#eighty days until the fall

[elkaseltzer]

my contribution to Eggplosion!

i worked with @baubles-n-bones , who is so absolutely amazing. check out what they wrote!!

[followthestarliight]

you randomly bite the LADS Men

featuring - Xavier x F!Reader, Rafayel x F!Reader, Sylus x F!Reader, Caleb x F!Reader, Zayne x F!Reader

a/n - Zayne was difficult for me, so i apologise if his doesn't sound right

XAVIER

Xavier was really the cutest person you'd ever met, so your impulsive thought to bite him out of cuteness aggression resurfaced every few hours. The way he smiled at you sometimes made it flare up dangerously, and you barely managed to keep yourself in check.

Until today.

He wasn't doing anything special, just laying down on the couch with his head on your thighs and his eyes glued to the TV. You were carding your fingers through his hair, admiring his soft locks that were shimmering like moonlight under the sun's rays.

It was his expression that was getting you.

He looked so confused, but so fascinated at the same time. You had no idea what he was watching - too focused on him to care - so you didn't exactly know what was causing that facial expression, but it was so adorable.

You leaned down and bit his cheek.

He went still, and for a moment there was no response. Then he blinked once, twice, and turned to look at you. For a moment you were going to ask what he was doing, but then he leaned in as well.

Your eyes went wide, and you pulled back, "Xavier, no!"

"It's only fair," he answered, pouting just slightly, "You bit me first."

"I-I-But you're cute!" You protested.

"If that's the criteria we're going on, then..."

He proceeded to bite both your cheeks...and your nose. Your face flushed, cheeks burning, but Xavier turned back to his program like nothing had happened.

RAFAYEL

Rafayel was clingy. He'd said it himself. When he wasn't painting, he'd be stuck to you, arms wrapped around you or hand holding yours or touching you in literally any way. Even if you had to be somewhere, there was an eighty percent chance he'd go with you - unless it was for work, obviously.

Today was one such day - you needed to go, but he was sleeping.

His arms were wrapped tightly around you, ensuring minimal chances of escape, and his face was buried in the crook of your neck. He was fast asleep, and he looked peaceful.

So peaceful, in fact, you found it adorable. It was rare to see him like this; majority of the time you saw him, he was working on a new piece. So as you admired him, you couldn't help but notice how cute he looked - lips slightly pouty, cheeks a little puffy, like a sleeping chipmunk.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and bit his cheek.

This man jerked awake so fast, like he'd been shocked back to life. His head clumsily hit yours, and you ended up falling off the couch where you'd convinced him to take a nap.

"Did you just...bite me?" He looked scandalised.

"Maybe?" You laughed. "You looked so bite-able."

"I'm not a fish you can just eat whenever!" He protested, cheeks going red. When you just laughed, he lunged forward and bit your cheek back.

"Rafayel!" You gasped, rubbing your sore cheek.

"You started it!"

SYLUS

With Sylus, it was very difficult and extremely rare to catch him off guard. At this point, he knew you better than you knew yourself, and he could often predict what you were going to do before you decided to do it.

That's not to say it was impossible, though.

He was most vulnerable when the two of you get ready for bed. You don't pull any of your silly pranks at that time, so his guard was usually down and he doesn't pay much attention to what you're planning.

Which was great for you, because today you had an idea.

You both lay in bed together, his arms snaking around your waist to pull your body flush against his, your back to his chest. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent, so sleepy that he didn't notice your head dipping.

You bit his bicep.

His entire body went rigid for a brief moment, but relaxed so fast that you thought you'd imagined it. Then, his chest rumbled against your back as his deep chuckle filled your ears.

"You're extra feisty tonight, kitten."

"You put your bicep there, so it's your fault really," you said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Is that so?" He turned you around in his arms, his eyes glinting deviously. "Well, allow me to return the favour then."

"What?" Your eyes widened, "Wait, no-!"

But he had already lifted your arm up to his lips, and you braced yourself for the inevitable sting. However, when his lips met your skin, he just nipped your wrist - sensually.

"There, now we're even."

CALEB

Caleb went along with every single thing that you did. He entertained every silly idea, every intrusive thought, every playful action. There was nothing you could suggest that he would say no to, because as long as neither of you get hurt he was all for doing something fun.

So when the two of you finally had one day off together at home, he was content to do whatever you wanted. Though, halfway through the movie you'd picked to watch, he was on his phone.

Your eyes narrowed.

He didn't notice the irritation on your features, too engrossed in typing whatever message he was sending. The two of you had specifically agreed no work today, yet there he was.

"Caleb."

He didn't hear you, his brows furrowed.

That's when you had enough, leaning forward to bite his cheek.

Caleb yelped, his phone slipping from his hands, "Pipsqueak! What was that?"

"We said no phones!" You crossed your arms.

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, putting it away. Then he lunged forward, grabbed you, and bit your cheek back.

"Caleb!" You protested. "You can't bite me!"

"No? Why not?" He bit your cheek again, grinning like a madman.

"Because I didn't break our rules!"

"But you're so cute, I wanna bite you!" He supported this by nibbling on your cheeks, your nose, and your shoulders.

And he did not stop.

"Caleb! I'm going to have bite marks all over my body now!" You whined, trying to push him away - but his grip only got tighter.

He had the nerve to smile innocently, "That's the point."

ZAYNE

Zayne tolerated your whims, but he doesn't exactly acknowledge or respond to them. If he's busy in his office, you'll be lucky if you get a soft, exasperated sigh. If he's not busy, he just raises an eyebrow and looks at you sceptically. He knew you liked to do silly things to him sometimes, and because it's you he lets you.

He just didn't expect the brand of mischief you had in store for him today.

You were laying on the couch in his office, resting after an examination following a difficult mission. He had strongly suggested you stay with him, so he could supervise your movements.

But you were getting bored, and being left alone with your thoughts never ended well.

As soon as an idea popped into your head, after watching Zayne focus intently on his computer screen, you stood up and approached the doctor. He didn't acknowledge your approach, his eyes glued to whatever he was typing.

That is, until you leaned down and bit his cheek.

The typing stopped, and he turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing, "...Are you alright?"

"...Yes?" You answered, confused.

"The medication wasn't too strong," he murmured, speaking more to himself than you.

"What?"

"You bit me," he answered, "Should I even ask why?"

"No," you grinned, then crossed your arms, "Did you think the medication was making me delirious?"

"No." His answer was the same as ever, but you weren't convinced.

The slight smile on his lips confirmed your suspicion.

"Zayne, I'm not crazy!"

[sheepispink]

mainly ghost but still tf141 x overstimulated/sensitive! reader SFW

i’ve been so sensitive to sound recently and it’s killing me because my family just loves to speak SO LOUDLY. im gonna die. also mind the spelling, i wrote this in 20 mins

The weeks have been dragging on too long, your throat has been endlessly dry for days and your brain is practically rattling against your skull everytime something enters your ears. Not even the cool nights in spring can ease the burn of your skin, only stinging the teeth marks in your raw lips. It’s all too much, the guilt of not doing enough weighing heavily on your eyes whilst you push your feet to move forward. One more step. Just until Friday. That’s all you’ve been saying since the new year and not once has it payed off.

How much more of this can you really take? The trampled dirt on this abandoned path has been attacking your nose for the past few minutes and the moon may as well be the sun with the way it burns your eyes. It was supposed to be an escape but the howls of the wild animals seem to tunnel directly to your ears, relentlessly digging its way through and into your brain. Covering them wont even help, not when your hair feels oily despite being washed that morning and a sticky residue still remaining on your hands despite how red they are from scrubbing the drink a rookie spilled everywhere.

And yet it’s still thursday. Still another full day of this; another twenty four hours one thousand four hundred and forty minutes, eighty six thousand and four hundred seconds more of this.

“Sergeant?”

Your brain snaps awake, every single sense disappearing as you look to the side, noticing your Lieutenant. A gun is held in his hand, a cloth in the other from his meticulous cleaning routine. Though what’s got you more confused is the hand that roughly pulls your shoulder back, making you stumble.

“Why—” You finish your own sentence as you stare at the giant puddle you were about to step right through and likely soak your entire calf. “Oh.”

“What had you thinking so hard you almost drowned?” He tugs you to walk around it and you follow, stepping into a comfortable pace that aligns with his. You’re tempted to roll your eyes though, you definitely wouldnt have drowned from a puddle.

“The usual.. y'know work and all.” He nods as you sigh, falling quiet for a moment before he begins again.

“Never took you for the distracted type.” As much as you gladly took any conversation your gruff superior rarely shared with you, you were suddenly praying he’d just shut up. He’s usually silent so why not this time?

“Oi! You think this is a joke?”

Ghost glances over at the rookie being yelled at by his officer, letting out a gruff chuckle. “Havent missed hearin’ those.” He hums lowly, turning to face you again only to be taken aback by the pained expression on your face, wincing at the loud yelling. “So that’s what it is..”

—

It’s not long before he’s got you in the task force’s common room, signalling to Soap with a finger to his lips and then a nod towards you who follows in a haze. You’re exhausted, that’s for sure, but overstimulated was definitely your main diagnosis. Soap gets the jist quickly, standing up to dim the lights a little, before walking over to the kitchen to grab you a glass of lukewarm water. Not too cold, and definitely not warm either.

You’re like putty in Ghost’s silence, letting him do whatever he pleases as long as he stays silent like that; even if it means he’s got you snuggled against the cushions, the water glass in your hand thanks to Soap. The telly is turned on, only emitting a low hum of a stupid sitcom the team’s been invested in recently. It’s calming, quiet and the blanket placed over the three of you is way too tempting for Gaz not to join in too, forcing you all into a comfortable squeeze.

Though it wouldn't be quite complete without Price settling on a nearby armchair, the faded scent of his cologne somehow wafting towards your nose. Soap’s arm rests around your back, a comfortable unmoving weight, but his shoulder is an even better pillow as your brain starts to give into the peaceful atmosphere—a gloved finger gently rubbing the back of your hand.

[eraserbread]

sweet, shy little college nerd!jo... the only one who can make his best friend, toxic fratboy!geto behave

you've been avoiding geto all day.

tensions ran high at his frat party last night. you showed up late and sober as hell when he was already five shots deep, and his mean, drunken personality had you bypassing him all night.

you found yourself taking eighty smoke breaks just to duck into dark corners. you shushed friends who called your name too loud and took your leave well before midnight hit. you hated when he drank, and he knew you hated it, but just didn't care.

he doesn't need your permission to be a nineteen-year-old, and he surely doesn't need your nagging in his ear when he's surrounded by all of his brain-dead, whip-it-fried, frat brothers.

you're walking to your chem lecture, tote slung over your shoulders as he annihilates your phone with back-to-back phone calls and angry texts. geto got drunk, but he never blacked out, so he remembers everything.

two of his friends mentioned you in distaste today, noting your presence last night as 'bitchy' and 'standoffish'. it got him so hot, embarrassed, and pedaling over apologies he didn't really mean just to tidy up his reputation.

it's why you're looking down at unstable messages calling you every insult in the book when you're stepping through the large, swinging wood doors.

from: geto <3 you're so fucking useless don't come back anymore, I mean it dramatic bitch. to: geto <3 stop blowing me up, idiot leave me alone. i get it from: geto <3 you don't think i have your class schedule? gonna call me an idiot to my face? to: geto <3 yes. you're a fucking idiot drunk. i hate you so much, just stop contacting me

you don't realize you're scowling at your phone at the entrance of the lecture hall until a sweet, familiar voice breaks you out of it.

"hey, everything okay?" gojo's standing in front of you, nervously reaching back to scratch his head. you two aren't friends, and he thinks you're just as mean as geto, but something about you two attracts him like a moth to a flame.

"oh," you draw a mischievous smirk when you take in his pretty reflection. him and his stupid flannel and white undershirt tucked into his stupid scholarly high-waisted pants. such a dork. "tell your boyfriend to stop sending me death threats."

"wh-what?"

you're ignoring him, pushing past his lanky figure so you can catch a good seat before the professor starts droning. typical, gojo's right on your trail, face all screwed up in confusion and glasses hanging low. he hasn't heard from geto in like... two days. hasn't seen him, either, so boyfriend is a loaded term.

and gojo thought he was your boyfriend... wait, death threats?

"what are you talking about?" he accidentally follows you to your eight-row seat, clutching his backpack tight.

"will you shut up? just sit down."

"s-sit..? next to you?"

"or somewhere -- i dunno, god. so annoying."

"oh... o-okay." he's obedient, that's not lost on you. what is, though, is the way he peers at you as your professor begins. you're pulling out your laptop, so gojo pulls his out.

when you open a new doc to start typing notes, gojo sees that and starts typing his notes when he usually prefers to write. the new equations he's learning completely falls by the wayside as he watches your fingers fly across the keyboard - pretty face quirked up in focus.

halfway through the lecture, you pull out your phone. something on it makes you frown, and gojo hates that.

he hates it so much that he pulls his messages open on his laptop, making sure you're unnoticing as he clicks over to geto's contact.

to: suguru please be nice from: suguru you fucking you're a nosey dumbass to: suguru please

two minutes pass, so gojo closes down the text conversation, peering back at you and your phone face-up on the table.

from: suguru fine.

[kurokawaia]

18+ | WARNINGS :: Shoto x fem!reader, slight somnophilia (implied consensual), groping, reader is described to have larger breasts, Shoto loving on your boobs + more ? giving @crushmeeren a tag bc i think you'd wanna read this??!?! >.<

Thinking about laying in bed with Shoto, you're fast asleep, your back snuggling up tight to his chest, content in his arms. He's about to fall into slumber as well, but you begin to wiggle around, a lot. Doing a full one-eighty, your now facing him, hands making place on his chest, however, that's not what he was thinking about. Shoto's eyes are hopelessly trained to your dainty silk pink lace tank top, slowly examining the lace from your shoulder to wear it meets at your breasts. Now this, this has his attention, your plushy tits almost spilling out the tank, the sight couldn't help but make his cheeks dust a soft pink. Shoto doesn't have that high of a sex drive, so when he starts acting up, he is craves you, badly. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, his hand slowly reaching out and squishing your soft mound causing a gentle sigh to leave your lips. He just can't help himself, not when your boobs are on the verge of spilling out your tank and looking so beautiful squished together. It won't be too long until he won't be able to resits gentle waking you up to help him out!

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

honey's a/note:: yes this was the dirty thought i had abt shoto the other day, lmk if anyone wants a full oneshot for this and i shall see what i can do 👀

[nevarrhoe]

mea culpa (m.m)

SUMMARY: "mea culpa" (exclamation - noun/legal term)

used as an acknowledgement of one's fault or error.

↪ in which matt murdock accidentally falls in love with the district attorney's daughter.

warnings: smut !! p in v, she/her pronouns used for reader

series master list

any minors caught interacting will be blocked and reported

a/n: don't mind me bringing this series back THREE YEARS later bc i fell back in love with matt murdock. felt right to re-publish just bc i have edited it a little bit too. enjoy!!

You fucking hated these parties. 

Sweaty lawyers, classy music, champagne that cost thousands of bucks but tasted like piss. And it was all for what? For every lawyer on the Upper East Side to have a dick measuring contest and decide who the best prosecutor was? Yeah, that sounded about right.

It would have been less insufferable if the barristers in question were younger, hotter and more prone to using antiperspirant. Sadly, they were none of those things. All well past their sell-by date. You could deal with an older man but these were just…old. Daddy issues were one thing but gran-daddy issues was where you drew the line. Much unlike the gorgeous blonde girls hooked on the arms of the eighty-plus law firm partners, flaunting the expensive rocks on their fingers and praying for the day that their husbands finally keeled over and left their estates to them. You’d always sworn not to become one of them. At least not until you were twenty-seven at most - and it wouldn’t have been hard, given that your father was the District Attorney and had every high-flying lawyer in his pocket. 

You didn’t need their money though, not when you had his. Obviously, most of it was family money - district attorneys didn’t exactly make money bags. Not much of an issue given that your family name ranked a little between the Vanderbilts and the Rockerfellers. 

So there you were, perched on the edge of some random firm’s annual mixer. You’d cracked out your mother’s vintage Chanel suit - a red-and-black checkered blazer and matching mini-skirt, finished with black platform heels and a spritz of Coco Chanel. There wasn’t a hair out of place - that was rule one of finishing school. 

“Darling, are you going to mingle at all?”

Eyes flickering up from your champagne, they locked with your father’s a few feet away. The scowl was natural. 

“What am I supposed to talk about?” you asked. “They’re all boring. And old.”

“Any man here would give you a job,” he replied. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to have one.”

“Oh father, please,” you snorted. “Your great-grandad didn’t spend years exploiting oil tycoons for billions of dollars for me to break my nails working.” 

You could have gotten any job or degree you wanted - money aside, you were smart as fuck. You’d graduated top of your class at Harvard at the mere age of 21. Two years later, however, your degree was just decoration, with you having discovered you much preferred just…existing. And spending money on clothes, bags, and whatever else you fancied that day. 

“Our ancestors worked hard-” 

“- I never said they didn’t work hard,” you cut him off. “You clearly put a lot of effort into sucking Wilson Fick’s dick.”

Shoving your glass of champagne into your father’s hand, you blew him a kiss and stalked off. 

It was that particular conversation that caught Matt Murdock’s attention. 

He stood a good few meters away from you, nursing his own glass of barely-touch bubbly and fiddling awkwardly with his tie. Foggy Nelson had dragged him there - c’mon Matty, it’s just a formality he’d said - and then duly fucked off to flirt with a stunning law clerk. What a jerk. 

Your comment had been flippant, but it was the first mention of Fisk’s name in a negative light that he’d heard all night. It was no wonder he wasn’t very popular there, given how his law firm had attacked the big guy. 

“You look bored…” you trailed off, eyes flickering down to the name tag on Matt’s lapel. “...Murdock.” 

That wasn’t why you’d come over to him. Okay, maybe it was a little but also because he was a) a stunningly attractive man in a room of viable Jabba the Hutt’s and b) his blazer was just a little too tight for his arms. He’d been meaning to get it taken out a little but man, life was just so busy at the moment. 

It took exactly five seconds for your entire being to fill his senses. Faint Coco Chanel and expensive body cream, all of which had clearly been used to mask the smell of tobacco. Expensive tobacco too. The taste of champagne lingered every so slightly on your breath, but not enough to show you’d had that much. He could read you just from that. You smelt like you - or your daddy, most likely - had money and it was clear you weren’t big on drinking. At this event, at least - because what socialite in modern day Manhattan didn’t have a drinking problem? 

It was weird how he could tell when people were staring - it was just a sense that their lingering eyes just happened to be in his direction. But even if he was in their line of sight, it was clear they weren’t looking at him. No bets that you were one of the best sights in the room. 

Matt was bored. You were bored. And that was where the entire problem began.  

The lawyer gave you a smile. “This isn’t really my scene.”

“Oh, please,” you beamed back at him. “It’s not mine either. You should be grateful you can’t see what’s going on right now - it’s like watching hundreds of Rich Uncle Pennybags drag around their discount Pamela Anderson sex dolls.”

Matt let out a derivative snort. Hell, you were funny too. 

“I very briefly remember what Pamela Anderson looks like,” he replied. “Even a discounted version of her is arguably still very beautiful, no?”

“Mmm,” you hummed. “I mean…I would.”

“I can only assume based on the way you’re speaking about these established lawyers that you’re not one of them?”

“Absolutely not,” you shot back. “I never got around to passing the bar.”

“So why are you here?”

“My old man’s the district attorney,” you replied. “And I can tell by the way your face just fell that you don’t like him.”

“I don’t not like him-”

“- it’s okay, Murdock,” you cut him off. “Rest assured, I probably hate him more than you.”

“So I’ll ask again,” he raised an eyebrow. “Why are you here?”

“Family obligations,” you rolled your eyes. “But what I wouldn’t give to stop playing happy families and leave this godforsaken hall to drink alcohol that doesn’t taste how my Great Aunt Betty smells.”

Matt normally wouldn’t have accepted your hint, but he was so done with the night already. Daredevil aside, he hadn’t been living a very exciting life the last few weeks. Maybe it was time he did something for himself. Something younger, funnier, and prettier than the woman he would normally find in New York on a Saturday night. 

“Are you even old enough to frequent establishments that sell alcohol?”

“Oh, you’re funny,” you huffed. “Old enough by just over two years, but I can assure you I’ve been drinking much longer than that.” 

Matt smiled. “Then I might know a place.”

–

All eyes were on you the second you stepped inside Josie’s Bar. Not for the same reason they’d been on you at the last event. 

Your outfit alone probably cost more than the yearly rent of this hole. It was a nice hole, though. Nicer than you’d expected. Even if the carpet was sticky on your heels and the air thick with tobacco. At least here you wouldn’t have to hide your own smoking habits. 

“What’s your poison?” Matt asked. He kept a hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the bar. Nice.  

You glanced at the bar, scanning the shelves for your choice of intoxication. 

“I’ll take a double dark rum and coke, please.” you replied - half to Matt, half to the woman behind the bar who you assumed to be Josie. 

“Diet coke?” she teased. 

“Not necessary- regular is fine,” you replied. “I assume you accept American Express platinum here? I’ll tip as well.”

Josie smiled. “Touche - and for you, Matthew?”

“I’ll take an IPA.”

You smiled, resting a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “I kind of liked just calling you Murdock.”

“I don’t mind if you want to keep doing that,” he replied. “That little play with the AmEx card was cute.”

“Oh yeah?” you quirked an eyebrow. “I’m not gonna let her talk down to me just because I’m not…working class like everyone else in this bar.”

“How long did it take you to come up with a nice word for poor?” he teased. “Didn’t they teach you grammar in private school?”

You ran a hand down his arm, acrylic nails leaving a trail of goosebumps. “You like running your mouth, don’t you, Murdock?”

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

Maybe this was unlike him. Actually, maybe it wasn’t unlike. In fact…it was more like him than the everyday Matt Murdock he liked to let in. It felt a little sacreligious that it was a pretty rich girl that brought it out of him - never mind that you were at least ten years younger - but hell, he’d take it. Life was short and he knew how fun the daughters of rich businessmen could be. Elektra Natchios was testament to that and was arguably much less of a good time that you were so far. 

You slid his drink towards him. “Better get drinking then, huh?”

–

You tried to outdrink Matt.

Matt tried to outdrink you. 

And that was the only explanation as to how you were still at Josie’s by final call. Neither of you were drunk - tipsy at a push - and somehow, you were both walking the line between giving the other your all and still playing hard to get. You’d learnt that Matt was a tease - no doubt a smooth talker in the courtroom - and he could easily keep up with your taunts and jabs. 

“I can’t believe we got kicked out!” 

You’d stumbled out the bar about two minutes before, arms linked with his to guide him down the street. Matt’s cane was tucked up neatly away now - he could have pretended to still use it, but the way you held onto him and led him down the street did far too much to his senses to deny himself of it. It was a mixture of expensive perfume and rum, and what felt like electricity every time your hand touched his wrist. 

“It’s called closing time,” Matt shot back. 

“In my world, that’s just a Green Day song,” you said. “You go a few blocks east of here and they’ll stay open as long as you keep paying.”

“We could go a few blocks east - or we could go one block south and go back to my place.”

You grinned. “Lead the way! Wait - oh my god. Was that really mean?”

He chuckled, grabbing your hand and leading you in the opposite direction.

Matt’s apartment was nice - high ceilings and big windows, though sparsely furnished and minimal at the same time. You followed him through to the kitchen, kicking off your heels and sliding into a bar stool beside him. He threw aside his glasses and cane, spinning around to face you.

“So, tell me,” you began. “How does a small-time lawyer like you afford a place like this?”

“I take men like your father to court,” Matt suavely replied - he reached across the counter and yanked over a bottle of scotch, popping off the lid. “Care for some?”

“Mm, Glen Mckenna,” you glanced at the label. “I’m not much of a scotch gal, Murdock. At least scotch that’s only thirty years old.”

“It’s older than you, sweetheart.”

“My age hasn’t been much of a problem the rest of the night,” you shot back. 

You unfolded your legs, ever so slightly pushing up your skirt as he did. You knew Matt couldn’t see, but some part of you knew even more that he was picking up on your signals. 

That suspicion became something of certainty when he practically threw aside everything on the kitchen counter, large hands grabbing your hips. Within a matter of seconds, as though something had snapped, he had you placed on top of the cool wood, fingers splayed into your sides and mouth just inches away from yours. 

“You’re really playing the age card, huh?” his voice was raspy; bare, green eyes dark with lust. “You know nothing.”

You gave him a grin. “So teach me.”

Matthew Murdock’s lips were on yours before you’d even finished your sentence. Not unlike his hands, they were thick and calloused, bringing a thousand senses over you at once. He was clearly an experienced kisser - and a giving one too. Worlds away from the immature frat boys you’d spent the last few years gallivanting about with. 

He was right -you did know nothing. 

But that was just it, right? Matt was older than you - ten years, fifteen at the most. You’d slept around here and there but hell, nothing had been like this. Two minutes into whatever the fuck you were about to do and Matt had you shaking, cocky demanour gone; hands tangled in his hair and cunt begging, craving for a man you’d never even had before. 

Matt’s teeth tugged on your lower lip and you knew then you’d completely lost your mind. The moan that escaped your mouth only lulled him on, hands squeezing your hips even harder and pulling you closer towards him. 

You felt it then, pressed against your lower stomach. He was hard as fuck. 

“Stop teasing,” you grumbled. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Matt hissed. 

Still, he obliged. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he pulled you off the counter, carrying you over to the sofa. He held you with only one arm, free hand tangled in your hair and holding your lips on his. 

You both fell onto the couch, clothes flying everywhere. It didn’t matter how expensive your stupid vintage Chanel was then- it looked much better on his floor than it had ever had done on you. Matt’s shirt and pants followed suit, landing before yours in a crumpled pile. 

“You in some kinda fight club or something?” you paused, tangling your hand in Matt’s hair and pulling him back. Your free one followed down his torso, fingers ghosting across the pink ridges on his abs. No complaints here. 

“Less talking, sweetheart,” he brushed aside your comment. “=

“Who put you in charge?”

“Me,” his words were muffled, barely audible as he attached his lips to your neck. “You gonna do as I say?”

“Or what?”

“It wasn’t a question.”

Matt’s lips were quickly replaced by a calloused hand on your throat. He gave it a light squeeze, a wicked smile spreading across his face when your wise demeanor was suddenly gone. He pressed another kiss to your neck, then another, following up to your ear. 

“If it gets too much, you say - okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” you replied. “I promise I can take it.”

Another kiss, this time on the lips. “Good girl.”

You let out a whimper, brain not entirely sure what to focus on as Matt’s hands went to work. He kept one on your throat, squeezing it just enough to earn a moan out of you, the other creeping up your thighs and gently slipping inside you. That caught you by surprise - how gentle he was, and yet completely the opposite at the same time. 

Matt pushed you down into the cushions, hand still gripping your throat. His fingers curled inside you - back and forth, back and forth. A steady beat that hit the right spot over and over and over. Ecstasy took over your body like a rush, senses consumed by nothing but him. 

“Matt,” you murmured. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me, darling,” his voice was still gruff, holding some type of contagious venom at you for distracting him. “I’m getting plenty from this.”

And he was. He was getting everything. The quickening pace of your heart, the smell of you, the tiny moans and whimpers that escaped your mouth every time he so much as moved. It was exultation for him as well - and almost completely sinful, the way it made him feel. Not that he gave a fuck about any religious figure in that moment. The man was willing to spend an eternity repenting his sins if it meant just one night with you. 

You came quicker than you ever had with anyone - better than you ever had with anyone. It rushed over your body like a fountain of cold water, ripping from your stomach and up to your already-dysfunctional brain like the sharp drop of a rollercoaster. Falling, falling, falling, until Matt’s hands grabbed you and grounded, softly caressing your face, holding your jaw as you cried out his name. 

“You want to stop?” he gently asked. 

“No,” you sharply sat up, scowling. “Didn’t I say that I would tell you-”

“- careful with your tone, sweetheart.”

Matt grabbed you by the hips again, pulling you down into the sofa. The next few moments were unbearable in the best way - a blur of teeth on your neck, chest, stomach and thighs, barely even registering what was going on until you felt his tongue swipe over your folds. A cry escaped your mouth, still overstimulated from your last orgasm. 

“If you want something,” Matt popped his head up, shit-eating grin across his stupidly gorgeous face, “you should just say.”

“Stop fucking teasing.”

He moved back up towards you, brushing his lips against yours. “You make it so easy.”

With that, Matt placed his hands on your ass and hoisted you into his lap. He gave it one final slap before grabbing his dick and maneuvering into inside you - you couldn’t help but let out a moan of relief, dropping your head into his shoulder and gently biting his skin. 

“Didn’t take you for a biter,” he chuckled. Running a hand up your back, he dusted across your shoulder, large fingers finding place on your jaw. “Move.”

And move you did. 

It was heaven the way he felt inside you - his fingers had been one thing but this was incomparable. You didn’t give a fuck about a stranger’s neighbours at the best of times, but you had absolutely no respect in that moment for anyone belove or below (in more than one sense). You were loud and Matt fucking loved it. He couldn’t see you - couldn’t see your glazed over eyes or freshly bruised and bitten skin - but hell, you filled his other senses enough to make up for that. 

You kind of knew the minute you met that he had a big dick. It was in the way he held himself: confident, but humble. Funny, but in an unassuming way. And it hit just the right spot, repeatedly edging the same spot that his fingers had tired out just moments before. 

It went on for a few more minutes; you were completely lost in one another, brains barely able to comprehend that you’d known each other less than twelve hours. 

You didn’t need to tell Matt that you were - he knew, and rather than slowing it down so that you could revel in the last few moments, he picked up the pace; hand tightening on your throat, other squeezing your ass in a way that was sure to leave a mark in the morning.

Your second orgasm was indescribable - you opened your mouth to let out a yell and yet, it was silent. Your acrylics clawed up and down Matt’s back, digging into him in an attempt to ground yourself. That only egged him on, the sting adding to his euphoria as he came undone inside you. 

Matt laid you back down on the couch, pressing kisses to your jaw as he did. You frowned when he began shuffling about - then he produced his shirt from the floor. He maneuvered your arms so that he could pull it over your head, before reaching for a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapping it around your middle. 

“You’re amazing,” he murmured. “I’m gonna go get you a cloth. Don’t move.”

“I’m never moving,” you softly chuckled. 

He smiled. “Good.”

[webslingingslasher]

Hey, j! an u do nerdy!Peter and Angel being scared she's using him?

*a/n: nerdy!peter has finally been released from his cage. he missed you all very much.

'and what do you do for him?'

you've been thinking about it for days. peter's softly snoring on your left but you can't sleep, tossing and turning, looking down every so often at your ring finger and feeling the same gut punch you have for the past seventy two hours.

your friend's cousin just moved to new york to follow her dreams, she's nineteen and full of life. she also very innocently asked a question that sent you tumbling down a whirlpool. you all met up for brunch, you even went the extra mile and snuck her a mimosa to show how friendly the city would be to her- but then she had to ask about your ring.

it's a new addition, you just got used to the weight and sparkle but anytime someone asks, you're shoving it in their face and bragging.

'that's a big ass diamond!'

'i know! i couldn't believe it when he asked me... i kept asking him if he was sure.'

of course you had to spill all the proposal details, your friend's cousin awwing at the right moments before doubling down with a congratulations. it was a nice moment that led into other conversations, somehow falling back on rent prices.

'it's fucking crazy out here, i don't know how you guys do it. how much do you pay in rent?' your friend shared her monthly rent, you stayed quiet, her cousin was looking at you for an answer.

'ew. you think i pay rent?' you flashed your ring again, giggles fell around the table, the topic moved on. someone mentioned a restaurant, you chimed in to say it was amazing, that your fiance took you there for your last anniversary.

'god damn, the cheapest thing on the menu is two hundred bucks! i looked it up and a glass of wine was like eighty dollars, that's crazy!'

'hmm... peter splurged on a bottle.' there was a chorus, the girls loved hearing that. you shrugged at your humble brag. when you have a good man, you want everyone to know. little comments got brushed under the table, nothing major until the bill came.

you offered to pay, the two girls with you excited with your generosity. 'ah, don't thank me, it's on peter.' you slid the credit card to the end of the table, your friend's cousin put the final nail in the coffin.

'okay, okay, you gotta tell me. so, he buys for your friends, he pays the rent, he buys you super expensive dinner, you have a rock on your finger... and what do you do for him?' she laughed, your friend laughed, you laughed. it was funny. until you couldn't come up with anything you give him back.

now it's been three days and you're watching peter sleep, feeling more and more guilt creep in by the minute. you don't deserve the things he's given you. you're not sure if curling up to him makes you feel better or not but he's warm and your eyes are finally feeling heavy.

---

'good morning, angel.' peter made you breakfast and while your heart fills with adoration, you have to fight the urge to frown. he does everything for you and you can't even make him breakfast?

'good morning.' you're still tired, you weren't able to sleep in either. rest hasn't come easily to you, peter's been noticing it too. 'i felt you moving around last night.'

'i couldn't sleep. i finally dropped off around three.' you sit at the kitchen counter and rest your head on your hand, peter kisses your forehead, the oven timer goes off. he made cinnamon rolls.

'was anything keeping you up? you've been a little quiet since you had lunch with your friends.' he knows something's off, he's just not prying it out of you yet. 'i don't know, i couldn't get my mind to turn off i guess.'

you're staring at your ring again, peter serves you the middle roll. it's the best one. he splurged on the ring, he pays for the rent, he pays for every date, he buys for your friends, he gives you the middle cinnamon roll and you... and you...

'i know i don't have to tell you this, angel, but just in case... you can tell me anything. even if it's something you don't think i want to hear.' peter's thinking it's something about your friend or work, something that doesn't really pertain to him but if it's weighing on you, it should weigh on him too.

'i know.' you reach for your breakfast, the shine of your diamond stops you. 'how much did you spend on my ring?' peter's looking at your ring too, a sly smile crosses over his face.

'that's for me to know and you to never find out.' he's not saying it because it was cheap, you know it wasn't. you wouldn't care if it was, the fact he got down on one knee and asked you to be his forever was enough to say yes, even if he did it with a ring pop. but you've been scrolling and trying to do your own investigative work and what you've found makes you feel like you don't deserve it.

'how much money do you make every month?' you have an idea but you don't have a specific number and you need a dollar amount. peter looks at you funny, probably because your question came from left field. 'why do you want to know?'

'because i'm going to marry you and i want to know your finances.' it's a cheap shot around the truth, peter knows it too. 'alright, well, we'll talk about that when we get there. we haven't even talked about the wedding yet.' you told peter you wanted a couple months to bask in the fiance glow and you'd start planning when you got bored of it, he had no problems with it.

'i think money is a great starting point, how else am i supposed to know our budget?'

'tell me how much you want to spend and i'll let you know if it's possible.' you don't want a numbers game but you'll play. 'ten thousand?'

'yes.'

'twenty?'

'yes.'

he has to draw the line somewhere, you're going to find it. 'fifty?' he laughs through a bite of icing, you feel like you still haven't scraped the barrel. 'if you can find a way to blow fifty grand on a wedding, sure.'

you're not pushing it any further, you have a feeling that no matter what you said, peter would tell you it's doable. it's frustrating and the only thing that eases you is the sweet, sticky pastry in front of you. 'you'd tell me if you were broke, right?'

'hey,' peter puts his cinnamon roll next to yours. 'you've never had to worry about money before, you don't need to now, either. is that what you're worried about? our wedding budget?' it's not but you'll take the bait, you're tired of talking in circles.

you take too much and he'll never admit it.

'yeah.' you're looking at your ring again, you're not hungry anymore.

'don't worry about it, angel.' peter kisses your temple. 'i'll take care of you.' you know he will. that's why you feel so bad.

---

you might not be able to do much but you can pay for dinner.

'i want to go out for dinner.'

peter's on board. 'ooh, date night. whatcha thinking?' you blurt his favorite place, he's extra excited now. 'double yes, six or seven?'

'six thirty?' you think his eyes have stars in them. 'i love when you meet me in the middle. six thirty it is, i'll reserve a table right now.' you grin, your plan is already rolling into motion.

his favorite dinner and when he leasts expects it, you're going to put your card down instead. it'll be your treat tonight. even if it's minor, it'll make you feel better.

at least you thought. dinner was excellent, the conversation was even better- you felt more connected to him tonight than you had in the past week. the second the bill came, you scrambled for it.

'oh, do you want to guess the total?' it's a small game you've both come up with, you each take a guess at the number to see who memorized the prices best. 'nope, i'm paying for this one.'

'cute. pass it over, angel.' he thinks you're playing, you refuse to hand the check back to him. 

'it's on me tonight.'

'then pay with my card.' you shake your head, 'i'm using mine. dinner's on me, i mean it.' peter's uncomfortable but he's playing nice in public. 'no. give me the check, please.'

you hold it with a vice grip, he would have to pry it from you. 'i'm paying, peter.'

'no you're not. you don't pay for me, that's my job.' you grit your teeth in frustration before easing into a smile. 'not tonight, petey. let me take over.'

'not happening. give me the check.'

'no. i'm paying.' you won't let him win this one. you need this, you need to feel useful for something. 'angel, seriously, hand it over.'

'no.'

'i always pay, let me see it.' that's more than enough reason to keep it from him. 'exactly, let me get this one this time.' peter looks at you dead on, he's not budging. 'no.'

'you're not paying for this no matter what, peter. i wanted to treat you to dinner and i am.' he sighs, you know he's about to gentle parent you into giving him what he wants but you're prepared for it and you won't give in.

'go ahead and pay for it, i'm just going to send you the money for it.' your mouth parts, you didn't expect that curveball. 'if you do, i'm sending it back. double.'

'i'll block you from sending it back, don't test me.' you buffer in the silence, peter tries to grab the checkbook from your hands, you slide it underneath the table. 'i'm paying and you're not reimbursing me. got it?'

you have your card ready, the second you see the waiter you'll hand it over before peter can think about reaching for his wallet. 'you're not paying and that's final.'

'no, i'm paying and that's-'

'are we ready with the check or do we need some more time?' you grin at the waiter, he came right on time. you hand over the bill and your card, peter's card is outstretched with yours. the waiter looks between the two with an awkward smile, you push yours further out- peter opens his big mouth.

'don't take her card. use mine.'

'i'm capable of buying you a dinner!' your waiter's caught in the middle and on everything in you, you swear he went with peter because he's a man. 'use mine.' your waiter takes peter's card and swiftly leaves the table.

you're defeated. you slump back in your seat with crossed arms.

'i told you i was paying.' he's happy about it. the one thing you thought you could give him, he just took from you. you don't know if you're more mad at him or yourself. you blankly stare at the wall across from you. you stare at it when peter's card is returned, you stare at it as he signs the receipt, you stare at it while he asks if you're ready.

you move in silence. you have nothing positive and nothing negative to say. you feel beat down. 'and what do you do for him?' nothing. not even pay for a god damn dinner. peter swings his arm over your shoulder, you shrug it off a block down.

'wanna get some ice cream?' you shake your head. you don't want to force another expense on him. 'oh c'mon, you love something sweet after dinner. how about that chocolatier place next to the apartment?'

you think he can sense you're upset. 'i'll let you pay. how about that?' he knows you're mad about it and offering you to pay for a cupcake instead of a full blown dinner sounds like he's giving you peanuts.

'can you go to may's?' he looks confused. 'why? what's at may's?'

'hopefully you. unfortunately we live together and i don't want to be around you right now.' you can shut him out of the bedroom but it sucks knowing he's right there... probably doing something for you that he won't let you return the favor on.

'you're kicking me out because i didn't let you pay for dinner? that's a little extreme.' your guilt comes out as anger, it's not his fault but it is. 'no, peter, you're the extreme one. i'm supposed to marry you and you can't even let me buy you dinner? i'm going home, don't follow me.'

of course he's following you. 'this is a really stupid thing to argue over.'

'yeah, it is. so why are you?' if he thinks it's so stupid why wouldn't he just let you pay? couldn't he tell how much you needed it? 'i'm not fighting with you, angel. i just don't know why after five years buying me dinner is a hill you want to die on.'

'because! you, you- ugh! go to may's, i'm done with you.'

peter's been with you long enough he knows when to back off. 'fine. you win. i'll hang with may for a couple hours but i'm not sleeping there.' if he thinks that means anything to you, he has another thing coming. 'i'm locking the bedroom door, you can sleep on the couch.'

'are you-'

'serious? deathly. thanks for dinner, peter.' you made sure to end the argument on how it started, just in case he needed to ask himself how he got in his position. you take off into a small crowd and arrive home by yourself.

the small adrenaline rush you had settled, all you can think about is your fiance. he bought you dinner and you yelled at him. he paid for a meal and you kicked him out of the home he pays rent for. even when you're trying to do the right thing you failed.

you stare at your ring, think of peter's confused face and start crying. once you start, you can't stop. every negative thought and feeling you've harbored comes pouring out- you're nasty and you don't deserve peter.

and you damn well don't deserve his ring. not an expensive one. you're not worthy of it, you've given him nothing in return. turning the hall for your bedroom, you fall on your shared bed and feel worse thinking about how peter bought the new mattress.

he's tailored the last four- basically five years of his life to you and your wants and needs and you can't think of a damn thing you've given in return. you sob, your tears are salty and you're happy peter isn't there, if he was, holding you would make everything worse.

this was a private breakdown, the kind where you feel like you're about to throw up from crying too hard. you gasp for air, the ring on your finger feels choking. you rip it off your finger and slam it down on the nightstand, you can finally breathe. tears are still racing down your cheeks but you can think clear, everything screams that you need to tell your fiance.

you need to tell peter that you're not okay because now you're treating him like he isn't okay. and it's all because of the ring. you can try and cope with everything else but a two carat diamond on your hand was too far. you have the ring but no wifely duties, you just watch peter tend to your every need and feel more and more useless.

it feels good to cry about it. you feel less like a monster. you sniffle and catch yourself tearing up about it over and over, you squeeze your eyes shut- you think you fall asleep crying.

---

the tv is on when you wake up. the bedroom is dark but you can see a peek of light under the door, a soft candance of sound follows with it. peter's home and even though you didn't lock the door, he's respecting your space.

your ring is still on the nightstand. you have to give it back. and apologize to the person you love most. you hesitantly grip the gem in the palm of your hand, it feels heavier than normal, you're not sure if you're doing the right thing.

but you see that peter's still awake and folding the laundry you left in the dryer. you've never felt more sure. you don't deserve the ring. you don't deserve him.

'i thought you were down for the night.' you check the microwave for the time, it's a little after eleven. you're not sure how to tell him, seeing him fold your socks sends a pang to your heart. you hold out your hand, he does it back, your engagement ring falls into his palm.

'i don't want it.'

panic. instant, fucking, panic. 'what do you mean you don't want it? the ring? me? engagement? are you breaking up with me?' peter's chest rises and falls rapidly, all of a sudden your panic is matching his and you're crying again.

'angel, you really need to talk to me right now. why is your ring not on your finger? what does 'i don't want it' mean?' you shake your head, peter's trying to be the calm one but he's failing.

'why the fuck did you give me your ring back?'

you whimper, it sounds like you just got shot. you did the wrong thing. you keep messing up. 'i'm sorry! i'm sorry, i'll just-' you try to take it back, peter's hand closes around it. 'no. you don't give me your ring and tell me you don't want it just to take it back.'

'i didn't mean it, i swear i didn't mean it. i want it back!'

'you meant it enough to give it back! what the hell is happening?' you went too far, you're not sure how to take it all back. 'give me my ring back, peter!' you're fighting with him for it, it's a lost cause but you're not giving up.

'you can't walk up to me after a fight, tell me you don't want the ring and start crying and beg for it back when i question you. no, you're not getting it back.' you're trying to pry his fingers off it, struggling more and more with each passing second.

'you've been weird for the past week. are you getting cold feet? do you want to call off the engagement? i'm at such a loss right now, why the hell would you give me your ring back?' you're in a panic, everything is crumbling at your fingertips.

'because i don't like it!' peter stops fighting as hard, you gasp for air the second it's back on your finger. it feels like a bandaid on the situation but it's better than nothing when you're preparing for war.

'you don't like the ring?' he sounds sad. really, really sad. 'that's okay, angel. i wish you would've said something sooner but we can pick something else out.' you can't let him be this kind when he's sad. the truth has to come out.

you sit next to him on the couch and lay your head on his shoulder, sometimes hard things are easier to say if you're not looking at him.

'i love the ring, peter. i really do. i just don't deserve it.'

even if you missed wearing it for a few minutes, you feel ashamed looking at it. 'why wouldn't you deserve it?' you chew on the inside of your cheek, you don't know how to explain it without him brushing it off. you have real, valid concerns about the future you have with him.

'you're gonna think it's stupid.' you're soft spoken.

peter matches it. 'maybe. but tell me anyway.' you take a deep breath and close your eyes, the story spills out. it starts last week at brunch, you give him the side comments that fell into your internal crisis.

'-and when she asked 'what do you do for him' i couldn't think of one thing. so i kept thinking about it and i don't have anything. i use you, peter. you pay for the rent, you buy me anything i want, you make dinner all the time, you clean the dishes, and you gave me a big ass diamond i don't deserve. i don't deserve you.'

peter leans his head back against the couch, a deep breath follows. 'and when i refused to let you buy me dinner, it was the final straw.' it was a very small, fine straw but he didn't know the load you were carrying- of course it all fell apart right there.

'i want to spend the rest of my life with you. i just don't want you to wake up one day and regret it when you realize i don't do enough in return.' that's the biggest fear you have. the unspoken one that kept haunting you, that one day ten years from now, you'd wake up to an empty house with a pack of divorce papers.

'you're right, angel. i think it's stupid.' you restrain from telling him off, you're glad you did. 'but it doesn't sound stupid to you, so, as the person who asked you to marry them, do you want to hear why i think you deserve it?'

you nod against his shoulder. 'please.'

'because it's you. that's why you deserve it. you have had my back every day for the past five years, like, you're solidly in my corner. and i've never had that from another person before. if i have to cancel something for spider-man, you tell me not to say sorry for it. when i forgot my cheat sheet for my third year midterm, you ditched your class to bring me it. when i was sick a couple months ago, you called out of work to take care of me. when i helped may move in her new furniture, you were there before i was. you pack me lunch every day, with a note and every day when i come home i get greeted with an 'i missed you' and a kiss.'

you hope if you stay quiet he'll keep going. he does.

'that's something i can't repay you for. but i can take care of you and make your life easier, and that makes me feel better about it. you give me a reason to get out of bed in the morning, if anything you deserve a bigger ring.'

peter bragging about you made you feel a lot better. he thinks you give him more than enough, it's just in a different way. 'if we're being honest, the money stuff makes me a little uncomfortable, i feel like you're spending too much on me.'

it was never about the wedding or the ring, it was about how much you think you're really worth. 'that's where all the questions came from?' you nod, peter shifts around, you end up curled in even closer to his side.

'i just don't want you spending more money than you have to just because you think it's your job to provide for me.'

'if we're being honest, i have something to tell you.' your fears are true, you put peter into crippling debt. 'i wasn't sure how to tell you and you were going to find out eventually but... remember that trust fund my parents left for me that i got when i turned twenty one?' it's worse than you thought. he never got one, did he?

'yeah?'

'i don't know why i lied but i got a lot more than i actually told you.' you slowly raised your head up to look at him, he's nervous for your reaction. you're still processing what was said.

'peter, are we rich?' you watch his hand teeter back and forth, your jaw drops open. 'i was stressed out for an entire week about you paying rent and now you're telling me we have money?!'

you gasp, would you be able to accomplish every new yorker's dream? 'do we have house money?' peter corrects you quickly. 'okay, woah, calm down, we're not millionaires... but yes, we do have a down payment on a house money.'

you've been bamboozled. 'then where's the house?'

'wedding first, house second. whatever's leftover from the wedding we can put down on a house.' that made your decision real quick. 'courthouse. i want a three bedroom.'

'we can have a wedding and a three bedroom, i promise. once we get married it becomes our money and we can spend it however we want. but until then it's my money and i'm gonna make sure you get a wedding out of it.' you'll accept it but it still doesn't feel even.

'i just feel bad that you do everything and i barely do anything to repay you.' now that you noticed it you're not sure if you'll be able to notice it. 'what does do everything mean to you?'

'you pay the rent, you pay the bills, you pay for all our dates, you clean the dishes and cook dinner five night out of the week-' you point to the mess in front of you- 'you fold our laundry.'

'we already talked about rent and bills, that conversation is over. i pay for our dates because you buy the groceries, in case you forgot.' you might've. 'if you pay for it when we eat at home, i should pay for it when we go out. the other stuff is household chores, i live here, i should do those things. i make dinner because we have to eat, i clean dishes because they need to get washed, i fold the laundry because half of it is mine. do i really need to tell you how you do way more than me around here?'

it doesn't feel like you do so... 'yes.'

'you wash our sheets once a week and remake the bed, you make the bed every morning, every sunday you plan out our dinners and go shopping. i've never touched our vacuum, actually, i don't think i've ever adjusted a pillow on this couch either. you decorated for christmas and halloween, you're definitely the only one who's ever cleaned the shower and don't think i haven't noticed how since you've moved in i've never, not even once, run out of deodorant or toothpaste. i help with some stuff but you're the one that makes this a home, angel.'

you do all those things. and support peter with everything in you.

you do deserve the ring.

'so i really earned the wifey title?'

'more than earned. you were made for that role... in a non misogynistic way, of course.' you grin, you can't wait to marry him. 'i can't believe i didn't think i did enough. i'm kind of awesome around here, aren't i?'

'you're the reason we're able to run the routine so smoothly, all i do is keep the lights on.' you raise your eyebrows, 'maybe you're the one that doesn't deserve me.'

'you're probably right. that's why i gotta use the free rent ruse to trick you into staying with me.' you play gasp and show off the best piece of jewelry you'll ever be gifted. 'and you trapped me with a diamond.'

'if i keep you focused on the sparkle you won't notice my con man ways.' he must see you lost in the little rainbows. 'well, it's working.'

'good. let me know when it starts to wear off, i'll get you a bigger one.' you know he's joking but you don't want a bigger diamond, you like this one. it's perfect because it's the one he picked out for you.

'you know, sometimes bigger isn't better.' 

[arislore]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚જ⁀➴ NSFW Alphabet

Pairing: Inexperienced!Spencer Reid x Profiler!Reader

Summary: A fun little list of NSFW headcanons organized by the first letter of each topic. Enjoy!

Tags: established relationship, spencer was a virgin when y’all got together, oral (f & mentions of m receiving), slight medical play, sexy use of statistics, male masturbation, mentions of anal

Warnings: Most of these are paragraphs but there are a couple of letters that i kind of gave up on.

Word Count: 1.9k

A: Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s exhausted, but he manages to stay awake long enough to clean you up and talk to you until you fall asleep. He’ll rub little soothing circles into your skin and hold your head on his chest, letting you count his heartbeats.

B: Body Part (their favorite body part, both on their own body and their partner’s)

His favorite body part on himself has to be his hands, because he loves watching you fall apart on them. His favorite body part of yours is definitely your eyes. He loves to see how they squint when you’re confused, how they crinkle when you’re happy, and how they gloss over when you get needy for his touch. He also loves when he makes you feel so good that you start to cry, just from how overwhelmed you are.

C: Cum (anything to do with cum)

As we all know, Spencer is a germaphobe, so when you first had sex with him, he cringed when he felt his cum flood the condom. After you explained that you were on the pill, he was ecstatic that he didn’t have to use one again. He doesn’t mind dirtying you, though–one of his favorite things to do is cum inside of you when you don’t have time to clean up, and you’re forced to walk around with it in your underwear. You almost wrung his neck when he did this on a case.

D: Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

He secretly really likes being called “Doctor” during sex, and when you figure this out, you don’t let him go a single day without rubbing it in his face. In the bullpen, you’ll move in front of him, brushing your ass against his crotch with a quiet, “Excuse me, Dr. Reid,” just to hear his breath get caught in his throat. When you bring him his coffee (no cream, but ten tablespoons of sugar), you’ll set it down in front of him, placing a hand on his bicep, all sultry, saying, “Here you go, Doctor.” It doesn’t hurt that he looks incredibly sexy wearing his crime scene gloves.

E: Experience (how experienced are they?)

He was a virgin when he met you. He’d kissed Lila in the pool nearly a decade prior, and he had a long-distance relationship with Maeve, but he had never actually gotten further than a single make-out session. When you touched him for the first time, he was so sure he had died and gone to heaven. He couldn’t fathom a world where someone as beautiful as you could love someone like him.

F: Favorite Position (goes without saying)

He loves any position where he gets to see your face. He loves watching you react to each little touch, watching your mouth contort in pleasure as you beg him for more. He prefers missionary, but he’s more than happy to have you on top when he’s too tired to do the work. But if he can’t see your face, it’s just not as good for him.

G: Goofy (how serious are they in the moment?)

He’s serious, but sometimes, when he’s nervous, he’ll start rattling off statistics about sex, which made you laugh at first, but now it just turns you on even more. When you taught him how to eat pussy, he responded with, “Right, because only eighteen percent of women can reach orgasm from penetration alone.”, which left you speechless. The first time you guys used toys, you were a little embarrassed that you needed it in the first place, and he said, “You know, eighty-two percent of women use sex toys. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

H: Hair (how well groomed are they? does the curtain match the drapes?)

His pubic hair is tinted red, although he doesn’t have much of it. You didn’t mind at first that he didn’t trim it, but when you started going down on him more, it bothered you, and he immediately started manscaping each time he showered.

I: Intimacy (how romantic are they in the moment?)

To Spencer, sex is all about you. He doesn’t even care if he gets off, although it’s an added bonus. He’s always holding your hand, or rubbing soothing circles into your hip as you get overwhelmed. For him, foreplay is the best part. He loves to tease you for as long as you can stand it. Kissing, biting, licking all over your body, leaving little marks and bruises. He just wants you to know how loved you are.

J: Jack Off (masturbation headcanons)

He rarely touched himself before he met you. Even though it took years for either of you to work up the courage to admit your feelings to one another, he noticed nearly everything about you, from the way you pouted when you didn’t get your way (and god, he wanted to see your lips wrapped around his cock), to the way you chest heaved when you were out of breath (why couldn’t he be the one to get to you react that way?). All he could think about around you was sex, and he needed to have an outlet for that somewhere.

K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He loves when you sit on his face. At first, you were nervous–you didn’t want to hurt him, and you had a friend who broke her neck because her girlfriend sat on it too hard. He joked that if he were to die, he'd die a happy man, but that didn’t help. After enough coaxing, you eventually did it, and realized that you were kind of stupid for not doing it before, and he was stupid good with his tongue.

L: Location (favorite place to have sex)

He prefers a bed above all else, but he won’t say no if you pull him into a storage closet because you just can’t keep your hands off of him any longer. Honestly, he’d do it anywhere you asked–even a car, although he doesn’t fit that well and it hurts his back. Out of the two of you, you’re definitely the more adventurous one, but he doesn’t mind–it’s just a new experience for him to try.

M: Motivation (what turns them on?)

If you asked him, he’d say that you breathing turns him on, which is true, but what really gets him going is when you absentmindedly play with him, whether it’s his hands, his sleeve, or his collar, it’s like all the blood rushes to his cock and he’s so lightheaded he might pass out. He knows it’s wrong, but sometimes when you yelp in pain, he has to do breathing exercises to calm down.

N: No (something they wouldn’t do / turn offs)

He can’t bring himself to do anal. Not just because it hurts you, but also because it’s kind of gross.

O: Oral (do they prefer giving or receiving? what’s their skill level?)

He loves to give head. If he’s honest, he’d be happy if you never went down on him again, as long as he gets to eat your pretty pussy for the rest of his life. He wasn’t very good at it at first, but he’s a quick learner, and by the end of the first time, he made you see stars you didn’t know existed.

P: Pace (how fast or slow are they?)

If you’re both frustrated, he’ll fuck you hard and fast, but typically, he likes to be slow and gentle. He wants you to feel each inch as he fills you, each drag of his cock inside of you. Rationally, he knows the two of you could have sex whenever you want, but irrationally, he never wants it to end. The longer he keeps you cumming, the longer he gets to have with you.

Q: Quickies (their opinion on quickies)

He doesn’t like them very often, but if you have a couple cases back to back like you did after the pig farm, he’s ecstatic when you pull him aside for a quick fumble in the dark.

R: Risk (do they like to experiment?)

Everything is an experiment for this man, since he’s never really done anything before you. He’s happy with it though, and he’d do anything you asked him to, as long as you really wanted it. If you told him to hop on one foot naked on a balcony he thinks he would do it. You would never ask that, though, which he’s grateful for.

S: Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long can they last?)

The first time he fucked you, he lasted a total of five seconds. He was super embarrassed, of course, but with time, his stamina grew and he can fuck you for nearly a half an hour now, maybe even longer if he takes breaks. He knows the average time it takes for a man to orgasm is seven minutes, so he’s grateful he finally beat that statistic.

T: Toys (do they use toys? how?)

He doesn’t use toys on himself, but he loves to use them on you. He loves to see you writhe when he uses a vibrator on your clit, drinking in your high-pitched moans when he changes the position or setting. He doesn’t use dildos on you often, but every once and a while, it’s nice to watch you get fucked and actually be able to pay attention to something other than holy shit you’re so wet oh my god, because usually, he can’t.

U: Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

He’ll tease you for days if he has the chance, leaving you a pathetic, wet mess until he finally gives in and touches you exactly how you need.

V: Volume (how loud are they?)

Spencer Reid is nothing if not vocal. He’s always babbling about how good you’re doing, how good you feel, how badly and how long he’s wanted this. He can’t help but whine and moan pathetically when you touch him, and he’s not too shy to beg for what he wants.

W: Wildcard (a random headcanon)

He’ll never admit it to anyone, not even himself, but he thinks it’s hot when you cry, as long as you aren’t upset. He loves to kiss and wipe away your tears, and he hates how his cock twitches when your eyes get all glossy. You actually noticed before he did, but you never said anything because you don’t want to embarrass him.

X: X-Ray (what’s going on under those clothes?)

He’s tall and slender, with a very low body fat content. He doesn’t work out very often, which leads him to still be soft on his stomach and chest. He’s got hair, but it’s very light and you can barely see it, outside of the tuft in his pants. His cock is long, thick, and cut, with a shiny red tip when he’s hard.

Y: Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Before he met you, he didn’t think he’d ever have sex, but then he laid eyes on you, and he’s been eternally horny ever since.

Z: Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s tired, but he can stay up until you fall asleep–just know, he’s not that far behind you.

[postgamevibes]

Morning Stretch

(Soft smut more suggestive nothing too explicit)

Summary: Will has a strict game-day routine. You're not usually part of it until one morning, curiosity gets the better of you. Once you're on the mat with him, well things bend in more ways than one.

*********************************************************

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet.

You could tell by the soft gray light filtering through the bedroom blinds, gentle and quiet, like the world was still holding its breath.

You were wrapped in warm blankets, eyes barely open, the smell of eucalyptus faint in the air. Will your boyfriend, your human furnace wasn’t in bed.

Again.

It was game day.

You groaned softly and rolled over, expecting to find the bed empty. But instead, you heard it:

A soft exhale, the creak of a floorboard, a low grunt.

Will was on the floor, stretching.

Again.

He had this whole routine early wake-up times, light snack, stretching in the living room before morning skate. You normally slept through it, only catching glimpses when he’d come back in, freshly showered, hair still damp.

But not today.

Today, for some reason, you couldn’t fall back asleep. Maybe it was the soft sounds of him in the other room, maybe it was the chill in the air. Maybe it was the fact that Will Smith was currently shirtless and very bendy on the yoga mat you bought for yourself and rarely used.

Whatever the reason, you were curious.

So you pulled on one of his sweatshirts, padded barefoot down the hall, and leaned on the doorframe like a sleepy cat.

Will was mid-stretch, one leg tucked under the other, arms raised overhead in a slow inhale. The sweatshirt you’d stolen had San Jose across the chest in faint letters, and the sleeves swallowed your hands.

He looked up, caught you watching, and smirked.

“Well, well look who’s awake.”

You grumbled. “How long have you been out here?”

“Hour or so.”

“On purpose?”

He nodded. “Game day.”

“You know it’s weird that you enjoy this, right?”

“Necessary,” he said, reaching for his toes. “Keeps me from feeling like I’m eighty by third period.”

You crossed the room, collapsing onto the floor beside him. “Teach me.”

Will arched a brow. “What, you’re joining me?”

You flopped dramatically onto your back. “I want to understand your pain. Also, I can’t touch my toes anymore and that feels like a personal failure.”

He chuckled, scooting over to give you space on the mat. “Alright. You asked for it.”

Ten minutes in, you were already regretting your life choices.

Will was sitting like a pretzel, somehow both relaxed and perfectly upright. Meanwhile, you were hunched like a gremlin, trying to copy him and failing miserably.

“Okay, now pull your foot up toward your hip,” he said, gently guiding your ankle. “Yeah, like that.”

You winced. “My body wasn’t made to bend this way.”

“You’re doing great,” he said, voice low and encouraging. “Breathe into it.”

You did.

He reached around, lightly pressing on your lower back to help you lean forward.

The touch wasn’t inappropriate just supportive.

But the way his palm settled there, warm and steady.

Yeah, okay. Maybe this wasn’t just about stretching anymore.

You peeked up at him.

He was close, really close.

“Is this how you always start your mornings?” you asked.

Will smirked. “Only on game days.”

“That explains the mood. You’re, like, centered and annoyingly calm.”

“Routine helps.” His voice was softer now, more thoughtful. “Wakes my body up, clears my head. Focuses me.”

“And what if I mess it up?”

He looked at you then, really looked, eyes dark and half-lidded in the low light.

“You couldn’t mess me up if you tried.”

The tension shifted.

Not sharp, not overwhelming.

But warm, pulling.

Like something small and electric moving beneath your skin.

He helped you into another stretch legs extended, chest leaning forward and this time, when he guided your posture, his hand lingered.

“Still good?” he asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” you said, breath catching.

“Sure?”

You nodded.

His fingers traced a line up your spine, with a featherlight touch.

Your body tilted forward more from instinct than form and when you looked back at him, his expression had changed.

Less instructor.

More something else.

You ended up lying side by side on the mat, legs tangled, facing each other.

The stretching was long forgotten.

Will propped himself up on one elbow, hand brushing a piece of hair from your face.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured.

You blinked. “Me?”

“You come out here looking like that stealing my hoodie, acting all innocent then spend twenty minutes groaning on a yoga mat and expect me to keep it together.”

You snorted. “Groaning? I was struggling.”

“You were making sounds,” he said, inching closer. “And I have an active imagination.”

You laughed softly. “So what, this is my fault now?”

“Always has been.”

He kissed you then.

Slow.

Easy.

The kind of kiss that fit perfectly in the softness of morning no rush, no pressure, just heat and quiet.

When he pulled back, his thumb traced the curve of your cheek.

“I usually finish with a cooldown stretch,” he said.

You raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Want to help me with that?”

You grinned. “Depends, does it involve lying flat on my back?”

“Among other things.”

You pulled him down by the collar.

“Stretch me, Smith.”

You were definitely not walking straight by the time he left for morning skate.

He looked smug.

You looked ruined.

But happy.

And when he came home hours later, still glowing from a win, he kissed your temple and said, “Best. Game day. Ever.”

You had no complaints.

[mediumgayitalian]

"It's two sugars, right? And approximately eighty percent cream by volume?"

"I love you," says Will seriously.

Nico snorts. "You love caffeine. If you loved me, you would be looking at me when you said that, not the cup."

"Hm? Are you talking? Me and my caffeine are trying to have a conversation, thanks. Come back later."

Nico laughs, big and raspy, and Will grins the kind of grin that squishes his round face. He sets the cup down and slides his hands down Nico's arms, circling his wrists; the kiss is clumsy and ridiculous because neither of them can stop giggling long enough to press their lips together properly.

"I can, like, see sound," Will mumbles. "Shit is wild. Complaining is purple."

"You know, you can quit."

"Can't."

"Revolt?"

"Tried. Got dragged back."

"Hm. Well, you know what Cecil says."

"I'm not throwing a Molotov cocktail in my own infirmary, and you can't either, before you say that."

Nico sighs, kissing one last kiss to the corner of Will's mouth before pulling away. "I could make it look like the cleanest of accidents."

"I'm sure."

"And then you could come spend time with me." He takes his special, nametagged place in the good spinny chair, with the perfect ass indent and comfy cracked leather. "I'll take you wherever you want. You wanna go to Florence? We can go to Florence."

"I'd love that, actually."

"Okay! I'll pack you a bag. You wait by the door, I'll distract them with a Mol--" Nico hastens to correct at Will's Look™️. "With a very small and almost inconsequential stick of dynamite I will give to Harley."

"Better."

"Okay! Be ready in ten."

He gets a Look again, but it is much softer this time, blue eyes dark with regret.

"Nico."

Nico scowls. "I know."

"It's only because Dad's gone silent."

"Ugh. I know. Can't your father choose a less inconvenient time to get smited, or whatever happened to him."

"I'm pretty sure he's alive. I mean, the sun is still kicking, and I still get occasional dream concerts."

"Pretty sure that's PTSD."

"It's possible."

"I just want to kiss my boyfriend in peace," Nico grumps, falling back in his chair so hard he damn near goes sprawling. He yanks himself up, pink-cheeked, and pretends not to notice the laughter Will hides in his hands, lest he file for divorce. "Stupid godly drama."

"A-fuckin'-men to that."

Will powerwalks past the nursing station, pressing a kiss to his fingers and his fingers to Nico's forehead. Nico resists the urge to grab his hand and pull him backwards, into the V of his legs, into the circle of his arms; instead he watches, chin in his wrist, as Will flutters from cot to cot, smiling gently at the younger kids, rolling his eyes at the older teens. He works as if he has four arms, pouring medicine and humming passing hymns, looping heart monitors in place and encouraging his siblings every time he walks by. For someone who has had to spend a not-insignificant portion of his time in this place since the other Apollo kids lost their vitakinesis, he seems remarkably comfortable. Nico wonders how much of that is learned habit.

"Hey."

Will hums in acknowledgement, sweeping his glowing hands over a kid's broken leg.

"What do you want to eat."

"You just brought me coffee."

"That's a drink, for one. For two, that was four hours ago."

Will blinks. There is still gold ringed around his irises, and his scars and freckles twinkle like stars.

"It has?"

"Mhm."

"Oh -- woah." He stumbles a little, when he stands, steadying himself on the counter until Nico can slip an arm around his waist. "I think I'm maybe, um, done for the day."

"Good," Nico murmurs, glaring at the two campers who open their mouths to complain. "Anyone else can just heal the mortal way for a bit. You need to rest."

Will nods, and Nico guides him out, holding the screen door and taking it slow down the porch steps. Will is warm, more than just the burn from his hands and his throat, and when Nico glances out of the corners of his eyes his cheeks are red and eyes downcast.

"Nobody's watching," Nico promises quietly. "Even if there were, you're just tired."

"I'm limping like a ninety year old man."

"The socks and sandals really sell that look, yeah."

"Shut up."

Nico presses a grinning kiss to his cheek. "No. Come on, Grampa. I'm gonna get you set up in bed and then I'm going to steal, like, twelve sandwiches from the dining hall."

"Barbeque sandwiches?" Will asks hopefully. "Your bed?"

"You're going to get what I give you," Nico snarks, mapping a route to the nearest BBQ place in his head. There's that one on Park and 30th that's open late. "And -- uh, yeah. My bed. If you want."

He is normal about that and Will snickers for no reason, or perhaps because he is dumb in the brain. Por que no los dos. Both.

They make it finally to the black marble steps of Cabin Thirteen, and Will pulls away before Nico can decide whether or not it's worth it to shadow-travel them both inside. He twists and rests both hands on Nico's cheek, cooled down to pleasantly warm, now, and leans in slow until their lips are just nanometers apart, a hairsbreadth of distance between them.

"Thank you," he whispers, near silent in the fading evening.

Nico can only nod.

Will breathes with him for a moment, eyes closed and breath warm. When he opens again the gold is fully gone, and the blue is dark like dusk, almost purpleish.

"I love you," he murmurs. He straightens up and presses one last chaste kiss to Nico's forehead. "Thank you for looking out for me. I'll see you when I wake up."

He climbs carefully up to the cabin, slipping through the heavy doors without tripping over anything, for once. A blessing, maybe, from a clouded father, or from grateful Fates. Nico stares at the door until the sun sinks below the ground and the heat fades from his cheeks, and then he smiles.

He sinks into the shadows in search for twelve sandwiches, and a coke for good measure.

[jjscrybaby]

𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑭𝑰𝑽𝑬 💿 — 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆

jj maybank x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (abuse, luke mentions, sad!jj, comforting!reader, jj’s a bit mean at first.)

i hate this but i needed to write something and this was all i could think of.

masterlist.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

JJ can’t remember a day of his life he’s felt one hundred percent safe. His first memories are from him being a kid, running around John B’s yard playing pirates, stealing sips of beer when Big John turned his back, catching his first fish and cooking it for him and his dad. He had fun as a kid, but the second he went home was when it wasn’t fun anymore; it was scary, dark, haunted.

It wasn’t until he was eighteen when he met you and everything changed. Suddenly, he didn’t have a weight hanging over his shoulders when the night ended and it was time to go home, his heart wouldn’t start beating out of his chest anymore and his stomach wouldn’t drop. He had someone looking out for him, he had a warm bed to fall into instead of John B’s springy couch that he’d stay on when it all got too much.

You never met JJ’s dad, but you’d heard the stories from the Pogues. Anytime you tried to talk to JJ about it he’d clam up, he’d talk to you like he didn’t even want to be around you. You learnt to drop the subject. Until he showed up, covered head to toe in bruises.

“JJ, what the fuck?” You exclaimed, rushing at him as he stumbled in the front door. He came with the smell of vodka and cigarettes.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted, his voice slurred.

He fell onto the couch, letting out a deep sigh as he closed his eyes. You stood over him, eyes teary and lip quivering. “JJ. What the hell happened?”

“Hm?” He hummed, forcing his eyes open to look up at you. “The fuck you cryin’ for?”

You hadn’t even realised there were tears rolling down your cheeks. “Your face, JJ. The bruises. What happened?”

“Does it matter?” He muttered. You knew instantly it wasn’t a fight, he’d always tell you straight up if he’d gotten into trouble with a Kook or a beat down with a Pogue. There was only one person it could’ve been that did this to him.

“Yes. Talk to me, please. I want to help,” you begged, sitting down next to him on the sofa to try and grab his hand. He shrugged you off, sitting up with an irritated sigh.

“You can’t,” he muttered. “When’re you gonna get that? You can’t do shit about this.”

“If you’d just—”

“Nah, man. You really don’t get it. I mean, shit. Me and you grew up in very different households, and just ‘cause we’re together doesn’t mean you get to butt in and try help because you want to play hero,” he snapped. You froze up, blinking at him in surprise.

“I’m not trying to play hero,” you argued shakily.

He scoffed out a humourless laugh, standing up from the couch with a shake of his head. “I’m not doin’ this shit with you, man. Call me when you’ve realised you’re not a damn therapist.”

“JJ!” You exclaimed as he started to walk out the house. “You can’t just leave!”

You expected for him to turn around, at least sit back down, but that didn’t happen. He kept walking, the sound of the door slamming echoing around the empty house.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

It took two days for you to decide enough is enough. He didn’t call, didn’t text, you even tried to ask John B if he’d heard from him but he hadn’t. You were angry at first, upset and hurt at the way he’d spoken to you, but after giving yourself time to think about it you realised that that wasn’t fair. JJ was hurt, he was the one that had to deal with Luke Maybank since he was born, and you were going to be there for him; whether he liked it or not.

By the end of the day you’d called him forty six times, texted eighty and left seven voice mails. He hadn’t answered whatsoever, but at least he’d know that you cared enough to try. You laid in bed, eyes open as you stared up at the ceiling, the sound of the front door being unlocked caught your attention. You looked towards your door as you heard footsteps coming down the hall, and when it opened you let out a sigh of relief.

“JJ,” you murmured as he walked in. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and healing bruises around his face.

“Hi,” he greeted quietly, kicking his shoes off.

He hesitantly sat down on the edge of the bed, as if you were going to kick him off, you sat up and threw your arms around him. He leant his head on your shoulder, letting out a quiet sob as you stroked his back.

“It’s okay,” you said softly.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, clinging onto your waist. “I shouldn’t have left— should’ve answered you.”

“Don’t apologise.” You were happy that he understood where he’d gone wrong, but now wasn’t the time for him to feel guilty.

“I don’t want you to think I’m weak,” he explained quietly.

You let out a hum, stroking his hair. “The last person in the world that I think is weak is you. You’re literally the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m used to runnin’ away when things get too much, I— I’m not used to havin’ someone like you around who doesn’t want me to do that,” he admitted.

You pulled away from him slightly, cupping his cheeks in your hands as you wiped away his tears. “You don’t need to run away, JJ. You’ve got me, you’ve got a home.”

He smiled softly at you, leaning in to kiss you. His lips tasted salty from the tears, but you didn’t mind. “I love you,” he murmured against yours.

“I love you, too.”

[steveseddie]

gold was the color of the leaves

steddie | rating: t | wc: 1,6k | cw: none | tags: steve pov, silly teenage boys, first kiss, fluff

for @steddie-spooktober day twenty two prompt “leaves”

read here on ao3

Steve wakes up when a leaf tickles his nose– or rather, when someone tickles his nose with a leaf. He scrunches it up, swatting the leaf away with his hand. 

He easily recognizes the snigger that follows so he’s not surprised to open his eyes and find Eddie leaning over him, one elbow propped up on the grass and a devilish grin stretching over his lips.  

Steve lifts his sunglasses to scowl at him. “Are you like, allergic to people relaxing?” He asks in a bitchy tone that only makes Eddie grin wider. 

“Deadly so, Stevie,” he says, long dark eyelashes fluttering as the hand that’s still holding the leaf rests against his forehead like he’s going to faint. “It was either annoying you or dying, and you don’t want me to die, do you?”

“I guess not,” Steve says with a long-suffering sigh, but either the fondness in his voice or the way his lips tick up prove that he doesn’t mean it because Eddie’s grin turns blinding, his dimples popping. Steve is glad he’s already lying down or his knees might’ve buckled at the sight and sent him rolling down the small hill they’re laying on.

“Besides,” Eddie says, tickling Steve’s cheek with the leaf, “you’re missing out on all the fun.”

“Napping is fun,” Steve points out, swatting Eddie’s hand away again. 

“Yeah, if you’re eighty!” Eddie snorts. “Are you an old man, Stevie?”

“Eddie, I’m younger than you,” Steve deadpans. 

“Maybe, but I have a young soul, Harrington–”

Steve smirks. “If by young you mean immature–”

Hand to his heart, Eddie gasps indignantly. “Hey!”

“Dude, you and the kids spent the last hour gathering leaves in piles and jumping on them,” Steve says amusedly. He spent the better part of that hour watching them tackle each other between shrieks of laughter, thankful for his sunglasses and how they let him stare at Eddie as much as he wanted without getting caught.

Eddie shrugs. “Hm, you may have a point.”

When he moves, something in Eddie’s hair catches Steve’s eye. A leaf– proof that he’d spent an hour being tackled and rolling on the floor before he decided to annoy him.

Steve’s fingers itch to reach out and pluck that leaf from Eddie’s hair, smooth the curls down, grab a hold of them and drag Eddie down–

Steve shakes those thoughts out of his head, balling his hands into fists to keep them from reaching out. In the silence that follows, Steve becomes aware of the sudden lack of yells and laughter around them. “Where are the little shitheads?”

“Wheeler sent them to wash their hands so they can have a snack,” Eddie says, pointing at the water fountain where the boys are cleaning up and at Max and El, walking arm in arm towards Nancy and Robin at the picnic table. 

“Not you?” Steve asks, head falling back against the blanket he’s using to lay on the grass. 

Eddie shakes his head. “Nope, I told her she’s not the boss of me,” he pauses, “then ran away before she could hit me with her book.” 

Steve snorts out a chuckle.

“Besides, I don’t want a snack. I got one right here,” Eddie says with a playful wink that turns Steve’s cheeks bright red. 

He ignores the heat creeping on his face. “I swear, Munson, if you try to bite me again–” he says, thinking about last week when Eddie said he was hungry and promptly sunk his teeth on Steve’s arm.

It didn’t hurt that bad– he was wearing a thick sweater after all. What did hurt was biting his tongue as hard as he could to keep a moan from slipping past his lips from Eddie biting him.

Eddie sniggers. “I won’t bite you, I promise,” he says innocently before he leers at Steve, his face hovering merely inches from Steve’s face. “Only if you ask.”

Steve grits his teeth together. “Shut up,” he quips, shoving Eddie off of him until they’re both lying on their backs, their sides pressed together. 

They fall into comfortable silence which Steve breaks with a loud yawn. 

Eddie’s head lolls to the side, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Tired, sweetheart?”

Steve’s stomach flips at the petname. He shrugs as casually as he can. “A little, I- uh, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Nightmares?” Steve nods. Eddie grimaces apologetically, tugging some hair across his face. “Shit, I should’ve let you keep napping.”

Without giving it much thought, Steve curls his pinkie around Eddie’s. “No, it’s fine,” he says, waiting for Eddie to meet his gaze. When he does, his eyes are a little wide. Wistfully Steve wishes it’s because of their interlocked pinkies. “I don’t wanna miss out on all the fun just because I’m tired.”

Eddie's eyes sparkle and he props himself up on his elbow again, grinning at Steve. “Does that mean I can tackle you into a pile of leaves?”

“You forget I was a jock,” Steve says smugly. “I’d like to see you try.”

Eddie laughs, something between a snort and a giggle. He drops his head in Steve’s chest, making Steve’s heart stutter. 

From this angle, Steve spots another leaf trapped in the curls in the back of Eddie’s head, and this time he doesn’t stop himself from reaching for it. 

The moment Eddie feels Steve’s fingers in his hair, his head snaps up and Steve’s hand ends up cupping the back of Eddie’s neck. 

Their faces are close– so close that Steve can hear the way Eddie’s breath catches when he realizes the same thing.

“Eddie–” Steve starts, not sure if he’s going to apologize for touching his hair without permission or for the way his eyes keep darting down to Eddie’s lips in a way that he knows is fucking obvious. 

But before he can decide what to say, he hears Eddie make an impatient, needy noise in the back of his throat before he surges forward and presses his lips against Steve’s. 

He lets out a surprised yelp, thinking– holy shit, Eddie is kissing me!

The thought bounces against Steve’s skull like a ping-pong ball as he tries to get his brain working again. But before he can do that long enough to kiss Eddie back, he’s pulling away and out of Steve’s reach. Steve’s hand falls back to his side, empty except for the leaf that he plucked out of Eddie’s hair. 

“You uh– you had this in your hair,” Steve says dumbly, holding up the leaf. 

Eddie’s eyes dart to the leaf and his expression falls as he realizes that is why Steve’s hand ended up in his hair, not because Steve was making some kind of move.

“Shit,” he mutters, his doe-like gaze darting from the leaf to Steve’s mouth. That he just kissed. “Shit, fuck– I– shit.”

He scrambles to his feet, and in his haste, ends up stumbling and falling back on his ass– only to roll down the small hill. 

“Eddie!” 

Steve jumps to his feet and runs after him, careful not to trip and follow Eddie down the hill the same way.

He makes it to the bottom right after Eddie and his eyes dart over his starfished body, checking for injuries. 

“Christ, dude. Are you okay?”

Eddie groans, covering his face with his hands. “Did the fall kill me? Please say yes.”

Steve suppresses a snort. “I mean. It’s barely even a hill, so I don’t think that’s possible. You might end up with a bruise or two though.”

“Oh, you mean apart from the bruise to my ego?” 

“What?”

“You know,” Eddie gestures between himself and Steve with one hand, “because I kissed you and you didn’t want me to.” 

Steve puts his hands on his hips. “Who says I didn’t want you to?”

Eddie’s hands fall from his face, revealing his wide eyes and slack jaw. “You did?” He asks, voice going high-pitched.

“Yeah,” Steve says, a lopsided grin stretching over his lips. He knocks his Nike against Eddie’s leg. “I did, you just took me by surprise, s’all.”

Eddie lets out a tiny, startled, “Oh.”

Steve smirks. “Yeah so how about you get up so I can check you don’t have any cuts or bruises before I kiss you. Properly this time.”

Eddie squeaks and scrambles to his feet with as much grace as when he tumbled down the hill. Steve finds his eagerness fucking endearing. 

There are even more leaves trapped in Eddie’s curls now, and with an amused shake of his head, Steve plucks them out of his hair before checking for any bruises. 

Then, as promised, he leans in and kisses Eddie. The second kiss is also short and chaste and over too soon, but it’s good and Steve has to remind himself they’re in public in order to gather enough willpower to pull back. 

When he does, his brain is a little hazy and he completely misses the way Eddie’s expression shifts from dopey to mischievous so it catches him by surprise when Eddie tackles him into a pile of leaves, laughing maniacally. 

“Ha! Got ya!” Eddie whoops, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, hovering over Steve who wants nothing more than to kiss the stupid smug smile off his face. 

But he can hear the kids laughing at him and cheering for Eddie in the distance and there’s no way he can get away with kissing him even if Eddie’s hair falls like a curtain around them, offering a little cover.

So he grabs a handful of leaves and shoves them into Eddie’s grinning mouth instead.

He’ll save the kiss for later.

[halfway-happyyy]

lowkey in a weird funk depressive episode and i need boyfriend!frank to take care of me out of desire and not consolation (shoutout jeff buckley) like i want him to want to take care of me because it makes him feel better

I'm sorry you're going through this, I know how rough it can be. sending love & holding space for you.

right so, it's safe to say that frank knows his way around a depressive episode or two. knows what it's like to be at the mercy of thoughts that swirl around his brain like a virus, infecting every good feeling he's ever had. so when your sleep becomes shoddy, when you start to disappear mid-conversation, he knows something's up.

"where'd you go just now?" his voice lacks the accusatory tone you think should be there, and in its place, is genuine worry. his concerned gaze on yours, searching for a solution, or a clue, as to what's going on in that beautiful mind of yours.

"I'm right here, frank." your smile is laughably fraudulent, but it's all you can manage at the moment, and fortunately for you, he sees right through it.

he reaches for your hand, as if mere touch could scare away the ugly feelings, and murmurs, "you don't gotta do that, kid. not with me."

and in your mind - this episode could not have come at a worse time. what often feels like a series of blissful years, has only been about six months. that's how long frank's been a permanent fixture in your life. and while you guys haven't made the jump to housemates yet, he's over almost every night any way.

he clears his throat, pulling you from your reverie. "how about this, huh? you tell me what percentage you're operating at, and I'll carry the rest. I promise."

taking a deep breath, you murmur - "I'm sitting at about a solid twenty percent."

he nods, keeping his low voice even and measured. "alright kid, we can work with that. I've got the other eighty percent."

he starts by preparing you your go-to survival meal, and while he doesn't expect you to finish all of it, he encourages you to have as much of it as you can. next up is a shower; he offers to get in there with you, but you're content just to have him in the room with you.

and the thing about frank, is that he's doing right by himself when he's taking care of you. in the six months you two have been together, you've pretty much become an extension of him. so when you're off - when your world feels like it's caving in on itself, his does as well. and the old man is nothing, if not a fixer.

it's only when you're curled up against the solid warmth of his naked chest later on, that you're able to utter, "I'm sorry you feel obligated to take care of me, frank."

he doesn't say anything for a long while but the breath that hitches in his throat gives him away. his hand resumes the reassuring circles against your shoulder blade.

"I don't feel obligated at all, kid."

he understands the complexities of chemical imbalances, well. it's a road he's traveled down many times, though it's mostly been a lonely one.

silence settles between you before he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

"all I'll say, is that you could do your worst, and at the end of every day, I'll still choose you every single time." another kiss. "that's how this thing works, kid."

the measured rise and fall of his chest tells you he's drifted off, until he clears his throat and gruffs, "we don't have to figure everything out today. we just gotta take it one step at a time, and I'll be right behind you for all of it."

and for now, that's enough.

[allwaswell16]

F a v o r i t e F i c s O f 2 0 2 4

As an ardent reader of One Direction fan fiction, 2024 has been an amazing year for fics! I read so many incredible fics this year, so please check out all my recs for the year here! Below you will find fics that brought me to tears, made me laugh, comforted me, filled me with joy, or had me yelling in my living room. I share this list with you all not to say that these fics are better than others from this year, but to say thank you to these writers who have left a mark on me with their fics.

To all our fandom's writers, thank you for the gift of your stories! Sending much love to you in the new year!

🪩 Louis / Harry 🪩

with venom on your tongue by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze

(E, 91k, enemies to lovers) a boarding school AU where Harry and Louis are academic rivals until they realize they’re more similar than they thought.

don't be afraid to love (and love again) by localopa / @voulezloux

(T, 83k, trans Louis) the one where louis is trans and afraid, harry is cis and brave, and being 100% yourself is easier said than done.

When the Lights Go Out by thelarenttrap / @antidotetogo

(E, 79k, F1 au) In its near eighty years of existence, Formula 1 has never had an out gay driver. In 2017, Harry Styles signs a contract with Scuderia AlphaTauri alongside his childhood friend and competitor, Louis Tomlinson. The next decade of their careers is some of the most tumultuous press--on and off the track--Formula 1 has ever seen.

I'm Praying (that you don't burn out or fade away) by @lululawrence

(NR, 74k, soulmates) Harry and Louis are literal stars who have known they were soulmates from their creation eons ago, however when Louis came to Earth to start the next phase of their fated future, he forgot everything. Even Harry.

A Frail Farewell by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings

(M, 44k, famous/not famous) Louis can’t believe his luck when he is offered one of the easiest jobs he has had as a long-term house-sitter for the wealthy. Most of all he likes that there are no surprises until he gets the shock of his life from ex-pop star Harry Styles who isn’t supposed to be home.

The Things We Know To Be Wild by harryanthus_annuus / @harryanthus-annuus

(M, 39k, dragons) Louis is a London zoologist sent by the University of Highlands and Islands to assess the safety of the island of Eroda as part of the Wonder Seekers Project for sustainable tourism.

hard times in elmsmere by stylinsoncity / @aliensingucci

(M, 37k, time travel) for louis, being a full-fledged vampire complicates everything, not just his relationship with harry but with harry’s entire coven who took Louis in as an orphan.

Enough To Wish For More by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry

(M, 33k, The Bridges of Madison County au) Louis Tomlinson just wants a few days of peace and quiet while his family are out of state. But when he meets the lead singer of a band he’s never heard of, his life and everything he thought he knew about it changes forever.

Your Reign is Free (to give along to Santa) by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 28k, humor) It’s Christmas Eve. It’s a totally normal Christmas Eve. Harry and Louis have some friends coming by, and some totally normal birthday and Christmas plans. It’s a totally typical totally normal Christmas Eve. A fic that takes place over 24 (+1) hours where surely everything will go totally to plan.

and so I have to say (before I go) by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(M, 27k, mystery) Sometimes falling in love is taking a leap of faith, jumping into the unknown with your eyes closed, hoping someone will be there to catch you. Sometimes falling in love is seeing the person in front of you, all their flaws and imperfections, and taking that leap nonetheless.

Rewriting the Melody by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 26k, canon divergence) Louis doesn’t get put in One Direction. This time, the path to true love takes the long way round, including singing in toilet cubicles, fruit baskets, and long distance band counselling from someone who really doesn’t know what he’s doing, he just wants to keep talking to Harry.

Sugar, Sugar by @parmahamlarrie

(E, 25k, sugar daddy Louis) Meeting your soulmate was the most joyous event of one’s life… or at least, it’s supposed to be. Harry, in all of his 25 year old wisdom, was suspicious of the role fate plays in everyone's lives. He'd rather focus his time dating older men he meets off of a sugar baby website.

Room For One More Troubled Soul by patdkitten / @babyarcanacasey

(M, 25k, supernatural elements) Louis Tomlinson is the chief medical examiner of the Centre for the Law Enforcement of Supernatural Beings - more commonly referred to as simply "The Centre".

On a starlit night by @lunarheslwt

(M, 24k, omegaverse) omega and future Luna Louis is holding a mating ceremony to find his mate, but what he doesn’t expect to see amongst the alphas vying for his hand, is a familiar, yet unexpected face: Harry Styles.

Colorful Hearts by Larrysmomfics / @larrysmomfics

(M, 20k, humor) In a world where orgasmic emissions change color depending on the person’s mood, Louis Tomlinson’s semen has only ever been blue. At the recommendation of his doctor he attends a support group for people with similar conditions. 

 Behind Smoke Stained Curtains by @jaerie

(E, 19k, omegaverse) The worlds align when Louis meets an alpha from the road with as many secrets as he holds himself.

Stand on Holy Ground (series) by @wishingforloushair

(E, 17k, religion kink) Louis comes back to confess again, and Harry has an idea of how Louis can show God his devotion. 

Peeping by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 16k, roommates) Louis has a thing for his housemate, Harry is under the impression that clothing around the house is an optional extra, and neither of them seem to be able to stop wanking long enough to get their shit together and admit their true feelings.

Lost But Won by @2tiedships2

(NR, 16k, omegaverse) When Harry loses his passport after a weekend trip to see Niall, the inconvenience of being stranded in America becomes a little more bearable after meeting Louis. Or a lot more bearable.

At your service, for your usage (series) by @holdingontochaos

(E, 16k, sex work) Louis is a doctor who works so much that he has barely any time to himself for pleasure, let alone to clean his house so he hires Harry as his naked maid and kills two birds with one stone.

so pull me closer, why don’t you pull me close? by @alwaysxlarrie

(M, 9k, uni) If the captain of the soccer team wants to substitute players and be Harry's partner instead... well, Harry's lemons just turned into lemon meringue pie. Who is he to argue with fate?

 and then, i wait there for you by punk_pillow_princess / @punkpillowprincess

(M, 9k, established relationship) Harry has always dreamed of having his “happily ever after”, but hasn’t found the right one yet. Suddenly, he meets Louis.

never just the tip by journeytothepast / @suckerforhome

(E, 6k, omegaverse) Harry believes alphas can't control themselves. Louis proves him wrong.

Just Two Stars Passing By by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(E, 5k, omegaverse) Harry blew up on TikTok and became a fashion commentator during the pandemic. Somehow he ends up covering arrival fashion for the 2024 Euros, and somehow Louis Tomlinson already knows his name.

Good-Old Fashioned Lover Boy by not_fitzwilliam / @not-fitzwilliam-darcy

(NR, 5k, omegaverse) When a miscalculated decision leads to an accidental courtship with the sweetest, most gentle alpha, Harry is torn between breaking the alpha's heart and telling the truth. 

Pretty and Preposterous by @brightlyharry

(NR, 5k, neighbors) Harry donates a copy of Pride and Prejudice to his little free library. He never expects what comes next.

 Pussy Juice by @homosociallyyours

(M, 4k, girl direction) While she manages to dodge the bar’s “special” drink, the Pussy Juice shot, she can’t avoid the feelings that come up when her former teacher (and teen crush), Louis joins her and her friends for the night.

 That’s the way love goes by bella28

(T, 4k, soulmate goose!) In a world, where soulmate geese are sent to the people who can’t figure out who their soulmate is, Harry finds himself stuck with a goose when he is attending a concert of his favourite artist Louis Tomlinson.

Come On and Rescue Me by @kingsofeverything

(E, 3k, silver fox Louis) Louis only intends to watch his hot neighbor’s Instagram live, but he winds up with his hand down his pants.

Figure This Out by @haztobegood

(E, 2k, age difference) Louis is everything Harry could have imagined when he’d typed “silver fox enthusiast” into his Grindr profile. Too bad he's probably scared Louis off by giving him too many expensive gifts.

coming home by @seekforwarmth

(E, 2k, canon) It’s coming home, one way or another.

What’s in a Name by @hellolovers13

(T, 2k, soulmates au) Louis had always known Harry was his soulmate. The name on his arm disagreed. But what did his soulmark know about true love anyway.

 You are so gorgeous (it makes me so mad) by @dreaminrainbows

(M, 2k, pining) Louis is a hot bartender and Harry is pathetically in love with him

The Unselected Journals of Louis W. Tomlinson - Vol 1 by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(E, 1k, epistolary) The Wandering of Things was not new, nearly two years into living here. However, the, uh, nature of this particular thing was quite different.

skinny dip (in water under the bridge) by hazzahtomlinson / @itsnotreal

(G, 880 words, exes) It’s a Wednesday and nostalgia might just get the best of Louis.

can't hide from yourself by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(M, 666 words, suspense) Harry's home alone, faced with his reflection. And something's not quite right.

🪩 Rare Pairs 🪩

Like A Force Of Nature by @reminiscingintherain

(T, 30k, Zayn/Liam) the Heartstopper AU no one asked for.

To start again by @loretheloner

(E, 27k, Louis/Michael Blackwell) Louis finds himself slowly falling for a bandmate again, despite Oli's warnings against it. Michael finds himself slowly falling for his boss and fighting against the ghost of Louis' past relationship. 

It’s a Craving Not a Crush by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28

(E, 9k, Liam/Louis) the one where Liam and Louis are best bros who end up getting married so that Liam has the insurance he needs to go to rehab. Now that he’s sober, they can get divorced. But do they want to?

Can You Feel Where the Wind Is by @fallinglikethis

(M, 3k, Zayn/Liam) He remembers arguing that he had no real power over anything, so no one would care about him, let alone try to hurt him. But that assessment had proven to be untrue today.

I regret you all the time by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 2k, Louis/Prince William) Louis’ friends don’t understand, and they wouldn’t even if he explained. But every time William texts, Louis drops everything to go see him.

Skin on My Skin by Layne Faire / @laynefaire

(E, 2k, Zayn/Liam) Let me touch you where you like it Let me do it for ya

[blacktofade]

Gemtho Fortnight Day 4

prompt: etho hand reveals in a pic showing off a mug or something innocuous. gem gets horny about it.

cw: rpf, nsfw

Gem feels guilty the second she slides her hand down the front of her sweats, fingers edging into her underwear. Not that it stops her.

She knows it’s wrong, knows it’ll bite her in the ass one day soon.

But there’s a new photo in the Hermit Discord server, something Etho sent that morning, and she’s done nothing but think about it since.

It’s an innocuous photo of a mug — one that looks straight out of the eighties, a chip in the rim, the pattern and shape of it hinting that it might be handmade. But that’s not what has her grazing her index finger across her clit, her breath rushing out of her all at once.

Etho’s hand is in the photo.

The first thing that proves he exists, that he’s real flesh and blood.

It’s made Gem feel insane all day, her thoughts scattered, chaotic. She hasn’t felt like herself.

In the photo, Etho’s hand is broad, enough that the mug he’s holding looks small. Or maybe it is — maybe whoever made the mug wanted something more their size.

But Gem likes imagining an Etho who’s so much bigger than her.

She knows he’s six foot two, knows he’s talked about keeping his body fit. She has no idea if that’s changed over the years since she started watching his content, but it’s what she’s pictures in her mind when she thinks about him. When she tips her head back, breathing hard as she touches herself.

She thinks about him being tall, his shoulders being broad. She thinks about him being strong — enough to lift her and set her on the edge of his desk, adding her to his ridiculous setup.

In the photo, his fingers seem long, his knuckles thick, so she thinks about those too.

She dips two of her own fingers into herself, not surprised that she’s already dripping wet. She’s been thinking about touching herself for hours. Battling with her indecision, until she’d finally broken down.

She thinks about those hands on her — guiding her knees apart, one slipping up under her skirt to rub his thumb across the gusset of her panties.

He’d immediately be able to feel the dampness, the heat of her.

Gem lets out a quiet moan, hips shifting in her chair.

He’d probably only give her one finger to begin with, something to warm her up. Not that she’d need it. She’d take anything he wanted.

She lets herself think about an Etho who’s more decisive, who would shove two fingers into her and check her expression to see how she reacts.

She thinks about his gaze dropping down to watch himself touch her. Maybe he’d be rougher, to try to force noises from her. Maybe he’d curl his fingers and fuck them into her so hard, she’d have to hold onto his forearm, or his shoulders, or the desk beneath her.

She clenches down around her own fingers, grinding the meat of her hand against her clit, and she can imagine it’s him so clearly in her mind.

She spreads her legs, imagining him easing his way between her knees, kissing gently at her throat, along the edge of her jaw, still shoving his fingers deep.

She’s only ever known him to be PG, but she wonders if he’d make an exception with her in person. If he’d press his mouth near her ear and talk about how wet she is, how tight she is around his knuckles, how he wants to feel her come, how he’s going to make her come.

Gem wants to shut her eyes, pleasure ramping up, her thighs starting to tremble, but she wants to keep looking at the photo. She wants it in the forefront of her mind as she falls apart.

She’s so close, her hand moving faster, and she almost startles when her computer dings with a new Discord notification.

In the corner of her open window, she sees she’s got a new DM from Etho himself, and she drags in a breath, groaning at how illicit it feels. There’s so much guilt filling her chest, but she can’t stop.

It’s worse knowing that he’s right there at his computer. That he’s just a message away.

She shifts her gaze back to the photo and thinks about him exhaling quietly

Come for me, Gem, she imagines him murmuring, and Gem slips over the edge with a desperate moan.

It’s a sharp orgasm, quick and punchy, and she keeps her fingers inside herself as she rides the high.

It takes a long moment for her to catch her breath, to blink away the fuzziness of pleasure in her brain, but it’s pure masochism that has her lifting her clean hand and clicking on Etho’s DM.

She’s just too curious for her own good.

Did you see my pic? his message asks and a laugh escapes Gem before she can stop it.

I saw it, she confirms, slowly pecking at the keys with one finger. Nice pattern.

Horrifyingly, Etho must still be at his computer, because it shows him typing in return.

It goes all the way around, he replies, and after a moment, a new image appears.

The angle is different in this one, but it’s the same mug — just showing off more of it.

And also more of his hand.

Gem pauses, gaze locked onto his fingers, and it feels like ice water drips down her back.

There’s a silver band around his finger — a wedding ring.

“Fuck,” she exhales, swallowing thickly as she finally pulls her fingers out of herself.

[searchingforserendipity25]

thomas lawrence's bisexuality is not a secret, as such, not because he made any fuss about it to make a political point, and not because he broke his vows at any point.

but because, back in the late eighties, he was involved in a semi-infamous love triangle involving a forceful up-and-coming middle-aged professor of religious studies.

she; and her sad ancient foppish husband, who in his turn was a rather morose, more-or-less decent theologian of the late roman period.

their marriage was more of a polite convenient arrangement than anything else. the real surprise, at first, was that professor, let's call her profressor whatelet - that professor whatelet wasn't actually a raging lesbian.

many of the early rumors had it that she was a lesbian, and dating a pretty young woman with a taste for tweed suits; until it became clear that the pretty young thing with a taste for tweed suits she was found kissing in the library of the sorbonne after hours was not, in fact, a lesbian. he just had very long bangs.

but then, her boytoy was also her very gay husband's live-in secretary and research assistant. a real arthur-guinevere-lancelot triangulation, by all appearances:

but then, not quite.

there was a great deal of walking arm-in-arm and long debates and chivalrous opening of doors. there was hand-kissing. there were whispers about gold-digging, or worse, academic historical source digging. there were three chairs around a round table, at home and in restaurants and in the office.

this would have been fine enough, in its deeply hypocritical way, paris in the late eighties. a bourgeois academic couple, not unusual they'd have something on the side.

that the something on the side was shared between husband and wife was too salacious to prove. as he was playing the gallant towards both of them, it was not quite eminently clear which way the infidelity was happening.

and that was just what they liked. something to be said about being cleverer and more charming and more original than anyone else. most lovers feel like that. the whatelets had more cause for it than most.

alas, it so happens that this may-december threeway affair had its january-april fallout.

beyond closed door and closed windows, thing came to a head. after some intense intellectual debate and some intense intellectual threesomes, and a great deal of aquinas, and a great deal of st. paul's epistles, and some de beauvoir, the arrangement was found to be non-sustainable.

not least because dr. whatelet wanted to retire back to auvignon to be a beekeeper and try to win back his widowed first love, and professor whatelet was desperately bored of paris andwanted to apply to a senior position in stockolm.

also, their shared boytoy was having a spiritual epiphany no amount of unsacred kneeling could silence. there was that, too.

in conclusion:

professor and dr. whatelet got a divorce, a controversial uncatholic move that shook the foundations of their department.

it broke apart friendships. itlead to a number of low-simmering disputed coming to a head and several supposedly-unrelated resignations, and caused a domino effect of revealed scandals and anonymous letters-to-the-editor debacles.

a small but meaningful faction of the theological studies sphere was pulled through the who-kept-what-friends-and-what-grant nightmare. including a clever chessmaster that would one day become pope, who heard the confession of one:

thomas lawrence. young, successful and disillusioned manager of a london firm, his sabbatical to paris got him a reputation as a homewrecker.

he only barely shock it off by falling out of love with the whatelets, passionately in love with christ, quitting his soul-sucking job, joining a seminary, being extremely weird about chastity as both a theological ideal and a practical principle for nearly half a century, and outliving most anyone who ever heard about it.

except for the old pope, of course. his holiness was the one who celebrated the whatelets' purple marriage in the first place.