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reiding-writing · 1 year ago

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mistletoe [ s.r ]

Summary:

Spencer accidentally slips to the team that he doesn’t like Christmas, and you take it upon yourself to try and change his mind during one of your bi-weekly movie nights.

WARNINGS: mentions of schizophrenic episodes, mentions of divorce, slight miscommunication

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: 99% fluff, tiny bit of angst, two oblivious idiots in love

wc: 4.6k

masterlist!!

a/n: watch someone who doesn’t like christmas, write about a reader who does like christmas 😭 thanks to ml @flowersfromautumn for beta reading this for me 🫶🫶

Spencer Reid was not a Christmas person.

The rest of the team found it a little ironic, especially considering his overwhelming love for halloween, but he wasn’t going to tell them that the reason he hated the holiday season was because his mother’s paranoia spiked during them. He wasn’t going to tell them that the last time he’d tried to do something with his family for the holidays it ended with his mother locking herself in her bedroom for three straight days and Spencer finding a copy of divorce papers half-hidden under his father’s work files.

He wasn’t going to tell the team that the whole month of December felt like a massive dissociation for him every single year to the point where - despite his eidetic memory - he couldn’t remember most of the Christmases of his childhood.

His younger years were enjoyable, at least, he thinks so; Filled with festivities and family-bonding. But as his growth was overshadowed by his mother's battle with schizophrenia, the jingling bells and festive lights brought memories of unpredictable episodes, turning what should have been joyful celebrations into overwhelming anxiety and stress.

The only Christmas he had a clear memory of was the one in 1990, the day he found out that his family was no longer a family at all. That’s a lot for a nine year old to handle, even if his mind preceded his age twice over.

“Spencer?” You knock - kick - at the front door of Spencer’s apartment, right on time for your bi-weekly movie session. “Spencer Reid? Hellooo?”

It takes a minute for Spencer to open the door, adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses as he does so. “Sorry I was just-“

Spencer cuts himself off as his eyes meet the large cardboard box in your hand, noting how you’re leaning it on top of your thigh with your leg balanced in the air so you don’t drop it. “What’s that for?”

“You’ll see,” You give him a half-smug smile as you push your way past him into his apartment, dumping the box on his coffee table and shaking out your arms to relive them of the ache of carrying its weight for the last several minutes.

Spencer follows soon after you, pushing the door closed and tilting his head at the box like a puppy who’d just been presented with a ball for the first time.

Its oddly endearing, and you find yourself getting distracted from the box as you take in the way the warm lighting of his apartment cascades over the side of his face, leaving a soft shadow that accentuates his jawline in the most perfect way to make your stomach do a flip in your torso and stir a kaleidoscope of butterflies awry in its wake.

You’re thrust back into reality by Spencer speaking your name, his tone so sweet you’re sure it could give you cavities. “What’s in the box?”

“Oh- right, right yeah uh-“ You peel the tape off of one side of the box, peeling it open to let the two flaps at the top of the box loose. “Okay don’t be mad at me-“

You slowly open the box up to let Spencer look inside it properly. It was completely filled to the brim with a collection of miscellaneous decorations fit for the Christmas season, all neatly packed into smaller boxes and plastic containers, separated with labels on each.

Spencer says your name again as his eyes scan the contents of the box, this time with much less sweetness and much more apprehension.

“Why did you—“

Reid cuts himself off for a second time in the last five minutes as he reads the labels on the smaller boxes, getting caught on one lining the main box’s long side. “You brought a tree?”

It’s a small one,”

Spencer looks at you like you’ve just released a mischief of rats into his apartment.

He was expecting to be sat on his couch with you at his side, devouring cheap take-away pizza whilst indulging in multiple hours of re-runs of Doctor Who. Instead, you’d dumped a box of Christmas decorations on his coffee table which he can only assume you’ll hound him into putting up.

He’d been ambushed.

“You know I’m not really fond of the whole Christmas thing,” Spencer says, running a hand through the fluffy mess of brown hair that you would gladly spend hours with your fingers in if he’d let you.

“I know you aren’t Spencer, but this is the time of year where people are supposed to spend time with the people they care about, I’m not going to let you spend it hauled up in an undecorated apartment by yourself,” You begin to unload the boxes onto his coffee table with a soft sigh.

“It’s just another day,” Spencer’s voice is soft, appreciative of you going out of your way to do something like this for him but also not entirely sure of the point of it. “Besides, don’t you have plans with your family?”

“They’re on the other side of the country Spence, and as much as I love them i’m not taking that trip down, just in case something comes up with the team,” You unbox the artificial tree first, pulling it out of its box and tugging the flattened branches outwards to make it look more tree-like. “So i’m saddled up here for the holidays,”

You move the tree over to a side table next to one of the walls of Spencer’s apartment, the dark green complimenting the olive of his walls.

“Do we really have to do this?” Spencer’s voice is non-confrontational, not wanting to fight with you.

“It’ll be fun I promise,” You blink up at him with those eyes of yours and there’s no way in hell he’s going to be able to say no to you.

Spencer sighs softly, dragging his fingers over his closed eyelids under his glasses before reluctantly opening a plastic container labelled ‘lights’, beginning to untangle one of the strings of lights from the others. “I don’t think I’ve put up a tree since I was around eight or nine,”

“You don’t think?” You raise an eyebrow at him as you continue to adjust the faux branches of the tabletop tree.

“I- don’t actually remember most of my Christmases…” Spencer’s pursed smile fills you with an overwhelming amount of upset sympathy that he can immediately read all over your face. “I was never exactly ‘enraptured’ with it anyway,”

That was a total lie.

Spencer tries to shrug off your concern as he successfully manages to untangle the lights. “Did you know that the first ever rendition of ‘Christmas’ as we know it happened roughly 5000 years ago?”

And there goes Spencer’s distraction technique. He’d always manage to turn the attention away from himself and towards something academic when he was becoming uncomfortable with his own vulnerability.

“It was originally actually celebrated on December 21st as a celebration of the mid-winter solstice, and the Neolithics, or new stone age people, would gather around Stonehenge to have feasts and exchange gifts with each other, even playing music associated with the holiday on bone flutes from the cattle used for the feast.”

A part of you wants to stop Spencer’s tangent, to bring the topic back to why Christmas was such a bad time of the year for him as a child that it caused gaps in his memory despite him remembering the rest of his life down to the most minor of details. But another part of you knows that if it’s that bad, maybe it’s best to leave it be. He’ll tell you when he’s ready to.

“So-“ Spencer rummages around for a few seconds in one of his drawers to pull out some batteries for the lights, then turning a warm yellow once they’re powered, twinkling on and off intermittently. “How do we know what goes where?”

He begins to carefully wrap the lights around the length of the tree down in a spiral, leaving the battery box in the small fake pot underneath the tree. He at least knows where to put the lights.

“We vibe it,” You shrug your shoulders softly at his question as you go back over to the coffee table to retrieve your box of baubles, a mix of red and off white, with a few of them covered in glitter.

“We- Vibe it?” Spencer furrows his expression slightly as he watches you arbitrarily place one of the baubles on the tree.

That was one of the things he remembered about decorating with his parents when he was younger. The tree was organised. And he remembers the arguments that spanned from what should have been a family-bonding activity.

The end result always looked more like one of those display Christmas trees in department stores than a Christmas tree put together by a loving family. But he supposes it makes sense considering the dynamic of his parents.

“Yep, we vibe it,” You pick up a second bauble to hang from the tree. “Just try not to put too many of the same colour in one area otherwise it can look a little dodgy,”

“Right- Okay…” It doesn’t take long for him to get a feel for where the baubles should be going, and he follows your lead in hanging them on the branches.

He’s a lot less stressed than the fragmented memories of his show him he should be as he decorates the small tree with you, and he’s sure it’s because the soft smile adorning your features as you pass him baubles of different colours and sizes houses some sort of black magic that just erases all semblance of negativity from his mind.

After a few minutes, Spencer takes a step back from the tree to look over his work, feeling pretty satisfied with himself, a small smile gracing his features that the warm light of the fairy lights only accentuates, casting a soft glow over his face. “Not bad,”

“Ah-” You hold up a hand as you rifle through the box, pulling out a very obviously handmade tree topper in the vague appearance of a fairy. “One more thing,”

“A fairy?” Spencer takes the topper from your hand carefully, as if he’s afraid of breaking it if he were to hold onto it too tightly. “Who made this?”

“I did-“ An almost unnoticeable flush covers your cheeks as you watch him examine the cone of white card with a painted styrofoam head and yarn for hair, wings cut out of translucent iridescent lining and haphazardly folded into shape over jeweller’s wire. “When i was a kid-“

“It’s adorable,” Spencer’s voice proves his genuinity. He feels somewhat touched by the fact that you still had it. “You’ve been holding on to this for years?”

“Yeah- I usually put it on top of my tree at home but I figured that you’d benefit more from it this year than I would-“ Spencer almost melts at your thoughtfulness. It’s honestly one of the sweetest things he thinks anyone has ever done for him. It obviously meant a lot to you, and yet here you were, surrendering it into Spencer’s care to try and make his holiday season more festive.

“That’s- really sweet of you…” He smiles fondly, gently placing the topper on top of the tree, rotating it slightly so it faces into the main portion of his living room. "It looks like you,"

You laugh softly at the statement, “Vaguely,”

The fairy-topped tree now radiates a cozy warmth in Spencer's living room. The soft glow from the lights and the sentimental touch of the handmade topper seem to transform the atmosphere, creating a space that feels more like a home than just a place to reside.

As you both step back to admire the decorated tree, a sense of accomplishment fills the room. Spencer's eyes linger on the fairy topper, appreciating the connection it holds to your childhood and the kindness behind your gesture.

"We’re not done yet,” You grasp both of his shoulders in your hands for a second, giving them a soft squeeze before heading back over to the box to continue decorating around his apartment.

He smiles at the sight of your enthusiasm. “You’re getting carried away,” Spencer’s tone borders a laugh as you start to scatter decorations around his living room.

You hang a line of gold tinsel along the mantle of his faux fireplace, drape a string of fairy lights over his bookshelf, and hand him small festive table toppers for him to scatter into spaces on his home office, and slowly but surely, his apartment radiates that festive energy associated with the Christmas season.

“You can never have too many decorations,” You shake your head softly at Spencer as he glances over the decorations you’d shoved into his hands.

“But do I really need any decorations?” Spencer sighs softly, slowly putting down the decorations flooding his arms down on his dining table, trying not to sound unappreciative of your efforts.

A little part of him wants to tell you that all of these decorations weren’t really making him feel any better about the holiday season; But he wants to see you happy, even if he has no desire to decorate the place himself.

“It’s just me here,” he adds softly.

“That doesn’t matter,” you tilt your head at him slightly as you retreat back to the cardboard box to retrieve more decorations. “Besides,”

Your eyes catch on a small sprig of mistletoe, and you adjust the wiring to flatten it out properly as you pull it out of the box. “You never know,”

“You expect me to bring someone over here?” Spencer laughs in a mix of astonishment and embarrassment. “Who would I even bring over?”

You respond only with a shrug of your shoulders as you pick up one of Spencer’s dining chairs, carrying it over to the front door so that you can stand on it to comfortably reach the door frame.

“This is way too extra,” he says, looking at the mistletoe that’s now being fastened above his front door as he stands at your side, one hand braced on the back of the dining chair to make sure that you don’t accidentally tip yourself over. “What if I bring someone back and it’s all awkward?”

“You just have an excuse to kiss anyone you think is attractive when they walk into your apartment, sounds like a win win to me,” You hop off of the dining chair once you’re finished, bringing it back to its rightful place under his dining table.

Spencer flushes slightly. “You do realize what you’re saying, right?” he asks. “Like you’re insinuating me going out of my apartment, bringing a random person in here, and kissing them immediately upon entry.”

You give him a pointed look that silently tells him that he’s reading too much into it as you pack up the rest of the box, satisfied with your work. “It’s about time you got some lovin’ Spence,”

It’s not like he doesn’t agree with your sentiment, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not extremely flustered.

“I’m not sure anyone is interested,” He says that like he hadn’t almost had a fling with a hollywood actress a few years ago, like he didn’t constantly have women fawning over him during cases, like you weren’t completely head over heels for him to the point where you’d gone out of your way to spend your saturday night decorating his apartment for Christmas to try and make his holiday season a little more enjoyable.

This man had to be the most oblivious profiler in the FBI; And it made you want to cup those beautiful cheeks in your hands and kiss those beautiful pink lips until his beautiful brain understood just how wrong he was.

Spencer clears his throat at his own awkwardness as he tries to move the topic of conversation away from his love life, his eyes flickering around the main room of his apartment. “I uh, you did a good job with the decor,”

“Thank you, thank you,” You oblige to his change of subject with a dramatic bow, fearing you’ll implode if you think about how obliviously attractive Spencer is any longer.

“Now we can watch a movie,” You move the, now thankfully much lighter, box off of the coffee table to give a clear view of the television from Spencer’s couch. “A Christmas movie.”

Spencer’s eyes widen a little bit as you mention watching a Christmas movie. “Is that something I can opt out of?”

“No?” You give him a look of mock offense as you push him over to the couch to sit down, and he reluctantly obliges with a sigh. “It’s a movie night, and it’s the middle of December, we have to watch a Christmas movie, it’s a rite of passage,”

He’s never been a fan of any of the cliche christmas movies, even if they’re supposed to be cheesy and fun.

He’s willing to compromise, though. For your sake.

“Can it at least be a good Christmas movie and not something that has a plot that was clearly written by the Hallmark Channel?”

“We’re watching the Grinch duh,” You furrow your expression as if the movie choice is obvious, handing him the remote as you grab your satchel bag and hurry off into the kitchen.

“I will be back in like two minutes, don’t even think of trying to escape from this,”

“I’m not going anywhere don’t worry,” Spencer sighs with a soft smile as he watches you disappear around the corner. Even if the Grinch movie doesn’t sound like his cup of tea, he’d do just about anything for you.

He scours through Netflix as you busy yourself in his kitchen, and you waltz back out a few minutes later with a small tray housing two steaming mugs and two plastic wrapped candy canes, placing it on the coffee table in front of him. “Et voila,”

Spencer doesn’t have to ask to know what the mugs hold, he can smell the chocolate from his seat. “Alrighty then, christmas movie time it is,”

Spencer watches as you make yourself comfortable next to him, crossing your legs and draping a throw blanket from the arm of the couch over your legs, and it’s hard not to look at you and think about how comfortable it would be for him to lie with his head in his lap with your hands running through his hair. The idea makes him all flustered, and he hides his flush behind his mug as he takes a sip of his drink.

“You’re sure that we can’t just watch Doctor Who like we were supposed to?”

All it takes is a small slump of your shoulders at his question and Spencer’s resolve quickly melts like snow in the sun.

“Alright, you win,” he sighs. “I’ll watch the Grinch.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to Spence,” You concede defeat at Spencer’s disinterest in watching the film. You’d already forced him into decorating and you were starting to feel guilty for forcing all of this onto him.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Spencer shakes his head softly at you. You’re sharing something that you enjoy with him, who is he to shut you down? Especially considering how many times he’d over shared about his own interests. “It’s only two hours,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Why did the Grinch’s heart grow three sizes?” Spencer asks, his eyebrow raised as the credits play. “I don’t get it.”

“it’s a metaphor Spence, it doesn’t actually grow three sizes,”

“I know it’s not literally growing,” Spencer dead-pans. “I’m just wondering if there’s a reason why they put three specifically.” He seems to be looking for some deeper meaning in watching this movie, even if he’s not really engaged with it.

“Like is the Grinch’s heart growing meant to be a sign of him becoming a better person?”

“Yeah, because at the beginning it was two sizes too small, so if it grows three sizes, now he has a ‘big heart’ that’s full of love and empathy and all that stuff,”

Spencer’s gaze burns into you as you explain the metaphor to him. It’s not an ‘i’m trying to really understand this‘ gaze, but rather a ‘I’m engaging in something you enjoy and trying to understand and you’re so perfect when you talk’ gaze.

“Like, he’s realising ‘hey Christmas isn’t so bad when you have people who love and care about you to spend it with’,”

“Is that what Christmas is to you?” Spencer asks, his tone genuinely intrigued. “A way of spending time with the people you love?”

“Yeah-“ You give him a small nod, joined with a yawn as you stretch your arms up above your head. “That’s the whole point of Christmas,”

Spencer smiles warmly at you, although he’s not entirely sure whether it’s because of how you describe what Christmas means to you, or because when you stretch you scrunch up your nose like a cat would. “What now?”

“I should probably head home and stop bothering you with my overwhelming desire for christmas to just happen,” You let your arms fall back to your sides with a satisfied sigh, glancing at the grandfather clock Spencer has against his wall. 12:25. Looks like you spent longer decorating than you thought.

“It’s pretty late,”

“Yeah, it is,” Spencer follows your eyes over to the clock, hiding his subconscious disappointment over your inevitable departure as you retreat to his front door to put your shoes on.

“Let me escort you to your car,” he says quietly, following after you. “It’s dark outside.”

You chuckle softly at his offer, leaning your shoulder against his apartment door and lifting up your legs one at a time to tie your shoelaces. “You really don’t have to Spence it’s alright,”

“I want to,” His tone is soft, and you can’t help but notice that he cuts off his sentence abnormally quickly as if his words got stuck in his throat, and as you drop your left leg back down to the floor and turn your head to him, you notice he’s not looking at you, but above you.

Your eyes follow his up to what he’s looking at, catching on the mix of white and green fauna directly above your head.

Oh-

You’d royally screwed yourself over. God damn it. The night was going so well.

As you follow Spencer’s gaze, he immediately becomes distracted by the way your eyes are looking up at the mistletoe above you, glistening softly under the warm lighting in his apartment, and he almost implodes because god damn is your face gorgeous when you’re all flustered.

“Did you know that mistletoe was originally used by ancient celtic druids as a symbol of good luck to protect against evil spirits?”

There’s that distraction technique again. Although, his tangent is much more of a ramble as his eyes examine the mistletoe above the door as if it’s an exhibit in a museum.

“The Greeks also used mistletoe as a medicine for almost every ailment you can think of, from cramping to epilepsy and even poisonings. The custom of kissing underneath mistletoe wasn’t developed until the 1700s when victorians-“

“Spencer stop.”

He does ask you ask immediately, blinking at you as his eyes snap downwards towards your face, his expression a mix of hurt and embarrassment. “Oh- I- I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“Just-“ You put your hand up in front you effectively halting his attempt at an apology. “Stop speaking,”

“Right… I’m sorry…” Spencer purses his lips together, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he’s sure it’ll bleed.

He didn’t want to make the situation uncomfortable. That was quite literally the last thing he wanted to do. God, what was he thinking? Why did he let you hang that god damn plant above his door?

“I’ll- you-“ He takes a sharp breath in, closing his eyes for a second. “I’ll see you on Monda-“

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence as you again stop him from speaking, but not with a raised hand or a verbal signal.

No. Instead, his words are ripped of the chance to be spoken by a tug on the collar of his t-shirt and a gentle pressure against his lips.

Spencer can’t help the widening of his eyes as your lips press against his, nor can he stop the gasp that escapes his mouth as you effectively swallow his apology with your lips.

Those soft, perfect lips that Spencer had been dreaming about for god knows how long.

No, he knows exactly how long. 1,472 days, 6 hours and 15 minutes.

The sharp tick of the grandfather clock cuts through the soft silence between you.

1,472 days, 6 hours and sixteen minutes.

He effectively melts in your affection, the feeling of your hands sliding into his hair at his temples, the subtle taste of mint on your lips from the candy cane you’d been eating whilst watching the movie.

And the heat, oh, the heat.

He never knew one person could be this hot, this warm.

Spencer’s hands go to your waist as he gently pulls you further against him, his eyelashes fluttering softly as they fall closed.

You're kissing the man of your dreams. And enjoying every second of it.

And the best part? He's enjoying it just as much.

“Merry Christmas Spencer…” Your words are little more than a whisper as you mumble them against his lips, your thumbs tracing slow lines in front of his ears.

Spencer can’t help but gasp softly at the weight of your words, and this time not because you’d caught him by surprise, but because he's completely lost in you.

He’s starting to understand the Grinch metaphor you were explaining to him earlier, although his heart doesn’t feel like it’s growing three times over. It feels as though it’s growing ten times over. A hundred times over. That it might burst out of his chest with just how much he was feeling in this moment.

"Merry Christmas..."

He whispers your name softly, barely able to get it out over the slight quiver in his breathing.

This was the best Christmas present he’d ever gotten.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #erotomania #mgg #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff

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somethinwickedthiswaycums · 22 days ago

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Like A Humping Dog (also avaliable on a03!)

Fandom: The Life Series

Pairing: Scott x Pearl

Warnings: NSFW/18+ Content, Orientation Play, Sexual Coercion, Humping, Grinding, Degradation Kink, Homophobia, Erotomania, Rape, Non-Con

A/N: based off this comic by the lovely @weirdfreakshow! All art credit to him! Make sure to give him a follow and check out his other amazing works!

Word Count: 2.1k

“Pleaseeeeeee? All the other soulmates are doing it! They’re having so much fun!!!”

Pearl flashed Scott with her best puppy dog eyes, only second-best to Tilly's, who had taught her everything she'd need to know about how to flatten your ears to juuuuuust the right angle and tilt your head to juuuuuuuuust the right degree to make it impossible for anyone to tell you no.

Unfortunately, Scott had been telling her no for the past hour.

“Pearl." The elf's voice was flat, his fingertips massaging his brow as if she was giving him a migraine, sighing strainedly, "I explained to you why we can’t a thousand times already…" She let out a piteous whimper as she tugged on the hem of his shirt, trying to channel both her best wet cat energy and stray dog begging for a treat energy at the same time, because, really, wasn't that what she was doing? She was just asking Scott to throw her a bone - a morsel! A nibble! A crumb, even- "you know what? Fine.”

"W-wait, really?" Her breath hitched, her tail already wagging a thousand miles per minute as she swallowed a glob in her throat, and, God, she hadn't even noticed she'd been salivating.

“If it’ll get you to stop annoying me about it,” He answered irritably, pointed ear twitching in annoyance. “You can… I don’t know, hump my foot-“ He saw her expression brighten, and he sneered swiftly with a disgusted grimace, “-The shoe stays on. And - so do the socks, Pearl," he hissed, and she could swear he could read her mind through the soulbound, somehow.

"Y-yes, sir, understood!" She yipped, anyway, making no effort to hide the elation in her voice, though the case of happy tail syndrome she was about to develop would have made that difficult even if she had.

"Good," Scott glared at her through a half-lidded, reviling gaze before monotonously adding, "You have fifteen minutes. That's it. Go."

With a klutzy, choked gasp, Pearl immediately fell to her knees with an unceremonious thud, crawling to his feet and kissing the toe of his shoe with almost religious reverence, babbling "thank you"s and "you're the best"s, which only made Scott scoff with barely-disguised revulsion and insist she get on with it.

She didn't waste a second getting on. She hugged his leg and began to hump rhythmically, whimpering and grunting like a dog in heat, crescent-tailed delight wafting off her in rank musk as she huffed and humped relentlessly. She grunted with each thrust, eyes widening in bliss as she rutted against the toe of his shoe, tears pricking her eyelids and drool beginning to drip down her chin, eyes rolling into the back of her head until phosphenes danced at the edges of her vision, flashing behind her eyelids like the beautiful starlets surrounding Scott's head.

It was hard to hear underneath the blood thrumming in her ears and the moan gurgling in the back of her throat, but she could swear, she heard Scott tsk and mumble something like, "pathetic..."

Her felt herself moan louder at that, his scathing words only making her more desperate; they made her hump harder, faster, with heedless abandon. Each push of her hips grinding against his shoe felt more blissful than the last, and she clenched her eyes shut, shuddering violently as she gasped out wordless pleas for him to say it again, to call her a mutt, a whore, a slut, a dog. Sweat dripped from her brow and her breath came in needy, laboured pants, her arousal beginning to soaking through her shorts, leaking onto the tongue of Scott's shoe, staining it with her want, her need.

Scott noticed. He flinched, his shoe jostling between her thighs, which only making her wetter before he pulled his foot out from her crotch and hissed, "Don't you dare get my shoe wet-"

Pearl whimpered Scott yanked his shoe away, the motion causing her slick to smear. She sobbed like a dog robbed of it's last meal as she chased after his foot, determined to get her fix of affection and humiliation, no matter how pathetic it made her look, begging, imploring, moaning, "Mh~ p-please- puhlease- I-I need- need to c-cum-"

"Well, don't do it on my frickin' shoe-?! Do it on the floor or something, I don't care!"

She whined like a dog left out in the rain, wet thighs quivering as Scott robbed her of her stimulation. She reached down to hastily undo her zipper with fumbling fingers, freeing her dripping cunt to the air. She spread her legs wide, pawing at her puffy cuntlips to expose her throbbing, aching clit. She began rubbing it in tight circles, humping the air as she fingered herself, keening needily. Her cum dripped down to puddle beneath her, soaking the floor like a guilty dog, but the entire time, she didn't dare take her eyes off Scott for a second, the sight of his sneering face the only thing getting her off, even if he refused to even glance at her. She squirmed and gasped as she emptied herself onto the stone floor with a cry, biting her lip to suppress the howl trying to erupt from her throat.

After she finished, she swallowed the hoarse gasps and pants writhing on her tongue, crawling back to the tip of Scott's shoe on her hands and knees like a drug addict begging for a fix, pleading, "I-I sti- I still have- five more minutes- f-five more mH~inutes- please-"

Scott was staring at her like she was the most revolting thing he'd ever had the displeasure of laying his eyes on, but fortunately for her, he'd always been a man of his word. With a disgruntled, disgusted grunt, he begrudgingly pushed his foot forward, keeping his glare glued to the wall as he agreed reluctantly, "Five minutes."

With a whorish warble of gratitude, Pearl immediately latched onto his shoe with uncaged desperation, hips bucking to grind her sopping cunt against it as she fucked herself on his shoe vamp shamelessly. Her orgasm made her clit swollen and aching, every thrust making her lightheaded with oxygen deprivation as her throat filled with needy moans, so much so she almost didn't hear it.

But she did.

A soft, strangled sound, stifled and smothered, but audible.

A moan.

And it hadn't been from her.

Pearl swallowed the moan on the tip of her own tongue, voice breathless and disbelieving and excited as she choked out, "S-Scott...? Did you... did you just-"

Once glance was all she needed to confirm that he did. There was an indisputable flush across his face, sweat glistening and strands stuck to his face, his fingertips' digging into his chair's armrests like a lifeline, a notable bulge outlined against his trousers pants and his breathing heavy.

"Nothing," he answered much too quickly, the cracked hitch in his voice betraying him as he swallowed, "I didn't do anything. Y-you're crazy."

Maybe she was crazy, but she wasn't crazy about this. She'd heard him.

"You - you... you're - you're into this, a-aren't you?" She gawked, she giggled, incredulous titters mixed with as she grabbed onto Scott's knees and used them as momentum to push herself upwards, elbows rested on his lap as she poked at Scott's bulge with her fingertip with awe. The sound only coaxed another barely-stifled groan from him, and she gasped with glee, "I - I knew it!"

Scott smacked her hand away, pressing his thighs shut and rudely robbing her of her perch as he grunted, "S-stop that. I didn't - it's not because of you, I'm gay, idiot - I think - I didn't know soulmates shared pain and pleasure, it's your fault-"

"It is my fault..." She agreed slowly, voice lowering to a warbling whisper, recoiling her hand away like a kicked puppy before she grabbed Scott's knees with a newfound strength, pushing them apart until she could wedge herself between them, her head at the level of his waist, her eyes level with that growing bulge, "I-I did this to you - I made you hard - me, me, me-me-me - you like me! You - you... love me - you do love me - you're - you're hard for me... you're hard for ME!" She purred and giggled with ecstasy, reaching up to palm his erection through his trousers.

She felt Scott's fingernails digging into her shoulders, trying to push her away as if she was a disobedient dog who'd grown tired of waiting for scraps to drop underneath the dinner table and had decided to crawl onto the tabletop and lick the plates clean herself, but she didn't let him. She didn't allow him to. She was starving, she was ravenous, and she was done begging for what she deserved, leaning forward and beginning to mouth at the bulge, running her tongue along its length and laving it with attention, her tongue swirled around the shape of his erection through the fabric.

"P-Pe- mfh~ Pear-! Get your filthy - you're - you're disgusting, you pervert, you freak, you - stop- stop-" Scott gagged, but it was clear he didn't actually mean it, because if he didn't want this, why did he instantaneously devolve into a shameless moan as her tongue rubbed his clothed dick?

"I-I knew you liked me, you still love me, you always have- this is proof-" She whispered with a reverent moan, drooling messily as she palmed Scott's throbbing cock eagerly, stroking him with desperate, graceless need, smearing idle streaks through the fabric as Scott continued to squirm and thrash, unaware that once a dog locked it's teeth onto a target it would never let go.

"Y-you were scared, you were scared, weren't you? That's why you left. You - you were scared because you like me, that - that you liked a girl... you didn't want to admit you liked a girl, did you? It's okay, Scott, it's okay - it's hard to admit when we're - when we're wrong, isn't it? That it really was just a matter of finding the right girl - it's me! I'm the right girl, Scott, I was the right girl, I am the right girl, don't you see, it was always me-" She rasped between licks, slurring sloppily, a groan gurgling in the back of her mouth. Above her, she heard a choked-up sound come from Scott, and, wow, was he really already so turned on he was sobbing with ecstasy? He was weak for her, utterly infatuated...

"I-I hate you," Scott retched through sob-filled moans, an obvious lie, as his body was telling quite a different story, wasn't it? "You witch - you - you bitch - I hate you - I hate this - IhateyouIhateyouIhateyou-"

"I love you, too," Pearl agreed softly, mouthing at the bulge in Scott's pants with a wet, saliva-filled kiss. She licked a long, slow stripe up the length of him, savouring the taste of his arousal through the fabric. "You're being so good for me, such a good boy, you're being perfect," she cooed praisingly, every hitch in his breath and quiver in his thighs making her inner walls clench with unquantifiable need, even as he convulsed and cried, "S-stop. Stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop-" like a broken recordplayer, but she didn't. She didn't, because,

"You promised me fifteen minutes, remember? And I still have three more~"

Pearl knew Scott took his word very seriously; it wasn't something he handed around willy-nilly! He prided himself on his honesty, his ability to uphold his end of the bargain, his trustworthiness and honourability. Pearl couldn't just allow him to forsake something he held so dear like that by letting him wriggle away, he wasn't thinking straight (or, well, he was, actually, for the first time in his life, but still!), so she wouldn't let him dishonour himself like that while in such a state of mindless hysteria. He'd thank her for holding him down and making him uphold his end of the deal later; she was doing a favour for his honour.

That didn't stop him from being a baby about it afterwards, though. Whining about how that wasn't what they'd agreed to, how she was a monster, how she'd raped him.

How had she raped him? She hadn't touched him! There'd been no to-skin contact, she hadn't even taken his clothes off, his crotch had been clothed the entire time, she hadn't even unzipped his fly.

Besides! Even if it had been, she'd had his explicit consent, he told her he could. He said she had fifteen minutes to do whatever she needed to satisfy herself as long as his shoe stayed on.

And, well, the shoe had stayed on, hadn't it?

#trafficnsfw #s.cottearl #s.cottsmajor #p.earlescentmoon #homophobia #[noncon]#orientation play #erotomania #[degradation]#yandere p.earlescentmoon #scarletwrites #In case it wasn't clear in the fic (unreliable narrator alert!) Scott's still gay Pearl's just insane :]#And obviously all art by weirdfreakshow!#Again highest praises to him - please check him out!#Also apologises for any formatting issues it's currently 2am for me!#Also LMK if you're okay with your art being on the fic I can take it down if you're not! No worries!

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