous space. the air shifts, and you finally peer up behind your lashes to meet her gaze.

she’s got a sultry look about her, studs on her leather jacket glinting under the mustard yellow of the buzzing light from above. it bathes her in the ugliest colour, yet she’s still the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

you miss her.

you miss her, you tell yourself as you take a shaky step off of the wall.

you miss her, you justify as you crash into her body, arms slung around her shoulders as she smashes her lips to yours.

the slide of her hot mouth against yours is wet and sloppy, everything you’ve ever known with jinx. it feels comforting, like a bandaid soothed over a blister that’d been bugging you for days. her kisses have always been sloppy, but never like this. she seems to drown you, drown you in her love as she guides you against the sink, turning to cage you against it instead.

“i missed you,” you whisper between soft flicks of her tongue, taking it between your lips to suckle gently. she lets out a shaky sigh, slicking her bangs back with a trembling hand to reveal her sweaty forehead. she lets out a breathless snicker, brows drawing at the revelation like it’d hurt her.

her hands slide lower, lower till they find your hips, they roll forward to meet yours, rutting awkwardly, denim against your panties from where she’d hiked up your skirt.

you feel high, higher than you’d ever felt, higher than any drug could make you feel. a hand comes up to weave through your hair, the other leaving your hip to cup at the gap between the two of you. you jolt in her grasp, gasping out into her purple lips as she twists her head further into yours.

“i’ll take care of you,” she promises between sharp smacks of her lips, fingers drawing up and down your slit.

your legs tremble, ankles locking over the small of her back to bring her impossibly closer. you want to feel your nerves connect, you want to feel what she feels; know what makes her sad, happy, angry. you want to know what she enjoys and what she hates — you want to feel her on you.

“i want—“ your bottom lip wobbles, sucking in between your teeth when she teases at your entrance with a finger, now wrist deep in your underwear. “i want to feel you,”

something prods.

“you feel me yet?” she jeers with a sultry grin, watching as your eyes squeeze shut at the sudden invasion. you’re soaked enough to where it isn’t painful, but the stretch of her fingers is certainly something that always takes you by surprise.

your legs tremble at every thrust of her long fingers. they massage your walls in all the right ways, stroking down as they hit just that right spot — the one that gets you worked up and sweaty against her. your stale breaths ping pong between the two of you, and you’d find it disgusting how close you were had it been anyone else.

it will never be anyone else.

there’s only room for jinx— jinx jinx jinx jinx.

she’s all you can think of as you moan like some cheap whore, legs curling impossibly further, nudging her further and further into your space. her usually pale face is a hot pink, sweat dribbling down the side of her head in exertion. her fingers are coated in your slick, engulfed by your hot cunt that soaks up any ounce of dignity she swore she had left.

“you’re not seeing her again,” jinx grits her teeth, brows coming down over her eyes like the thought alone pushes her to the edge. “not after this.”

you nod, saying something instinctively under your breath in response to her nonsense babbling. she places a particularly harsh thrust that has your back straightening at attention, and her thumb meets your swollen clit.

“you hear me?” she pokes. “i’m all you need, you don’t need anything else. especially from some common whore like lux — what were you thinking?”

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, bringing a trembling hand up to cup her face. she meets your lips with her own with equal fervour, fingers pumping at an unstable pace. you feel that pit in your stomach coiling tighter and tighter, matching the rhythm of her thumb on your clit.

“ohhh, you’re sorry now?” she snickers, breaking from the kiss abruptly. her voice alone could get you off. “if you’re so sorry you’d come for me, wouldn’t you?”

“i want it—“ you gasp, meeting her hand with a sharp buck of your hips. you feel disgusting getting off in the club bathrooms, and it’s now that you’re on the brink of an orgasm you become hyper-aware of the space you’re in.

the blaring music thumping the walls, the dingy, musky smell coming from the bathrooms, the busted light trilling above the two of you. the indistinct chatter of other people outside.

you could get caught.

the thought does wonders, and your back arches, frame twitching further onto her fingers as you finally unravel. jinx lets out a sharp snicker, biting on her bottom lip as your nails dig into her back, cheek mushing into the leather on her shoulder. you sound like a straight up pornstar, something you should be ashamed of.

that would be if it wasn’t for her.

“i want you,” you finally conclude, legs dropping to her sides. your breath heaves, chest rising and falling at an uneven pace.

you wonder where lux is right now, if she’s looking for you — if anyone is looking for you, really. you doubt the sentiment. it doesn’t matter after all, all you need is jinx.

she withdraws her hand from your panties, fingers glistening with your slick, before she brings it to her mouth to engulf them between her lips. she closes her eyes, like blissed out on the taste before slowly withdrawing them, letting them release with a pop for emphasis.

“you’ve got me.”

A.N sorry this is bad, i’ve been pretty demotivated but i just rlly wanted to get this out. hehe doomed yuri

[covenofagatha]

Practice makes perfect (Part 2)

Tell me it's all wrong 'til it gets to me

Some inspo from this brainworm

Word count: 4k

Warnings: g!p reader, Agatha is even meaner, degradation kink, humiliation kink, titjob, oral, reader once again is a walking HR violation, slight praise kink, one spank, fingering, sex, think this is it?

“Everyone have a good night?” Rio asks the next morning during breakfast. 

You’re spooning vanilla yogurt into a bowl and trying not to think about how much it reminds you of your cum dripping out of Agatha’s pussy. “I had a great night,” you answer, feeling everyone’s eyes turn to you, especially Agatha, who’s standing right next to you. “Um, yeah, Agatha and I actually had sex.” 

Rio snorts, as do a few other people in the room. You’ve gotten so used to no one taking you seriously that you like to play around and see what you can get away with. Whether it’s a truth or a lie, they don’t care because you blur the lines so often.

If only they knew how true that was, though. 

“So classy,” Rio says and you can almost hear her roll her eyes before she leaves the buffet to go find a table.

“Oh, don’t worry!” you call after her. “Agatha really liked it. It was all her idea.” Rio doesn’t even look back. If you weren’t the boss’s daughter, you’re sure you would’ve been fired at least four dozen times from just this summer. 

Agatha remains unfazed as she snatches the yogurt spoon from your hand. “You fucking wish. Never in a million years,” she retorts calmly and you giggle. 

She spends the rest of the day seemingly trying to get you back for that stunt: she salaciously licks yogurt off the spoon. She wears a shirt that dips a little too low and shows off the edge of her red bra. She looks up at you through her perfect eyelashes when you ask her if you can sit next to her at the table and she laughs cruelly after she says no. 

Or she’s doing everything she usually does and you’re just reading into it because you’re obsessed with her.

But when you find her in the pool alone after breakfast, wearing a two piece black bikini, it’s hard to believe that she’s not at least teasing you a little. You stand on the edge absolutely agape, your cock making an obvious tent in your pants. She smirks and gets out and walks over to you.

Water droplets cascade down the smooth expanse of her pale stomach and your mouth runs dry. You can see her nipples through her wet top and heat flashes through your body. Your head starts to spin. 

You whisper her name before she flicks water on your shirt and reaches down to pat your cock roughly. Your hips jolt forward and a muffled groan leaves your mouth and she snickers. 

“I’m surprised that didn’t make you cum,” she says but her tone makes it clear that she's still holding out hope you’ll embarrass yourself again.

“Built up my stamina these past few nights,” you retort. 

She scoffs. “Yeah, you really showed me yesterday. How long did you last? Not even a second?” 

“Okay, maybe the first time, but can you blame me after how worked up I was? And I lasted longer the second time,” you protest and she mockingly pouts. 

“Aw, poor you,” she tuts and you hate how it goes right to your cock. Her gaze drops down again to watch you strain more against your pants and there’s a devilish glint in her eyes when she looks back up. “I was right, you know. I knew you wouldn’t be able to last, I knew you were too fucking incompetent. You’re more pathetic than a common whore.” 

You whimper and clutch onto her arm with tight fingers because it’s the only way you can resist touching herself. 

She regards you pawing at her with the utmost disgust. “You’re so fucking dirty,” she snarls and heat swirls around your head and your knees almost buckle. Your cock is pulsing, growing, swelling—she’s going to get exactly what she wants. She knows it too. 

“Fuck, Agatha, please—” Your whines are pitiful and desperate and you look at her with the best puppy-dog eyes you can muster. 

Her voice lowers even more. “God, look at you. What a fucking embarrassment.” 

Your stomach muscles tighten. 

“What would your dad think if he saw you like this?” 

You hump nothing and hiss at the feeling of the rough fabric against your erection and her smile is wicked.

“What would any of them think if they saw you drooling over a woman twice your age? If they saw you harder than a teenager just because I told you how pathetic you are? You’re nothing more than a bitch in heat, are you?”

Agatha cups your cheek with a gentleness that stands in stark contrast to her words and you buck your hips again. The sounds falling from your mouth are weak and pleading and you think she’s about to finish you off. 

“You know,” she muses, tone now sweet as honey, “I better go get changed before we have to do whatever your dad has on the schedule for today. But you…you look a little hot right now. I think you need to cool off.” 

Before you can ask what she means—or ask for her to touch you—she grabs your arms, whirls you around, and gently shoves you. 

It feels like you’re falling backwards in slow motion and you feel your jaw drop as you watch her smile. 

You hit the water and you instantly recoil, the cold doing wonders to sober you up. Your erection has practically disappeared by the time you break the surface, gasping for air. 

“What the fuck?” you splutter and she tosses her head back with a laugh. 

Agatha finally shrugs when she stops cackling and you wade to the stairs, teeth chattering. Your clothes are clinging to your shivering body but she just watches in amusement. 

“Wanda!” you shout and your personal assistant comes running out from the house. Her green eyes widen when she sees you in the pool. “Can you get me a towel?” 

Agatha rolls her eyes as Wanda nods quickly. “Of course. Anything else?” 

You shake your head and she speeds off. 

“You don’t need her to tie your shoes?” Agatha quips and you grumble at her to shut up. Your family is rich—of course you’re used to the teasing about having assistants. Even as an intern at the company, you’ve delegated far too much of your work to Wanda and she always does it with no complaints. You’re betting the six figure salary your father pays her keeps her content. 

Wanda comes back with a towel and you snatch it from her when you finally get out of the pool. Agatha walks away without giving you another glance and you can’t help but feel rejected. 

She barely even looks at you the rest of the morning and then your dad calls his executive staff into a meeting for the whole afternoon so you lay on your bed, bored out of your mind. It’s the last day of the vacation and of course he wants to spend it getting ready for the next quarter. 

It’s tempting to jack off or to use the flashlight that’s sitting in your nightstand drawer, and you do try, but neither your hand nor the toy even comes close to how Agatha’s cunt feels so you give up with a huff. 

That night, you go to her room in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. You’re not willing to take the chance that she’ll come to yours because you don’t actually know what’s going on between you. She is so fucking confusing. 

You flirt with her, she always shoots you down, and then she makes you fuck a fleshlight before she takes your virginity? The point of it was to prove that you wouldn’t last inside her, and she was technically correct. So does that mean this is all over?

Not if you have anything to say about it. And there was her stunt by the pool earlier, so clearly she’s not done yet either. 

Knocking rhythmically and quietly on her door, you keep your eyes peeled down the hallway just to make sure no one sees. You joking about having sex with general counsel might be fine because no one believes you, but it would be much harder to cover this up.

Agatha opens it a few moments later in a matching purple pajama set and lets out an exasperated sigh. Her glasses are pushed up on her forehead and you can see her laptop on her bed. 

You slip past her into the room without waiting for her approval and make a beeline for the scotch, pouring yourself two fingers of it. 

“Come back for more humiliation?” she taunts and you feel your stomach twist. “Think you’re a big girl because you managed to stick your cock into one person one time?” 

“You know,” you say, draining a glass without even wincing at the burn of the alcohol and turning around to point at her, “that was all your idea. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you want me just as much as I want you.” 

Agatha raises an eyebrow and her gaze drops to the tent in your boxers. “I don’t think that’s possible,” she retorts dryly. 

You put the glass down and start to advance as she stands her ground firmly. “You didn’t have to fuck me. You didn’t even have to come to my room the first night. But you did. And I know how affected you were last night, you were fucking enjoying yourself.” 

She laughs cynically and rolls her eyes. “Please, honey, I’ve had better sex with my vibrator.” Ignoring the way that causes more blood to rush south—because now you’re thinking about her moaning loudly while falling apart holding a toy against her clit—you smirk. 

“Then why did you fuck me?” 

Her face twitches and she jerks her head to the side. “Take your clothes off and get on the bed.” 

You’d ask again if there was anything on your mind other than your throbbing cock and her hot cunt so you tear off your shirt, shove off your boxers, and jump on top of the covers. Your cock is standing straight up, oozing precum onto your stomach and twitching against nothing. 

“God, you’re fucking pathetic,” Agatha hisses and you hump the air, a strangled whimper leaving your mouth. “All it takes is a few words and you’re leaking for me.” 

She unbuttons her blouse again and you don’t think you’ll ever get bored of the sight of her tits, perky and supple and rose-colored nipples that you need in your mouth. She slides down her shorts and your breathing quickens, feeling heat flush through your neck and upper chest. 

“Agatha, please,” you whine. Agatha scoffs and climbs on the bed next to you on her knees and slips a hand between her legs. You stare, open-mouthed, panting, as she works at her clit. “Wait…can I?” 

Her hips jolt and you think you can hear her groan through her clamped lips. “You want to—what? Fumble around incompetently? Think you can even find my clit?” 

You nod urgently while your cock pulses and another spurt of precum dribbles out. “I want to, please,” you gasp, “I want to taste you.” 

“Fine. Try not to cum immediately again,” she snaps without any of her usual bite and moves so she’s laying next to you, her legs spread open. 

Situating yourself, you feel the air get kicked out of you when you get your first good look at her pussy. 

Agatha is fucking soaked. Her cunt glistens, lips swollen and pink and almost fused together, and you can see her clit peeking out at the top. Your mouth is watering and your cock gets harder if possible. You can’t resist lowering your hips to the bed so you can get some pressure on it. 

“Holy fuck,” you breathe in awe. “You’re so wet.” 

“Are you actually going to do anything or just stare?” she says, tone laced with venom. “Maybe you should call your assistant, I know she does everything else for you cause you’re too incompetent.” 

You whimper and grind onto the bed, cock throbbing, shaking your head with wide eyes. You can do this.  

She purses her lips. “That’s too bad. She could probably actually get me to cum.” 

Heat tears through you and you surge forward with a vengeance, licking roughly up her cunt and she hisses before roughly grabbing your hair. 

“Slow down,” she barks and you mumble an apology before flattening your tongue and gently dragging it through her folds. “Better.” 

You say something that’s muffled by her pussy and you hump the bed faster because she squeaks when you rub your tongue against her clit. 

She swears under her breath and you can’t even focus anymore because of the dizziness in your head and the aching in your cock. The taste of her has overwhelmed your mouth and your nose and you’re sloppily devouring her while she tries and fails to stop her hips from rolling. 

“I can’t—fuck—Agatha, I’m gonna—” You can feel your stomach tightening, can feel your cock pulsing, and you know you’re about to cum from grinding on the bed and eating her out. 

Instead of mocking you, she growls and yanks you up by the hair until you’re practically straddling her stomach. Tendrils of precum pool on her skin and you swallow roughly. 

“Since you’re going to be fucking useless until you get off,” she sighs and grips your hips to pull you up even higher. Your cock drags against her, leaving a sticky trail in your wake and you have to put a hand out on the headboard to catch yourself when you realize what she’s doing. 

Your cock rests between her tits and she lifts her head up to spit on you and your hips jerk forward. The mess of her saliva and your precum is driving you absolutely crazy and you begin rutting against her. 

Her fingers dig into your ass and help you move and your cock fits perfectly in the crook between her boobs. You hold onto the headboard, panting while you look down at her, and there’s a heat in her eyes that you only see at work—when she gets exactly what she wants. 

“God, you’re pathetic,” she says without any of her usual malice. The pink from her cheeks has spread down her chin and to her upper chest that your cock is dragging against. “Can’t do anything for yourself so you need me, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” you choke out, your thrusts becoming shorter. The stickiness is making you throb and your grunts get louder.

Agatha spanks you and you shudder, your cock pumping out a spurt of precum, and then she lets go of your ass to push her breasts together so her soft, supple tits are wrapped around your hard cock and you sharply inhale. 

But then she leans down and flicks her tongue out against the tip of your cock and you can’t hold it back anymore. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck—I can’t—fuck,” you babble before your cock explodes, drenching the bottom of her face and the top of her chest in white. She lets out a gasp at the feeling of your seed on her skin and the sight of her covered in you makes one last strand of cum squirt out. 

You slouch back while your cock twitches and Agatha drags two fingers through the mess on her clavicle before stuffing them in your mouth. She looks delighted when you make a surprised sound before grabbing your hair and pulling you down and making you clean up your cum. 

“Good girl,” she purrs when you’re all done and then nudges you back down between her legs. The praise makes your stomach grow warm—apparently you like that just as much as the degradation. “Think you can focus now?” 

Nodding eagerly, you look at her pussy and your mouth falls open. She’s dripping onto the bed, folds spread open, and you can see her throbbing. 

This time, there’s no hesitation in putting your mouth on her and you moan lasciviously at her taste. Your eyes dart up to watch her face as you dip your tongue inside her and curl it and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. 

But then you lick back up and suck on her clit and she can’t help the audible groan that escapes her. The sound makes your cock pulse and you can already feel yourself starting to grow hard again. 

“Keep doing that,” she orders and you double your efforts, lashing your tongue against her clit and then sucking and her head falls back. “Two fingers inside me, now.” 

Her walls instantly bear down around you and you whimper, the vibrations making her hips roll. She is so warm and so hot and you never want to leave her cunt. 

“Fuck me harder, god, you’re useless,” she hisses but it quickly turns into another moan when you thrust in deeply and curl them until you find the spot that makes her clench. Your slurping noises, along with her sounds of pleasure, are going straight to your cock and you start to grind against the bed gently for some stimulation. 

“You like this,” you say into her cunt and she violently shakes her head while beginning to ride your face and fingers. Her walls are gripping you, trying to drag you in as deep as you can go, and you can feel every ridge and groove when you fuck her. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want me.” 

She yanks on your hair and you moan. “Stop fucking talking,” she seethes and you chuckle, the vibrations reverbrating against her pussy and making her whimper. You think she might actually be getting somewhere. “Good thing I brought my vibrator because I’m going to be needing it after you—fuck—”

You suck on her clit roughly and her voice breaks off. She’s grinding harder on you, drenching your face and fingers, and she’s fucking panting. So are you, right against her pussy and your stomach flexes to keep your steady rhythm of humping the bed going strong. Your jaw and wrist are burning but from the way she’s clenching furiously around your fingers, she’s getting close. 

And you know that if you stop right now, Agatha would never let it go. 

So you keep doing exactly what you’re doing and her hips start to falter and her breathing gets heavier. 

“God, you’re such a slut, whoring yourself out to a woman twice your age,” she groans. “You’re so pathetic, fuck—”

Her hands scramble and tug on your hair and you’re about to make a snarky comment on how she’s just so desperate for your cum when she grabs onto your hard and leaking cock and angles it at her entrance. 

You barely have time to breathe before her legs hook around your waist. “Don’t you dare cum,” she warns and you huff out a laugh before pushing into her wet cunt. 

Agatha’s walls grip your cock and you freeze, your head dropping down to rest on her tits and you pant open-mouthed against her skin before sucking on her nipple. Her hips arch up to get you deeper inside and you let out a lewd moan. She feels so good and you can feel her throb around you. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, your cock twitching. It’s such a different angle from her being on top of you and you love it. You start to move slowly, just to hold off your impending orgasm. 

You can see everything—the way her tits bounce with each thrust, the way her hair is sprawled out underneath her, the slight sheen of sweat on her chest, the bulge your cock makes in her stomach. 

“Agatha, Agatha, fuck, please, I’m gonna—fuck, please, I can’t,” you cry, your cock pulsing rapidly inside her. She clenches around you with each thrust and she bites her bottom lip roughly to control her sounds. 

“Wait, just wait, don’t cum yet,” she groans, strangled and needy, and you know you’re about to cum but you’re desperate to make her cum before you do. 

So you reach between your bodies and find her clit and furiously start to rub at it and she moans. “Tell me,” you order, “tell me that I’m making you feel good.” 

She laughs breathlessly. “You think because you’re on top, you’re in charge? Honey, you can’t do anything without me. You’re so pathetic that you only get this hard for me, right? Tell me that.” Her words are getting tighter and you duck back down to swirl your tongue around her nipple. 

“Just you, Agatha,” you murmur and she shivers from your hot breath. Tension is building in your cock and your stomach and your back and you thrust harder because you need her to cum. “I only want you, fuck, it’s always been you.” 

And then she keens, eyes rolling back in her head, and her cunt spasms around you. You feel a gush of wetness and you groan weakly before pumping her full of thick, hot cum. She gasps when she feels your seed paint her walls white and you collapse on top of her while your cock spurts out a few more loads into her. 

“You finally did one thing right,” she quips after a few moments and you laugh before nipping at the curvature of her breasts. 

“That’s the best performance review I’ve ever gotten,” you say, and once you’re fully soft, you pull out of her and sit up on your knees to spread her folds open. 

Your cum oozes out and your cock twitches at the sight and she gasps and squirms. She reaches down and swipes through the mess leaking out of her and then shoves her fingers into your mouth. 

The taste of both of you makes you whimper and she swallows roughly. You move back down of your own accord and slowly drag your tongue through her folds, getting your mixture all over your mouth. You steadily clean your cum out of her while holding eye contact and her struggle to remain composed would make you hard again if you hadn’t already cum twice in the span of about fifteen minutes. 

You make sure to lick her clit a few times and she writhes underneath you, stifling her sighs. Her cunt is a mess by the time you’re done, swollen and pink and still wet and she tugs you away because the stimulation has finally gotten to be too much. 

Flopping onto the bed next to her, you lick your lips and wonder what it would be like to kiss Agatha. You turn to look at her to find her eyes already on you. 

“What happens tomorrow?” you whisper and her gaze flickers down to your mouth. “When we go back.” 

Agatha sighs and gets out of bed, finding her pajamas on the floor and putting them back on. “We never speak of this again. And that means no more little jokes.”

It stings but you smirk to deflect. “Afraid someone will think the great Agatha Harkness deigned to fuck the boss’s daughter? That’s like, reverse sleeping up the corporate ladder. They’d probably applaud your charity. Or—you know what? I bet they’d be jealous. Everyone wants a piece of me, you know. Too bad general counsel already tamed this tiger.” You bite at her playfully and she snorts before fixing you with a serious stare. 

“This never happened,” she says solemnly and you nod. But before you can ask if you should leave, she lays back down next to you and her hand brushes against yours. You stiffen, but don’t pull away and her touch lingers.  

You lay so still, trying to breathe as quietly as you possibly can, so maybe she’ll let you stay. 

Her hand doesn’t move from yours the entire night. 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs

[writingsbytee]

THE HOTLINE

SEX OPERATOR TERRY RICHMOND x BLACK FEM READER

*Remember, you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minors, please don’t interact!* THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD

*Please do not plagiarize, repost, or steal my work. This doesn’t count for re-blogs!*

SUMMARY: Set in the early 2000s. Taking your best friend’s tipsy advice, you decide to call a sex hotline for help with dirty talk and your overall insecurities surrounding sex. When you call your local sex hotline, you get more than what you bargained for when Terry pics up the other line. 

PAIRING: Terry Richmond x Blaire (reader)

WARNINGS: 18+; explicit dirty talk, mutual masturbation

AUTHOR’S NOTE: My brain is being CONSUMED by Aaron right now, so enjoy this piece that's been sitting in my drafts for months because I was too scared to finish it!

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

TAGLIST

@blackgurlnhermoods @theereina @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @keehendrixx @keyaho @megamindsecretlair @dxddykenn @pinkkycherrishh @pinkkycherrish @episodes-ff @kimuzostar @urfavblackbimbo @kianaleani @shallipii @pocketsizedpanther @mymindisneverhere @onherereading @nayaesworld @earthchica @simplyzeeka @skyesthebomb @gg-trini @blyffe @melalsworld @mogul93 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @sweettea-and-honeybutter @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @playgurlxoxo @yassbishimvintage @dbaileyblog @jimmybutlrr @versaceslutz @ruewritesoccasionally @kaylalb @rose-bliss

Divider: @anitalenia

“I’m sorry Blaire, I just don’t think we’re sexually compatible,”Devin, your now ex, says. Popping the top off a bottle of Don Julio, you start to make yourself a drink. 

“Okay, you can see yourself out” you say, not even bothering to look at him.

“So that’s it? We’re just done?!” Devin shouts.

“Well according to all the bitches you’ve been talking to, this is long overdue. So Devin, like I said, please get the fuck out of my house,” I look up at him, flashing a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Good luck finding a man who’ll fuck a frigid bitch like you,” Devin snarled, grabbing his coat. 

You rolled your eyes and scoff, trying to act like his words don’t phase you. The rapid beat of your heart says otherwise. “Just get the fuck out,” you say, now bored with this interaction. Devin huffs more insults at you as he grabs the rest of his shit, leaving for good. When you hear the click of my front door, you lock it, grab your drink and settle into the sofa, cutting on the TV. 

You’re on your third drink and feeling a little tipsy, when your home phone rings from it place on the coffee table. A small smile graces your face when I see your best friend Nina’s name on the caller ID. 

Blaire: “Hello?”

Nina: “So, how’d it go?”

Blaire: sighs “We never even made it that far. He broke up with me.”

Nina: “He’s a fucking asshole! All because you and sex don’t have a good relationship?”

Blaire: “Apparently, we weren’t sexually compatible. I mean, he never made me feel comfortable. Never tried to get me in the mood, I’m not just a ‘get up and go’ kind of girl. I need romance, sexual tension, and desire. Devin never tried to help me overcome my insecurities around sex, as long as he got off it was fine.”

Nina: “I’m so sorry boo, you deserve so much better than that!”

Blaire: *voice breaking* “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I don’t want to be like this forever, broken”

Nina: “You are not broken. You just haven’t found anyone who you’ve felt vulnerable enough with to let that side of you come out. Wait, have you tried calling a sex hotline?”

You nearly spit out your drink.

Blaire: “You’re kidding right? No I haven’t tried one, I wouldn’t even know what to say”

Nina: “That’s the thing they’ll do all the prompting for you. It’s helped me just overcome the underlying embarrassment that I’ve had with dirty talk. You should definitely give it a go Blaire. What do you have to lose?”

You contemplated the idea, it never occurred to you to try a sex hotline for your chronic bedroom shyness. What the hell, it couldn’t hurt and, if it turns out to be a complete failure you won’t call ever again. 

Blaire: “Okay, give me the number.”

It’s 11:30 and you’re settled in bed in an oversized tee and fuzzy socks. Twisting up your light pink hair into a claw clip, you flop onto your stomach, turning on the TV. Your  twinkling lights reflect off your tumbler, bathing your room in an ethereal glow. The crumbled piece of paper sits on your nightstand, taunting you. Worrying your lip between your  teeth, you try to weigh the pros and cons. 

“Fuck it,” you mumble, reaching for your phone and the number. With shaky fingers you dial the number, your heart rate skyrocketing when you hear the tell tale dial tone. 

“Thanks for calling ‘the hotline’, how can we help you come today?”, a sultry woman’s voice answers the phone.

“I- I don’t really know what I need,” you say, a slight tremble in your voice.

“Well that’s okay sweetie, what do you want to get accomplished tonight?” the mysterious woman asks. 

“I just want to feel more comfortable talking dirty, and taking initiatives when being intimate. I’m tired of feeling sub-par when it comes to sex. I want to be desired like every other woman” you  said, twirling the phone cord around your finger. 

“Okay, I think I have someone for you. Are you interested in men or women?” She asks.

“Men please,” you say, timidly.

“Perfect! Terry’s going to knock the shyness right out of you. Hold a minute while I connect you. Just remember sweetie, relax and have fun.” With that, she disconnects our call and I hear the beeps of her transferring me. 

There’s a pause on the other end before you hear a throat clear, “Hello?”, a voice that sounds like melted velvet bleeds its way through your phone speakers almost causing you to drop it.

“H- Hi”, you say, the nerves clear as day in your voice. 

“Hey now, don’t be nervous, we're friends, aren’t we baby?”immediately your pussy quivers at the tone of his voice.Who knew a man could sound so sexy? Just the sound of his voice alone was enough to melt the panties of every woman in a five mile radius.

“Sorry, I’ve just never done anything like this before”you said, nervously.

“Well, let’s start slow. I’m Terry, and you are?” Terry asked.

“I’m Blaire. It’s nice to meet you Terry” you say shyly. You hear a raspy chuckle on the other end of the line before Terry says, “Pretty name, and I know the face matches.” Terry stopped tossing the stress ball between his fingers. Something in her voice caused him to lean forward, wanting to hear more, know more about the stranger with the voice like silk.

“What brings you to my little corner of the world, beautiful?”Terry asks, a curious frown on his face. This didn’t sound like one of the usual women he’d talk to. She sounded softer, sweeter, like she had no business calling a sex hotline.  Normally, he’s not supposed to ask for names. Keeping the anonymity was a  part of the thrill for most people, but he also wanted to know your name for his own personal stalker-ish reasons. 

You groan, an embarrassed laugh leaving your lips, “My boyfriend broke up with me today because we aren’t ‘sexually compatible’”

Terry feels his frown deepen in sympathy, “I’m sorry to hear that love. Break-ups are never easy, and let’s face it if you guys aren't ‘sexually compatible’, he probably couldn’t make you come anyway.”

A satisfied smirk makes its way onto Terry’s face when he hears your laugh on the other end of the phone.  

“C’mon sweetheart, tell me I’m wrong,” Terry coaxed, wanting to hear more of your voice. A dramatic sigh leaves your lips as you flip over.

“You’re right. He never made me feel anything south of the equator, which is probably why the sex was horrible. Like not even a twinge,” you finished with a giggle, the liquor getting to you. 

“Well I hope I’m more successful,” Terry says, his voice dropping an octave. You’d only been on the phone with him for a few minutes, but his voice was already working its magic on you. The flush of heat, leading to the gentle flip of your belly. A welcome feeling that you thought might never return. 

“You’re already doing more than he ever did,” you mumble, getting up. 

“Oh am I?” Terry asked, the smirk on his face beginning to darken. He was going to have fun with you.

The silence on your end of the phone was beginning to stretch. Your mind begins to wander, wondering if you made the right decision.

“I’m sorry! This is my first time doing something like this and I don’t know how I should act.”

“Just be yourself baby. I’ll take the lead if that’s okay with you?” Terry asks. He can already feel his balls tightening. Her voice, her innocence, it was beginning to affect him.

“I’d like that, thank you, Terry” you say, settling deep into the comfort of your bed. Your plush pillows surround you while your silk sheets rub against your freshly shaved body. 

“What are you doing now?” Terry asked. Another giggle left your lips as you replied, “Laying in bed watching jeopardy, and talking to you of course.”

“I see we have something in common, I’m a Jeopardy fan myself. Now, tell me beautiful, what are you wearing?” Terry asks, his voice dropping an octave. You feel yourself dampen between your legs at the question. 

“Just an oversized t-shirt and fuzzy socks,” you say your voice taking on a breathy tone.

“I want you to do something for me,” Terry asks. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable.

“That depends, what do you need me to do Terry?” you ask, a smirk slowly spreading across your face. 

“You’ll let me know if anything I say makes you uncomfortable, yeah?” Terry asks. 

A small hum leaves your lips, your horniness hits you all at once. Blanketing your brain in a haze, “Yes, Terry. I can do that,” your voice already taking on a breathy tone. A low groan leaves Terry’s lips on the other side of the phone. He flexes his hand, itching to wrap it around your throat. 

“Good, I want you to relax for me baby, can you do that?” Terry said, palming his hardening dick.

“Can you help me relax Terry? I’m sound wound up,”you say, not knowing where this burst of confidence came from. It must be the liquor, you thought. 

“Easy love, just breathe for me yeah? Do you want me there with you? So I can rub you down, feel your muscles relax and loosen under my touch. Imagine us lying together, skin pressed close, hearts beating in tandem. I can make you feel so good baby.”Terry coaxed, his own breathing slowing to match yours. His words painted a comforting picture in your mind. You could feel your nipples beginning to harden under the thin sleep shirt. 

Your breathing picked up, his words, his voice igniting something in you that you thought had long been extinguished. Desire. Your body started to warm as horniness hazed your vision. 

“Mm, I wish I could see your face, Terry. I would love to see who’s behind the voice that has my panties so wet,”you purred. Terry’s eyes widened on his side. Your increasing confidence was turning him on, making him hot under the collar. 

“Damn, baby I wish I could see you too. I’m loving this confidence, now tell me sweetheart are you relaxed?” Terry asks. He raises up from his lounge chair in his studio, yanking down his sweats, boxers, and grabbing his baby-oil. 

“What can I say? You bring it out of me. I’d be more relaxed if you were here with me, but this will have to do for now,” you tease. 

“ I love how you’re opening up for me baby.”Terry said. His balls aching with a need to release. You were doing a number on him and you didn’t even know it. Sure he got off with a client every one in a while, but there was something about you that drew him in. Making him want to know more about you, and not just sexually. 

“Are you wet right now pretty girl?” Terry asks, his hand coming up slowly to stroke his dick.

“If I wasn’t I am now,” you say with a slight giggle.

‘That’s my girl,” Terry chuckles. “Put two fingers in your mouth and swirl them around. Let me hear it,” 

A nervous laugh leaves your lips, “You want to hear it, Terry?” Terry groans at the way your name leaves his lips. “Yes baygirl, I want to hear every noise you make. I want to know what I do to you, how I make you feel. Every moan you release is all mine, so you better make sure I fucking hear it.”

A whimper leaves your lips at the dominant tone that Terry’s switched to. As if on autopilot, you bring your hand up to your lips and slide two fingers in. The slick wet noises of your fingers being wet by your tongue travel from your ears to Terry’s. A small moan releases from you at the pure nastiness of it all. Your drool practically leaking down to your wrist. 

“Listen to you, moaning already. You haven’t even touched that pussy for me yet. Blaire, is she wet for me?” Terry groans. His dick bobbed with attention, begging him to wrap his fist around it and tug. 

“I’m so fucking wet, Terry. My thighs are sticking together, when can I touch myself baby? I need to touch myself,” you moaned around your fingers. 

“Soon baby, take that shirt off for me, I need you naked for what I have planned,” Terry rips his own shirt off. His chocolate nipples tighten as they meet the cool air. 

“Rub your nipples for me Blaire. Tease them, tug at them, coat them in your drool until they look like shiny hershey kisses” Terry’s voice had taken on a hard edge, he was getting close and he barely touched himself. As he heard the sweet mewls you released he knew he needed you, and not just for phone sex. 

“You’re doing things to me baby. I usually don’t get like this but I need this, I need you. Can I have you Blaire? Will you be mine?” Terry sounded like a desperate man, begging for pussy but he didn’t care.

“Yess baby I’m yours, I’m yours!,” a high pitched moan leaves your lips as you tweak your right nipple a little too hard. The pain sent a jolt of pleasure right down to your clit. You couldn’t believe yourself, you were opening like a flower to a man you’d never met. 

“Your fingers are now mine baby girl, visualize me tracing my hands along your inner thighs, tracing patterns. Grabbing onto your luscious thigh kneading and tugging, slowly making my way upward, but not close enough to where you want me.”Terry voice lowers, the huskiness of it sounds like a growl. 

“Can I touch myself please Terry? I’m so wet” your moans spurring him on. 

“Can’t say I’m surprised baby. You’ve been wet since you heard my voice haven’t you?” Terry purred, his voice a seductive rumble. “Take a minute and focus on how wet you are. Feel it pooling between your legs, dripping down your ass, and wetting up your sheets. Feel how your body responds just at the thought of me, of what I plan to do to you when I finally get you alone.” Terry’s breath hitched as he listened to your needy whines and whimpers. 

“You want to touch yourself, don’t you baby?” Terry asks. Your reply is almost instant, “Yes please Terry! Can I?”

“Go ahead baby, give yourself some relief. But just know it won’t compare to how my fingers will feel, my lips, and my dick in that wet ass pussy,” his voice thick with need. “Make sure I hear everything, every moan, every gasp, the slick sound of your fingers as they play with my pussy.”

Your fingers glide down your body to come in contact with your wet pussy. A mess of whimpers and moans can be heard through the phone. “Tell me what you want to do to me Terry, are you  going to make me feel good?” you ask, a panting mess.

“I’m going to make you feel better than good baby. Fuck, my dick is rock hard for you Blaire,”Terry moaned, you could hear the slick sounds through the phone as he stroked himself. “I can’t wait to sink this dick deep inside of you, to feel that tight pussy wrap my dick in a warm, wet hug.” Terry’s hand moved faster, pumping his shaft with an increasing urgency as he continued to describe his fantasies out loud. 

His voice dropping to a husky purr, his voice dripping with raw, unbridled lust. “Oh baby, I can’t wait to have you spread open so I can claim you as mine. Eat that sweet pussy until you’re crying, begging me to stop,” his free hand cupping his heavy balls as he stroked his aching dick. 

You’re a moaning mess on the phone. Practically hypnotized by Terry’s words, “I need you, Terry!’ the needy whine left your lips without a second thought. When you dialed your local sex hotline you never thought the man on the other line would excite you, let alone hurl you toward one of the best orgasms you’ve had in months. 

“Fuck baby, you have no idea how much I need you. How bad I want to feel that pussy come for me,” he rasped, his breathing ragged. 

“Tell me how bad you need me baby,” You moan, your fingers form a mind of their own as they find their way inside your warm cunt. Breathless pants and whimpers bleed through the phone spurring on Terry’s need to get you as close as he is. 

“I’d drag you onto the nearest flat surface and fuck you however you want me to. Do you like it rough? I’ll give it to you rough. What about loving and soft, because I can do that too, baby. Your pleasure is my only concern..fuck. I’m hard as fuck for you baby,” he palmed his aching dick harder, the friction sending jolts of pleasure down his spine. 

Your fingers found your g-spot during Terry’s rant, eliciting high pitched squeals from you. “Terry, you have no idea how bad I wish you could be here with me. Nobody’s ever made me feel..unh. Feel like this before”

Terry’s chest heaved with a shuddering sigh at your confession. His heart ached at the longing in your voice, he had to meet you. “Babygirl, I’ve never felt like this before either. I want to meet you baby, can I do that? Can I meet my pretty girl?” This call reduces you both to babbling messes, too consumed in each other to pay attention to the outside world. “If I could only be there in person, baby, feeling your soft lips against mine, tasting how sweet you are,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head of his dick. 

“I’d fuck you right here on this call, if technology allowed. I’d push into that tight pussy so deep, so hard, that you’d for- forget your own name,” Terry’s voice dropped to a sensual purr, his imagination running wild at the thought of finally getting you alone.

“Come to me, Terry! Fuck! I need you here, I want you baby please! Can’t you hear how wet I am for you? How bad I want you, don’t leave me hanging, please,” more needy cries leave your lips and meet Terry’s ears. He was going to lose his mind if he didn’t have you. 

Terry’s breath caught in his throat as he listened to your sultry whispers, his mind reeling with the intensity of his arousal. “Blaire, baby, you’re killing me with these sexy ass words of yours. I can almost feel your breath on my ear, begging me to take you harder, deeper,” he groaned, hips rocking instinctively as he continued to stroke his engorged member. 

With a deep breath, Terry opened his mouth to say something that would absolutely get him fired, “Give me your address sweet girl, and I’ll be there. I’ll fuck you all night, every way you want me to, don’t you want me there with you baby. I’ll take care of you, I’ll hold you, please you in ways you’ve never felt. Just a few numbers and a street name and I’ll be there.” The horny declaration leaves his heaving chest, but Terry doesn’t regret anything. He just hopes you’ll say yes and give him that address. 

You contemplate the idea. Should you really give your address to a phone sex operator, no matter how sexy the voice. Your buzz had mostly worn off, in its place a crippling horniness. Terry made you feel things you thought were once dead inside you, how could you deny yourself the opportunity that is this man. Being a single black female in a semi-big city, you weren’t an idiot. You had protective measures in place. So with a sigh and a shy giggle to read off your address to Terry. 

“Can you do something for me Blaire?” Terry asks, yanking his sweats up over his aching dick. It’s taking everything in him to stop, but he has to get to you. He has to meet the vixen that's taken hold of him almost instantly. 

“Anything,”you say, so delirious right on the edge of cumming.

“Don’t come until I can get my hands on you,” Terry hangs up the phone, promptly ending your session. Your chest heaving in frustration and desire at Terry’s command, you had something for his ass when he got there.

OH MY GOD!! OBVIOUSLY THERE’S A PART 2 COMING!! 

I could never leave y’all hanging like that, but be warned it might be a while. Getting back into the groove of things and starting a second job has taken up a lot of my time. I’m finding my footing though so more consistent work will be coming. As always I always accept criticism, but please be gentle, I’m a tad but sensitive about my writing. Send me asks and requests, I love reading what you guys come up with! I love y’all to the moon and back thank you so much for consuming my work. 

Until Next Time

Tee <3

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Some charges my aunties and uncles carried well into the 90s without pardon or exonneration of any kind:

Substance possession, esp weed, ecstasy, cocaine/crack, meth, etc

Cross-dressing (aka wearing more than the allowed number of "opposite sex clothing items, including undergarments that were not visible)

Solicitacion/suspicion of prostitution (the latter is the charge a trans auntie got for carrying condoms on her to a partner's house, the former charge was both accurate and forced on partners across multiple people in my life)

Vagrancy (got outed during a cruising bust and was evicted/blacklisted from all affordable rentals)

Sexual assault/attempted murder (an HIV + trans adult getting trans panicked)

Public indecency (cruising)

Sexual misconduct in the presence of a minor (had sex in their home while a child was present in the household but not in the room)

This is a non-exhaustive list. Many people I loved who lived queerly through the 1950s-1990s had multiple charges in their past. Few had none.

The goal is to criminalize every path to existence we have, and there is a reason that approach is scary and effective.

It also is absolutely not the all powerful steamrolling force people (on borh sides of the conflict) pretend it is.

I grew up in a thriving community of dykes, faggots, queers, drag queens/kings, intersex folks, and trans people. There were enough of us, even in 1998, to fill a 300 person hall for an AIDS memorial during pesach one year, just in the valley. We lived, we loved, we raised children and families, and we waged a background war for our fucking lives.

It is happening again and for many that will be terrifying. I will not lie to you and tell you not to be afraid or that we will suffer no losses. That 300person hall also had near on 150 empty chairs for the dead that year. But I need people to understand that waging the war only feels scary and overwhelming A) in the beginning when you are not yet sure how to fight, and B) when you are alone, overwhelmed, and feeling helpless in the face of a pressing threat. The rest of the time, you will find that the process of learning effective solidarity and resistance is way faster than you think.

I called my mother on Valentine's day and we talked a bit about what it's like as two queer people across generations, to be back here where we were together in my early childhood, and how my mother feels seeing these conversation return after she got nearly a decade of peace and retirement from activism because she believed it was time to pass the torch. She reminded me of a story she used to tell me when I was little

Mom worked for IBM on some major contracts, and she would sometimes find herself out back with the other engineers for a smoke break. Once, a man started talking about the news updates on AIDS: it was spreading amongst not just IV drug users and queers, but amongst heterosexual middle class folks who had never used or swung or sold or anything. At first the conversation is empathetic to the sick, and mom lets her guard down.

"And then he says "but now it's infecting people who don't deserve it. They called it the Gay Plague back then, you know? And I don't know what happened, but the next thing I remember I'd thrown my cigarette in his face, backed him against a wall, and was snarling "NO ONE has EVER deserved this" and you know. He never said anything like that around me again. I don't know if he changed his mind, but from that moment on, he knew that we were in the room with him, and that was enough to get him to keep his fucking mouth shut. The reason they want us scared is because they want to be able to pretend we're never in the room with them. They want to be able to count on our silence, on our cowering and hiding in self preservation. And I don't blame anyone who gives that because we're surviving here, that's not my place to decide for you. But that was the day I learned that I will NEVER allow them to pretend I'm not in the room again."

Criminalization is a form of liminal expulsion of the undesireable from the shared social perception/narrative. If they can imprison us for our basic existence, they can remove us from the room or make it more likely we hide in the shadows. But this is what we mean when we say that they cannot kill us in any way that matters. Every loss, every death matters, but so does every life lived in silence and shadow. And I cannot emphasize enough how many more of the latter there have been in the world.

So if they want to kill us, we will fill their world with the utopia of the love we find in the dark. If they want to banish us we will live out loud until even they can't escape us. If they want to erase our history, I will personally scream it from every rooftop I have access to.

Liminality is a weapon against us, but it has also always been ours more than it is theirs. We make it, breathe it, and change it with our very being. Never forget that you are the culmination of generations of love, life, and survival. We have seen enough attempts at genocide in the world now to know that the meaning of our lives is not what they make it possible to do to us but what we create to stop them.

If they do start rounding queers up it won’t be with the gestapo, but the police, and the crime won’t be written down as being queer, but public indecency, the indecency being queer in public, but that’s the quiet part no one will say out loud.

[shuadotcom]

Strawberry Sunday (YJH & KMG)

->Summary: When your best friend is away, you and Jeonghan always find time to play. This time he invites his friend to play along and things get a little messy - in the literal sense. ->Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan & Kim Mingyu x Fem!Reader ->Genres/Tropes/AUs: Smut, best friend’s brother, fuckbuddies (is this a trope???) non!idol au, pwp ->Rating: 18+ MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED ->Words: 8.4k | ->Warnings/Content: profanity, threesome, dirty talk, oral (m & f receiving), handjob, unprotected sex, fingering, food play, nipple/boob play, begging, praise, teasing, cum play/body painting, biting/marking, pet names (sweetheart, baby, good girl, babydoll) and I think that's it 😮‍💨 ->Note: Written for the secret cupid event hosted by @ddeonghwa-s! Hiiiii @gyuhanniescarat, it's meeee I'm your cupid!! 🩷 Please enjoy this fresh freak nasty filth I’ve whipped up for you!! 👩🏽‍🍳💋 (and tbh for myslf too bc as a ShuaHannieGyu girly I very much enjoyed creating this hehe)

Thank you 37432987414 billion times to @shadowkoo for the perfect banner!!!! I'm still so obsessed with it! And thank you to my love @soongyeopsal for always being my favorite beta 🥰

The weekend. Easygoing Saturdays and lazy Sundays: the perfect way to end a stressful, fast-paced week.

You're halfway through your weekend and feeling wonderfully relaxed. On Saturday, you did some light cleaning that you were behind on and leisurely, at your own pace, ran a few errands, but most of the day was spent in your apartment, curled up on the couch with a book in hand.

Sundays are for sleeping in and when you do finally wake up, you take a long shower, complete with your favorite candles and a lo-fi mix as you scrub and relax under the warm spray. Once you’re in your comfiest lounge clothes and have taken the time to whip up a yummy brunch, you settle in on your couch, remote in hand. There are a number of dramas that are overdue for your attention, so you decide to pick one at random and get lost in it.

And you do manage to get lost in your show, cozy blanket, and your couch. Your brunch has been eaten and your eyes start to droop shut as you feel a midday nap coming on.

This is interrupted when you hear the chime of your phone from somewhere in your blanket cocoon.When you manage to fish it out, you see an incoming call from your best friend.

“Hey, Soo, what’s up?”

“Y/n! Please lend me your baking skills!” She sounds desperate and it makes you nervous.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Sooyoung sighs heavily over the line, the sound of the phone shifting is almost too loud and you have to ​​pull yours away from your ear a little bit.

“Are you busy? Can you come over? I’m trying to make cupcakes for Hyoseob for Valentine’s day, you know, but I fucked up the recipe because you know baking isn’t really my thing and now I’m panicking and don’t know if I’ll get them done by tomorrow and could really use someone who knows what the hell they’re doing in here, please?”

A small laugh leaves you at your best friend’s frazzled speech and you can hear the pout in her voice.You glance around you, taking in one more view of your lazy Sunday setup, before turning off the TV.

“Of course, I’ll get dressed and come over.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much, Y/n! I love you so much, thank you, thank you!!”

“Love you too. See you in a few.”

Once you hang up you sigh. You do enjoy baking and you always love spending time with Sooyoung so helping her won’t hurt. It’s not really the plan you had for today, but it could be worse, so you won’t complain. Not too much at least.

At least the drive to Sooyoung’s isn’t long and there wasn’t much traffic on the road which you’re grateful for. You get to the small house she shares with her brother and it only takes one knock to have her swinging the door open.

“Thank god, come in!” She grabs your arm, giving you enough time to at least take off your shoes, and parades you into the kitchen. As you pass the hallway, you can hear voices and the sound of a TV in the distance.

“Is Jeonghan here?” you ask, trying to sound casual. You do a great job at not making any indication that you’re actually hopeful that her older brother is here.

Yoon Jeonghan is the prettiest man you’ve ever had the pleasure of being around. And as of two months ago, he’s also the prettiest man who you’ve been lucky enough to have pleasured you.

It wasn’t on purpose, you always remind yourself. You just so happened to be over, drinking with Sooyoung and her brother as you all hung out on a Saturday night. Sooyoung drank a little too much and passed out. You and Jeonghan did your best to take her to her room and tuck her in.

Honestly, after that you’re not even sure how it happened, but you ended up riding Jeonghan on his bed and he gave you what you still think was quite possibly the best orgasm you’ve ever experienced in your life.

Since then, you and he have hooked up secretly here and there when given the chance, but nothing serious has come of it. He just has a pretty dick and knows how to fuck so who are you to say no when he offers?

“Oh, yeah sorry. He and Mingyu are here, unfortunately. Mingyu stayed over last night and wouldn’t you know, neither of them helped me at all!”

“Well, Jeonghan doesn’t really belong in the kitchen,” you joke. You also hide how you nearly choke on your spit when she mentions Mingyu’s name. You don’t know him that well, but he’s around enough that you can easily remember what he looks like (gorgeous) and how he’s built (like a greek god).

“Yeah, but Mingyu does! Remember he made that cake for my birthday last year! And the food he made at our housewarming. But when I asked, Jeonghan said ‘no they’re busy’ and dragged him away. They’ve been in his room all day doing whatever it is men do.” Sooyoung scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, that’s fine because now my bestie is here and is a better baker than all of us combined!”

You smile, genuinely appreciating the compliment, but also taking in the state of the kitchen. It’s a good size with a decent amount of counter space and great natural lighting. Said counter space now, though, is covered in ingredients and bowls and even some sprinkles and sugar and flour.

“So uh, what was the plan in here?” you ask, doing a slow lap around the room and eyeing two bowls of what looks like batter and fluffy, pink icing.

“Okay, so I wanted to make a batch of strawberry and a batch of chocolate cupcakes for Hyo, but then I burnt the chocolate cakes so those are a dud, and I ran out of sugar for the strawberry cupcakes and the chocolate frosting. I’ve been at this since I woke up at like 9 and all I have to show for it is a burnt tray and this mess you can see. The only thing I think I did right was the strawberry frosting.” She gestures to the bowl closest to you. You grab a spoon from the drawer and dip into the frosting, taking a small amount.

“Mmm. This is good.”

“Thank you! But now, I have to go to the store and get the missing ingredients and then try this again which is why I called you because if I go and get what I need and screw it up again, I think I’m going to have a full meltdown and cancel Valentine’s day.” Sooyoung lets out a huff, shoulders deflating as she sniffs.

You toss the spoon in the sink and rush over to hug your friend. You push away your thirsty thoughts for her brother and his friend and focus on her.

“Hey, it’s okay, girl! I’m here now, okay? I’ll help you tidy up, we’ll go over the ingredients you have left, make a list for the store, and get a game plan going okay? I’m here to help.”

With wide, shining eyes, Sooyoung pulls back and pouts at you. “You promise?”

“Of course! I got you.”

The brunette girl smiles at you, sniffling once more and then she lets you direct her to where to start.

It doesn’t take long to tidy up and get everything ready to start baking again. You toss the unfortunate batch of burnt chocolate cupcakes and place plastic wrap over the bowl of strawberry frosting, setting it aside since it’s the only success so far.

You help Sooyoung with the list of things she needs to grab for the chocolate cupcakes plus some extra ingredients just in case. After tidying up, you find out she has just enough of everything else for you to start the batter for the strawberry cupcakes while she’s gone.

“I shouldn’t take too long! I know the store closest to us is closed on Sundays, but there’s one like twenty minutes away so I should be back when the cupcakes are at least in the oven!”

You’re making sure you have everything in front of you that you need to prepare the batter so you nod, agreeing with her and saying goodbye. Once Sooyoung is gone, your borrowed apron is tied, you play some music on your phone, humming along, lost in your own baking world.

“If I had known there’d be a cute girl in my kitchen, I would’ve come out here to help a while ago.”

Jeonghan’s voice from the doorway makes you jump. You’d just added together the wet and dry ingredients and the sudden intrusion nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

You offer a wave as he and Mingyu file into the kitchen with Jeonghan coming to stand behind you.

“Well, your sister needed help and you didn’t come to offer a hand.” You hum, feeling Jeonghan’s hand ghosting over your hips and thighs.

“Yeah, but I’d much rather help you.”

“But what if I don’t need any help?” you shoot back, glancing over your other shoulder, seeing Mingyu hovering over the bowl of strawberry frosting on the kitchen island.

“Hmm, well I don’t know about that… It looks like you might need some help here.” As he speaks, his nimble fingers trail to the front of your jeans, ghosting over your covered crotch.

“Jeonghan,” you warn, “I have to get this batter in the oven while Sooyoung is gone. She’s gonna expect them to be baking.”

Normally, Jeonghan’s silky soft voice and skilled hands has your clothes off of you in no time. You and he had fallen into an unspoken kind-of friends with benefits thing. You don’t really talk for leisure over the phone or anything, save for a few flirty texts sometimes when you post something he likes online, but most of your communication is in person when you’re with Sooyoung or with each other’s tongues in your mouths when it’s just the two of you.

Sooyoung doesn’t know that you’ve been fucking her brother for the last two months, mostly because you don’t know how to even approach the subject. Plus, it’s just casual fun that you and Jeonghan have. It’s not like you’re dating or anything.

That’s not to say you wouldn’t date Jeonghan, but that’s an entirely other conversation to be had and feelings to unearth that you’d prefer to stay buried until that’s something you have the energy to dive into. For now, casually fucking him whenever you can will suffice.

“Hey, I’m not stopping you. Keep doing what you’re doing.” His voice is low, a smirk quirking at the corners as he places feather light kisses on your neck. His hands land on your hips, lightly squeezing as he brings the front of his body flush with you.

As best as you can, you finish adding everything to the bowl, grabbing the whisk a few inches away from you and starting to combine all of the ingredients. It proves to be more difficult than you thought when Jeonghan starts nibbling at the skin at the base of your neck, pulling your sweater collar aside to get to it.

A soft, breathy sound slips out of you when he bites down, the bowl almost falling out of your hand as you tilt it to get a better angle. Luckily it doesn’t, but you do spill some of the batter on the counter.

“Oops. You better be careful not to make a mess, sweetheart.”

He’s playing so dirty by dropping a pet name, and it immediately has your stomach clenching. Jeonghan reaches over you, his finger scooping up the splattered batter. He brings it up to your lips, waiting.

He doesn’t have to wait long, your mouth opening and the digit eagerly dipping inside, landing on your tongue. You close your lips and suck, eyes slipping closed both at the taste and the gesture itself.

“Good girl,” Jeonghan whispers and it takes everything in you not to turn and fall to your knees in front of him right then.

You and Jeonghan are lost in each other, you still lightly suckling on his finger while he peppers the side of your neck with kisses again.

“Um,” a third voice clears from behind you both and your eyes shoot open, letting go of Jeonghan’s finger. You had completely forgotten that Mingyu was less than a foot away.

You straighten up, focusing on the task at hand again, whisking the sweet concoction and trying to calm your wild heartbeat.

Jeonghan turns to Mingyu with an eyebrow raised, both hands resting on your hips. “What’s up?”

Mingyu lets out a nervous chuckle, hand moving up to push back his dark locks. “I mean… Bro, I’m standing right here.”

“So?” Jeonghan challenges. “What’s a little fun amongst friends? I’m always down for fun. What about you baby, do you like to have fun?” The latter part is for you, your eyes darting over your shoulder to Jeonghan, to Mingyu, then back to Jeonghan.

Is…is he saying what you think he's saying? Is he proposing you hook up with him and Mingyu? You don’t want to say it out loud, scared you’re reading the room incorrectly. You hold Jeonghan’s gaze for a few seconds, his smile softening just a little and eyes twinkling as he blinks.

“Y-yeah. I like to have fun.”

“See!” Jeonghan immediately says, reaching out to pinch your waist. “Baby is always so nice to me and she’ll also be nice to my friend.” A shiver runs through you at his words and it takes real work and concentration to focus on making sure you don’t fling cupcake batter all over.

Jeonghan uses the beat of silence in the room and your concentration on your work as an opportunity.

Soft hands are back at your waist, rubbing and squeezing lightly before his fingers practically dance to the front of your jeans. He plays with your zipper for a few seconds before pulling the metal down and easily undoing the button.

You can’t help the way your breath catches in your throat when he slips his hand into your pants, fingers immediately finding your covered clit. A squeak comes out of you as Jeonghan applies light, casual pressure, humming in satisfaction. Your mixing is paused as you close your eyes, relishing in the slow, meticulous circles he makes.

“Make sure you concentrate, sweetheart. Didn’t you say you have to finish this by the time my sister comes back?” His tone is teasing and he chuckles at the way you flinch when he reminds you that you’re on a timer.

It takes all of your resolve, but you do hone in on the bowl in front of you, finally deeming it smooth enough to be baked.

Jeonghan’s fingers stay pressed on the outside of your underwear, but he gives you enough room to reach over to grab at the cupcake pans that have been greased and sat waiting nearby.

Mingyu is now standing closer than before, not close enough to touch, but close enough that his eyes can see where Jeonghan’s hand is.

With shaking hands, you begin pouring the batter into the cupcake slots. It’s truly a feat as his fingers are still working at you. The task suddenly becomes almost impossible when said fingers finally slip into your panties, slender digits rubbing against your already wet folds.

A yelp comes from you which makes Jeonghan coo at you. “Look at you, baby. Already wet just from some teasing.”

“I - it’s your fault,” you manage to sigh out, faux annoyance in your words which Jeonghan already knows is a front.

“Not my fault you want my fingers inside you so bad. That is what you want, isn’t it?” His lips ghost over your neck again and you feel him hover so close to your entrance, but not actually making a move to enter you.

“Fuck, you know it is, Hannie.”

Jeonghan grins ear to ear - you only bring out his nickname when he’s making you feel good.

“Wanna hear you say it, baby.” The tip of his finger is right there - all he needs to do is crook his finger and he’ll push his way into your hole.

“Hannie,” you beg, “please, please, please put your fingers in me? I need you,” The words are breathy and your hands have stopped working, gripping the half empty bowl as you await his next move.

“Since you used your manners and said please, I suppose I can. Just make sure you finish your batter,” his hair tickles your neck as he leans down to kiss your neck again and he finally slips a finger into your pussy.

“A-ahhh!” You let out a breathy moan as he finally gives you what you want, immediately pulling you closer to his chest while you pour the batter, every single inch of your brain struggling not to fuck it up.

When you finally get the cupcake pan filled, Jeonghan has slipped two fingers into your cunt, his fingers working you slowly, the sounds of your own wetness mixes with the music you still have playing on your phone in the background.

“Hannie,” you breathe out, eyes fluttering closed as he finds your g-spot, massaging it with gentle strokes.

“Yes, baby?”

“I - the oven. I need to p-put these in,” the sentence is a struggle and Jeonghan chuckles, loving the way you go almost braindead when he’s touching you.

Jeonghan slips his fingers out of you and you whimper at the loss. He finally backs away, allowing you room to open the oven. Everything is quiet save for your music and your rapid breathing.

Once the mini cakes are in, the timer is set, and oven mitts are placed aside, Jeonghan strikes.

He spins you around, letting your ass hit the counter as he cups your face and leans in to kiss you finally. Soft lips work expertly over yours, drawing little sighs out of you. Jeonghan’s an excellent kisser, in addition to an amazing lay, so kissing him always sets your body alight. His hands eventually drift from your face, one inching up to the back of your neck to wrap around the base while the other slips down and behind you to grab a handful of your ass, pulling your body flush against his. You can already feel his half-hard erection poking against you and you clench your thighs together.

You and Jeonghan make out sloppily, the kiss nothing but teeth and tongue and little noises you both make. Eventually, he pulls away, both of you panting. He turns his head and gestures for Mingyu to come closer.

You shamelessly eye the very tall and very wide man that approaches. His black long-sleeved shirt hugs his chest in a sinful way and his loose fitting pants do very little to hide his obvious arousal.

“Mingyu already knows that we sometimes like to spend time together. I figured that since we’re all here and we have a little time, you can show him just how good you can be. I think you want to anyway.” Jeonghan pulls you away from the counter and maneuvers you into Mingyu’s surprised hold.

His arms wrap around your middle, loosely hanging there but making no move to let you go. Your hands land on his chest and you can’t hold back from squeezing the firm muscle underneath. He blinks down at you, eyes boring into yours in mild shock. He effortlessly recovers from his shock of suddenly having you in his hold, a smirk replacing the ‘o’ shape his mouth had taken.

“I’d love to actually,” you whisper out finally, gulping audibly when you finally catch a whiff of Mingyu’s warm cologne. “But your sister is only going to the store for a few things so we don’t have time.”

As if forgetting that you’re only this close because of her absence, Jeonghan pauses next to you, and feels the pockets of his sweats for his phone.

“Damn, I think I left my phone in my room. What time is it?”

“Check my phone,” you jerk your head towards the counter, directing him to where your phone lays charging a few inches away. You’re still leaning against Mingyu’s firm chest as the man rubs circles into your lower back that have your knees feeling like jelly at just how warm and gentle and big his hands are.

Your eyes are staring at his lips as he looks between yours and your eyes. It’s clear you’re both wanting to do something but are waiting for an update on the timing you have.

“Well will you look at that,” Jeonghan starts as he looks at your phone. He brings it to you, showing you a notification on your lock screen from Sooyoung. The words start with ‘I fucking hate traffic…”

Reluctantly you move one hand from Mingyu’s chest to take your phone and unlock it.

Sure enough, when you get to the messages, there’s a few texts from Sooyoung, complaining about traffic and an accident that’s taking so long she hasn’t even made it halfway to the store yet.

You send a few texts back and forth and she says she isn’t sure how long it’ll take to get there and back now, but she’s not going to give up. You reply that the cupcakes are in the oven now so everything is still on track and encourage her not to let the traffic win. You remind her of her boyfriend whom she’s doing all this for and how happy he’ll be to receive handmade edible gifts from her. You think it’ll give you enough time.

You make sure your ringer is turned on and tell her to update you along her journey and she agrees. Handing your phone back to Jeonghan, you fill him and Mingyu in on Sooyoung’s current location and the status of the trip.

“So…what does she think, she’ll take more than half an hour?” Mingyu speaks up, finally uttering more than a few words.

“Probably,” you guess, both hands now back, firmly planted on the man.

“If you ask me, I think that’s enough time for some fun,” Jeonghan offers, fingers playing with the tie on the back of your apron.

“I think you’re right,” you agree. It’s all you need to say before both men start to move.

Mingyu finally leans down and captures your lips in a rough kiss. His tongue immediately darts out, licking at your lips, begging for entrance. You allow him in, his tongue plunging into your mouth to taste every part of you.

Behind you, Jeonghan manages to untie your apron as his hands move to the waistband of your jeans and easily slide them down your legs. His fingers, a little cold, trace the front of your panties before he’s yanking those down too and helping you step out of them. Your body jumps at the sensation of being exposed like this, but Mingyu moves from your lips to your neck and that’s what your attention is diverted to.

Jeonghan’s hands caress your ass, kneading and handling your cheeks slowly but roughly.

“Sorry, Gyu, but I need to see her,” he warns before pulling you away from Mingyu and turning you so you can lean your upper body on the counter.

You let out a yelp at both the sudden turn and at the fact that you’re bent over the kitchen counter, naked ass and cunt on full display for them.

“Fuck,” Mingyu hisses before you feel a hand land a surprising smack on your ass.

“Right? She’s already fucking glistening, isn’t she,” Jeonghan agrees and you can’t help the embarrassment that heats up your spine, knowing your wetness is evident and being observed. There’s a moment of shuffling before you feel soft hands on you again, pushing apart your legs more. “Can you make room for me, sweetheart? Gotta show Gyu how good you look.” Of course you oblige, opening as wide as is comfortable and resting more on the counter.

“Just like that,” Jeonghan praises before he goes in, sinking two fingers back into you, a small, but audible whoosh of air is heard from both men.

Jeonghan, having been between your legs numerous times at this point, knows exactly where to apply pressure and the angle to piston his fingers to have you a moaning mess in his hands.

“Mmph, fuck, Jeonghan!” You can’t help the yell of his name, your knees shaking as he fucks you faster with his fingers. His other hand brushes upward, over your ass and up your spine until it wraps around the back of your neck. He applies the lightest of pressure to the sides of your neck then pushes you down, making your ass poke out more to make his actions more visible to himself and Mingyu.

“Fucking hell,” Mingyu breathes from next to you. When you can manage to lift your head and turn, your drooping eyes see him, hand shoved into his pants, pumping back and forth under the fabric.

Biting your lip, you manage to gesture him over to you with the flick of your hand. Mingyu doesn’t need to be told twice as he scurries next to you, within arm’s length. It’s not the easiest position, but you manage to reach out and shove your hand into his pants. You immediately find his generous length and you wrap your hand around it, squeezing a few times before jerking him off. You worry that your pace is too slow, but the way that Mingyu’s head falls back has you rethinking that. He lets out a low groan as you work him, one hand resting on the counter and the other reaching up to grasp at his own hair.

You marvel at him, this tall, hot man that’s scrunching up his face and biting his lip because of the way your hand moves over his dick.

Wanting to redirect your attention back to him, Jeonghan picks up the pace and eases a third finger into you, his other hand finally snaking around you to press hard against your swollen clit.

“Ah-ah! J-Jeonghan, please.”

“Hmmm?” he hums, already knowing what you want.

“Faster, please. ‘M gonna cum!” He makes a noise of acknowledgement and the movements on your bundle of nerves become harder.

“I guess I’ll let you cum. You’ve been good so far, especially helping Mingyu out with his problem.” His words sound sweet, but you also know if this was just you and him and you had more time, he’d still be teasing you until you cry. That’s not the case now though, as Jeonghan takes a moment to readjust the angle of his hand before he’s driving his fingers in and out of you with all of his force while his other hand still busies itself with your swollen clit.

Your grip on Mingyu’s dick falters, your eyes fluttering closed again as Jeonghan works to push you closer to the edge. Without missing a beat, Mingyu’s hand rests over yours, guiding you up and down his length which seems just as good as you doing it on your own.

Mingyu’s moans match yours in frequency, both high pitched and breathy. “J-Jeonghan, just like that, shit! Fuck!” When you finally cum, your face rests against the tile, yelps echoing in your own ears. Mingyu lets your hand go to allow you to grip the counter top, trying to keep your balance.

Jeonghan, being who he usually is when you’re together, doesn’t immediately let up his actions, fingers still tapping at your sensitive bud a few more times before you’re whining even more and attempting to close your legs.

With a snicker, he finally pulls back, sighing loudly as he dramatically licks his fingers.

“So fucking good as always.”

“Yeah?” Mingyu quips, his eyes locked in on your swollen folds, wet with your release.

“Yeah, you should have a taste too, Gyu.”

You don’t even get a chance to ask the time or check your phone, which is what you thought about doing first, because Mingyu’s got your hips in his grasp and turns you around. Your wide eyes stare at him and you think that he has to look just as ruined as you feel.

“Would you mind if I get a taste of you, babydoll?” Something about the way the pet name rolls off Mingyu’s tongue sends a whole other sensation rocketing through you.

You breathe out a ‘yes,’ and Mingyu immediately uses his strength to lift you quickly from around your waist.

“Mingyu!” you squeal, arms wrapping around his neck as he carries you to the kitchen island and places you down as if you weigh nothing. He winks at you before he’s sliding down to his knees and opening your thighs.

He lets out a low whistle which you want to ask the meaning of, but you don’t get a chance as he surges forward, wrapping his lips around your still sensitive clit.

He suckles the nub a few times as you whine above him before diving his tongue into your entrance. He wastes no time eating you out more frantically than you think even Jeonghan has. Within no time you’re a moaning mess, head rolling back and body both trying to run from his talented mouth and trying to push yourself closer. He keeps his hands positioned on your thighs, gripping you so that even when you try and flinch away, he can still direct you back to his mouth.

He makes small grunts from below you, some of satisfaction, but most are just from getting lost in you: sounds of pleasure as his tongue darts in and out of your entrance, his lips latched onto your lower ones. It feels as though he’s got his entire face buried between your legs, his mouth damn near enveloping your entire pussy. His tongue is stiff as it darts in and out of you, rubbing against your walls and licking every inch of you that he possibly can.

Your eyes are closed, but you still hear the soft sound of Jeonghan’s footsteps moving closer. “Fuck, baby I didn’t know how hot it’d be to see you get eaten out. Wish I had my phone right now to remember this.”

Somewhere in your foggy brain, you register his words and glare at him. Or at least you think it’s a glare - it’s hard to tell when you can barely keep your eyes open.

Either way, the older man gets the intention, chuckling and raising his hands. “Yeah, yeah I won’t.” His eyes sweep over your body, leaning forward to ease the apron from around your head, followed by your sweater and your bra.

Sitting completely naked on your best friend’s kitchen counter is the last place you thought you’d be today, yet here you are. Mingyu’s grunts between your legs can be felt through every part of your body, your next orgasm on the horizon.

“M - Mingyu! Fuck, ‘m gonna cum again!”

The man clearly hears you, making a sound of acknowledgement before his tongue moves up to suck hard on your clit. Two thick fingers slip easily into your twitching hole, moving fast and in time with his wild tongue.

Jeonghan grunts at the sight, his own pants now at his knees as he fists his cock, watching your body twitch and jerk. His eyes lock onto your tits, nipples hard and inviting and he almost leans forward to capture one in his mouth when his eyes suddenly dart to the bowl of frosting not too far from you all.

He’s reaching for it and taking the plastic off. He at least has enough decorum to grab a big spoon from a nearby drawer, scooping a hearty amount out. He takes a small dollop on one finger and reaches forward to smear it over one of your nipples.

The sensation catches you off guard as your eyes fly open to look, being met with Jeonghan’s almost cat-like grin. You don’t even get a chance to question his actions or scold him for dipping into the frosting before he’s leaning in, tongue lazily circling your areola and gingerly scraping his teeth over your nipple.

A single suckle follows and that’s all it takes for you to lock your thighs around Mingyu’s head, arching your back and letting out a long moan as you cum suddenly. Your eyes cross as the pleasure washes over you, letting yourself slump backwards on the counter, head hanging off as Mingyu snuffles against your skin and laps at your folds, cleaning up your release.

“Fucking shit,” Mingyu huffs when he finally decides to come up for air. “That was so fucking hot, you’re so fucking hot. And you taste amazing.”

You wheeze out a thanks, Jeonghan’s laugh ringing in your ears is the most evil yet sexiest thing you hear over your own breathing.

“Speaking of taste…” he trails off and doesn’t say anything else before you feel him on your other nipple and you jolt, head raising to look at him. He swirls another dollop of frosting on you, gesturing to Mingyu. The taller man doesn’t even question it as he leans down to pop your tit into his mouth.

“Oh!” you gasp as his tongue swirls around your nipple, moving round in a circle before sucking. Even when the frosting is gone, he stays latched to your chest and you’re squirming underneath him. Jeonghan attaches his mouth to your other side, smearing frosting from your nipple and up your breast, all the way to your collarbone. His tongue cleans up your nipple before his tongue is licking up, up, up to clean the sticky sugar off of you.

Mingyu sits up, letting go of your tit with a wet pop and reaches to grab the spoon of frosting from Jeonghan. He takes a glob and you watch as he draws a shape on your chest and sternum, mind too scrambled from Jeonghan’s licks to tell what it is. When Mingyu is satisfied with what he’s done, he gives you a once over with wide, blown out eyes and then his hungry mouth is on your skin again, cleaning up the mess he made on you slowly and deliberately. He makes sure his teeth scrape every inch of sensitive skin on you as he goes, ending right back at your swollen nipple.

You’re nothing but pants and cries and whimpers as both men do more of the same. Taking turns covering your chest in frosting then licking it off.

Between the heat of the oven and the heat of their mouths and hands that grip your thighs and hips, you’re feeling dizzy and are convinced you’re now dripping onto the tile underneath your body.

Somewhere in the distance you hear your phone ding, eyes snapping open at the possibility that it’s Sooyoung.

“My phone!” You squeak out, wriggling under their holds.

Jeonghan releases your abused skin, heavy lidded eyes look you over before he quickly turns to grab your phone.

“Looks like my sister is at the store. Says she shouldn’t take long and that the accident was clearing up as she finally made it through so she should be home pretty soon.”

Jeonghan reacts to his sister’s message with a thumbs up and rejoins you and his friend.

“Please, need you, one of you, both of you, just someone,” you plead to them. Between your desire to be fucked and the fact that the countdown is on until your best friend will be coming home, you don’t care who does it as long as one of them gets inside you.

“Normally, I’d make you beg for me more and make you wait, but we are in a time crunch,” Jeonghan agrees, looking over your trembling form. “Where do you want us?”

“Don’t care,” you sigh out when Mingyu finally pulls his puffy lips off of you.

He and Jeonghan share a look, clearly deciding who will go where. Just knowing that the two men are having a silent conversation as to which one of them will do what to your body has your thighs rubbing together in clear anticipation. Jeonghan glances at you, smirking at your movements before he’s moving around the island, laying your head back to hang off of it again.

“Here’s what we’ll do, Mingyu will stuff that needy pussy of yours since he’s my guest. Think you can handle sucking me off while he does?”

“Fuck, yes,” you nod eagerly the best you can from your angle, senses tingling at the idea of a new position you’ve never done. “Need something under my neck though,” Jeonghan leaves your side for a moment to grab what looks like his sweatpants. He rolls the fabric up and places it under your head and shoulders for support. Jeongha’s hands caress your face and shoulders, watching as Mingyu gets into position between your legs.

Knowing time is of the essence at this point, strong hands run down your thighs, settling behind your knees to spread them more. You soon fill the blunt, large tip of Mingyu’s dick nudge your entrance and you shudder.

He rubs the bulbous head against your folds, nudging your clit once before slathering himself in your juices and bringing it back to your entrance.

“Ready, babydoll?” he asks, readjusting his hold on the back of your knees.

“Yes, please!” The words barely leave your mouth before Mingyu is pushing in, inch by girthy inch, stretching you slowly as he goes.

“Shit, you’re still so tight,” he mumbles through gritted teeth as he goes slower and slower until he’s finally nestled between your silky walls and his pelvis is almost flush with the back of your thighs.

“She always is, no matter how many times I get her to cum for me,” Jeonghan marvels, eyes locked on where you and Mingyu are joined. He watches as Mingyu pulls back, cock sliding almost all the way out before slamming his hips, pushing a true scream out of your pretty lips. His friend wastes no time in building a fast-pace, sending your body jerking back and forth on the counter so hard, your hands raise above your head for something to find purchase on.

That something turns out to be Jeonghan’s thighs as he moves closer into your space. He helps you ease your head back until it drops back off the edge and he’s standing right in front of your face.

“Open up for me, sweetheart,” he coos down at you and you do as he says, mouth falling open in a loud moan as Mingyu’s cock hits a spot deep inside of you. Jeonghan’s dick, long, curved, and as pretty as the rest of him, eases into your mouth.

Mingyu slows down enough for Jeonghan to comfortably settle in your mouth, giving a few short thrusts. Both men curse under their breaths when they listen to the gagging sound that comes out of you as Jeonghan’s length hits the back of your throat.

“Tap my thigh twice if it’s too much, okay baby?” Jeonghan says to you and you tap his thigh once to let him know you heard him. “Good girl. Gonna fuck this pretty little mouth now, okay?” Your response is muffled, but it's affirmative and that’s all Jeonghan needs to begin moving his hips, the tip of his dick hitting the back of your throat again and again with slow, languid thrusts. The deliberate pace allows you to steady your breathing and shut your eyes to concentrate on taking him.

Soon enough, his thrusts are faster and Mingyu takes this as his cue to resume his movements as well. He doesn’t start as frantic as he did when he first slid into you, but his thrusts are so deep, you can also feel him in your chest. His dick is as big as the rest of him and you’re made aware of that as he stretches every inch of your walls to mold around him.

As soon as both men hear your whines around Jeongha’s length, they look at each other, nodding with a silent understanding of how they’ll fuck you together.

Mingyu’s pace goes from casual to anything but as he begins to drive his hips into yours again. His fingers dig into your hips as he fucks you, keeping you pinned in place as he does to keep you from sliding from the force.

Jeonghan’s gentle hands rest on either side of your head, stroking your cheeks carefully as he fucks your mouth, eyes falling closed as he does.

Your body feels like it’s on fire with both the sensation of your pussy and your mouth being used by both men. Your eyes stay wrenched closed tightly as you seesaw between them, back and forth, back and forth. Your ears can only pick up the wet squelches of your spit around Jeonghan’s cock and the sharp slap of Mingyu’s muscular thighs hitting the back of yours. He still has your legs up and open, pressing himself into you as far as he physically can.

“Fuck, your mouth is fucking heaven, baby,” Jeonghan grunts as he drives his dick back and forth between your lips. He watches the drool pool around your mouth and drip down your face. He thinks he sees tears prick at your lash line too and the sight is nearly enough to have him explode right on the spot, but he holds back, wanting you to cum first.

Mingyu lets out a string of curses as he buries himself deeper, eyes fixated on the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing in you, covered in a white ring of both of your juices. His eyes slide over to the bowl of frosting, still sitting on the counter and he reaches over, scooping more out to rub on your chest again. His pace falters a little as he leans over your body to lick you clean again and you let out a long, drawn out moan around Jeonghan as his red hot tongue licks fire across your sensitive skin.

Jeonghan follows his lead, but instead of covering you in the pink, sticky sweetness, he pulls his dick out of your mouth and smears it on your lips and down his dick instead.

“Baby didn’t get to taste it,” he murmurs so low that it sounds as if he’s almost talking to himself. When he slides himself back into your mouth, the sugary sweet flavor mixes with the heavy, salty taste of his precum and you excitedly accept as he plunges all the way down your throat. You relax and relish in the broken, almost desperate cry that he lets out when you swallow around him. “Shit! Just like that, sweetheart. You’re so fucking good to me,” You preen under the praise and do it again, only getting sidetracked up when Mingyu snaps his hips particularly hard as the same time that he bites down on one of your nipples.

A choked squeal is heard around Jeonghan’s length and both men feel their ends fast approaching.

“Fucking hell, babydoll. You close?” Mingyu asks against your sticky skin, biting and sucking at any of you that he can get his mouth on.

“Mmhmm!” you attempt to answer, which you can before Jeonghan’s dick is obstructing your airway again.

They hear you, though, and both reach out to make you cum first. Mingyu’s fingers toy with your clit, the pad of his thumb digging in to rub harsh circles as Jeonghan’s hot digits wrap around one of your nipples, tugging and pinching.

Your body jumps at the dual sensations, the feelings quickly becoming too much when paired with the sheer fullness you feel on both ends and in every fiber of your being. You feel yourself start to twitch harder, your hands still on Jeonghan’s thighs gripping him tighter as your nails dig into his skin. He hisses above you, all of you hearing the ding from your phone across the room which can only mean Sooyoung is on her way home.

The thought only lingers for a moment before Mingyu gives you a thrust that is just the perfect amount of pressure against your sensitive walls to have your back arching, a yell of what sounds like his name garbles out of you around Jeonghan’s length. The vibrations from your sounds are like a switch for Jeonghan, his body reacting immediately to yours and the way you swallow him almost all the way down as you cry out and cum.

He snaps his hips once more before he’s releasing, cumming down your throat then pulling out, some of his release spurting onto your lips, chin, and neck. You don’t even seem to notice, your eyes open but your attention elsewhere as Mingyu continues bullying his cock into your hypersensitive pussy.

Mingyu cums last, pulling out of your messy folds with a whine. He strokes himself once, twice, and then he’s cumming hard, his release spurting onto your thighs, painting your sweaty skin in white warmth.

The three of you slump in silence, breathing heavily as you clear your heads and get a grip. You feel something prodding your leg and with a heavy head, you manage to lift far enough to see Mingyu rubbing his softening length in the mess he made on your thigh. Clearing your throat to get his attention, he snaps his eyes up to you and stops, smiling sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he coughs. “It’s just…that was so fucking hot,” he repeats again and you can’t help but nod.

“Yeah,” you croak, making both of the men snicker at you. You reach a hand back weakly to swat at Jeonghan who dodges your half-assed attack.

“Here, let's get you cleaned up while we have time,” he says, glancing at the timer above the oven. Your cupcakes have ten minutes left and if he had to estimate, it would take that time plus a little longer before his sister gets home. He and Mingyu both help you sit up with Mingyu grabbing your hands to pull and Jeonghan cradling your head and neck to lift you up. Your joints groan in protest, but you manage to sit up.

Jeonghan moves to grab a paper towel, wetting it with warm water before he’s in front of you, wiping his drying spunk off of your face. Mingyu does the same, and cleans up what’s dried on your thigh.

“Ugh, I feel like I have to take a shower,” you sigh, aware of the uncomfortable sensation on the rest of your skin. Dried spit from both men along with remnants of the now useless pink frosting still smatter over you and you crinkle your nose.

“If you want, you can take a shower and I’ll keep an eye on the oven,” Jeonghan offers as he and Mingyu help you stand on shaky legs. The two of them gather their pants and your clothes as you lean against the counter slowly regaining strength in your body.

“Taking a random shower doesn’t seem suspicious to you?” you question, raising an eyebrow as you gesture to your phone, which Mingyu grabs to hand to you.

“If Sooyoung gets home, we can just say you got stuff on your clothes and you had to shower. I have extra clothes on me you can wear when you get out.” Mingyu offers.

“Yeah, and we’ll even throw your clothes in the washer real quick and she’ll never know!” Jeonghan looks around the kitchen before grabbing the now infamous bowl of strawberry frosting. He stares at it hard before eyeing the kitchen floor and tossing the bowl with enough force to shatter when it hits the floor.

“Jeonghan, what the fuck?!” you scream, flinching at the sound of glass breaking.

“I’ll tell her I knocked the bowl over, it broke, got all over you and now you’re showering. Plus, the frosting was dirty anyway now,” he shrugs, a smile playing on the corners of his lips. Part of you is annoyed at the prospect of having to put more work in to recreate the frosting which was the only part of the whole baking process that turned out successful. “When you’re out, Gyu and I will even help you guys so you’re done quicker.” At his suggestion, you quirk an eyebrow at him. “Okay, well mostly Gyu will help, but I’ll help clean up and do little shit or whatever, okay?”

“Deal,” you decide finally, glancing at your phone. Sooyoung will likely be more than halfway home at this point so you don’t have time to think of another plan.

The three of you split up then. You head for the bathroom to shower while Mingyu starts to clean up the bowl and the frosting from the floor. Jeonghan takes your clothes to the washing machine to start the load, then grabs some clothes from Mingyu’s overnight bag in his room for you to change into.

By the time you’re clean, washed, and in Mingyu’s oversized shorts and t-shirt, you can hear Sooyoung in the kitchen.

When you round the corner into the kitchen, three sets of eyes fix on you and Sooyoung rushes over to you. “Y/n, are you okay?! These two morons told me what they did!”

“Yeah, I’m okay. No injuries to report.” You give her a small smile, ignoring the wiggle of Jeonghan’s eyebrows behind her.

“Good. I feel so bad. If you want you don’t have to help anymore. I’ve already taken up your Sunday and forced you over here to work for free and now my idiot brother has ruined your clothes.”

“I’m literally right here,” Jeoghan reminds his sister as he finishes laying out the groceries she brought home.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Sooyoung grumps, rolling her eyes.

“No, really it’s okay. I’m happy to help and besides, you didn’t ruin my Sunday at all, I promise!” She has no idea how true that statement is, but you manage to reassure her and she eventually nods, believing you, but still saying you can leave at any time.

You set to work helping her begin the batch of chocolate cupcakes as she works on making more strawberry frosting. You truly don’t mind helping, especially if that means you get to share sneaky glances and secret touches with Jeonghan. Today has been anything but a lazy Sunday, but you can’t say you mind too much.

[yok00k]

pensándote

pairing: yandere!bf!jk x reader

genre: angst, smut

summary: your boyfriend is getting more and more possessive and it's starting to affect your relationship. however, he's willing to change for the better. or you thought so.

warnings: MATURE- shower sex(rough), videotaping, jk hits it from the back, oc called jk 'daddy', ass smacking, cheeks were getting clapped, mentioned lots of sex positions, oc got slutted out, jk is lowkey/highkey toxic, sick, and unhealthy, toxic relationship, attachment issues, argument, jk is a stalker w ill behavior/action, [still in denial], open ending[there might be a next part, depending on how rough life could be], not proof read bc writing this is a silly little hobby

word count: 1,611

a/n: ho i’m back and better than ever!!! note that english is not my first language and I write for funsies>..< (this ff is inspired by rauw's pensandote) — to those who knows a lot of reggaeton bangers plz hmu for recs thx

-Llevo to' el día pensándote

“baby wait up” he calmly pleaded, trying to catch up to you. still, you continue to ignore him.

It was about to be 3 a.m. when you and you boyfriend arrived to your apartment from a girls’ night. you and your homegirls planned to have a night out to have let some loose and have fun, lots of drinks and men hitting on you being involved of course. living the city night life has been the part of your lifestyle. however it doesn’t play a huge part of your life anymore. barely anymore since you’ve established a romantic relationship with jeongguk– your suitor for six months. 

you and jeongguk had the same psychology class last year. oftentimes in that class, you’re either too tired from work or still have a hangover from the party the night before. same parties he goes to just so he can see a glimpse of you from afar, trying his best to see the best view of the entire party while trying to manage being lowkey. 

fortunately, jeongguk, who’s sitting next to you in class and also can’t help but to shift his undivided attention to how you’re struggling in some works in class. as a straight A-student and a gentleman, he frequently lends you his notes and offers you help. why? because for some  strange reason, he cares for you. 

well maybe the care is turning into an obsession. but jeongguk keeps telling himself that he’s being harmless. he simply wants to know.  he’s seen you always go out with your close friends, never with any man. on the days you’re not partying, you pick up extra shifts at a nearby coffee shop. how did he know? luck. just happened to stumble upon the shop one day. he swears it’s all coincidence. 

or at least he hopes so. 

you started to see him so often. at your work, parties, gym, or at the grocery store. again and again that you began to think that this might be destiny. each time you see him, he’s always by himself. minding his own business (or make an effort to seem like it). and it made you a little curious. how come this man doesn’t have any hoe or friends around? you frankly thought ‘maybe just his lifestyle’. one day he finally gets out of his comfort zone and asks you if you would be interested to get to know him. obviously, you’d like to know who he truly is. right?

fast forward after courting you for six months, here you are. coming home from a party with him following behind you. 

you would think that he’s going to stop. it’s unexpected and extreme for what he’s about to do next. 

and there he is, both knees on the ground. his large palms reaching for your cold hands. kneeling before you like a desperate man he is.  He knew exactly what he'd done. “please, let’s fix this”

he used to be fun. less controlling. less obsessive. less possessive. 

“oh now you wanna acknowledge the problem?” you scoffed, finding his sudden behavior ridiculous. “fix what problem? you constantly getting overly possessive and manipulative or you just randomly showing up at the party while me and my friends are in the middle of having fun? for fuck sake Jeongguk, let me fucking breathe for once.” 

you’re beyond frustrated. the upcoming finals have been stressing the shit out of you and all you need is some space to relieve stress. 

“baby, you know I’m just making sure that you’re saf–” he starts off with the excuse he always says, but you’re too quick to call him out. “following me to make sure I’m safe? you’re suffocating me.”

he has no response. he knows it’s true. he’s aware of his excessive actions. no, more like impulses. a thing he can’t control. an itch.  jeongguk can’t seem to fight these urges when he knows that there’s lots of men out there that actively hit on you. and he’s terrified, scared that they’ll steal you from his possession as if you’re his favorite toy to ever acquire. 

“I think we should just end this. it’s becoming toxic.” you stuttered under your breath, gasping a handful of your hair as you shifted your gaze on the side. ‘he’s becoming toxic’ is what you really want to say. 

“I.. I will stop. I will change. let me prove to you that I love you and I only want what’s best for you” he cries, tears slowly rolling on his porcelain face. 

“do you still have trust in me?” 

you wanted to shake your head, say no. 

tragically, your answer is yes. but the real question is will he change for the better? 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

jeongguk is a man of his words and kept his promise.  it had been a couple months after that night and you began to notice the changes in his actions. a huge change. 

your boyfriend stops controlling you in a variety of ways. every time you let him know that you’ve got somewhere to go, all he asks for is your assurance that you’re safe and sound. as long as you’re having the best time, he’ll fully support you to whatever it is. 

some nights that you have to study and do homework, he’d restrain himself  from spamming your inbox. he understood that you have priorities and you’ll get back to him as soon as you can. and you did.

lastly, he recently became more consistent on going to the gym. it makes you extremely happy that he’s investing more time to better himself. physically and mentally. redirecting his focus onto something that’s actually more healthy for him.

 or at least that’s what you think he’s doing.

so far, so good. you feel secure that everything is working well. your relationship is doing good. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

—"Tú desnuda, yo dándote"

“k-koo, right there baby” you begged as he continued to drill his thick cock into you from the back. slow and deep. and oh, raw.  “don’t stop, please.” the lewd sound of your ass clapping against his pelvis echoes in the steamy bathroom. all being captured by your cell phone held by his shaky left hand.

 video taping moments like this helps jeongguk cope with his unhealthy behaviors. whenever he feels a tiny bit of jealousy running through his veins, all he has to do is watch these videos to remind himself of what he has. 

you, in whatever nastiest positions he puts you in: doggy, backshots, against the wall, cowgirl, missionary, etc. this r-rated file collection you’ve got on your phone reminds him of the chokehold he’s got you in. yes, it’s all saved on your phone, but it’s not like he doesn’t have access through your apps and social accounts, let alone your camera roll. you’re all his. no one else’s. his. solely his. furthermore, he’ll make sure that he can guarantee himself so. 

perhaps you don’t need to smoke in order to feel like you’re in heaven right now. going for the 3rd round, your boyfriend still can’t get enough of you. 

supposedly was a quick shower right after the gym session you had with him turned into a long and enjoyable one. 

“yeah? you love getting fuck like this, huh?” his cockiness is on top of the roof, he looks down to watch his veiny shaft disappear inside your pussy just for it to come out and back. he’s got the bestest view. not even a phone camera with flash on can justify that. he then props the camera on top of the toilet, leaning against the wall as it still catches both of your filthy actions. 

seeing how much you enjoy this position– bent down in the nearest sink, one hand gripping onto his wrist while the other clutches on the ceramic white sink. the whimpers coming from your skilful mouth can alone make him bust a nut. 

when he receives no reply, the hand that helps you to stay in place snakes its way to your hair, collecting a fistful before tugging it back.  

“answer, slut” he snapped, demanding an answer from you whilst he proceeds to thrusts in and out. with your eyes rolled back, you’re barely processing what he wants from you. unable to even utter a single proper syllable from how ecstatic he’s making you feel. Indeed, you love being treated like a slut. 

in and out. in and out. in and–

smack 

 a sudden sharp pang on your ass cheek, causing you to moan loudly.  “c’mon my love, you’re still with me. right?” he asks, increasing his pace faster. rougher. 

“hmm y-yea, love the way you feeel” you desperately murmured, still clouded by the glorious dick he’s giving you. 

“m-more,” a single word from you is all that your man needs to hear to continue drilling onto you. rough yet with love. 

“almost there,  daddy” your breath hitches, still struggling to speak.  on the other hand, your words made the man pounding into you even crazier than he already is. he began to notice the signs that you’re about to reach your peak as your walls desperately clenched around him. 

he abruptly comes to a stop. pulls out completely from you, resulting in you to release a whine. 

jeongguk manhandles your fragile body, turning your body to face him. he pats the side of your thigh, insisting you to jump and wrap your  legs around his waist.

“want you to look me in the eyes when you come.” he orders, slowly penetrating into you once again, while being face-to-face with you at the same time. 

 just like his destructive actions filled with obsession, he’s not stopping anytime soon,

is he?