#could be four thousand could be fourteen thousand | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nereidprinc3ss · 9 months ago

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do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

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18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him.

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye.

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign.

You look at it.

And then you set your phone down.

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness.

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder.

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside.

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes.

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment.

He looks good. Almost too good.

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek.

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head.

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him.

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully.

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.”

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek.

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best.

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body.

You cover his hand with your own.

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion.

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies.

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks.

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense.

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this.

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy.

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel.

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm.

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him.

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you.

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly.

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds.

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no.

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful.

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly.

“Yes, please.”

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting.

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine.

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for.

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings.

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present.

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing.

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster.

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem.

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest.

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place.

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand.

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair.

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful.

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again.

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you.

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame.

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you.

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?”

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin.

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential.

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands.

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind.

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK.

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake.

He knows.

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity.

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like.

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before.

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it?

Maybe you have it all wrong.

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you.

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick.

24 hours go by.

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up.

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure.

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off.

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking.

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep.

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed.

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone.

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said.

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room.

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while.

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs.

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones.

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble.

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no.

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly.

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence.

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans.

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure. After a pause, he sighs in defeat.

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown.

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless.

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up.

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones. It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic.

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand.

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket.

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter.

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges.

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it.

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer.

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing.

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?”

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you.

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?”

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that.

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before.

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft.

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest.

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows.

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts.

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning.

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration.

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous.

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them.

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit.

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice.

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making.

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now.

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that.

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers.

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute.

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base.

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut.

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock.

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.”

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk.

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump.

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment.

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry.

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!”

He knows.

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist.

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding.

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease.

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more.

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone.

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide.

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else.

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you.

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here.

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength.

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?”

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous.

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue.

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared.

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out.

“You regret your first time?”

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does.

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash.

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins.

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same.

You want to scream bloody murder.

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse.

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence.

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back.

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me.

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later.

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was.

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help.

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does.

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound.

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more.

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right.

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here.

“Goodnight.”

part five

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

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babygirlboeser · 8 months ago

Text

So It Goes…

pairing: matt rempe x f! reader

wc: 4.1k

genres: mainly smut, kinda fluffy leading up to the filth and soft aftercare

summary: matt played so well tonight, and he deserves to be celebrated. you were eager to show him just how proud of him you were.

note: this takes place on may 24th 2024, after round 3 game 2

warnings: pure filth, unprotected p in v, oral (both m and f receiving), fingering, cursing, shitty writing and probably typos

a/n: i haven’t really written anything longer than blurbs in a few years so this is very rusty as it’s my first full length fic in ages i’m sorry

18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI

It was too risky. This was the playoffs, every second counts, and they couldn’t run the chance of taking any unnecessary penalties. Okay, yes, he’s a very physical player and surely your boyfriend deserves a fair amount of the penalties he’s dealt, but at times it really was complete utter bullshit. You swore sometimes he was penalized for just existing too close to another player. The officials hate him, so in crucial moments like these, it was too risky to play him. With one goal from each team in the first, followed by two scoreless periods, game two of the Eastern Conference Final was heading into overtime.

It was rare for Matt to get a shift in the third period, let alone in overtime. Which is why your heart practically burst when you saw your boy step onto the ice tonight, in not two, not three, but all four periods. You were surprised, but so excited for him. You can’t imagine how buzzed he must be feeling right now.

He loved it, the energy, the roar of the crowd chanting his name. It was like a drug to him. Whether it be massive hits, starting a line brawl, or just playing an energetic shift, he lived to put on a show. Matt had become something of a fan favorite since his debut, and the crowd went wild when they realized he was getting a shift in overtime. All eyes were on your boyfriend as he skated across the ice, the chants of his name fueling him. He was the hottest thing in New York these days, the center of attention that nobody could take their eyes off of. It was like nobody else mattered when Rempe was on the ice. You’ll admit, it did make you a little insecure. There were thousands of pretty girls here that wanted him, staring at him, yelling his name. But in that sea of other girls, the only one he cared about was you. You were his good luck charm. He played better when you were there, and he always made sure he knew where you were sitting so he could look for you in the stands. He always gave it his all, but a quick glance to you in the crowd was sure to give him that extra boost of motivation to play even better. He appreciates the fans so much, but what he loved the most was knowing that his girl was there. Cheering him on, supporting him every step of the way. You attended every game you possibly could. His average time on ice wasn’t high, and he always felt bad when you would show up to games where his TOI was especially low, profusely apologizing for wasting your time. You reminded him you didn’t care if he played sixty minutes or two, you were there to support him no matter what.

With every minute that passed you wondered more and more if you would be seeing a second overtime, until suddenly the entire arena erupted in cheers as Goodrow netted the game winner, fourteen minutes into overtime. The section where you sat with the other WAGs was especially loud, all of you thrilled for the guys. After the recent 3-0 loss, you were all undoubtedly very happy with the outcome of tonight's game, the series now tied 1-1.

As the crowd dissipated you made your way down to the parking lot. You and Matt usually drove separately as he needed to be there earlier, so you would head home and wait for him. You say goodbye to a few of the other ladies as you get in your car, then shoot off a quick text to Matt before you start your drive home.

hey baby i’m just heading out now, you played amazing i’m so so proud of you and can’t wait to see u. so happy you got some OT!!!! if ur going out with the guys have fun and be safe and i’ll see you at home later, i love you so much <3

You and Matt’s apartment wasn’t far from Madison Square Garden, but the New York traffic combined with your eagerness to get home were making this drive feel endless. You figured he might go out to celebrate with some of the guys for a while, but you still wanted to get home and wait for him, impatient and eager to wrap him in your arms, smothering him with kisses and praise of how well he performed tonight. You hoped he was as proud of himself as you were of him. With nine hits, a TOI of 10:06, which may not sound like much, but was significantly higher than usual, and surprisingly no penalties, this was one of his best games yet. You yourself were still buzzing with excitement from the game, you can’t imagine how he must feel.

Home now, you made your way to the couch, settling down with a book to pass some time. You were startled upon hearing Matt’s key in the door merely minutes after you had walked in. You didn’t expect him home this early, but you were glad he was. As Matt makes his way inside, you try to restrain yourself from jumping up and throwing yourself at him like a total crazy person. You didn’t try very hard.

“Hi” You say through a giggle, a big smile plastered across your face as you practically leap towards him.

As you reach him, you essentially climb him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he swiftly scoops you up by your thighs, holding you close against his body. As you wrap your legs tightly around his waist, he puts one hand under your ass for support, and the other rubs up and down your back.

“I thought you would be going out with the guys?” You question, while you begin running your hands through his hair.

“Tired. Just wanted to come home to you. Crazy game.” His response slightly muffled as he nuzzles his face against you, pressing kisses to your neck.

“Yeah it was.” You say. Hand still tangled in his hair, you pull his face from your neck and pull him to your lips for a quick, sloppy kiss.

“I’m so proud of you.” You whisper.

“Shut up.” He murmurs playfully, avoiding your eyes.

He blushes at the praise and quickly buries his face in your neck again, not wanting you to see him rosy-cheeked. The tough guy act wasn’t working, it rarely did with you. He was a big sweetheart and you both knew it, whether he would ever admit it or not. Sure he was tough as nails on the ice, but off? Total teddy bear, especially for you. You saw through him so easily, and he wasn’t sure if he loved or hated how easily you could turn him into a blushing, giggling mess. A blushing mess who was truly loving the way you were talking about him right now, so happy that you liked his game tonight. His team, the fans, his family, and his girl; he just wanted to make them proud. And that he did. He always did.

Despite playing shy, you could tell he was loving the way you spoke so highly of him, and you were loving it too. You were so in love with this beautiful boy. How could you not literally worship him? You gently tug at his hair once more, making his eyes meet yours, wanting to see him as you were seriously loving how cute he looked like this, all smiley and pink in the face.

“Baby! You played so well. I’m really proud of you. And you got a shift in overtime! That’s amazing! This was a huge game for you, aren’t you proud of yourself?” You ask.

“Okay, okay, it was pretty great.” He says excitedly and his smile grows as the blush begins to fade. You can tell he’s still feeling the exhilaration of the game.

‘Yeah it was!” You agree.

“And no bullshit penalties!” He exclaims.

“I know, I can’t believe it either!” You both laugh and he smirks. God, that smirk does unspeakable things to you.

Sliding a hand to the back of your neck, Matt softly pulls you closer until your faces are just a hair apart, practically touching.

“I love you so much.” He whispers.

“I love you too, baby.” You respond and he pulls you in for a deep kiss.

It was moments like these where all jealousy went out the window and you truly couldn’t care less about those other girls. Some of them would recognize you in the stands and shoot dirty looks your way, but you just laughed. You were the one wrapped around him right now, and you were the one that he loved. When everyone wanted him, he only wanted you. You felt so unbelievably lucky, yet truly confused as to how you managed to pull this man. This perfect, amazing man, who played his best tonight, and looked really fucking hot while doing it. Although, you thought he looked good doing anything. He looked good right now. Pressed up against you, that pretty smile, those big brown eyes. Not to mention, the occasional squeeze he was giving your ass was not helping your sanity. You hoped he wasn’t too tired from the game, because fuck, you were getting so turned on.

Of course he’s happy about his TOI, and that he got to play in overtime, but most of all he’s so glad that you’re proud of him. There’s nothing he loves more than seeing you smile, and the fact that he’s the reason for it is absolutely melting him. He’s buzzing. He just played a really great game, and gets to come home to his beautiful, smiley, giggly girlfriend showering him with praise. Who is also, not to mention, dangerously close to his boner right now. He’s on cloud nine.

You tighten your legs around him and he grunts at the friction.

“You okay?” You say while loosening your legs slightly, not realizing what had just happened and thinking you might have hurt him.

“I- um- yeah” He stutters. You notice his face redden again and suddenly become aware of the hardening member pressing against you.

“Bed. Now.” You demand through a big smile, and you too are blushing now.

With you still tangled around him, he carries you to the bedroom and sits on the bed, you straddling his lap. Matt runs his hands under your shirt and up your back, showing love to every inch of your skin. He begins to toy with the fabric of your shirt and looks to you for permission, to which you quickly nod. He swiftly pulls your shirt over your head, taking in how fucking gorgeous you look sat on top of him in only a bra. You then help him remove his shirt, tossing them both to the side. You pull him in for a heated kiss, hands now rifling through each other's hair as your tongues explored the others mouth. With less clothes between you now, you’re melting at the feel of his warm skin against yours. Not breaking the kiss, you allow your hands to start wandering. Matt gasps and bucks his hips as you palm him through his clothes.

“Take them off.” You command as you remove yourself from your spot on his lap. He complies, tugging the rest of his clothes off, tossing them to the floor where they joined your recently discarded shirts.

Normally, Matt would go down on you first. He puts your needs above his, always wanting to make you cum at least once before he even thinks about cumming himself. Tonight however, you insisted on doing all the work, knowing he was tired from the game. You were totally fine with treating him and doing the work, in fact you wanted to. He deserves to be celebrated, and you always loved making him feel good. He lays down, hesitantly, as he feels bad not treating you first. You flash him a smile to assure him that it’s okay, and you take him in one hand, starting him out with a few slow strokes as you lower your head and begin slowly flicking your tongue over his tip. He was pulsating, precum already leaking from him, so desperate to feel your lips wrapped around him. He gently pushes your hair out of your face and gathers it behind your head, loosely gripping it like a makeshift ponytail. Without warning, you take all of him in your mouth and start moving up and down on his cock. Matt lets out a loud moan, his head already spinning from how good it felt. You keep going, your pace rapidly increasing, as Matt tried to stifle his moans, which became more and more challenging as he neared climax.

“Fuck, baby.” He groaned lowly as you continue to fuck him with your mouth.

“Feels so good. Don’t stop.” He whined desperately.

His breathing suddenly hitched, confirming that he was close. You begin to hum against him, knowing the vibrations of your moans would drive him over the edge. The sudden change in technique had him gasping and fighting the urge to buck his hips up into your face. His grip on your hair tightened so much his hand shook. The pressure on your scalp and his breathy moans and whines were turning you on so much. He moaned again and you fought the desire to dive a hand into your panties. He sounded so pretty, and the way his cock throbbed and twitched in your mouth made you so needy to feel him inside of you.

Matt whined your name and his waist moved fastly up and down as the band in his stomach was about to snap. With one last bob of your head, he lets out a loud groan as he releases, filing your throat with cum. You hold him deep in your throat, and moan loudly against the base of his cock, the vibrations making him cum even harder. You detach your mouth from him and gently stroke his length a few more times as he comes down from his high. He lifts his head to see you looking at him with watery doe eyes as you lick your lips, cleaning up any drops that may have spilled from your mouth. He watches as you swallow everything he just gave you, and lets out a drawn out “Fuuuck” before throwing his head back to the pillow again, still needing to recover from the pleasure. You smiled at him, smug that you did a good job.

Giving him a moment to catch his breath, you kiss up his abs and chest until you reach his face. He pulls you in for a kiss, and with ease he flips you both over, him now hovering over you, all while not breaking the kiss. He pecks your lips once more, and starts kissing his way down your body until he settles between your legs. You blushed knowing you were already so wet for him. A smile pulls at his lips as he unbuttons your jeans and pulls them and your panties down your legs, throwing them somewhere across the room, leaving you in nothing but a bra. He kisses your thighs and presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles on it. You tangle a hand in his hair, and that smile suddenly fades as he is interrupted by you pulling his head away.

“You don’t have to. I can do all the work tonight. Wanna make you feel good.” You tell him.

“Baby, this does make me feel good.” He reminds you. It was true. As much as you adored having his face between your legs, he might actually love it even more.

Lowering his head again, he teasingly runs his tongue up and down your folds a few times before slowly pushing his tongue into you. You gasp at the pleasure and your thighs tense. As Matt’s pace increases, he snakes his arms under your thighs to hold you in place. You always tried your best not to squirm, but with this pretty boy between your legs making you feel this indescribably good, how could you not? It was a challenge to stay still, a challenge that you almost always failed. The way his hair slightly tickled against your stomach and thighs, the way he knew just how to perfectly curl his fingers and swirl his tongue inside of you, the way one touch could turn you into a whining, overstimulated mess. He knew exactly how to make you fall apart. Mumbled strings of curses and moans fell from your lips as Matt fucked his tongue into you. He adored how pretty you sounded for him. He loves that he’s the only one who gets to hear you like this. One arm still hooked around your leg, he frees the other hand and inserts a finger into you, pushing in and out a few times before adding another finger. You were a squirming moaning mess now, his long fingers buried deep inside of you making you feel like your whole body was on fire.

“That feel good?” He says looking up at you, fingers still pumping into you.

You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him, those big brown doe eyes staring up at you lovingly, his lips swollen and wet. God, he looks so pretty like this. You can’t quite form words properly thanks to just how good he’s making you feel, so you just nod rapidly and lay back down for him. He lowers his head back down and starts sucking on your clit. It was too much. Your loud moans echoed through the apartment and you swore you were seeing stars. You were close, and with the way your legs began to shake, he knew it too. He drives his fingers into you even faster and the knot finally snaps. You reached your high, moaning uncontrollably and cumming all over his fingers. Just like how you had moaned around his cock, Matt moans against your pussy, knowing it makes you cum even harder. Pulling his mouth from your now swollen clit, he looks up at you smiling, still slowly pumping his fingers into you as you come down from your high. Pulling out of you, he licked up your folds one more time, which he always said was to clean up some of the mess you’d just made, but the truth is he just couldn’t get enough of the way you tasted. He pressed a gentle kiss to your pussy, then to each of your thighs, which were still slightly shaking. He sat up on his knees and stared at you for a moment, admiring how fucking gorgeous you looked like this. Breathing heavy, legs shaking, all for him.

“You okay, pretty girl?” He asked.

You gave a weak smile and slowly managed to pull yourself up to sit on your knees, now facing each other, though you were still feeling slightly too overstimulated to form words just yet. You reach out and grab his wrist, pulling his hand to your lips. You press a gentle kiss to his hand before taking his fingers in your mouth, sucking your own slick off of them. You look up at him with doe eyes as you pull his fingers from your mouth, him looking speechless with his jaw slightly dropped, staring at you in awe. You knew that would drive him crazy, and those suspicions were quickly confirmed as you glanced down and caught a glimpse of his growing erection. Still gripping his wrist in one hand, you run your other hand through his messy hair and pull him towards you for a kiss. It’s sloppy, fast paced, and desperate, both knowing you still needed more of each other. You eventually break the heated kiss, and pull just slightly away so your faces are mere inches apart, both still breathing heavy, and both with devilish smirks on your face.

“Lay down.” you whisper and he blushes. He was usually the more dominant one, but wow, did he ever love seeing you take control like this. He complies, laying down for you, his hands softly resting on your thighs as you straddle him, just enough that his tip pushes into you. The suspense and lack of contact is killing him, but he knows you may need a moment to adjust. He wants everything to feel good for both of you and would never start moving if you weren’t ready for him yet. Breathy moans escape both of you as you slowly sink down on his cock, him stretching you out so good. Every time your hips connect you swear you were made just for him, and he was made for you. Your bodies melted together so perfectly, like pieces falling right into place. You reach behind yourself to unclasp your bra, and Matt’s eyes widen at the sight. You toss the garment aside and push your hands down on his chest and start moving up and down on him, slowly at first, but pace gradually increasing.

“That feel good?” You ask him.

“Fuck.” He moans out breathily, “Feels so fucking good.” You shyly giggle and smile in response. There was nothing you loved more than making your boy feel nice.

“Let me hear you.”

You suddenly pick up the pace and he moaned, not holding back on the volume this time. God, his moans alone could make you finish. It was always difficult not to completely lose your mind the second he started making those pretty noises. You slide your hands from his chest and grip onto his shoulders to try and keep yourself somewhat grounded. You could feel yourself getting close already and dug your fingers even tighter into his shoulders. He may have fingernail imprints after this, but it’s nothing he’s not used to. You often left him marked up, hickeys, fingernail marks, scratches down his back. As one hand still rests on your thigh, the other slides up to play with your tits. You continue riding him at a fast pace and neither of you are even trying to contain your moans anymore. He adores you. He adores having you on top of him. Between the sight of your tits bouncing, your pretty face all fucked out, and being able to hear and watch the moans falling from your lips, he swears he died and went to heaven. You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He could never get enough of the sight of you on top of him, but now his eyes are fighting the urge to roll back from the pleasure. His grip on your boob loosens and his hands make their way to your hips. He twitches and you can tell that he’s close, and thankfully so, because you weren’t going to last much longer either. The forming knot in your stomach is tightening quickly and as soon as Matt grips your hips and starts thrusting up into you, you can’t hold it in anymore. Loud moans from both of you fill the room as you reach your highs together, cumming on his cock and feeling his release inside of you. You still your hips and lean down to kiss him, moaning against each other, riding out your highs with him still deep inside of you. You eventually break the kiss and slowly climb off of Matt’s lap, crashing down beside him.

“You did so good, baby.” He says and you both smile at each other, cheeks flushed, both of you still trying to catch your breath.

“You did so good.” You said, reminding him again just how proud you are.

“Let’s go get cleaned up, pretty girl.” He mumbles while slowly getting up.

He hesitates for just a moment to admire the sight of his cum dripping out of you, before gently scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to the bathroom. He runs a warm shower for you both, his skin feeling so nice on yours as you help clean each other up.

Afterwards, you collapse in bed together, quickly finding your place on his chest, snuggling up into him. He wraps his big arms around you, pulling you tightly against him. You lazily lift your head and press little kisses to his jaw, and he softly plays with your hair. You loved being so close to one another, feeling so warm and safe. Your heart felt full, wrapped up in one another, whispering sweet praises in each other's ear. He was all yours, and you were all his. So caught up in this moment, so desperately in love with each other.

#matt rempe fic #matt rempe x reader #matt rempe smut #nhl fanfiction #lina writes

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voxsmistress · 9 months ago

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Mama Didn't Raise No Bimbo part FOUR!

lets see what else is in store for y/n ... you didn't think Velvette was just going to let her get away now did you?

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen / Part Sixteen

Seems Velvette had tagged your photo on her story with the hashtag #newmodel? Flicking your gaze back up to an amused Angel.

“Well toots … you might as well collect all three than just two. Here’s to you babe - you are so fucked”. He raised his glass. Raising your own you blink in shock.

Fucked was right.

It had been a few days since your exciting little adventure to the Vee Tower, coupled with the fact Velvette had not only shared your post on Sinstagram but followed you was helping you gain thousands and thousands of new followers and likes. But like your tequila, you took this with more than a pinch of salt. The Vee’s didn’t do anything for free. There was always a catch. You were waiting for this one to hook you sooner or later.

Unfortunately for you, it was sooner rather than later. You had finished your job for the night ready to head home, plus there was a bottle of whiskey and a hot bath with your name on it. Arm raised to wave a taxi you were distracted by your phone starting to buzz in your other hand. Unknown Number. Huh, weird. Deciding to answer it you lower your arm. What harm could it do?

“Hello?”

“Is this Miss Y/n?” Frowning at the unfamiliar voice, hmm you were rather selective about who got your number. So … who was this?

“Speaking…?”

“Ah Miss Y/n I am Velvette’s assistant, and she is insisting that you come in to meet her to discuss an opportunity that you really do not want to miss out on” huh. Okay. Was not expecting that.

“Uh huhh … and when is she wanting to meet?” Looking up at the darkening sky you had a horrible feeling you weren’t going to be going home anytime soon.

“Well, what are you doing now?” Ohhh nooo! Come on!

“I have just finished work and was actu-”

“Ah perfect so you are free. Come to the Vee tower now and we will sort everything. See you soon” your mouth opened and closed as they hung up on the phone. Right eye twitching you took a deep breath in before exhaling slowly. The bloody nerve! Grinding your teeth you raise your arm up again and wave at a taxi. Trying to calm your anger you shove yourself in the first one that appears, telling them to take you to the Vee Tower. Stewing in the backseat you think it must be nice to be an Overlord – just ordering small insignificant demons around. Shaking off the attitude you realise you need to tidy yourself up.

Looking down at your outfit, a sigh escapes you. Not exactly the outfit you’d want to meet the fashionista Overlord in – a leather bustier, leather pants and your customary neon pink accessories and heels matching of course with your favourite faux fur coat – but it was going to have to do. You didn’t exactly have time to prepare. Scurrying around in your purse to find your compact mirror, you quickly tidy up your eyeliner – snarling at the cabbie when he purposefully swerved nearly wrecking your makeup – and pop a new layer of dark pink lipstick on with a topping of gloss. A quick fluff to your blonde/pink hair and that was the best it was gonna get with such little time to prepare. Spying your perfume, you give a little spritz to your neck, wrists, and boobs. Noting that you’d need to get some more on your next outing as you were nearly out.

Thankfully you had just enough time to get all that done before the taxi pulled up at the tower, throwing the money at the demon you step out on the street. If possible the tower seemed even taller than before. Intimidating. Shaking your head you steel yourself for this meeting, how the last one went down with the other two is not what you want this time round. No unnecessary touching. No being cornered. And no flirting. Okay maybe a little bit of flirting, you were a demon after all. Wait – no! No! Bad thoughts!

Stepping in to the reception you check the board to see what floor Velvette was on, marching to the elevators you ignore the same receptionist who seemed surprised to see you again. Yeah, Bitch I’m back! In the elevator you press Velvette’s floor and breath deeply. It would all be okay. Perhaps they were just going to tell you how much they liked your post? Or they were wanting a thank you in person for all the followers? Or how surprised at how naïve and stupid you sounded. Shaking your head you groan softly. Of course it wasn’t doing to be okay, dealing with the Vee’s was never okay. Or safe.

At the soft ding you pulled your attention away from your depressing thoughts and instead to the scene in front of you. Velvette yelling at a load of models, other demons running around grabbing body parts off the floor and clothes being burned. Well. That was different. A twitch of your lips hid a smile – so the Vee’s weren’t as organised and poised as they’d like you to believe. Good to know.

Taking a step into what felt like the Thunderdome your movement must have caught Velvette’s attention, she suddenly was advancing on you and quite fast for someone so short. You thought you were small, but she only came up to your shoulder. Of course her attitude, energy and that amazing hairdo made up at least a foot, if not more. And living with the other two Vee’s she needed as much attitude and sass to keep up.

“Ah so you are Y/n, totally nice to meet you face to face. Saw your post girl and I am in love with them – that last photo dump was so gorgeous and hitting all the trends so good on you.” Linking her arm with yours like you two were old buddies she pulled you further into the room, her voice so quick you had to focus so intently to understand what she was saying.

“So … any who, guess you are wondering why I brought you here?” She gently shoved you down on the chaise lounge, a small ‘offt’ escapes your lips when you hit the seat. Steadying yourself you turn your body to face the Overlord who decided to take a seat right next to you. Your knees almost touching. Okay then.

“Yes, I was curious why…” a glass of champagne appeared in front of your nose – accepting it gingerly you carefully held it in your lap thanking the demon who passed her boss a glass.

“Look, your style is cute but I think with my influence your style can be out of this world – I am in the market for a new model” - a glance to the pile of body parts in the corner of the room made you gulp - “and with your figure and my style we could totally rock this Hell, making us a tonne of money and you a star so whatcha think – whatcha say I can sort the contract out asap no problem, no fuss”. Blinking in a bit of shock at the speed of what she spoke and what she was speaking about you had to hold your hand up to stop her for a second. Information overload.

“Uh – wow that’s real generous of you Miss Velvette-“

“Please call be Velvette, or Vel! None of this Miss business,” Her smirk was widening, her black lipstick was shining under the florescent lights above us.

“Well, Velvette, I am really touched that you think I could model for you as your fashion range is just fantastic and I love it – but if I am to sign that contract what am I giving you?” You pretend to take a sip from your glass. No liquid entered your lips. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d heard of someone being drugged and signing their soul away – you wouldn’t be one of those.

“Oh, nothing big really. Just something tiny. Teeny really. You wouldn’t even miss it.” She wafted one of her hands around as the other was typing away on her phone.

“Uh huh and what would that teeny tiny thing that I wouldn’t miss be?” You hedged her for the answer what you knew was coming.

“Just your soul babes – nothing big.” Yeah, to her maybe. To you it was a massive thing. And you’ll be honest, you didn’t have masses in this Hell but you did have your soul which was more than some have.

“Then the answer is going to be no, Velvette” you placed your glass down on the table. Her fingers stopped twitching across her screen, her red eyes focused solely on you. Now normally you were one to bow your head and not make eye contact, but you’d had enough of the bullying attitude of these Vee’s now – not one but two now have tried to contract you into losing your soul and you weren’t having it! Matching her glare with one of your own.

“No?” Keeping the eye contact you nodded.

“Not to say I am not grateful that you thought of me, or the fact you even took the time to speak to me. But my soul is non-negotiable. Plus, I have a job already. One which I love and want to continue. So, thank you. But my answer is and will always be - No.” You might have held your eye contact, but your hands were starting to tremble a little. Clenching them together in fists you keep your gaze on hers. A small sneer was pulling on her lips, and you were getting ready to be dismembered like the model before you. But it never came. Instead, she laughed. Laughed?!

Not like an evil MWAHAHA laugh. But a genuine laugh. Confused you wrung your hands together as she lightly slapped your knee and wiped a tear from her eye.

“You got guts girl; I’ll give you that.” A strained smile tugged at your lips, dead heart thumping in your chest. “Fine then. No soul contract – which is a shame we could have had so much fun” her expression darkened with mischief sparkling in her eyes pulling a little heat to your cheeks. “But instead let’s make a little deal? No souls just two businesswomen making a deal, whatcha say?”

Raising your eyebrows in interest you place your elbows on your knees leaning forwards: “what do you suggest?”

“Your socials are starting to take off, people are noticing you babes, and I am here for it! You are a rising star, don’t think I haven’t been paying attention and seeing that people are using your hashtags and your name when they’ve seen you at one of the clubs singing performing”, surprised she had even looked you could feel your blush deepen. “So, here’s the deal – you wear some of my designs, tag them in your socials, etc and you come and do a catwalk for me and sing?”

“You want me to promote your clothes and sing at one of your Cat Walks?” you clarify because this evening was not going the way you had planned or thought it would go.

“That’s it gorgeous – whatcha think?” You think this was probably the longest Velvette had been off her phone.

“And that’s it? No loopholes, no contracts, no soul-binding – just for me to wear your clothes, promote them on my social media and sing at one of your cat walks – that’s it?” You narrow your gaze at the Overlord, there’s got to be some sort of catch here. The way she was gazing at you like a cat that had caught the canary you were sure you were screwed in some way.

“That’s it honey. No catch, no loopholes, just good business”. Humming under your breath, you racked your brains to see if there was anything that could go wrong.

“Okay, how long do I have to promote your clothes for and when is the Catwalk show?” you ask, tapping on your own phone bringing up your notes and typing away.

“Shall we give it six months and see what happens from there? The next Catwalk is in a one month’s time” her smile only got bigger. You couldn’t think where or what could be a loophole, it seemed like too good of a deal. And your mama raised you to believe if a deal was too good to be true then it usually is. But then again. When did you ever listen to her?

“So far so good, but what do you get out of it?” Her smirk grew, well that can’t be good. She reached over and squeezed your leg softly, your eyes flitted from her hand to her smug expression.

“I get exactly what I want gorgeous, but honestly helping rising stars get their fame is mainly it” her charming smile didn’t win you over. She was a lying. But let her keep her lies for now. You knew how to play the game and so far, you hadn’t been burnt. What’s a little risk.

“Okay Velvette, you have a deal”. Raising your hand, she slapped hers into yours and gave it a strong shake – red and black smoke erupted from her making you jump back a little but was stopped from the grip she had. Her grin was terrifying. Her hair was waving around her head like it was full of static. But as soon as the smoke and lights appeared, they disappeared as if you had imagined it. Pulling your hand away, the tingle of electricity ran through your fingers, you knew you hadn’t imagined it. Not at all.

“Well then gorgeous now that’s all done – you can pop back tomorrow and we will get all your measurements and go through colour schemes, styles, etc so keep you day wide open yeah!” Finishing off her glass of champagne we leaned back against the chaise lounge – never once had she let her gaze off you.

Nodding in agreement you thank her while rising from your seat, it was time for you to go and drown yourself in that bottle of whiskey. “You can stay if you’d like?” A flush covered your cheeks at her racking her gaze up your body.

“Thank you, but I better get home. Big day tomorrow I want to be rested” you give her your best winning smile, slipping your purse under your arm. Rolling her red eyes at you she huffed a little, “fineee be boring babes”. Happily!

Before you could even think of taking a step towards the elevator the doors slid open. An unimpressed Vox stood in the middle tapping away on his own phone, not tearing his gaze away from it he steps into the room.

“So what unfortunate soul have you managed to convince to work with you now Vel?” His charismatic voice lacked his usual flare and instead sounded bored. Not something you usually would hear from the TV Demon.

Clearing your throat, you were frozen in place when his eyes connected with yours. Uh oh.

“That unfortunate soul would be me” you smile nervously at him, watching as his screen glitched slightly. That was weird. His bored expression disappeared with the glitch and in its place was his usual charming smile.

“Ah Miss Y/n what a pleasure to see you! What was that you just said?” Velvette appeared at your side, wrapping an arm through yours you watched his screen glitch a little again.

“She’s mine now Voxxie” she smirked at the glitching demon.

“She’s WHAT?!”

Taglist: @tasha-1994 @azullynxx

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m1d-45 · 2 years ago

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second chances

summary: baizhu knows he isn’t your favorite, but he still finds himself hoping for the impossible. maybe, with enough prayer, he’ll get it.

word count: ~2k

-> warnings: major spoilers for baizhu story quest + lore + liyue archon quest, based on me and my experience (vaguely disliked baizhu at first due to partial information, immediately changed my mind w his quest and now adores him, doesn’t have kirara)

-> gn reader (you/yours) and unspecified traveller (they/them)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr

< masterlist >

baizhu knows he isn’t the most favored.

from the first moment the traveller set foot in his office, he knew. he wasn’t met with anything special, no big flair from his god when you first saw him. it was to be expected, with how much time he spent praying—could gods have regulars?

it was simple. a quick ‘oh, the snake talks?’ thrown his way, a comment or two about his choice of outfit or the jade pendant hanging off his vision, and that was that. mostly, you seemed preoccupied with qiqi and the funeral parlor’s consultant, something to be expected. he was a quick stop on your journey, a note in the margins about the doctor you met at the pharmacy. it made sense, of course, that you’d be occupied with the death of rex lapis during the failed rite of descension, and the return of osial and beisht surely took priority over him. he offered little, only a dialogue or two actually shared between him and the traveller when you were present. he’d gathered as much of his energy, saved it for your arrival to make a good impression, so… it made sense you’d fret over qiqi, constantly forgetful as she was.

it made sense. he’d… made his peace. he had more to worry about, surely, what with orders to fulfill and his own condition to manage. maybe not more important—never, not maybe, what was he thinking?—but certainly more.

when your attention on qiqi flared, spurred by some unknown whim, he delighted a bit in being close to her, even if your thoughts on him weren’t entirely positive.

it was fair. you liked qiqi, and were concerned. it made sense you didn’t know every detail of teyvat, and since he’s never had the chance to come to you and spell out his story directly, it made sense you’d make some assumptions.

“i guess that makes sense, but still… qiqi deserves better.”

she probably did, in truth, but hearing it from you…

he’s had his vision for years by this point. he’s hd it for as long as he’d had changsheng, to be exact, and she was always able to remind him of exactly how long that had been.

“ssseven yearsss, four monthsss, thirteen daysss, and counting…”

“ah… thank you, changsheng.”

he knew he wasn’t special. out of the thousands of vision wielders across teyvat, only a handful have started having their constellations appear in the sky. just under a hundred, by his approximation, but he tried not to count. if he sought out the proper numbers, tried to pin down a percentage of those with a vision that had a chance to hold their god’s attention, then he’d start trying to find patterns. he was a doctor, patterns and rhythms were his literal job, but he knew that wouldn’t end well.

(a librarian, an alchemist, a lawyer: did you perhaps favor more studious types? a bartender, an exorcist, a detective: or those with a drive in their lives? a nobody, a traveller, a wandering samurai: or those seeking one out for themselves?)

there wasn’t a pattern. it was random. and part of him hated it.

baizhu had had his vision for seven years, eight months, and thirteen (was it fourteen? the sky was growing dark) days, and had never once seen his stars in the sky.

he had one. he had a constellation, something he knew was rare among vision wielders, but it didn’t guarantee him a spot in the sky any time soon. kirara had hers long before she had her chance in the heavens—they’d spoken about that, both hesitant to show the other their divine gift, but willing to speak of its existence.

and now kirara’s turn had passed. though her vision didn’t shine any brighter, he could see the pride in her smile when she dropped off another delivery at the pharmacy. sign here, check these, make sure this is what you ordered, goodbye have a good day, pretend like yours doesn’t weigh more after seeing hers.

it wasn’t as if he was unremarkable. a perfectly healthy man who had thrown himself into illness to find the cure for all of them? surely that was interesting, wasn’t it? but it wasn’t his time, he was being impatient, slipping back to the same mindset he condemned his patients for.

“patience. medicine doesn’t work in an instant, and you’ll need to be taking this for the next week at minimum.”

“but it’s so bitter!”

“then tell me, what tastes worse: bile, or this pill? if you want to stop being sick, you need to take it.”

patience.

qiqi was blessed with a place in the stars near instantly after she’d gotten her vision, but she was not the norm. perhaps his expectations were weighted, then? or maybe you disliked his work entirely? he didn’t like entertaining what ifs, but when various aches kept him up, there was little else he could do while he waited for his medication to take effect. patience, he tried to remind himself, counting his breaths. be patient. wait, be calm, don’t agitate yourself. count in, count out, are your breaths getting shorter? just stay calm, be patient…

the first time he saw you, he knew you were coming. he’d saved as much energy as he could, doing his best to make a good impression. but now, with changsheng nudging him awake urgently, pushing him into his shoes and putting his glasses on for him, the first thing he’d expected was the millelith, maybe, or perhaps the ministry of civil affairs. maybe he was needed urgently, maybe something had happened to qiqi, maybe he was late for his medication and he’d get terrible headaches if he wasn’t quick- oh, but then why would she bother to coil around his shoulders?

and yet, out of all those possibilities, none were correct.

“hey! who’s talking about me behind my back?”

“changsheng, qiqi meant that as a compliment. there’s no need to be upset.”

it had been so long since he’d felt your light, far longer since he’d been properly healthy. he’d forgotten how it felt to walk without the dull ache in his joints, and yet here he was. standing by gui and a familiar looking child, speaking with your traveller. it was easy to say words he didn’t choose, his throat not getting dry despite the lack of his morning tea.

the quest was long, and by the end he should have been exhausted. between taking on jialiang’s sickness to turning him into a zombie, he should have been out of commission for the next few days. as it was he had a nasty cough, his breath coming shorter than typical… but that was it. he took his regular medication at the dinner with your traveller, the linger of your aura on them still seeming to dull his pains. how curious, that you could cure ailments even he couldn’t name anymore…

“baizhu, are you alright?” idly, he wondered if the traveller noticed the change in their voice when they were speaking for you. it always sounded a bit lighter, a bit of your emotions bleeding through… a pity he’d never know why. “today must have been taxing for you…”

all eyes were on him now, even qiqi’s. “i’m doing fine,” he said simply, taking another sip of his tea. “better than normal, if anything, which i have to owe to our guest.”

paimon still seemed nervous. “but what about when we leave? what if everything hits you all at once? normally you stay at the pharmacy, and using your power so much…”

a fair assessment. while he was no stranger to combat, to be thrown in the middle of a pack of such vicious hilichurls was a shock. still, he had made it through—even if, privately, he doubted it would have been so clean without you there. “i will be fine. even if my condition declines, i am well equipped to handle flare ups.”

it seemed the whole group was hesitant to let him go. changsheng insisted he stay up until three hours had past since the traveller left, when his limbs again felt heavy and his head began to hurt. something odd was stirring in his chest, and he was eager to get to bed before it sparked into anything more. it was reasonable, he knew, but there were only so many prescriptions to prepare before he had nothing left to do. gui had long since went to bed, leaving just him in the lobby of the pharmacy, quietly double checking his stock of herbs.

eventually, he stood from his seat, returning the sweet flowers to their proper place. he held up an hand to let changsheng climb up his arm, closing up the pharmacy. she curled around his shoulders twice, a familiar weight. the night was cool, a slight breeze bumping the chain of his glasses against his cheek. it had been a long few days, and he was happy that everything was settled. he’d done all he could for jialiang, and he and his family hopefully wouldn’t be coming back for quite some time. back to routine…

“…baizhu?”

he checked the lock with a quick tug, “yes? what is it?”

“the ssstarsss… they’re due, aren’t they?”

ah. the cycles of constellations, switching through the sky. if he thought about it.. yes, they were, weren’t they?

“by my memory, they are. why?”

her head was turned, looking off to the part of the sky not obscured by the roof of the pharmacy.

“…changsheng-“

“look.”

“it’s late.” his heart began to pick up, false hopes being raised. patience, he chided himself, but what follower did not wish for acknowledgment from their god? “we should go to sleep before we fall too far out of schedule.”

“baizhu! i know you have better sssenses than that.”

perhaps he did. his vision burned where it was clipped to his side, invisible vines creeping up toward his heart. “don’t be too hasty,” he said quietly, the words tasting as bitter as his pills.

don’t be too hasty. you could still be wrong. don’t get your hopes up. be patient.

one hand went to his hip, undoing the clasp of his vision, the other settling on the railing. a few clouds dotted the sky, but he lifted his vision anyway, searching for any stars tinted green.

everything happened at once. the terrace was replaced with an ocean of skies, the slight mumble of “i do have a guaranteed…” getting lost in the whirlwind around him. he was weightless, trapped in by an invisible box, only dimly aware of the fact that his pain had once again disappeared. he was floating, dressed in the attire he normally saved for formal events—dressed in what he’d put on when you’d first arrived—with no sight of the pharmacy below him. it was just him and changsheng, him and changsheng and the bright light that came from everywhere, lifting him from his unseen prison.

a laugh, a smile, a rush of power flooding through him, and when he next set foot in front of the pharmacy, he did so with a new gleam to his vision. he could hear a door open behind him—qiqi, if he had to guess, as why wouldn’t she be drawn to the power the adepti could only hope to imitate?—but couldn’t turn, breathless.

“welcome home, doc.. it’s good to see you.”

it had taken seven years, four months, and 25 days, but he was here. and it was more than he could have ever asked for.

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scoonsalicious · 9 months ago

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Unwanted: Chapter 30, Epilogue - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mild sexy stuff (Just some very light hand business. Very light.)

Word Count: 1.1k

Previously On...: You moved out of the Tower :(

A/N: This is it! The last part! You guys. I can't even. It's been a magical journey, and I'm so honored that I got to take it with all of you. I'm scheduling this post on Thursday in my office, and I'm fucking crying, because you've made this more than anything I could have ever hoped for. I love each and every one of you, so fucking much. Thank you for coming on this adventure with me. Thank you for loving Pocket. Thank you for sticking with Bucky and not throwing knives at him and his stupidity. Just, fucking THANK YOU. You are all amazing, beautiful people, and I could not have done this without you. Thirty Chapters, One Hundred Fifty Five Thousand, Four Hundred and Fourteen Words, and more to come. Bucky and Pocket's journey is not over! POOKIE LOVES YOU SO MUCH.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

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Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

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Not even twenty minutes later– it was actually almost pathetic how close your new place was to the Tower, really– you were opening up the door of your brand new penthouse apartment. It was more extravagant than any other place you’d ever laid your head, and when Tony’s realtor had first shown it to you, you’d balked at the opulence of it. But Tony reminded you that you’d been shot, after all, and had almost died once, then actually died, all in the span of a few days, and after that, on top of everything else you had already endured in your life, wasn’t it time you treated yourself to something good? Besides, it wasn’t like you couldn’t afford it. So, here you were.

“Honey, I’m home,” you called out softly to the enormous, empty space. It would still be some time before the movers finished loading up and delivering everything from the Tower, and then you were going to have a lot of furniture shopping to do. Toeing off your shoes, you padded your way across the apartment to the terrace. Opening the glass doors, you stepped outside. You walked to the edge and rested your elbows against the railing. Taking a deep breath, you admired the view of the city before you, the Tower just a block away. Looking across, you could easily make out Tony and Pepper’s apartment. Waving at breakfast, indeed.

You felt a pair of strong arms slink around your midsection, tugging you into a broad, warm chest. “Thought I heard you come in,” Bucky said, nuzzling his head into the crook of your shoulder.

“Hey, baby,” you smiled, reaching back to caress his face with your hand. You turned in his arms so you were facing him. “I missed you.”

Bucky laughed as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I only left the Tower two hours ago,” he said. “But I missed you, too.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, pouring every ounce of love and affection you felt for him into the motion. “I can’t believe we finally did it,” you grinned.

“Took us long enough,” he mused back, but then turned thoughtful. “Probably would have happened a lot sooner if I hadn’t–”

You brought a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Stop. We agreed not to talk about that, remember? Dr. Whitmore said we can’t move forward if we keep hashing out the past, and I just want to move forward, with you.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, but you just smiled and kissed him again.

After you’d been released from the hospital, you and Bucky had had a long, emotional discussion about the future of your relationship. The only way you’d ever stand a real chance, you’d both decided, was if you committed to couples’ counseling and complete and total honesty. Bucky knew he didn’t deserve yet another chance from you, and you probably wouldn’t have given him one if you hadn’t loved him so fucking much. But you’d actually died, and you couldn’t stand the idea of wasting any more time without him. Now, after nearly a year of doing the work, both on your relationship and yourselves, you felt your connection was stronger than ever. And besides, when it really mattered, Bucky had proven, in the most definitive way, that he would pick you over Jade Carthage.

“So…,” you said once the kiss had been broken and you began playing with the hem of his shirt.

“So, what?” he asked. You raised an eyebrow at him suggestively. His eyes widened as he caught your meaning. “What? Here? Right now?!”

You tilted your head and looked up at him with the most innocent expression you could muster, given how completely un-innocent your current thoughts were. “Yeah, right here, right now. Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough, baby?” You trailed a hand down the center of his chest and his breath hitched. “Almost a full year, spent using my fingers, pretending they were you, never feeling full enough? Never getting off as good as I got off with you? It’s been so long since I felt you inside of me, Buck. So long, it fucking hurts.”

When you had decided to give your relationship a real reset, one of the rules you had established, with the advice of Dr. Whitmore, was no sex. You needed to establish emotional intimacy and boundaries once again, without the complications a sexual relationship would bring. She had even suggested you both try to date other people, to ensure that this was the relationship you both truly wanted, but neither one of you could bring yourselves to do it. And now, here you were, almost a full year since the last time you’d been together, and you were desperate.

Bucky groaned at your words and you knew he was this close to giving in to you.

“Come on, baby,” you purred, reaching down and slowly unbuckling his belt. “Don’t you want me? Don’t you want to be inside of me?” You slowly began nibbling at his jaw, tasting the salty sweetness of his skin and letting it flood your senses.

“Always want you, Pocket,” he growled, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you flush against his hips. You let out a low moan when you felt the evidence of his arousal press into your stomach through his jeans.

“Then have me, Barnes,” you whispered, carding your hands through his hair. “Have me on this balcony, have me on every fucking surface of this apartment, as many times as you want.”

Any remaining sense of resolve Bucky may have possessed snapped, and he was on you, sucking on the skin of your neck as he rutted his hips against you, and it felt so. fucking. good. to feel him like that again. His hand dipped into the waistband of your pants, where he found you wet and eager for him. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he growled into your skin as his fingers slipped through your slick folds to toy with your clit. “All this for me?”

You groaned as you felt one finger gently breach your entrance. “Only you, love,” you moaned. “Only ever you.”

You both froze when you heard the sound of the elevator ding, and Bucky quickly withdrew his hand, popping his finger into his mouth to suck away the evidence of his actions. Grunting in frustration, you looked around him to see the elevator doors open and the movers begin to unload dollies of boxes from the Tower into your new apartment.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “So much for reunion sex. I swear, I’ve got blue balls, Barnes”

Bucky grinned at you, leaning down to give you a quick kiss before redoing his belt and heading over to help the movers. “This’ll only take a little while, doll,” he winked at you. “We’ve got the rest of our lives together to make up for lost time.”

<- Previous Part / The End

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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sluts4matt · 10 months ago

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Can you do one where y/n is inlove with nate since she was 14 but she's the sturniolo tirplets little sister and her best friend is in love with nate now she's 19 and still in love with him, she is dating this bot but he's not so nice to her and nate gets mad at him and one night y/n gone to nate while he was in LA and tells him that her boyfriend broke up with her because she didn't want to lose her virginity to him, nate is there for her so she kisses him realizing she betrayed her friend and brothers but nate tells her he likes her back they go on a couple of dates and 8 mouths later y/n loses her virginity to her high school crush meanwhile they have sex y/n best friend comes over and her best friend and her brothers didn't know they were dating till they hear her moan/or nate and y/n feels like bad friend but none of them actually care

SECRET

pairing: nate doe x sls!erika sturniolo

summary: she had hidden her feelings away for years, but with growing up and toxic relationships it was all starting to resurface.

warnings: none

word count: 1631

authors note: a miniseries, whaaat. i am so fucking sorry this took me as long as it did @mssturniolo, next chapter in a few days most likely.

having feelings for your brothers' best friend had always been a no go. or at least that's what the movies always taught me, i found myself loving the trope from a young age, before i truly understood what liking a boy meant.

now i know, and am in fact involved with the same beloved trope of all of my favorite movies.

the feeling was planted when I was fourteen, my mom and brothers brought me to watch a friends hockey game. his blue eyes and blonde curls captivated me basically immediately. of course, i knew about the infamous nathan doe, he had been nick, matt, and chris' best friend since middle school.

i just hadn't had an actual conversation with him until he skated up to our area. nick, matt, and chris had all been freshmans' in high school while me and nate were still stuck in the eighth grade.

he had skated right up to us, the biggest smile i had ever seen, which i had thought was impossible because of the contagious one chris almost always wore. "hey guys'," he grinned, "hey erika," he said, the name falling from his mouth as if he had spoken it a thousand times before.

my cheeks flushed as i nodded and gave him a small wave. the butterflies felt instant and like they weren't gonna go away. the buzzer rang, signaling for everyone to get in their positions.

we watched as nate skated away on the ice, the silver blade of his ice skates carrying him away. "always such a sweet boy," i heard my mother marylou state from beside me.

after watching the game and watching nate score the winning goal, we all made our way out of the arena, nate quickly joining us. he swung an arm around chris' shoulder as he fell in stride beside me.

"you guys did good," i state, ignoring the heat i felt going to my cheeks. "yeah?" he asks, his boston accent thick, and i can tell he wants me to keep talking. "yeah, it was pretty impressive," i say. "im glad you thought so," he replies, and his smile is even wider now.

i feel my face heat up more as the words 'he's talking to me!' repeat in my head. "you guys staying the night?" he asks, turning to the three boys who all looked basically identical.

"can we?" the three of them ask, practically jumping up and down. "of course!" marylou answers, and the four of them start cheering.

my alarm blared, bangs coming from my door. "hurry up erika," i could hear nicks agitated voice, "you're gonna make us late," he continued with a groan.

i looked over at my phone, seeing that my alarm had been going off for ten minutes now. a gasp left my lips as i got up, frantically moving around my bedroom.

i pulled the first clothes from my drawers that my hands landed on, pulling my pajamas off and replacing them. i quickly put on deodorant and brushed my teeth before brushing through my hair. i applied a few layers of mascara to my eyelashes, watching the black envelop them and make them longer and bolder.

i heard nick groan once again, as i walked to my door. i opened it being met with his eyes staring down at me, "what's the point of an alarm if you don't wake up to it?"

"hurry up," chris sang from the bottom of the stairs, "we have to go get nate."

a smile was brought to my lips, before i quickly replaced it. nate and i had gotten closer in the past two years, most of our freshman classes were with each other so we grew accustomed to each other's company.

he always came to our house after practice or games, sometimes he would just show up unannounced to hang out, typically with the boys, sometimes me if they were busy.

he was an incredibly sweet person, he was always helping around the house and never expected anything in return. he was also extremely funny and had a great sense of humor and could make even the toughest situations funny.

"bye mom," the four of us stated, walking out the door. me and nick got in the back of the van while matt and chris sat in the front, matt being the driver.

nick started a conversation with the three of us, one that i mostly tuned out, only catching a few words here and there. the drive to nates house was short, like always.

matt parked by the curb and i watched chris pull out his phone to send nate a text. not even a minute later nate was walking out of his front door, a black baseball cap sat backwards on his head, his blonde hair peaking out slightly.

he wore a grey sweatshirt and black jeans, a bag slung over his shoulder. a wide grin appeared on his face as he saw the car, running and throwing himself into the back.

"morning," he smiled towards us all, scooting in beside me. "morning," we all mumbled, giving tired smiles. "why are you so happy," nick grumbled, leaning his head against the window.

"because we get to go to school, where they'll teach us, and fill our heads with knowledge," he said, grinning. "okay, now the truth," i giggle, poking his side.

his hand grabbed my finger, holding it. a smile stayed on his face, as his thumb grazed over the back of my finger, sending goosebumps up my arms. "i just have a good feeling about today," he answered. "okay psychic," chris joked, not taking notice to nate's hang wrapped around my index finger.

"well im glad you're so happy," matt added, smiling at nate. "are you guys excited for homecoming?" nate asked, looking at us. "no," me and matt respond at the same time, neither of us were one for big crowds and god knew that's what homecoming would be.

chris and nick on the other hand, had already bought tickets and were planning their outfits. chris was planning to take some girl named juliette while nick was trying to figure out how to ask his best friend to go as friends.

no one knew who nate was going with, at least not me. he didn't talk about it much in all honestly, today had been the second time i've heard anything from him about it in a month.

"who are you taking again?" chris asked, turning back to the three of us. "ava," nate smiled, causing my heart to drop. ava michaels was pretty, i had always envied her.

the way her skin looked flawless and clear all the time, her clothes, everything. her eyes were a deep blue color, and her hair was a dark brown color, almost black. her lips were plump and naturally pink, she was known as one of the prettiest girls in our school.

"lock it down bro, we'll be popular forever," nick joked. "it's not a date," nate chuckled, "just friends," he added, causing me to let out a breath i hadn't realized i was holding.

out of the corner of my eye, i could see nate look over at me, though i chose to ignore it. the rest of the drive was silent, except for the occasional joke or two.

when we finally arrived, matt parked the car in his original parking slot, putting it in park before he turned the key over, shutting the ignition off.

the four of us unbuckled and exited the vehicle, following the stream of kids entering the school.

the day seemed to move by in a flash, and i had found myself in the library, sitting next to nate, waiting for the bell to ring so the librarian could tell us what our english teacher had planned.

"did you do the homework?" i heard nate whisper. i looked over at him, his head was laying down on his crossed arms. "yes," i state, already pulling the paper from my bag so he can copy the answers.

i watched his eyes widen slightly, before a small smirk fell onto his lips. he sat up, scooting his chair closer to mine. his knee brushed against mine as he copied the answers, the touch sending a shiver down my spine.

he was close enough that i could smell his cologne, and i had to admit that i liked it. "thanks," he whispered, putting his paper away as the librarian began speaking.

"welcome, welcome, mrs. wilson called out sick very last minute, not giving us time to find a substitute," she explained.

"so instead you all will be working with a peer partner, groups of two, mrs. wilson says she doesn't mind who you work with as long as you're quiet and respectful," she finished, a smile appearing on her face.

"any questions?" she asked, but no one raised their hand. "perfect," she grinned, "get in groups of two," she said.

"hey partner," nate grinned, and the butterflies in my stomach erupted. "hey," i smiled, feeling a blush fall onto my cheeks. "so what do you wanna do?" he asked, his knee bumping into mine again, this time purposefully.

"shakespeare?" i suggest, and he nods, a smile on his lips. "what's your favorite play?" i ask, pulling out a sheet of notebook paper. "romeo and juliet," he smiles, making me smile as well.

"i knew you were basic," i joked, and his jaw dropped. "im not basic," he defended, a fake gasp escaping his lips.

i laughed, rolling my eyes as i wrote the title of the play on the paper. "we could compare and contrast the original play with the movie," he suggested, and i nodded, writing.

"good idea, let's start."

tag list:

@hysteria-things @tillies33ssss @soimightlikeoldmen69 @sturniolossss @freshsturns @lily-strnlo @etvar12 @iloveurgf @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloa @chrryclouds @sturniolho @mayhem-72 @nicksmainbitch @sturniolowhore @imwetforyourmom @novasturniolo03 @catalina-island @stars4chratt @gbaabyyyy @monkeyscientist22

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dqrciedaily · 10 months ago

Text

day in the life, abj

a/n: first fic! also i know aggie didn’t play in the derby but i’m ignoring that x

“morning everyone welcome back to my channel! today i’m finally going to be doing a day in the life after so many requests to do one!”

at fourteen you started a youtube channel just like all your other friends, making random slime videos and gymnastics tutorials with your cousins. which later turned into a channel with over four hundred thousand subscribers.

the gymnastics tutorials and slime videos long gone but now were replaced by vlogs, get ready with mes and q&as.

as of late the vlogs had some cameos of the blonde girl in the background but the two of you had never explicitly mentioned that you were dating.

the city stirred with the promise of a new day as y/n woke to the gentle rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains. beside her, aggie lay in peaceful slumber, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with each breath. y/n couldn't help but admire the beauty of her girlfriend, her heart swelling with affection.

the camera was already set up and ready to go catching the intimate women between the two lovers.

with a soft smile y/n leaned in to press a tender kiss to aggie’s forehead, eliciting a soft murmur of contentment from her lover. "good morning baby," y/n whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair from aggie’s face.

aggie stirred, her eyes fluttering open to meet y/n’s gaze, a warm smile spreading across her lips. today was special, not just because it was their nine month anniversary, but because they had both decided it was time to officially hard launch their relationship.

after breakfast prepared by y/n, the two set out for a morning stroll through the streets of london. y/n mindlessly spoke to the camera, capturing every moment of their walk, the way aggie's laughter echoed through the streets, the way their fingers intertwined as they walked, the way they stole glances at each other when they thought no one was looking.

after a quick pit stop at the farmers market the duo trudged back to their shared home carrying the heavy paper bags. their second stop of the day was aggie's football match, a london derby at stamford bridge, y/n had been eagerly anticipating for weeks. with her camera rolling, y/n cheered from the stands, her voice heard above the roar of the crowd as aggie showcased her skills.

with each goal chelsea scored, y/n’s pride swelled, her heart bursting with admiration for her talented girlfriend. and when the final whistle blew, signaling chelsea’s victory, y/n couldn't contain her excitement, rushing down to the barriers waiting for aggie so she could wrap aggie in a tight embrace, her camera capturing the raw emotion of the moment.

after the match, aggie and y/n retreated to their apartment, where they indulged in a homemade meal. as they sat across from each other at the table, their conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and shared memories. the moment was featured in the video with soft music over it.

with their hearts full, aggie and y/n settled in on the couch, snuggled up beneath a blanket as they watched their favorite movie. with y/n’s camera capturing their every shared glance and whispered conversation, they lost themselves in the comfort of each other's company, the outside world fading into the background.

as the night wore on and the credits rolled, aggie and y/n found themselves reluctant to leave the warmth of the couch. but eventually, exhaustion crept in, and they made their way to bed, where they curled up together beneath the covers, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.

quiet mumbles of goodbyes and thanks for watchings finished off the vlog as in the quiet stillness of the night, aggie and y/n found solace in each other's arms, their breathing syncing in perfect harmony.

#darcie’s drabbles #aggie beever jones #aggie beever jones x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine

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saltofmercury · 2 years ago

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"Games"

Pairing: König x reader

A/N: jesus what is up with you guys and angst? Can König and the reader just live in peace and love and fluff!?

Summary: You act on your "situationship" with König.

"Games"

He was a tall kid, a big baby. Attention surrounded him. He remembers the first form of attention was going into kindergarten being confused for a 2nd grader.

“No sweetheart, this is for the younger levels, I think you’re lost” teachers would say.

“But…” he said, “I’m only 5.”

The teachers couldn’t believe it. What were they feeding this kid?

He still remembers how awful the kids were at his school. Kids who were clearly smaller than him, intimidated by his height.

“Goliath”

“Yeti”

Making friends was something truly difficult. Lunch time was not his favorite because nobody would sit with him. He would sit on the end of the table chewing slowly so that when it was time for playtime, he would have the excuse of "I'm still eating.” When other kids had birthday parties in class, he struggled to wish them happy birthday because of how big the crowd was surrounding the birthday kid. When it was any other event, kids would hover away from him, forget his valentine, his goody bag. It seemed so daunting trying to make a friend, until a little girl helped him out in class one day.

She was the only person with enough kindness and patience for him. When the teacher called on him in class to answer the question she would quietly whisper to him the answer because he was too busy fixating on how he could make a friend today, then realizing it was his name that was called, then turning red, realizing his face was probably super red, then fumbling about how to respond to the teacher.

“Four-teen” she said quietly so only he could hear.

He struggled with his thoughts connecting to his tongue in order for him to say the word aloud.

“F….fourteen” he responded.

“Thank you” The teacher smiled back.

So when it came down to him giving her the card he had worked so hard for and the mini handmade chocolate teddy bear he had worked on, he wasn’t so nervous. His grandma had praised him thousands of times.

“She’ll like it! — no, she’s going to love it. It's a thoughtful gesture.”

He approached her before school had even started. He remembers the cold morning and how many times he rehearsed in his head. “Thank you for being my friend.” He clumsily gave her the card and dropped the chocolate bear wrapped in parchment paper.

“Here..” he said quietly. Shoving the small presents into her hand so nobody could see. “Thank you for being my friend.”

The little girl beamed. She could hug him, but nobody else hugged him at school.

They entered the classroom and immediately one of the kids snickered.

“So the giant has a girlfriend huh?” All the kids proceeded to laugh.

König felt sick. This wasn’t a proclamation of love, this was him attempting to be a friend.

“I bet you she has to stand on a bench to kiss him” all the kids proceeded to laugh again and this time towards the girl.

The girl, sitting at her desk now, was mortified. On the verge of tears. She quietly stood up, walked to the trash bin, and dropped the card there. She returned to her desk wiping away tears.

König was humiliated. “She’s not my girlfriend, she was just my friend...” he repeated mentally to himself.

“Maybe not even that.” He thought to himself.

The rest of the day he remained quiet. When the teacher called in him he simply put his head down. He didn’t want to speak to anyone.

He didn’t want to be here.

He walked home replaying the events that happened. He had a friend, he lost a friend. He had one friend, now he had none. Valentine’s Day was a stupid holiday.

Valentine’s Day was approaching and you quietly pondered what to do. Valentine’s Day was the one holiday where all couples lovey dovey went crazy for one another.

What position were you in now? You and König had some sort of “relationship.”

You couldn’t really call it a relationship because for one, you’ve never seen his face completely. He was always hiding under turtlenecks or face masks.You could’ve sworn you saw his face once but that was a dream.

Secondly, you couldn’t remember if you ever you never got around to really feeling his skin, other than in a sort of platonic way. The man wore long sleeves and gloves around you. You got around to holding his covered hands, bursting with some sort of affection and physical touch, but that’s where he drew a boundary. Just hands.

Third and lastly, you’ve never kissed in person. How are you supposed to approach kissing anyone when there isn’t a form of body language for you to read in order to make the first move? There were times that he had caught you staring so deeply into him and seeing you suck on your bottom lip scooting closer to him. He had shifted a little further down the couch he already took so much part of.

He was a quiet, secluded, and private man.

This wasn’t to say he hadn’t tried with you. The first few months of your “relationship” (more so friendship) you guys texted for hours. It took a while for him to open up to you but you guys could talk about anything and everything.

But sometimes that wasn’t enough for you.

You remember calling your board game night a “date” and him quickly dismissing that idea saying he wanted to be your friend first and foremost.

It stung.

You sheepishly smiled at him and said “yes, you are my friend.” You saw the crinkles on the corner of his eyes when you called him your friend. But friends don't do what you two do.

After a while though, there was clearly more happening than just a friendship.

The subtle way he would grab your hand during a movie and rub his thumb over it.

How he had stocked up on your favorite brand of coffee and creamer whenever you came over at night for your talks and board games.

How he ordered a little extra of the favorite take out you liked just so you can have some for lunch the next day.

Sometimes he would even play with the ends of your hair and rub your back when you fell asleep on him after a movie.

And of course, you guys shared a bed together, you guys slept together, kissed and made love in the dark, but vulnerability was left in the dark.

What was the subtle way of saying hey I clearly like you, you might like me, let’s just make it official?

At the store, you look at cards. None of them said that. You picked up the card with the puzzle piece heart on it missing a piece that read “you complete me”. Too cheesy.

The next one you pick up, a pizza shaped card with an arrow in the middle. Phrases like “you can’t be topped!” And “you’re the big cheese” surrounding it. You open the card inside that reads “any way you slice it, you’re awesome! Happy Valentine’s Day.” Too friendly.

You settle on one card that’s covered in little candy hearts labeled “xoxo” “cutie” “hugs” and “be mine” inside of the card was blank. You decided the best way to describe what you’re feeling was to write it out.

You get home and start to write out how you’ve been feeling. If there was one way you were going to tell him, it would be through a letter.

You read your feelings over and over again in the card, and decided to just go for it.

The day before Valentine’s day you came to his house, ready for another night of board games you two endlessly went through. König bought dinner and you brought the games.

As he opened the door, he stared at you. “Schatz….” his voice was full of longing. It had been almost a week of not seeing each other. Butterflies always bloomed in your stomach.

“Hi babe.” you responded and he moved aside to let you in. Once settled, he picked you up and embraced you. He was always one for hugs.

After about the 4th round in Sorry!, you called it quits. König laughed.

“This is a child’s game, why didn’t you bring Monopoly again?”

You threw a pillow at him. “Because, you’ve never played it and it seemed pretty good to teach you this game, but of course, your competitive spirit.” You shook your head in disbelief. König was good and picked up the rules of any stupid game quickly.

He stretched, put the game aside, and laid back on the end of the couch.

“Come” he extended his hand towards you.

You climbed up on him, laid on his chest.

He whispered in your ear, “i’m sorry you’re a sore loser”

“König!” you look up at him.

“Okay okay,” he says softly, then smirks, “I might have shuffled in my favor, but this is a kids game.”

“I thought I was playing with a kid.” you say, still on his chest. It earns you a playful smack on your bottom. He continues laying there with you, rubbing your back and hair.

“I have something for you.” You lift yourself off of him. You reach in your bag for the card. Gosh, a wind of nerves picks up inside your stomach and you’re ready to just forget the whole thing. You should’ve waited to give it to him when you left.

You peek back at him. He’s turned back looking at you, motioning with his hand to “give it.”

You put the red card in his hand.

“A letter?” He says in a sarcastic shock, but smiles through his face mask.

He tears open the envelope, and eyes widen when he sees the front of the card. The colorful hearts surrounding it. He seems uneasy, but you’re anxious.

“Is there something wrong?” you ask. You swear you can feel your heartbeat in your ears. This is embarrassing. A long silence between you two.

“No,” he finally speaks. He puts the card back into the envelope. “Maybe I can read this later.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You start cursing yourself out mentally. This was a stupid idea. There’s heat surrounding your face, you can feel the embarrassment closing in. You could be anywhere right now and not here.

“Maybe I’ll just go home then.” you say.

“No schatz, come on wait.”

But it’s kind of too late. You’re already drowning in embarrassment. You pick up your bag, and head towards the door.

“It’s not like that, come on, don’t be embarrassed.” he pulls at one of your arms.

It’s with those words that you’re set on really leaving. Don't be embarrassed?

You turn to him,

“Don't be embarrassed? You opened my card and then suggested reading it later. I read the whole thing on your face.” you spit out. You’re not embarrassed anymore, you’re humiliated and hurt.

He cocks his head to the side, “I just meant for - I’m not going to fight with you now, come please.”

“Just let me go home, I’ve suffered enough embarrassment for the both of us.”

You just need space. You need anything so that you’re not holding onto your tears anymore.

Friends. Friends. Friends. Is all that plays in your head.

He sighs, “this is childish and you’re being childish.” He steps aside and opens the door for you. If there’s one thing König can do is give you space.

#konig x you #konig x y/n #konig x reader #könig #könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig imagine #könig cod #könig x you #a lil valentine's day treat #you guys are hilarious sometimes #call of duty #konig call of duty

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actually-factually-anonymous · 7 months ago

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Ladybug Vs Avatar's use of the supporting cast and the problem thereof.

I'm not sure if this has been covered before, but there's a serious problem with Marinette being the be-all end-all of everything in Miaculous.

And it's not just because "she's stressed" or "it's all on her". Her being the most important, talented and plot-relevant character in every situation is.

Let's make a comparison to the Gold Standard:

In Avatar the Last Airbender, Aang is the axis of the story. He holds incredible powers beyond anyone else, can bend every element and could conceivably end the entire conflict that plagues his world with relative ease- which he eventually does.

However, for 99% of the story he cannot do so. Because Aang is untrained, he cannot access that divine win-button of the Avatar State at will, and using it carried enormous risks to himself and those around him- making it functionally unusable for common conflicts. Furthermore while he does technically have the capacity to use all four elements, he had only mastered one and needed to learn the remaining three.

Indeed, Aang has outright difficulty with learning Earthbending despite his innate talents and while he's a quick study for the other two, he doesn't demonstrate the same effectiveness with water and fire as Katara and Zuko.

This means that Aang cannot do certain things as well as the others in his team. This means that for the majority of the story, even though his first and preferred element provides him with useful abilities" Aang has weaknesses that he needs others to cover and provide for.

Enter Katara, Sokka, Toph and Zuko.

Katara is a waterbender who teaches Aang and later advances her powers to include the all-important power of healing and the disturbingly effective (though situational) Bloodbending.

Toph is an earthbender who is also one of Aang's teachers, and whose tremor sense later allows her to both detect liars and invent Metalbending.

Sokka is seemingly just the comic relief normie. However his technical mindset allows him to serve as the general of the group, and even plan and lead in that role for entire armies later in the show.

Even Zuko who joins later and becomes less a teacher but a fellow student alongside Aaang in firebending is a skilled infiltrator and melee weapon expert. (This is less of a case than the others since it's not used as much, but it's more of a concrete example than his insights into the fire nation and his potential utility as a replacement Fire Lord).

They each provide far more than those short summaries, but it's important to note that in each case, even when Aang does learn the elements and starts growing into his role as the Avatar: he never gains the full range of abilities that his team offers. He never assumes the fully strategic mindset of Sokka, and even though it's downright implausible that no Avatar before him never learnt healing, he never demonstrates that ability or any Metalbending prowess even in the Avatar state.

There's also the enemy trio of Azula, Ty Lee and Mai. Azula is a powerful firebending genius, but Mai's prowess with her throwing weapons are a close match- and Ty Lee's chi-blocking can outright cripple enemy benders for any given fight when combined with her insane agility: something that not even Azula can do with her firebending. They are an incredibly dangerous combination and when Azula loses them, she becomes far less effective for their absence.

In both teams despite the leader being a powerful, talented bender who is objectively the strongest person on their respective side: there's no doubt about each member of the team contributing something that said leader cannot.

Now let's look at Miraculous:

Marinette is the "Greatest Ladybug" of all time despite being fourteen, only having had the earrings for less than a year, and having a list of predecessors that go back literally thousands of years and include Joan of Arc.

She is also the Guardian of the Miracle Box. Specifically she is the Guardian of The Mother Box that is the most important of all the boxes, despite there being at least a full Temple's worth of actually trained candidates somewhere in Tibet who should be far and above more capable than her or her mentor Fu. However, her supposed superior Su-Han seems entirely convinced that she's already surpassed any teachings his order has by how often she breaks said teachings in his face only for him to roll over like a dog. There's not been a single time when Marinette has been confronted by some shortcoming in her responsibilities as a Guardian where she has had to learn anything from the multi-millennia old Order of Guardians.

Marinette has also worn almost every single Miraculous in her Box at the same time, a feat that supposedly risked serious harm to her but merely made her woozy for an afternoon (if that). As of the season five Finale, she has also unified her earrings with her partner's ring: a scenario that in earlier seasons seemed to imply great risk: yet she was able to use the powers flawlessly.

As Ladybug, she is also the lone hero who has unlocked any new advanced powers with her Miraculous (unless you also include the arbitrary "adulthood" that she and Chat Noir achieved that allows them multiple uses of their Miraculous before detransforming), and on the occasions when she's used anyone else's powers has shown no sign of being any less capable than they are with them.

Ladybug does everything as well if not better than everyone else.

Marinette can not only unify with any Miraculous she needs for a given mission, she can use the powers as effectively as their "dedicated holder" can and without any restrictions. Unlike the majority of the cast who are still under the child-power limit. She can even unify with multiple miraculous at the same time without any drawbacks.

And without those drawbacks, without anyone on the cast being able to use the power of their Miraculous more effectively than Marinette: everyone else on the team is more or less superfluous.

Sure, Marinette has tossed out the Miraculous to her team like candy now. But when you get down to it: the real lesson that she should have learnt from Strikeback to just put some damn security on her Yo-yo/The Box. Because this just means that she has to wait for the hero in question to show up when she could have just pulled off whatever plan she has in mind herself.

And that superfluous label includes Chat Noir.

As frustrating as it is to come to the this conclusion: as of right now, there's no real reason for Adrien Agreste to be anything but a temporary holder. Certainly you can point to his experience with Plagg's power, and a few examples that seem to imply he can do more with it (in his second outing he was able to reconstruct part of the Eiffel Tower into a makeshift extension to catch someone from). Things that imply that if he perhaps received any actual training in the show like Marinette did from Fu, any guidance whatsoever from the Order or their Grimoire he might be able to achieve more.

But there's no solid evidence to expect that Marinette wouldn't be as effective, and the narrative precedent does not lend itself to the idea that anyone could overshadow Ladybug as a holder even of their own Miraculous. If anything, the sheer ability Marinette showed as Bug Noire implies that her having a partner instead of just keeping the ring herself is a detriment to any given situation.

If you can justify exposing the ring to potential capture in the first place considering that there seems to be no requirement to do. By all rights the practical thing to do is just keeping Plagg in the box instead of risking reality.

Of course we wanted to be generous, Adrien could still be of some use. He's the resident meatshield and narrative jobber. So long as he has a Miraculous he could continue faithfully serving in those roles, eating up mind-control beams and taking hits for Bug Noire so she can save the day as usual.

But everyone else on the Miraculous team might as well turn in their furry super-suits and go home.

You couldn't get a more black and white depiction of the value of others outside of the protagonist. in Avatar, Aang is literally a semi-divine being who still needs to be humble and learn while the others around him still have useful special talents and prowess that he can't simply attain at will.

While in Miraculous, there's only one person of actual true competence. From Paris to Shanghai, Marinette alone is the capable one- barring the odd episode in the limelight (Alya and Felix stand up and take a bow. Adrien can stay seated).

There is a word for a character that is impossibly more capable than any other in spite of all reason and logic. And Marinette is increasingly fitting that mold as the show goes on. There's also a term for characters that ultimately contribute nothing good or bad to a story; wasted space. You can't have an entire ensemble of characters as part of the cast and have them provide nothing if they're supposed to have even a smidge of narrative value without making them something the story would be better off without.

Just as you can't just have one person at the centre of everything, make them capable of everything and not eventually have the story they're in turn into (at best) a power fantasy.

And it's a shame. Because Miraculous seemed like it could have been a lot more.

#ml writing critical #ml writing salt #Marinette doesn't have to be everything to be a good character #Making her the “Greatest X” means she has no where to grow to.#Making her utterly overshadow the rest of the cast doesn't make her look good it just make them look irrelevant and replaceable #If the writers want there to be a giant team they need to justify handing out the superweapons en masse

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truly-sincerely · 7 days ago

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Okay Alex Rider Nation. I need feedback. I said in a previous post that I've been working out what show!MI6 knows about Yassen Gregorovich and I've put together a little (extremely not little) Smithers presentation to ultimately be delivered in my snakehead treatment.

This is the first draft and I'm looking for fridge logic critique. Do Smithers and Jones' conclusions make sense with what they know? Did I miss any Yassen data (from the show) that they should've known about/that Smithers should've included.

Note: For Yassen's backstory I did take some key info from Snakehead and Russian Roulette and put them back together with consideration for how they'd fit into what the show has definitively laid out as self-contained facts. Internal consistency is more important to me than fidelity to the books (but I do love easter eggs).

With the casting of Yaseen Aroussi as young Yassen I decided to lean into making Yassen mixed-heritage. I also decided to address the fact that Gregorovich isn't a proper Russian surname by making it his middle name (and naming his father Grigory). I borrowed the surname I gave him from his childhood best friend in RR.

SMITHERS: Yassen Gregorovich. (pause for dramatic effect) Born Yaseen Grigoryevich Tretyakov in Moscow to Grigory and Hawa Tretyakov. Raised in Western Russia near Kursk--A place called Estrov--until it was destroyed in a fire that started in a nearby chemical plant. His father was killed in the initial explosion. His mother was exposed to hazardous chemicals and died of related complications in an evacuation center several months later. He was fourteen. JONES: I'm aware of all of this. He got onto our radar originally when he turned up in John Rider’s reports from one of Scorpia’s training facilities. SMITHERS: But before that he traveled almost a thousand kilometers to Moscow on his own, with no food or money. He spent the next three or four years in Moscow, living on the street and running errands for the local Mafiya. We still don’t know how he managed to find his way to Scorpia. JONES: Smithers. How long, exactly, have you been working on this? SMITHERS: Since Blunt lied to Alex about Gregorovich’s whereabouts. JONES: Two years. And why are you showing it to us now? SMITHERS: The man successfully faked his own death, then spent fifteen years doing whatever he pleased. And the reason we know he’s alive now is because he stopped to have a chat with Alex Rider. And despite that we still don’t know where in the world he currently is. CRAWLEY: Did Alex seem especially interested the other day when you mentioned him? SMITHERS: You noticed that as well, did you? Now, may I continue? JONES: (resigned) Go on.

(the timeline I decided on for Ian here is based on his having served in the parachute force for 12 years as stated in s1e1. If that's accurate, and he was 42 when he died, he wouldn't have been able to enter Special Operations until Alex was 4 or 5.

It's possible that the friend in Moscow wasn't Yassen at all, but:

I cannot be convinced that someone as upright and British as Ian Rider would speak this informally to someone he's never met before.

Unfortunately, Smithers couldn't possibly know about 'Yas', so I'm letting him make baseless conjecture about the friend in Moscow.)

SMITHERS: Going thru Ian Rider and Martin Wilby’s various and assorted records and communiques with a fine tooth comb, I found a few references here and there to a ‘friend in Moscow’ going back as far as 2010, which was not long after Ian received clearance to look at the Scorpia files. This may have been a coincidence but Ian was the only one of us who believed that Scorpia wasn’t gone and this could explain why. JONES: You’re suggesting that Ian knew Yassen was still alive all this time? SMITHERS: It’s possible. JONES: And that’s what got him killed. SMITHERS: Yes, that and Martin Wilby’s avarice. If my hypothesis is correct, it seems that Ian and Gregorovich had maintained a professional understanding for over a decade by that time. Then, only when Ian was on the cusp of finding proof that Scorpia was still active, Wilby was in place to prevent that from happening. JONES: And it would have been successful if not for Alex. SMITHERS: There was also the shooter that killed Alex’s clone outside of the school. Most likely also Gregorovich himself. And then Alex came to us again, desperately trying to convince us that he’d seen Gregorovich in Cornwall. And after he executed Simon Mariat and the five people in the hackerspace we lost track of him again, until– JONES: He shot Damian Cray and saved Alex’s life on board Air Force One.

SMITHERS: While wounded, I might add. We found quite a lot of Gregorovich’s blood just inside the cockpit. Ballistics confirmed that the shots that killed Cray were fired from that location, most likely in a supine position. Alex was confident in his characterization of Gregorovich’s motive. And in light of subsequent events, it seems very likely that Gregorovich did speak to him. Alex simply didn’t feel comfortable sharing the substance of that conversation with us. JONES: You believe Gregorovich sent Alex to Scorpia. That’s what you’re getting at with all of this. Alright. Let’s say I accept your premise. Why the biography? SMITHERS: You don’t see the similarity? Orphaned as teenagers. Forced to do incredible things to survive. And then Scorpia. But then we found out that Julia Rothman’s primary motive for wanting Alex at Invisible Sword was so she could watch him die. JONES: It would be rather out of character for Scorpia to sacrifice as large a payout as we can assume Cray’s operation would have netted them--not to mention reaping the subsequent economic and political consequences--just so they could personalize the murder of a teenager. Gregorovich must’ve been acting on his own cognizance. Scorpia likely doesn’t even know about his role in Cray’s death. SMITHERS: And then there’s the sniper. JONES: Sorry? SMITHERS: One of Julia Rothman’s people. His body was found on the roof opposite this building after Invisible Sword. The murder weapon, left at the scene, was the same Grach MP-443 that killed Damian Cray and Simon Mariat. JONES: That's right. With Gregorovich’s prints on it. SMITHERS: We’ve known that Scorpia discovered the truth about John Rider very quickly and had him, and his wife killed. The bomb on their plane. Could’ve even been Gregorovich that planted the bomb for all we know. Now that we know he’s been alive this whole time. Except... JONES: Except he didn’t know, did he? His loyalty was always to John Rider, and this whole time he never knew that John was one of us. Scorpia kept it from him, they must have. In his mind, Ian had been the disloyal one. But then he wasn’t at the Abbey during Invisible Sword. He must have discovered what Julia Rothman was planning for Alex, and with that discovery, the truth about John. And afterwards he’d have known Scorpia would want retribution. The only rational motive for killing the sniper is to protect Alex. And he left his weapon behind. He wanted us to know. SMITHERS: And there we have it.

#Alex Rider #Alex Rider TV #Yassen Gregorovich #Alex Rider Timeline #Alex Rider - Snakehead #There's a part two to this conversation but it's about stuff that happens after season 3 ends #Critique welcome #Thanks to akilah12902 for IDing the Grach #I wanted to sneak a grinch reference into this dialogue #but I restrained myself #everyone please applaud my self-restraint #the extremely unprofessional desire to hide a die hard or grinch reference somewhere in the script is ever present and unyielding

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theragethatisdesire · 2 years ago

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"l’amore è cieco" - eren x reader - 18+!!!

back to the ti penso universe!!! finally!! did you guys miss it? i know i did; i am utterly obsessed with these two. i've had this sitting in my unfinished wip pile for way too long not to share.

our lovebirds have gotten the wedding all wrapped up with, so we're a solid four years past them reuniting in italy....and surprise! they're expecting!!!!! i could literally scream just writing that; the grip dad!eren has on me will never let up, i fear......anyways, this one's a little rough because i've picked it apart a thousand times and i'm just tired of editing, so you guys enjoy!!! sorry if it's not quite up to par :/

pairing: eren x reader

wc: 4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, reader is pregnant, use of names (baby, mama, pretty, beautiful, etc), swearing, vaginal sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, lactation kink, creampie, crying, tooth-rotting fluff

title means "love is blind" in italian, per tradition w this verse <3

Right on schedule with your new daily, depressing routine, you stand in front of the mirror running your hands over your body, examining the recent changes. On second thought, scrutinizing might be a better word.

You’re grateful your job has allowed you to work from home for your entire pregnancy, editing articles from the journalists who can actually travel while snuggled up on your couch, but the downside of it is that you’ve had far too much time to mull on all of the ways your body has stretched and warped to accommodate the growing little girl in your stomach. You thought pregnancy was supposed to be beautiful, and sometimes it is, but more often than not, you just feel like a swollen, hormonal mess.

You “popped”, as all the mommy podcasts say, about two weeks ago, and thin stretch marks have begun to appear on your stomach. Eren calls them your “tiger stripes”, having been in full-blown cringe dad mode since the day you took the test. Bizarre cravings control you at all hours of the day, evidenced by the little black crumbs you’re picking out of your sports bra, left behind by your fourteen-Oreo breakfast today. You gaze longingly at the jewelry box on your bathroom counter; you haven’t been able to wear your wedding band in weeks, the tan line already beginning to fade from your finger. Before you can get a hold of yourself, the hormones have you in their grip, and hot, frustrated tears are spilling down your cheeks.

“Babe, have you seen that tie with the red–” Eren materializes in the doorway with absolutely no warning, as he’s prone to do, but cuts himself off at the sight of you, “baby, no, again?”

“Don’t say it like that,” you say, reluctantly allowing him to take you in his arms.

“Like what?” Eren’s voice is sweet, but hesitant. He’s been living under the constant threat of getting his head bitten off for mundane reasons because of you. It makes you feel worse, makes you shove him away and glare at him accusingly.

“Like I’m always fucking crying.” You are always crying, but you wish he would at least muster up some semblance of surprise at finding you in tears yet again. You turn away from him, wiping your face in the mirror. “Shouldn’t you be packing? Your flight leaves in like, three hours.”

“I’ll cancel,” Eren coos, stepping behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, picking your belly up in his hands.

It’s some hack he got off Tik Tok, supposed to take the weight off of your back for a precious moment, and as much as you don’t necessarily want to be touched right now, it actually helps. You’ve been alternating between thinking Eren’s overenthusiastic parenting research is adorable and mind-numbingly annoying, but for the moment, your back has stopped aching for the first time all morning, and you sigh, leaning into him.

“You can’t cancel,” you murmur, momentarily soothed, “‘s a big client. Where is it again? France?”

“I just got back from France, Miss Pregnancy Brain,” Eren chuckles, quieting immediately upon catching your lethal gaze in the mirror. “It’s just over in LA, and honestly, I could have Hitch go if you need me.”

“No, I can take care of myself, it’s just like…” a fresh wave of tears spills down your cheeks, “fuck, I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

Eren nods into your shoulder, letting you sniffle. It’s not a new trait, your outright refusal to ask for help, but it’s been exacerbated by your pregnancy, especially considering exactly how much help you actually need now.

You’ve taken custody of all of his sweatpants, not yet able to bring yourself to buy maternity clothes. You’d walked in sobbing and humiliated the other day because you’d peed yourself on the long elevator ride up to your apartment in front of the neighbors. You can’t sleep on your stomach anymore; Eren has to prop himself up just right beside you and sandwich you between himself and a wall of pillows to stop you from turning. You know it hurts him seeing you miserable, and you try to suck it up and enjoy the positives of pregnancy as much as you can, but you can’t muster up that strength every day.

“Hush,” Eren pulls your wet face to his chest, letting you stain the Number 1 Dad! t-shirt he had bought himself. “I’m not going.”

“Eren–”

“I’m not,” he says firmly, rubbing small circles into the bottom of your spine, “you need me here, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You grumble complacently, nuzzling into him. You do need him, as much as you want to think you can tough it out on your own. Eren’s bought book after book, not just for the baby, but for you. Most nights you find him reading titles like You’ve Made the Baby…Now What? or How to Survive Pregnancy: A Guide for Men with his feet propped up on the coffee table, a habit that, despite your efforts, you cannot nag him out of. It’s cute, honestly, how over-the-top he’s gotten with baby prep, especially when you’re often too exhausted to wrap your mind around reading a parenting guide.

“I feel ugly,” you admit quietly, sticky and snotty against his shirt. “I feel disgusting.”

“What?” Eren’s reaction is one of genuine confusion. He pushes you away from him so he can search your face, waiting patiently for you to elaborate.

“I’m gaining an obscene amount of weight, my ankles are the size of my knees, I can’t wear a single one of my rings, what am I supposed to feel like?”

Eren frowns. “Those things are supposed to happen. I read last night–”

“I don’t care!” Your voice cracks under the weight of your frustration, and you press your fingers into your eyes hard enough to see stars, trying to regain control of your temper. “I don’t care that it’s supposed to happen. It still sucks.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Eren sounds earnest, but you scoff at him anyway.

“We’re married. You’re supposed to say that.”

“I don’t have to.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “If you want your head to stay on your shoulders you do.”

Eren laughs at that, tugging you over to stand between his legs as he sits on the bed. “So, you’re serious? You genuinely don’t think you look good pregnant?”

“No,” you rub at your nose, “I don’t.”

Eren looks up at you, cupping your face gently. “I disagree.”

“Do you really?”

“I think you look better than ever.”

“That’s an insult to non-pregnant me,” you roll your eyes, moving to step away, but Eren holds you tight between his legs.

“It’s not,” he insists, “there’s just some things your pregnant body has that you didn’t necessarily have before. Some things that I like.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “Cankles?”

Eren chuckles breathily, shaking his head. “I adore your cankles, but they weren't exactly the first thing that came to mind. Take these, for one thing.”

Eren presses his nose into your sports bra, hands moving up underneath to palm at your swollen tits. You let out a breathy laugh as he explores, already feeling a low heat beginning to simmer in your core. That’s one perk of entering your second trimester; your hormones might turn on a dime, but your sex drive has skyrocketed.

Eren shoves your bra up to free your tits, groaning appreciatively as he takes a nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking. You watch as he feels his way around with his mouth, humming contentedly under your breath, when suddenly, his eyes fly open and he shoots away from you.

“What?”

Eren shushes you, bringing a hand to the breast that had been in his mouth and squeezing lightly. White liquid beads on your nipple, and you cover your face in shame.

“When did that start?”

“A few days ago,” you admit, trying to push his hands off of you, cheeks burning. Eren swats you away, leaning back into your nipple, sucking harder. You can feel a small stream of milk leaving you, relieving some of the pressure in your tits; a moan rumbles deep in Eren’s chest, and you can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Eren releases your nipple with a loud pop and looks up at you panting, eyes blown wide.

“Is it weird that that’s kinda hot?”

“Probably.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” you hum, threading your hands through his hair and urging him back to your chest, “feels good.”

That’s all Eren needs to hear, diving back into your chest with renewed vigor. As he continues, you realize it doesn’t just feel good, it actually feels incredible. You’ve always had sensitive breasts, but with the pregnancy, sensation has increased tenfold; you can feel your panties getting wetter as the weight of your full breast decreases. When Eren’s gotten all he can from your left nipple, he moves to your right, replacing his mouth on the now-abandoned nipple with his hand to twist gently at the wet skin.

The combined sensation makes your knees buckle; Eren saves you smoothly by wrapping an arm around your lower back, yanking you to him to straddle his leg. It’s the perfect angle for you to roll your hips against his thigh slowly, feeling the much-needed friction of his sweatpants against your cunt.

“Eren…” you breathe out, voice nothing more than a wisp of air.

“I know baby,” Eren speaks directly into your flesh, not willing to back away for even a moment, “feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Feels so good,” you whimper, clutching him to you with fistfuls of his hair.

“Told you this new body’s not so bad, hm?” Eren closes his teeth down on your nipple lightly; you almost keel over from the shockwave it sends through you.

You nod, rubbing yourself against his thigh faster. It’s awkward and cumbersome with your belly in the way, but it’s enough for now, enough to light your nerves on fire in that way that only Eren’s ever been able to.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” Eren mutters, grabbing onto your hips to help you get your rhythm right, “you’re so perfect, and you don’t even see it.”

Your fingers dig into his arms as you moan. “But my stomach–”

“But nothing,” Eren kisses you, mumbling into your mouth, “love your stomach, love your tits, love all of it. You think it doesn’t make me so fucking hard, watching you walk around with that big belly and knowing what it came from? I did that. We did that, didn’t we baby?”

“Mhm,” you bite into his shoulder, the friction on your clit through your sweatpants is getting to your head, making you dizzy. “Eren, Eren–”

“Sh sh sh,” Eren shushes you, moving so that he can look you in the eyes, “what do you need? Tell me.”

“I don’t– I don’t know, I just…” you can’t find the words, so in need of him that you can’t even decide what sounds best. His mouth? His fingers? All of it?

“Okay, okay,” Eren says quietly, standing you both up only to lay you against the pillows, “I’ve gotcha.”

He nudges his sweatpants down your legs, bringing your panties with them, spreads your legs so he can see the most intimate part of you. Eren brings his hand to your clit, rubbing tentatively, but you’re so desperate for him that it’s enough to make your back arch, a long, throaty moan ripping out of you. He lays beside you, gently playing with your clit and watching in awe at the reaction you give him, already a blubbering mess after only a few minutes.

“So sensitive, aren’t you mama?”

“Yes,” you hiss out through clenched teeth, a fresh wave of arousal flooding you at the name, “s-so sensitive. Need to cum, I need, n-need–”

“I’ll make you cum,” Eren promises, sinking a finger into you, “I’ll make you cum, baby.”

“Fuck, Eren, it’s– I can’t–”

“Feel good?”

“So fucking good,” you’re basically sobbing at this point, fingers clenched into the muscles of his bicep, clinging to him and humping his hand. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of sex over the first trimester (“What if I hit the baby’s head?” Eren had asked nervously whenever you approached him) or the rawness of the sensation against your over-sensitive body, but you’ve never been so close to your orgasm so quickly.

You don’t hold out long; Eren’s skilled with even just one finger, and before long, you’re crying out his name, gushing all over his hand. Eren presses his lips to your forehead in a sweet kiss despite having utterly destroyed you less than thirty seconds ago.

“Ready for me?”

“Sit,” you pant, pointing to the massive stack of pillows against your headboard. Eren raises his eyebrows in surprise, but does as he’s told, only pausing to pull his clothes off. The loss of the stupid dad t-shirt is a relief as much as feeling his bare chest under your hands. Due to your hormones, you’ve thrown Eren out of the house several times, and you’ve demanded to be alone enough to where his only solution is to go to the gym downstairs and work out until you’ve calmed down. It shows: his chest has grown broader and stronger, and the veins on his arms are nearly popping through the skin. “You look good.”

“Yeah?” Eren offers a shit-eating grin, flexing his bicep ever so subtly. “You should see yourself.”

“You seriously think I look good like this?” You’re straddling his hips now, rubbing your clit on his bare cock. It’s a lewd sight, his cock drooling on his abs, glistening with your cum; your cunt clenches around nothing, more than ready to be filled.

“Mhm, you look so fucking good like that,” Eren grunts, hands finding your hips again and lifting you up to sink you down on his cock, both of you letting out loud, satisfied groans, “but you look much better like this.”

You grind your hips against his, not possessing the energy to bounce your now-heavier body, but it makes you see stars. Eren rarely lets you ride him, much preferring to bend you over or pin you to the bed himself, but with your bump, you now have an excuse to hop on top of him whenever you like. It’s been close to a decade of fucking him, but the full stretch of him never fails to shock you, the way he pushes into you until you’re positive he’s in your stomach. With Eren sitting up, his cock stays firmly nestled against your g-spot, pushing little bits of squirt out of you with each movement of your hips.

“Eren–” you whimper, holding your breasts as you rock into him.

“Shit- you’re so tight like this,” Eren says through his clenched jaw, throwing his head back against the headboard, “why don’t you ride me more often?”

“You don’t let me,” you say with a watery giggle.

“Stupid,” Eren gasps, “‘m so fucking stupid.”

You’re too fucked out to voice your agreement, opting for sliding a hand down your body to flick at your clit. You can’t quite reach it around your bump, though, a discontented noise leaving your lips. Eren opens his eyes, takes notice of the way you’re hunching your back, and swats your hand away.

“I got it, I got it,” he pants, tucking his hand underneath your swollen belly to rub your clit just the way he knows you like it.

“Oh, f-fuck,” you choke out, throwing your head back.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” you hiss, “‘s perfect.”

“Take what you need, mama,” Eren’s watching you intently, a glimmer of admiration in his eye, “take what you need.”

You’re moaning pitifully, loud and wanton as Eren’s cock moves inside of you. Your cunt tightens around him desperately as the bubble building in your stomach threatens to explode.

“Think you get wetter like this, all swollen with my baby,” Eren muses, leaning forward to latch his mouth around one of your nipples where more milk has already started to pool. His words have a visceral reaction on you; you cry, tears welling in your eyes as you spiral towards your release.

“I think–I think I’m gonna– oh fuck, don’t stop,” you croon, rocking your hips as fast as you can manage. Eren mumbles around your nipple, something about how beautiful you look, and you come undone around him, grinding your hips hard against his and cradling him to your chest. He might have a point- there’s damn near a puddle of your arousal at the base of where you’re connected, slicking up the skin on his hips and the inside of your thighs.

“Better?” Eren pulls you in for a kiss; you can feel him grinning through it.

“Maybe a little,” you admit, laughing light and watery against his mouth.

“Mmm,” Eren hums, grabbing you by the hips and lifting you only to drop you down again and turn your laughter to a quiet whimper, “not good enough. Need you to be much better.”

“Fuck me, then,” you nip at his bottom lip, earn yourself a deep groan.

“Can you— can you hold yourself up like this?” Eren scooches both of you down, albeit, a little awkwardly, so that he can lay flat on the bed. He moves you up until you’ve only got him halfway inside of you, cocking a questioning eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, I–I think so.”

“And you’re sure I’m not going to hurt–”

“Jesus Christ– no Eren, it’s fine, just– fuck,” he cuts you off with a sharp snap of his hips up into yours, grinning menacingly when your eyes roll back.

“Like that?”

“Just like that,” you moan, annoyance wiped from you with one clean stroke. Eren takes that for the green light that it is and starts pistoning his hips up into you, swearing under his breath. Even though he’d instructed you to hold yourself up, he makes good use of his new muscles, suspending you at the perfect height to feel every inch of him as he fucks up into you like his life depends on it.

“You look so fucking gorgeous like this,” Eren growls, “all swollen with my fuckin’ baby. Gonna keep you like this, give you as many as you want.”

“Eren–” you choke out, suffocating on the way he’s fucking you, his words, him. For the first time in months, you feel amazing, holding your chest and groaning long and loud as Eren thrusts up into you.

“Baby, I’m- fuck, not gonna–” Eren cuts himself off with something that sounds suspiciously close to a whimper, throwing his head back.

“Cum in me,” you pant, nodding urgently at him, “want it so bad.”

“Oh fuck,” Eren groans, hips moving impossibly faster. His fingers are digging into your hips near to the point of pain, and that little frown he makes when he’s about to cum is crumpling his face. You do want it, badly.

“Please Eren, I need it,” you gasp, legs trembling on either side of his hips.

“Fucking love you, love you so much,” Eren slurs, hips stuttering. With a long, throaty moan, he slams you down one final time, cumming deep inside of you. You grind against him as he does, moaning along with him at the familiar warmth in your belly. Exhausted, you momentarily forget about your bump and try to collapse facefirst on him- that’s enough to snap Eren out of his post-orgasm haze.

“Whoa, whoa,” Eren shoves you back upright, lifting you under your shoulders and laying you on your back, “careful.”

You wince. “Shit, sorry. Sometimes I forget. It’s still sort of new.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, eyes locked lovingly on your baby bump, “love it, though.”

“Really?”

Eren cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at you. “If that didn’t convince you, I don’t know what will.”

You giggle at that; he’s always been good at this, cheering you up and diffusing your worries like it’s second nature. After ten years, it probably is at this point.

“I don’t mean to be so down on myself, really,” you sigh, tracing a finger over where his hand’s splayed on your stomach, “it’s just…so much harder than I thought it would be.”

Eren nods thoughtfully. “That’s reasonable. But you’re so good at it.”

“I haven’t even– what?” The insecurities that you’ve been successfully masking under good natured teasing and occasional annoyance come slipping from between your lips. You’ve thought it for weeks; how Eren’s so into all the baby stuff, so enthusiastic about learning everything he can, while all you’ve managed is trying not to gag when he cooks eggs in the morning and picking out some onesies. “What about all of your books and your podcasts and crap? You’re the one doing everything.”

“That’s all I can do,” Eren scoffs, “you’re doing all the hard stuff, like carrying the baby around and puking every morning and crying all the time–”

“Hey!”

“I’m serious,” Eren shushes you, “you’re putting in all the legwork. I mean, you’re literally growing our baby. You’re a fucking rockstar mom already. If anyone’s not doing enough here, it’s me.”

That’s one thing about Eren that will never get easier; his deep, unwavering admiration for you, no matter what you’re doing. Sure, it’s endearing when Eren spins you around in his arms for something as simple as finally getting that croissant recipe to come out well, but when he’s praising you for something that’s actually difficult? It’s sweet enough to give you a cavity, warm your heart, and turn your cheeks pink all at once, even after all this time.

“Well, if you’d like to take a shift carrying her around, be my guest. She’s a chunky little thing already,” you roll your eyes, tucking your face into Eren’s ribs to mask the flush rising to your face.

“I’d do it for you if I could,” Eren sighs in faux-thoughtfulness, “but I wouldn’t look half as hot.”

You giggle furiously when he lands a slap to your ass, swatting at his chest. “God, it still doesn’t feel real, does it? A little girl that’s half you, half me.”

“It does and it doesn’t,” Eren shrugs, bringing a hand back to your stomach, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been thinking about it since Italy.”

You gape at him. “That long?”

“You know I’m always ahead of you on this stuff,” Eren teases, squeezing your cheeks together, “knew I wanted you first, knew I wanted you back first, knew we should get married…”

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes at his bragging, “it’s just, like…are we ready? To do this?”

“This?” Eren cocks his head.

“The whole…‘parents’ thing.”

“Putting aside the fact that you're way too late to be having those kinds of thoughts,” Eren says, rubbing your lower back, “of course we’re ready. There’s no perfect parents, but I believe in us– believe in you. Gonna be the best mama any baby’s ever had, I know you will.”

“I don’t even…oh, Eren.” You’re tearing up again–damn hormones. Eren wipes at your tears, planting a big kiss on your forehead.

“I mean it. You’re going to be great, already are,” he says, smiling down at you. He holds you just like that for a few moments, letting you nuzzle into his chest, until his little grin grows wicked. “Although…the only thing I can say I am worried about is which one of us is going to accidentally teach her her first swear word. Should we bet on it?"

Even through your tears, you cock an eyebrow at him. “You and I both know that’s going to be Jean. Especially after what you taught Clara the last time we babysat.”

Eren barks out a laugh. “Hey, hearing her call Jean ‘Daddy Jackass’ was funny, and you know it!”

“Thanks for reminding me,” you smirk, “now I know what I’m teaching our little girl first.”

“No way!”

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #aot x reader #snk x reader #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction #eren jaeger fanfic #eren jaeger fanfiction #ti penso universe #ti penso uni

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saphronethaleph · 7 months ago

Text

Rushing the boomer

“How long?” Palpatine asked.

“Do not strain yourself, lord,” one of the cultists said. “Your attempt to possess the Snoke body will have weakened you-”

“I am well aware of my limitations,” Palpatine snapped, then turned to the Final Order engineer. “How long, commander?”

“That depends, my lord,” the engineer replied, his voice firm. “For the whole fleet… fourteen years. A single ship could be completed in eight. One ship coming online at a time in sequence, the first ship will be finished in nine years and the whole fleet in sixteen.”

Palpatine frowned.

“The whole fleet, then,” he said. “The might of the Final Order will blaze a path across the galaxy, and all will obey the Sith or perish.”

“It is as you command, my lord,” the engineer said, saluting.

Palpatine waved him away, then gestured, and a hologram of the Star Destroyers currently under construction formed in the air above him.

They were vast ships, for line vessels, and the Sith Eternal were building one thousand and eighty of them.

One thousand and eighty!

Never again would rebels exploit a single point of failure and destroy his most powerful and only superweapon… a fate he had experienced twice, now, and each one burned like a canker in his heart, the fury suffusing him and lending him strength.

At his insistence, Palpatine’s spies in the wider galaxy, outside Exegol, had found for him the names of every single person who had been directly involved in the attack on both Death Stars.

Han Solo, Chewbacca, Leia Organa Solo, Evaan Verlaine… all of those names were of people he hated. And Palpatine would see them destroyed, one way or another.

But there were four names for which the Dark Lord of the Sith reserved his greatest hatred. The true, simmering passion that Palpatine held for those who had truly thwarted his plans.

Landonis Balthazar Calrissian. Nien Nunb. Wedge Antilles… and, more than anyone else, Luke Skywalker.

If there was anyone who Palpatine wanted to destroy, it was Luke Skywalker… not merely to see him dead, but to humiliate him. To tear him down. To reduce all his triumphs to smouldering ruins.

Break the New Republic. Destroy the New Jedi Order. Turn his own family against him. Shatter his will.

That was what Palpatine would do, to Luke Skywalker.

And then – and only then – would the galaxy burn, worlds submitting to the rule of the Sith or being destroyed.

Thinking such pleasant thoughts, it took a moment for Palpatine to notice the flashing red alert on the side of the holodisplay.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Explain it!”

“We’ve picked up ships, incoming,” an officer said, looking up from his displays on the other side of the room. “Lots of them – Rebel ship classes!”

Palpatine’s hand waved, and the holodisplay reconfigured to show the Red Honeycomb Zone and the tactical displays.

Sure enough, ships were coming through. Two Mon Cal star cruisers, first, then frigates and cruiser class vessels, disgorging a cloud of snubfighters from their hangar bays.

Sith Eternal TIE Fighters were already taking off, but Palpatine could see the difference between the two forces – the Sith Eternal was a secret military and had never actually fought in battle, and it had been aiming for a projected readiness date over a decade in the future.

The New Republic fighter corps was no such easy target. Even without their shields, their skill and training were clearly superior, and the first pass saw a dozen Sith fighters go down in blazing, burning wrecks. A dogfight was already beginning, but it was a dogfight that could only go one way.

But how had this happened? Exegol was secret! With the hyperspace anomalies protecting it, the only way to visit the planet would be to not only know where it was but be shown…

...unless, that was, someone had a Sith wayfinder.

Suddenly gripped by a cold rush of fear that prompted a surge of utter hatred, Palpatine reached out with his mind towards the New Republic strike force as it became haloed in laserfire and explosions.

He could sense a Sith Wayfinder. HIS Sith Wayfinder! The one that had been in his throne room during the Battle of Endor.

Pushing harder, Palpatine located the dancing spark of the wayfinder, alongside a sickeningly familiar presence – a presence ducking and dodging and rolling, as it locked onto and destroyed one TIE Fighter after another.

“Skywalker!” Palpatine shouted, then coughed. “SKYWALKER!”

“Watch out, there’s another fighter flight taking off from the hangar system to port,” Nien Nunb said, pointing.

“Got it, keying them in,” Lando agreed, his gaze flicking between the displays of the Raddus flag bridge. “Hey, Wedge, you want to take those fighters and the battleline will kill the hangar for you?”

“Copy that, General,” Wedge agreed. “Red leader to Red Alpha flight, follow me in!”

Six X-wings rolled to follow Wedge in, and Lando checked over the displays again.

“Well, I’m no expert but I think we caught them with their pants down, Admiral,” he said, glancing back at Leia. “No more than one in fifty of the capital ship turbolasers are working, and most of them seem to still be under construction.”

He whistled. “It’s a damn good thing we caught them when we did, though, I’m reading over six hundred ships in states of construction and there’s hundreds more building slips.”

The Raddus jolted as a volley of turbolasers hit, then the radio crackled.

“Gold leader here,” Verlaine called in. “Princess, I’ve got eyes on where that fire’s coming from, looks like a turbolaser testing facility with some working cannon. My boys and girls will fix that little problem.”

Nien made the adjustment before Lando got to it, and a double volley of proton torpedoes blasted the facility to pieces.

“It’s certainly a damn good thing we found them before they finished,” Leia agreed. “How did you do it?”

“Well, our lead ran out on Kijimi,” Lando said. “Then I realized nobody had actually checked the wreckage of the Second Death Star, and unlike the first the second’s armour wasn’t in place to contain the explosion. I thought it was likely some of it had come down intact, so Luke and I went over to find it and that’s how we got here.”

“I’m picking something up-” Nien reported, then they all looked out the window at once as a flare of lightning crackled up from a hole in the ground. It gripped a New Republic corvette, lightning crawling over the surface and ripping chunks out of it, and when the bolts stopped the engines had been disabled and most of the CR90 crashed seconds later.

“Skywalker here, I’m on it,” Luke said, his X-Wing shooting past and shooting down one of the last enemy TIEs. The Jedi Master’s snubfighter kept going, rolling into a complex manoeuvre and spitting laserbolts down the chasm, then the lightning came back up again – and Luke’s ship absorbed it, glowing bright white as the energy was corralled and neutralized.

“I don’t know about you, but that looks like the main event as far as I’m concerned,” Lando noted.

#star wars #palpatine #another bad day for palps #luke skywalker #lando calrissian #could have avoided the timeskip

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ladykailitha · 8 months ago

Text

Sweet Home Indiana Part 5

Hey all! Heads up for those that missed my previous announcements, I'm going on vacation starting today for about a week.

No WIP Wednesday tomorrow as it's my niece's graduation, but it should be back on next week, depending on how late I get in.

We finally hit pinnacle douche Eddie and the beginning of his turn to the lovable Eddie we know and love.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4

****

Steve walked into his house after a long day at the shop to find Eddie in the kitchen making dinner. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked behind him at the door he clearly unlocked to get in and then back at Eddie.

“How the fuck did you get into my house?” he growled, throwing his keys in the dish by the door and kicking off his shoes.

Eddie didn’t even bother looking up from his dicing of vegetables. “Robin always forgets her keys, so you have to have a spare for her to get in, and because she’s so forgetful it has to be in the same spot.”

Steve let out an annoyed huff. “Under the second flower pot with duck.”

“Right in one, darlin’,” Eddie said, looking up at him with a grin.

“So is this your new strategy to get me to sign the divorce papers?” Steve asked pulling out a beer from the fridge. “Buttering me up?”

“Well,” Eddie said going back to his cutting, “since we’re still married and all with you refusing to sign the papers, I figured I’d just move back in.”

Steve dug around his crock drawer for the bottle opener. “Like you’d give up your cushy tattoo job up in Seattle.” He popped open the lid and took a sip.

He immediately went to the sink and spat it out. “What the fuck is that?!”

“Craft beer!” Eddie said with another grin. “It’s all the rage out on the West Coast. But anyway, I was in town and stopped by the furniture shop because that couch is hideous and has to go. And of course we're going to need a bigger bed.”

Steve scoffed and shook his head. “Whatever, babe. It’s your money.”

Eddie stopped chopping and said with all the innocence he could muster and said, “But Stevie, I thought it was our money.”

Steve who had opened a bottle of his own beer and was drinking it, suddenly froze. His throat still moved, swallow after swallow but the rest of him was stock still.

“I bet the words ‘joint checking account’ are flashing through your mind right now,” Eddie sneered.

Steve emptied his bottle and threw it into the sink with a loud crash. “How much did you take?”

Eddie turned around and faced him, crossing his arms over his chest. “All twenty-nine thousand eight hundred and sixty-seven dollars and fourteen cents.”

Steve’s jaw formed a hard set line and he clenched his fists. “You put it back, right now.”

“Why don’t you use it for something useful, Steve?” he asked, waving his hands in front of him. “You have a shop, why aren’t you putting the money toward that? Christ that is almost life changing money.”

Steve stormed out of the room and was back before he could even raise a protest. “This is what it’s for, asshole and if you don’t put it back I will never forgive you. Do you understand me?”

Eddie looked down at the papers in his hand in confusion, gingerly taking them from Steve. In big bold letters were the words NON DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT.

“Am I allowed to read this?” he asked with a gulp.

“It expired five years ago,” Steve bit out. “So yeah, otherwise I wouldn’t be giving it to you, would I?”

Eddie nodded and began reading. The date was roughly three or four months after he left and god was it a mess. It chronicled Susan Hargrove’s addictions to drugs, alcohol, and sex. And that if Steve wanted custody of her daughter, Maxine Maxwell he had to jump through so many hoops, including signing the NDA. His hand shook as he turned page after page of what boiled down to fifteen page document.

“The money is part of the settlement from the court,” Steve said through gritted teeth. “I put it in the old account because I didn’t feel like opening another one and forgot your name was still on it. It pays for her schooling, rent, and food until it’s gone.”

Eddie’s lip quivered. “Shit, Steve, I’m sorry. But I’m still in contact with most of the kids. Even Max and no one told me about this. Not ever.”

Steve frowned and took the pages from Eddie’s trembling hands. “I thought you knew. Hell, it was more than a nine day wonder here in town when the dust finally settled.”

Eddie thought for a moment, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. The more he thought about it the more it actually made sense. And fuck if that didn’t hurt like a kick to the ribs.

One of his worst parting shots was that the kids would be fine on their own. They had parents and friends and other people who cared about them. But that fucking NDA proved him to be the biggest asshole in that regard. Because it irrefutable proof that he had been dead wrong about that.

“Fuck,” he whispered, drawing his hands over his face. “It’ll be back in there by tonight, I swear. I’m so, so sorry, Steve. I swear I am. I know you won’t believe me and that’s okay. But I would never do anything that would harm those kids. Not if my life depended on it.”

Steve’s bottom lip quivered and then he pinched his nose and rubbed the end. And fuck if that didn’t break Eddie’s heart. That was Steve’s little tell that he was fighting back tears.

“You really didn’t know?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Eddie shook his head. “I didn’t know. Here...” he pulled out his phone and immediately transferred the money back. He had transferred it in several small amounts as to not trigger that that Fed law thingy and reversed every one of them. “All back.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. “Were you really going to blackmail me with the money to divorce you?”

Eddie hung his head and let out a sigh of his own. “I can’t tell you why, but me and Chrissy are on a timetable and if we don’t get married by certain date, things can go very badly. So yeah. I was going to do whatever it took.”

Steve’s bottom lip quivered so him bit down on it to stop it shaking.

“Come on,” Eddie murmured. “Let me finish making dinner and we’ll talk. I think there are a lot of things between us left unsaid. I thought it was all on my side, but I’m starting to think there has been a lot of things that I haven’t been told about what’s being going on with you and this town.”

Steve nodded.

****

It took Steve a fair bit of breathing techniques to get his heart rate back to normal after that little stunt. And if he was honest, he couldn’t say had their situations been reversed, he wouldn’t have tried the same thing.

But there wasn’t anyone in his life right now that measured up to Eddie. Or at least that starry-eyed boy he fell in love with the first time.

Eddie had actually made his favorite meal. Manicotti. He had been cutting up the vegetables for the bolognese sauce that he poured over the top.

They sat down on the hideous neon green sofa while it went into the oven to cook.

“This sofa really is grotesque, Steve,” Eddie muttered, bringing one knee up so he could turn and face him.

Steve threw back his head and laughed. “That’s what everyone has said once they’ve seen it.”

“So why keep it?”

He ran his fingers over the worn surface thoughtfully. “Because despite how ugly it looks, it’s soft and comfortable. Great for naps and movie nights. If I spill something on it, I won’t freak out about it getting ruined.”

Eddie’s heart sank to his stomach. That was something that had made having movie nights over at Steve’s parents’ house such a nightmare. No feet on the sofa, no drinks anywhere but on the coffee table with a coaster, no dips or salsa, nothing red or orange, drinks or otherwise. It was the biggest house with the biggest screen, but it was a museum and not a home.

He actually looked around him for the first time, taking in the homey surroundings, the pictures on the wall of not just Steve and Robin, but all the kids. Birthdays, graduations, dances, you name it, if Steve was there with a camera, it was there up on his wall in some way.

The house was neat, but in a lived in sort of way instead of the strict tomb quality of his parents’ house. Christ. He had been joking about wanting to move back, but now he actually did. He could see himself slotting himself into this home as easy as breathing.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Right. So how long have you had this place?”

“About three years now,” Steve murmured. “That’s about when the shop started making a profit and not just coasting along above red.”

“I like it,” he said with a fond smile.

Steve gave his shoulder a shove. “You do not. You don’t need to pretend with me.”

Eddie grasped his hands to his chest. “Ah! I doth protest!” He paused for a moment and tapped his lips thoughtfully. “You’re right, I don’t like it.”

“See?” Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I love it.”

Steve stared at him for a moment before blushing and looking away. “So how long have you and Chrissy known each other?”

“Two years,” Eddie replied. “She came in for a tattoo to cover up the name of her ex-boyfriend and we became really good friends.”

“And she’s a paralegal?” Steve asked.

“Legal assistant,” Eddie said. “Don’t ask me what the difference is, I don’t know. But she’ll always correct people when they say ‘paralegal’.”

Steve nodded.

“So, is it just you and Robin?” he asked, looking around the house for clues there was another person here. Either for Steve or for Robin.

“Yeah,” Steve said with a sad smile. “But not for much longer. She’s starting school in the fall. She just needs to pick which one she wants and let the other know she’s pulling out.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked. “What are her choices?”

“NYU and University of Washington,” Steve said. “I don’t get wanting to go to either except to get as far away from Hawkins as possible and still be in the country.”

Eddie laughed. “Well can you blame her?”

Steve leveled him with a glare and Eddie gulped.

“Right, sorry. That was a shit thing to say,” he said ducking his head. “I ran away and kept running away and you didn’t deserve that.”

“So why did you? Run away, I mean?”

Eddie ran his fingers over his face and let out frustrated sigh. “I thought it was what I wanted. The fame, the fortune, the screaming crowds every night. And maybe it still is, but the other guys got tired of it. Of the being away from family and on the road all the time, so by the time that all fell apart, it was just too much.”

Steve cocked his head to the side and regarded Eddie fully. He took him all in and not just the cursory glance he got at the bakery.

Eddie had filled out in a good way. He would always be thin, but he was no longer that waif he was in high school. He had more tattoos, which made sense considering his job. His hair was still as wild and untamed as always. He had stubble on his jaw and on his upper lip. There was a weariness to those dark brown chocolate button eyes.

“What was too much, Eddie?”

“The amount of pain I put you through,” he said softly. “And continued to put you through. You didn’t deserve any of it, sweetheart. You deserve a white wedding with all your friends and loved ones around you. You deserve to have someone standing by your side as an equal partner. You deserve someone who isn’t going to run the moment things get rough.”

“I always thought that would be you,” Steve admitted.

Eddie nodded. “So did I, once upon a time.”

“But not anymore?” Steve asked, breathless.

“No. Not anymore.”

****

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Tag List:

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6- @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95

7- @blackpanzy @amazing-spiderkeys @oldpinghai @raisedbylibrarians @kultiras

8- @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steddie-as-they-go @captain--low @micheledawn1975 @thespaceantwhowrites

9- @mac-attack19 @blondie1006

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rom com au

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