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strang3lov3 · 2 days

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Seeing Red

“Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

Joel’s sorry that your period sucks, but he's reached the end of his rope with your attitude. (6k)

Tags - 18+ smut, brat taming, blow jobs, face fucking, rough period sex, fingering, mating press, overstimulation and multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare in the form of a shared bubble bath, all things periods and period symptoms so headaches, breast pain, cramps, irritability that reader takes out on Joel. You will feel so bad for being such a cunt to this man but he gets to fill two of your holes with his cum so it all kind of evens out. takes place in jackson Fic help - @beefrobeefcal and @joelsdagger for all of their love and support and eyeballs, @noxturnalpascal and @endlessthxxghts thank you both for being my compass and giving me direction and helping to make this fic perfect. I love you <3 A/N - if you're on your period, i'm sending you a hug <3 if you're not i'm hugging you too

I was reminded of my friend @covetyou's fic "Sleepless" which is a lovely piece of classic literature, just like the rest of her works, and I'd like to credit her for inspo. Thank you Lo 🤎🩷💚

You should have guessed there’d be a bloodstain in your underwear, but despite the headaches, your sore breasts, and your cramping abdomen, you’re surprised when you’re met with rusty red in your panties. Fucking great, you whisper, dripping with sarcasm, this is not what you needed today. You had so many things you wanted to get done and now you were going to be spending the whole day miserable and in pain.

“Joel,” you loudly call out. You wait a beat, nothing. “JOEL,” you yell louder.

You hear the faint sound of his recliner, the popping of his knees and the creaking of the stairs as he walks up them. His two feet are visible through the space between the floor and the bathroom door and then he knocks, “Whatcha need, darlin’?”

“New underwear,” you answer. “And a pad. Also in the underwear drawer.”

Joel walks away and returns with what you’ve asked for and slides both items under the door. You change your panties and secure the pad made of old rags and t-shirts with the clothespin attached to it. “You got it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply.

“Guessin’ you just started your cycle, then.”

“Mhm.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Nope,” you answer. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.”

“Alright. I’ll join you, then.”

You wash your hands and rinse the bloodstain out of your panties with annoyance in the sink, wringing them out before tossing them in the dirty laundry hamper in the bathroom. When you unlock the door and leave the bathroom, Joel’s already asleep in your shared bed. He sleeps curled on his side and yet he still fucking snores - between that and the pain you’re in, you know it won’t be a restful night of sleep. You look at Joel, sleeping peacefully like a baby, and yet you wanna beat the living fucking crap out of him. You curl your body around his, stealing his body heat to soothe your cramps.

Joel wakes up early the next morning and greets you with a kiss pressed to the side of your head. “Fuck off,” you mumble, your voice is still thick with sleep but he knows you mean it so he lets you sleep in a bit while he cleans the bathroom for you. He works as quietly as he can, scrubbing it and mopping it from top to bottom. He empties the trash can and the laundry hamper, he makes sure there’s a fresh bar of soap and a new washrag for you. Joel’s just finishing up and wiping dust from the mirror when you find him in the bathroom. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he says as he kisses the top of your head. “How do you feel?”

“Shitty.” You grab at the mirror and Joel’s skin crawls as you touch the glass with your thumb, the smudges left behind from your fingertips clear as day on the freshly cleaned glass. He’ll just touch it up later. You pull out your toothbrush and frown, your nose scrunched in disgust. “It smells like bleach in here,” you complain.

“Well, yeah,” Joel chuckles. “I just cleaned it for ya. ‘Course it smells like bleach.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you mumble. “The bleach you used makes my head hurt worse.”

“Oh,” Joel scratches the back of his head and frowns. “M’sorry, then. Well, we can let it air out for a while, we’ll leave the fan on. Shouldn’t smell for more than a day or so.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

If looks could fuckin’ kill, Joel thinks. You’re glaring at him. He takes that as his cue to leave. You shrink away from him as he gently brushes your arm when he walks past, then shut the door loudly behind him. Ouch. Joel knows not to take it personally, though. You’re crampy, but you’re also probably hungry. He’ll make you breakfast, something with protein because he knows you need it.

He cleans the kitchen first. He washes the dirty dishes you must’ve forgotten about last night and wipes crumbs from the table. As you come downstairs dressed in sweats and a shirt you stole from Joel, he’s finishing up making your breakfast. “Sit down, I made your favorite.”

You sit down at the table with your head in your hands. Joel puts a plate with two slices of perfectly golden brown toast and two over-easy eggs in front of you, then a fork and a knife on either side. He fills a glass with water for you as well. He walks away to clean up the stove, then turns around to check on you. Your face is contorted in disgust and you’re not eating. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want this,” you grouse.

“But s’your favorite. You love your eggs over easy,” Joel says. “And the toast, that’s fresh bread and butter. Eat up.”

“Yeah, but I wanted scrambled.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded. You usually hate scrambled eggs, and he knows this. But you’re not smirking or holding back laughter like you’re fucking with him. So maybe your tastes have changed, who knows. “Okay. Would you like me to make you scrambled eggs instead, then?”

“Yes,” you mumble in a small voice.

“I didn’t hear ya, sweetheart. Speak up, please.”

“I said yes,” you snap.

Your clipped tone cuts like a knife. Joel bites his inner cheek as he takes your plate from you. He quickly scarfs down the perfectly cooked eggs and toast as he makes you a new plate of breakfast, this time with scrambled eggs. He places it in front of you with a little less care than before and waits for you to take a bite. “Better?”

“Just okay.”

‘Just okay’. Of course you think it’s ‘just okay’, they’re scrambled fucking eggs - which you don’t like. You’re just being -

Joel needs to cool off. Hopefully once you’ve eaten you’re a little less irritable. “I’m gonna head out an’ do some errands. Be back shortly,” He’s met with no answer from you, which he expected.

He comes back an hour or so later with a few things from the market he’s been needing along with a couple of VHS tapes that he rented from the library. After fetching your pad and underwear for you, Joel spent the night tinkering with the unpredictable VHS player so that it would play movies for you as you rested on the couch. “So,” Joel says, “I picked out some movies for ya.” He lays four tapes down on the coffee table in front of the couch where you lay. “When Harry Met Sally, that’s a good one,” he begins, “Next is How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days, then Blade Runner, and I picked out My Cousin Vinny,” Joel says. He thinks you’re gonna pick out Blade Runner because it stars Harrison Ford, who he knows you have a thing for. “My Cousin Vinny is pretty good, I don’t think we’ve seen that one yet f’ya wanna give that a try.”

“Mmm, no.”

Shot down. “Okay. How ‘bout Blade Runner, then. S’got Indiana Jones in -”

“No. I don’t care,” you interrupt, which hurts Joel’s feelings a little. A lot, actually. “I wanna watch this one,” you point to How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days. “He’s cute.”

Of course you picked the Matthew McConaughey movie. God, Joel fucking hated him. He always seemed so skeezy, if there’s anyone who should’ve bit it on Outbreak Day, it should’ve been Matthew McConaughey. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. Do you think he’s dreamy too?”

“Fuck off, Joel.”

So teasing’s off the table too, he’ll add that to the list of things that have pissed you off today. Joel turns on the TV and puts the tape in the VHS player before he sits back down next to you. At first you rest on his shoulder, then you spread out and lay your head on his lap. It’s not long before you fall asleep on Joel, leaving him to watch this dumb fucking movie all by himself because god forbid he move you and disrupt your nap. He knows better than to do that.

“So fuckin’ stupid,” Joel whispers to himself as the movie plays, though he did find himself enjoying the part where the Kate Hudson sings “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon. He always did like that song.

“Mmmm,” you groan, shifting onto your back. Joel’s hand is stroking your hair as you look up at him, but you push it away. “You’re too close to me,” you grumble.

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“You’re crowding me. I feel smothered.”

Joel scoffs. “Oh, you feel smothered? You’re the one who laid on me.” Once again, your glare is all that you need to say. “Alright then, I’ll move.” Joel concedes. He lifts your head gently and scoots down to the opposite end of the couch. And then he hears you huff. “What?”

“Well, now I don’t have a pillow.”

Joel sighs as he gets up to grab a throw pillow from the opposite couch.

“The other one.”

You’re referring to the other throw pillow that’s absolutely indistinguishable from the one currently in Joel’s hand, but he gets it for you anyway. “Lift your head,” he says softly, putting the pillow under you. He sits back down in the spot you made him move to as you both watch the movie play, but your soft groans interrupt. You’re no doubt in pain from all the cramps right now. “I’ve got somethin’ like a heating pad,” Joel says, looking at you. “S’a big sock filled with rice, I heat it up and use it for neck and back pain. Would that help with them cramps?” You nod without making any effort to meet Joel’s eyes, which he finds a little rude. But still, you’re hurting. He’ll give you grace.

So, once again, Joel gets up for you. He goes upstairs to get his rice sock from his nightstand, then comes back downstairs and heats it in the microwave for a couple of minutes. He pokes the sock to make sure it’s plenty warm for you and then gives it to you to take. “Here,” he says, “Hold it on your tummy.”

“JESUS,” you yell at him.

“What?”

“It’s too fucking hot, Joel, why would you make it so hot?”

“Just give it a second, sweetheart, you’ll get used to it.”

“No. It was burning me.”

“Okay, then let me have it and we’ll let it cool off a minute. Christ almighty.” Joel takes the sock back from you, and he knows his hands are pretty calloused but…it doesn’t feel that hot. When a few minutes have passed, he gives it back to you. “This should be better.”

You lay the big, warm stuffed sock across your stomach and frown. “It’s not warm enough.”

“You have gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, giving Joel back his sock like you just assume he’ll heat it up again for you.

“Just a couple minutes ago you screamed bloody murder about it burnin’ you. And now it’s not hot enough?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” When Joel doesn’t jump immediately to reheat the sock for you, you look at him impatiently. “Joel.”

“You can ask, you know.”

But Joel gets the hint and gets up for you a third time to reheat the sock he’s letting you borrow. You don’t say please, and when he returns with the sock reheated, there’s no thank you either. What does he get from you? “It’s too hot.”

“Then tell me how I should rectify that for you, because last time I let it cool off and it wasn’t warm enough for ya after.”

“I don’t know,” you snap. “You’re just really upsetting me right now. Everything hurts and your voice is grating.”

“I’m upsetting you?” Joel repeats your words back to you. “And my voice is grating.”

“Yes.”

He’s about at his wits end. “You know, you–” Joel decides not to finish that sentence. Instead, he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes out on the count of five. “Two, three, four…You need to drink some water. S’your first issue, you’re probably dehydrated. Did you drink any water?”

“It’s not your business.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Okay, well I’m makin’ it my business.” Joel gets up for the fourth goddamn time and slams the cup cabinet before filling a glass with water from the sink. He marches back to the couch, “Sit up,” he says. “Drink.”

“I don’t want to,” you whine.

“It’ll fix your headache. Drink.”

“It won’t actually, that’s a myth.”

“Right, what do I know when you’ve got an answer for fuckin’ everything. Drink.”

You sit up, scowling at Joel as you take a sip.

“All of it.”

You drink the rest of it, glaring at him the whole time. He’s so full of shit, as if any of what you’re going through could be fixed by drinking a glass of water. Water won’t fix your cramps, won’t fix your aching and sore back. When you’re done, you slam the glass on the end table next to you and in doing so, break Joel’s reading glasses. Oops. Didn’t see those. The lenses aren’t shattered, but one of the arms is all bent now. When you look at Joel, he’s biting his bottom lip and breathing deeply. “Your glasses broke.”

“Yeah. I see that.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you tell him defensively.

“Right.”

“But you really shouldn’t leave your glasses there, Joel.”

“Yeah, right. Shouldn’t leave my glasses on the end table,” Joel says. “I should leave them where, exactly? Maybe the floor?”

“Somewhere else.”

“Right. Somewhere else.”

He’s hoping that by repeating your words back to you, you start to hear how absolutely ridiculous you sound. But you don’t seem to. Joel turns and walks away before he fucking throttles you.

“Can you put on the next movie? I wanna watch My Cousin Vinny.”

Now, now you want to watch that movie. And Joel’s gonna miss out, because he can’t stand to be around you for one minute longer. “Are your legs broken?”

“Yes.”

Walked into that one. “You’re fuckin’ impossible. Fine. I’ll put it on, then I’m goin’ away for a bit.”

“Good.”

Oh, he could fucking kill you. This whole day he’s heard nothing but complaints from your mouth, no pleases or thank you’s at all. Everything he’s done today has been for you, and you couldn’t give a flying fuck.

Joel puts on the movie, grabs his bent glasses from the end table and heads out to the garage without saying a single word to you. You wonder what bug crawled up his ass.

My Cousin Vinny plays just fine until Vinny shows up in his ridiculous suit to the courthouse. The tape begins to skip a whole bunch, the movie barely making sense, and you have no idea how to fix it - not that it’s your job to know, anyway. So you call out the name of the man whose job it is.

“Joel.”

No answer.

“JOELLLL,” you yell.

Same deal. You sigh as you sit up and get off of the couch, walking to the garage door. There’s finally a break in your cramps and you’re feeling halfway-human for the first time since yesterday. Entering the garage, you find Joel sitting at his workbench, he’s working on bending the frame of his glasses back into shape. “Joel.”

He doesn’t turn around to look at you and in fact, he heard you calling for him. He had just ignored you. “Looks like your legs are workin’ now,” Joel replies, without looking at you. “S’a miracle. Means you can follow me around now, terrific.”

You choose to ignore his sarcasm. “Whatever. You need to do something for me. The VCR is messing up and you have to fix it.”

“Hm,” he hums.

“What’s hm?”

“I’ve fixed lotsa things for you today,” he says quietly. “I need some time to fix my glasses that you broke. S’a difficult task on account of the fact I need my glasses to see.”

“You can do me one favor, Joel. It won’t kill you.”

Joel stops and gently places his broken glasses on his work bench. He turns to his right and glares daggers at you. “One favor,” he scoffs. “Oh, you’re a fuckin’ peach. You wanna try that again?”

“Try what again?”

You’re fucking with him. You have to be fucking with him. Why are you fucking with him? You’re not antagonistic like this, not usually, so he concludes that you must be looking for a fight. At this point, Joel is too.

“I’ve done you countless favors today, sweetheart,” Joel gripes.

“Yeah, but-” you begin.

Joel’s large, warm hand suddenly covers the lower half of your face, silencing your argument. “If the next words outta this mouth aren’t thank you, then I don’t wanna hear ‘em. In fact…”

He bites his inner cheek, nodding his head as he thinks. The way he stares at you, his dark eyes piercing through you - you feel the chill deep in your bones. A wave of clarity hits you as you recall some of the details of the day, the way Joel was there at every turn and while you were busy being cranky and achey, he was trying to wait on you hand and foot. Shit. You’ve been a Grade-A bitch to him all day, a total fucking cunt.

Breaking the silence, Joel finally clears his throat and continues his thought, “I’m gonna give you two options,” Joel says. “You can walk the fuck away from me, or you can get on your knees. Whichever you choose, you do so silently. Nod if you understand.”

It’s like you’re watching a scene from a movie. You hear Joel’s words, but you almost don’t believe they’re real and so they don’t quite register. He pulls his hand away from your face slowly. Your mouth falls open a bit but you don’t say or do anything.

“Nod. If. You. Understand.” You nod quickly. Joel awaits your decision as you look at the garage door and contemplate your clean way out from this situation, “So what’ll it be?” he asks. Despite it all, that uneasy feeling in your gut, you drop to your knees anyway, eyes still lingering on the door before you look up at Joel. You trust him to take care of you and you think you might owe him this obedience after your behavior today. “You’ve earned yourself brownie points choosin’ the latter of the two options, but this still ain’t gonna be fun for you,” he says. It should scare you - and it does - but you’re still thrilled by it, by the way he sighs and his knees crack as he gets off of his barstool, by the cold look in his eyes as he reaches under his thick belly to unbuckle his belt. Standing above you, he pulls out his half-hard cock and pumps it, feeling it grow to full length in his hand. He’s thick, veiny, and generously sized, a pearly white bead of precum sits atop his slit. His cock is just an inch or two away from your mouth as he holds it between his fingers, his thumb on top and middle and forefingers on the underside. With his other hand, he cards his fingers through your hair and pulls you close, the tip of his cock pressing against your lips. “Open.”

You part your lips open and with that, Joel pushes himself into your mouth inch by inch. You smell him first, that musky and heady sort of scent. Next, you taste the saltiness of his skin and his precome on your tongue and for a moment it’s pleasurable, with his cock halfway in your mouth. You wrap your hand around the end of his shaft like you know what he wants but you don’t know, not really - Joel holds your hand in his own and squeezes it so that your knuckles grind against each other a little bit. He pushes himself further and you can’t lick him or savor this like you wanted to, you just feel his cock intruding, sliding into your mouth. Joel’s testing you, making sure that you can handle all of him and if you can’t, you know he’ll make you.

He draws out of your mouth entirely only to force his way back in, making you gag and sputter. You attempt to pull away but Joel keeps his hand firm on your head and holds you right where he wants you. “Nuh-uh. I don’t know where you think you’re goin’, hon.”

There’s no gentleness to it, he fucks your mouth heatedly so that you’re drooling and choking on him, your eyes springing with tears as that pressure builds behind them. “Breathe through your nose,” he reminds you. “In and out. You ain’t done jus’ ‘cause you’re cryin’.” Your lips are sore with the repeated action, your jaw is aching. He rolls his hips, his cock is deep down your throat as he relishes in your warm, wet mouth and the way it makes him feel.

“Mmm,” you moan, you’re not sure if the noise is indicative of your pleasure or discomfort.

“Quiet,” he growls. “Heard fuckin’ enough outta you today. You keep quiet.”

Your nose is buried in that thatch of coarse curls as he rocks his hips over and over, his soft and pillowy tummy bouncing against your forehead. You squirm and whine as his tip teases the back of your throat and your mouth feels so full, uncomfortably so. Joel picks up on that. “Let it be a lesson to ya, then, if it hurts. That mouth ‘a yours has done nothin’ but bitch and moan at me today. S’a punishment, ain’t ‘sposed to feel good.”

He’s grunting and groaning, eyes screwed shut as he uses you, pumping in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches with the brutality of the way he fucks your mouth, and just as you think you can’t take anymore, you feel Joel’s cock begin to twitch and pulse. He comes in your mouth without a warning, painting your tongue with his hot spend. It’s salty and bitter and warm on your tongue. Once you’ve swallowed, Joel reaches down and yanks you up by your bicep. He thought fucking your mouth and coming down your throat would make him feel better but honestly, it doesn’t. As he looks at your face, all puffy with tears and swollen lips, he can’t quite find it in himself to let go of his anger. Not yet, at least. “Let’s go,” he grunts as he drags you with him towards the garage door. He marches you though the house and up the stairs.

“Where are we going?”

“Bedroom,” Joel growls, answering your question like it’s obvious. You suppose it should be, but you figured he was done with you. But he’s not. The regret begins to set in when you realize the retribution you’re about to be met with for the way you’ve treated Joel today. You’d be lying if you said that while wallowing in your pain you didn’t notice how your curt tone got under his skin, hurt his feelings and frustrated him immensely. The dread you feel can’t save you, it’s all too late now.

“Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

“Fuck me,” you whisper.

“Exactly.”

Joel pushes you into the bedroom and locks the door behind himself. “Lie down on your back,” he says.

You protest, “But the sheets, Joel. The blood–”

“I will wash the fucking sheets. We can add it to the list of all the things I’ve done for ya today, hm?”

When you don’t jump at his request, Joel takes initiative. He pulls off your - his - shirt from your body and then bends you over the end of the neatly made bed, the old and worn comforter feels rough on the skin of your cheek. Joel pulls down your sweatpants and panties in one motion and then flips you over onto your back, your legs hanging off the end of the bed. You feel embarrassed when you catch a glimpse of your bloodied pad and underwear, moreso when you feel yourself making a mess on his bedding and between your legs.

“You didn’t make yourself come today, did you?”

“Uhh–” you stutter. “I - I…”

“No point in gettin’ bashful now, darlin’. Just gimme an answer.”

“No,” you tell him. It’s been a while.

“Figures.”

Joel had assumed sexual frustration had been playing a role in your attitude today. Cramps, headaches, all sorts of things going on with you and a needy, aching pussy to boot. He does feel sorry for you, but he feels sorry for himself too. It’s why he got his first, but now it’s time for you to get yours. An orgasm should set you straight, or two or three. Whatever he feels is necessary.

Joel undresses himself before pushing your thighs apart and hitching your legs around his waist. Slowly, he slides his thumb through your folds and then circles your clit. He knows you’re vulnerable like this - bleeding pussy on display for him as you make a mess of his sheets. But he’s patient, and he massages your clit calmly until you finally let a moan, a little mmm slip. He smirks at that.

He pushes his middle two fingers inside you, pumping in and out slowly. He then curls his fingers, searching for that sweet spot on a woman he loves so much. “Fuck,” you cry out, legs instinctually closing shut around him, and he knows he’s found it.

“Don’t fight it,” he says, opening you back up. He curls his fingers and circles your clit in tandem, making all sorts of lewd noises with your cunt. He admires your body all laid out for him like this, your breasts and your pebbled nipples, soft tummy rising and falling with your breathy oh’s and ahh’s, thick curls framing your pretty pussy like a picture just for him. Joel takes his free hand and uses it to press down on your lower stomach, intensifying the feeling of it all. You come hard, gushing on his fingers as you whimper his name.

Joel pulls his fingers from your core and wipes them haphazardly on his own torso. “Joel,” you gasp when you feel the thick head of his cock at your entrance.

“I am sorry,” he begins, notching his tip inside you and popping it out. He slides the blunt head through your folds and over your clit, then taps the sensitive part of you with himself. “That you’re in pain. It isn’t fair and I know that. But you’ve done nothing but take your hurt out on me.” He presses himself inside you again, “I’ve got a half a mind to take my own hurt out on you, y’know.” His voice is dark and angered, but he speaks calmly in a way that contrasts the darkness but maintains his authority all the same. “And I think I’m gonna.”

“Joel, I– ”

“Quiet,” he commands. He begins teasing your slit with his cock once more before he speaks, “So this is what we’re gonna do: you’re gonna take what I give you, however much or little it is. You’re not gonna cry or complain ‘cause you’ve done enough of that today. Right?” Joel pauses, “Nod your head.”

You obey his rule and nod, yes.

He drags his cock up and down your cunt again, the soft skin of your labia rubbing so nicely against his thickness. He notches himself inside you over and over again, pushing in a little bit deeper each time and pulling back out. You whine, rolling your hips in search of more. “I know, I know, sweetheart,” he coos at you to quiet you down. “You’re all out of sorts today. M’gonna fix it. I always fix it, don’t I?”

Yes. You nod again. Quiet.

“S’right,” he says. “Good girl.”

With that, Joel pushes his leaking cock into you entirely, one gradual slide that has you sucking in a breath that comes out in a strained sort of whimper. His hard, warm shaft parting your insides, filling you whole. Joel hears it in the way that you sigh, that this, this is what you needed. He rocks his hips once, twice. Experiments with shallow thrusts, inching his way in and out of you before he draws out of your pussy entirely only to thrust himself right back in, deeper and harder than before.

With the fullness of Joel inside of you, everything seems to melt away - all that anger, misplaced or not. Joel’s rhythmic thrusting soothes you, sort of. The soreness of your body, the aching cramps in your abdomen are all gone as you focus on the in and out, the in and out. He builds a comfortable pace, but one that borders on too much too soon. His hands on your waist, pulling you towards him as he pushes into you in equal measure.

He fucks you without discipline, no tenderness at all to the action with those sloppy thrusts, but you’re more lost in him than he is in you - he’s focused on your face, watching you make an ‘O’ with your mouth, and he’s focused on your bouncing body, your twitching thighs spread wide. Your moans, your whimpers and your whines, babbling nothing but nonsense. Joel’s brow is furrowed as he breathes heavily through his teeth, his soft body jerking above you as he hits that sweet spot inside you over and over and over…

“It’s all ya needed, isn’t it? The whole goddamn time,” he pants. “Didn’t need to go an’ bitch me out all day if you needed lovin’ like this. Woulda been nice f’ya just said so.” Joel reaches for your breasts, harshly squeezing the tender, sore flesh. You wince in pain and he loosens his grip, focusing on your nipples instead. He twists and flicks the sensitive buds and your moans become louder, more high pitched. Joel fucking loves it when that happens, you never realized.

“Oh, Joel,” you moan, “Yeah, fuck.”

With one hand still teasing your nipples, he brings the other to your pussy. A few strokes of his thumb on your clit is all it takes to send you over the edge a second time, wanton moans and choked sobs spilling from your lips as he fucks you through it.

And fucks you, and fucks you.

And keeps fucking you.

It doesn’t end, he doesn’t slow himself and you never feel that come down, that descent from pleasure. It keeps going, like pressure with nowhere to go and you feel like you might break. “I can’t, I need you to stop, stop, Joel.”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, thrusting still. “You can take it, be a good girl. Gonna fuck you good and deep like you need. You brought this on yourself, anyway. Two more.”

This whole time, he doesn’t stop. It’s so much at once and when you thought it was going to end, it doesn’t. Tears of overstimulation spring in your eyes and flow freely down your cheeks. Joel lets you cry because he knows you need it, he knows the release is good for you. You poor thing, how much you must be feeling right now, both physically and mentally. “It’s too much, Joel, I can’t,” you plead.

“Always the tears with you, huh?” he taunts. “Always somethin’. Oh, I know. I know.”

It’s the way you look at Joel that causes him to cave, eyes all wide and tear-stained. You’re spent and he knows it, what with all that your body’s put you through. You’ve had a rough day and though he did too, he can’t help but feel sympathy for you at this moment. “Oh, my sweet girl. What am I gonna do with you, hm?”

“I don’t know,” you sniffle.

“Know you don’t, ‘n you don’t have to. S’my job,” he soothes. With his clean hand, he traces the side of your face and rubs his thumb over your cheekbone. “How about this, then - what are we gonna do next time you’re not feeling so good?”

“I’m - I’m–”

“You’re gonna tell me what you need,” he instructs, “And you’re gonna ask for it. Nicely. So that means usin’ your manners. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel. Remember those words?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Yeah, I remember.”

“But you forgot ‘em the whole day today,” Joel says softly. “I think you gotta learn to compromise, too,” he adds. The guilt had begun to set in before, but you really start to feel the burn now. You were unkind to Joel, and he’s been nothing but sweet, doting on every one of your needs. “I think an apology’s in order for the way you treated me today.”

He’s right, and you know it. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Joel.”

“Oh, I know you are. You just needed the reminder, s’okay,” You hadn’t even noticed how his thrusting had slowed to a still until it picks up again slowly, as he presses kisses to you. Your cheeks first, then your lips. “I’ll compromise too - I’m only gonna make you come one more time, not two. Sound good? Sound fair?”

“I don’t think I can, Joel…”

“Yeah, you can, s’the last one. Take it good for me,” he encourages. “Take it good.”

That’s what he repeats as his thrusts build again, fucking you deeply. Take it good, take it good for me. He hikes you up further on the bed and joins you so that he’s no longer standing at the floor, he’s got you pressed in half instead, your knees on either side of your chest and your feet above his shoulders. This angle intensifies everything and he knows, oh he knows how much it is for you. You’re tired, sore, overstimulated. But you’ll be done soon, he’ll be done with you soon. He takes your hand and wedges it between your bodies, pressing your own fingers to your clit, “Let go for me, I wanna feel you let go for me,” he says. “Focus right here. You’re gonna come with me, keep your eyes on me…”

You don’t even have to massage your clit, the way Joel angles himself has his body doing all the work, his pubic bone adding pressure to your fingers adding pressure to your clit. It’s intense, all of it - deeply energetic, overwhelming. You can’t quite discern your orgasm as it builds, there’s no definitive start but it’s powerful, devastating almost. Washing over you in waves, you feel it in the base of your spine first. You feel it in your gut, the backs of your thighs all the way to your toes. You hardly register that he’s coming with you, filling you deep with his come. His jaw is clenched tight and he’s groaning, grunting as he milks himself in you.

He leaves you there, whimpering, twitching on the bed. You hear the faint sound of running water, you figure he’s washing himself off. You’re surprised when he returns to you, pelvis covered in your blood, and scoops you right up in his arms. He helps you to your feet and on shaky legs, guides you to the bathroom. It no longer smells like bleach but instead, lavender. He’s got a candle lit on the sink and the bathtub is filled with warm, bubbly water. “Picked out a bubble bath for you earlier when I went out. Wanna test it out with me?”

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “Yes. Please.”

Joel sits in the tub first, spreads his legs and welcomes you to sit between them. He washes the blood from your poor, sensitive core and your thighs, washes it from his own body as well. When he’s done, he pulls you back into his chest and his hands find your breasts. “They’re tender, huh,” he murmurs into the side of your head.

“Super, yeah. Sore.”

“I’ll bet,” he says. He gently massages the tissue for you, his strong hands working you out in a way you can’t quite do.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Joel chuckles. “Bout fuckin’ time you thanked me,” he says. “You’re welcome.”

If you enjoyed, please reblog with thoughts, leave me a comment, or send me an ask! Your words motivate me to keep writing for you all 🩷

Least helpful cats award goes to these two 👇 if you’ve ever wondered what takes me so long to put fics out, it’s this. I try to write and I’m cockblocked by these fuzzballs.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel tlou #tlou joel #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #brat tamer!joel miller #brat taming #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #grumpy joel

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nereidprinc3ss · 11 hours

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do you believe me now? | 7

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader sleep together for the first time

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: loss of virginity, oral f/m receiving, so much praise, pain during sex, unprotected sex, cr**mp**, bit of overstim, soft dom spence, if u don't like that freak shit (love and intimacy) this is not for u, spencer is a nerd, they're both nerds actually and that factors in heavily, you may get more from this part by FIRST reading how they met in this bonus chapter a/n: thank you all for being patient, ilysm, this was the most laborious thing i've ever done for no reason and also this part changed so many times and is not what i expected it to be so pls go in with tempered expectations and keep in mind that this story is more about the characters and their specific relationship dynamic than just being porn. i truly have no idea how you guys will react to this but i sincerely hope you love it and them like i do<3 also it's twice as long as the other parts so feedback would be very very appreciated! again i love u all and enjoy the penultimate part!

Spencer’s lips are on yours, and you weren’t expecting it—hell, you weren’t expecting him to be in your apartment. After all, he’d wished you goodnight and walked out only a moment ago.

“Spencer—wh—”

But he’s insistent with his lips, kissing you bruisingly over and over like there’s nectar on your tongue and he’s parched for you. Still, he has enough decency to not completely ignore you, exhaling a quick excuse over your flushed lips.

“I missed you.”

This time, though, you dodge his hungry kiss. Part of you thinks, as he watches you, eyes alight and breathing heavily, that he sort of likes your playing hard to get. It’s not something you do very often, admittedly.

“We’ve been apart for like, maybe a minute.”

“I didn’t even make it to the parking lot.”

Your face heats.

“Well you can’t just—you can’t just walk in like that! And I thought you said we weren’t supposed to mix fighting with pleasure.”

“Then start locking your door. And I thought you said we weren’t fighting.”

You roll your eyes in response, though your heart is still pittering in your chest.

At least his hands move to your arms, stroking up and down relatively chastely—although he has this way of making everything seem intimate. Especially when paired with those amber eyes of his—glowing like a candlelight beacon in the window guiding you home. He speaks in low, appeasing tones and darts his tongue over his lips.

“I originally said it’s a bad idea for couples to sleep together after an argument. But you know—makeup sex is ubiquitous across culture and time because it works. Anger and arousal trigger a lot of the same hormones, specifically norepinephrine which is involved in feelings of longing and—”

“Spencer.”

“You know what else?” He mutters in a way that feels dangerous. “It tends to feel better than regular sex.”

That earns a shaky exhale from you. Whether from irritation or arousal is anyone’s guess—probably a combination of both.

“So you came back to fuck me?”

It’s probably evident to Spencer from your choice of language that this already isn’t going exactly as he’d planned. He doesn’t answer right away—just regards you, gaze bouncing between your two eyes like he’s trying to calculate your level of anger.

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You push him away and move to walk down the hall.

“Maybe your window of opportunity has passed.”

A warm hand wraps around your wrist in the dark of the hallway and he pulls you back until you’re falling against something tall and warm and lean. The smell of polished amber and sandalwood overwhelms your senses.

“What’s wrong, angel? What happened in the minute I was gone to change your mind?” His voice is scratchy like a favorite record. It’s the voice he could hold you captive with. The one you have a very difficult time saying no to.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, unintentionally leaning back against him. “What happened to change yours?”

His response comes pressed against your ear, half-lost in your hair.

“You’re upset that I changed my mind. I thought you wanted this, honey.”

“I do,” you admit, letting your head fall back against his shoulder and bringing his arm to wrap around you. “And if you hadn’t walked out earlier I would’ve done it. But… I’m tired of us doing everything on your timeline. You just… you expect me to be amenable to what you want, constantly.” His nose and lips press into your shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… I’ve been begging you to sleep with me for I don’t even know how long. And you keep changing your mind, and I feel like you’re being really confusing about it. Obviously you don’t have to sleep with me, you never did, but I just feel kind of… jerked around. And you did it again tonight.”

A beat of silence.

“I understand your frustration,” he appeases, securing both his arms around you. You cling weakly to his wrist, to his warmth, like he’s a tether in a storm. “Would you prefer to wait until you initiate it?”

“No. Yes! I don’t know,” you huff, disentangling yourself from his arms and continuing toward your bedroom. “Now I’m annoyed at you again.”

He follows you right through the door.

“Just tell me what to do! I don’t want to be annoying.”

“I can’t. I’m being unreasonable.” You flick on your adjoining bathroom light and examine yourself in the mirror. Yeesh. The eye makeup situation is abysmal after all the crying that has taken place over the course of the evening.

“So choose to be reasonable and tell me what you want from me. I’ll give it to you.”

You frown at your reflection, pushing your hair back and rubbing at some excess mascara.

“No, you’re not understanding me. I’m not choosing to be unreasonable. My thought process regarding the situation is inherently unreasonable and there’s nothing I can do about it because it’s just the way I feel.”

“The feeling being that I’ve been too domineering over how our sexual relationship has unfolded?”

Spencer watches you in the bathroom mirror, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed as you tip some makeup remover onto a reusable cotton pad. You try not to check him out as you nod, but it’s impossible—with his sleeves rolled up to show defined forearms cradled in capable hands, and his hair all messy.

When he pushes off the wall you freeze, unsure of his next move—until he’s gently spinning you around and taking the bottle and cloth from your hands.

“Maybe it would help,” he begins, soft as he focuses on the new task, carefully bringing the round to your right eye so he can remove the bleeding mascara. You allow your eyes to flutter shut. “If I remind you why I’ve been so hesitant.”

“Because you hate giving me joy.”

He laughs, nothing more than one huff from his nose.

“You’re spoiled and we both know it.”

Point taken, as he gently wipes your makeup away for you. Your silence is his cue to continue.

“Everything I said about worrying that you would regret choosing me is true. It was especially true when I thought you felt lukewarm toward me. And all of that confusing stuff I said in the phone is true too—having sex for the first time is incredibly intimate and weird and sometimes scary. If you’re not 100% sure about your partner, or if you think your feelings are unrequited, it’s hard to be completely comfortable in such a vulnerable situation and your likelihood of getting hurt or having regrets skyrockets. I know that from experience. I wanted better for you than what I got. Still, I know it was wrong to project my feelings about the significance of sex onto you. In that regard, you’re right. I was being domineering, and I guess… I guess to an extent I’m still deflecting. I shouldn’t be trying to pretend like it’s about you when in reality I mostly just didn’t want to get hurt again. I didn’t want to go through that again, and that’s okay, but I shouldn’t have made you feel like it was something you could have changed.”

You try to process that.

“Go through what?” You whisper hoarsely. Something about having him at such close range while he takes such care with you feels whisper-y.

“Sleeping with someone who didn’t love me back.”

Your reply is small.

“Oh. Right.”

How could anyone not love him back?

Spencer’s reply is simple and kind, without a hint of, obviously you dumb bitch—which is pretty much what you’re thinking to yourself.

“Does that make sense, lovely? Do you understand why I wanted to wait?”

He lets you ponder for a while in comfortable-enough silence as he finishes removing your eye makeup with a characteristically gentle hand. When you open your eyes, he looks genuinely content, screwing the lid back on the bottle as if he’s got an eternity to wait for your answer.

“Yeah. That part makes sense. But why did you seem so… I don’t know, like, wishy-washy about it?”

Spencer’s eyes dart up to meet yours, brows slightly raised. Then a small laugh bubbles up from somewhere inside him.

“Because I’m obsessed with you. I thought about you like that constantly. I still do.”

Your breath catches at the casual admission.

“Oh.”

Spencer hums, setting the bottle down before tenderly thumbing away some excess mascara that he must have missed from under your eye.

“You didn’t think it was easy for me, did you?”

“Well… kind of,” you admit, tracking his eyes until they meet yours.

“Not sleeping with you has been among the hardest things I’ve ever done. Especially when you started begging me. That first time, when I picked you up from Penelope’s and you asked me why we hadn’t had sex yet…”

He trails off, still rubbing at your cheek as he loses himself in thought.

Eventually, you grow impatient, prompting, “what?”

“It’s not a nice thought.”

“Well, you have to tell me now,” you insist.

He half smiles, thumb straying to your lips.

“It was just… you had no idea what you were talking about, and you were ready to throw a tantrum in my living room until I gave you what you thought you wanted. Part of me was imagining bending you over the couch right then, since you thought you were so ready.”

It feels like someone has snipped the pulley that keeps your stomach in place.

“Spencer,” you splutter, convinced your cheek is tangibly heating under his touch as your head reels at the revelation that he could have such a deeply dirty and mildly sinister mind.

“I told you it wasn’t nice.”

You swallow.

“Is that… is that still what you want?”

His brows flicker again and he tucks hair behind your ear.

“To bend you over my couch? No.”

Your face warms even more and you turn to leave the bathroom, sick of his teasing.

“Okay, goodni—”

“Hold on.” Spencer catches you by your waist and pulls you back into him for the second time tonight. A dangerous smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I know what you meant. And no, I don’t want to bend you over my couch.” He laughs, slipping a hand under your shirt to rub your back. “You know what I want. I’m more interested in learning what you want.”

“I want…” Your eyes dance between his, and your heart flutters against the confines of your chest as you realize what you’ve wanted for so long is finally yours for the taking. “I want to stop talking about it.”

His expression neutralizes and you know it’s probably intentional to stop whatever feelings you assume him to be having color your decision.

“Oh?”

“I just think we’ve talked about it enough.”

Before he can say another word, or ask you another question, you kiss him with such passion there’s no way he can doubt how much you want this.

Only a moment passes before he allows himself to lean into it, cupping your face between reverent hands and taking control of the pace of the kiss, slowing it down until you can hardly breathe. Your little noise of want has him quickening the process, pressing against you until you’re walking backward out of the bathroom. It’s like the first crack in a dam. After that, everything becomes inevitable.

Your knees hit the back of the bed and you sit down hard on the mattress, smiling up at him. You skim the front of his thighs with your palms as he smooths your hair.

Spencer groans, leaning down and kissing you til you’re on your back.

“Don’t make that face.”

An affronted huff from you breaks the kiss up and he pulls back to study your expression.

“What do you mean don’t make that face? I was just smiling at you.”

“I know you were. And you have such a pretty smile it makes me feel guilty about… defiling you.”

Your brows flicker up and your mouth drops open with an affronted scoff.

“Watch yourself. I’ll defile you.”

“You already have,” he admits with a half-laugh as he kisses you again. “My mind was never this dirty before we met.”

“Hm. Tell me you like my smile.”

He pauses and then chuckles dryly against your mouth.

“I love your smile. You’re gorgeous. Any more demands?”

Pleased, you shake your head and pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Not currently.”

“Really?” he murmurs, trailing kisses over your cheek and down your jaw, “I’d do just about anything you asked me right now. You don’t want to take advantage of that?”

The sensation of his lips just below your ear threatens all rational thought in your brain, but you manage a reply with only a slight delay and a hint of a waver coloring your tone.

“I shouldn’t have to demand things. You should just know to do them.”

His kisses drag lower, warm and unhurried and you’re trying not to let your hyper-sensitivity from going a week completely untouched show—but you doubt he misses the way your breath catches, or the barely audible squeaks, or the arch of your back or the tightening grip on his shirt.

“Well, for future reference—” he nips at a sensitive spot and you gasp quietly, even as you tilt your head to offer him more access. More room to bite, if he so chooses. “—I happen to enjoy it when you make demands of me. Especially when those demands entail letting me call you pretty.”

“I’ve never not let you call me pretty before,” you huff. It’s a touchy subject, and Spencer can probably sense your hackles rising, but he has you right where he wants you and so he pushes anyway.

“No. But you never believe me. We’ve had this conversation. You always act like I’m walking you to the gallows when I compliment you.”

It’s hard to make a defense when he’s leaning his weight onto one arm so he can unbutton your jeans, when he’s looking down at you with sparkling onyx and scorched-earth eyes like you’re something to be consumed. But not violently, no—ardently. Like fruit heavy on the vine. Like you’re a religious rite to the devout and deluded. A sacrament.

But it’s not a blind passion. Spencer knows you; every inch of you and every loose thread on your soul begging to be pulled. He knows you and he still wants you like this. To be perfectly honest, you’d never thought you’d feel comfortable handing yourself over to someone like this—vulnerable and all your layers of armor shed. Never in your life would you have thought you could trust a person so implicitly that you’d hand them a knife and show them exactly where to press, that you’d say, I know once you open me and you see me you’ll not want to change a thing.

You adore him. Cosmically. Enormously. In every dimension. He’s lodged so deep in your heart you have no choice but to love him eternally.

It’s deep in the midst of all these very profound revelations that you realize Spencer has stalled with your zipper undone. His hand has strayed to your hip, to sweetly push your shirt up and trace love letters into warmed and downy skin with his thumb.

“I just wish you could see yourself how I see you,” he says softly, the weight of the truth a strain on his vocal cords.

Sometimes, he is so kind it’s like a punch to your stomach. You’ve never been quite as kind as him. And nobody’s ever been as kind to you as he is. You’ve done nothing to deserve his kindness, but you know he needs a place for it, and you’re here with open arms.

He studies you a moment longer, swallowing as his eyes trail over your face and lower. You want to reach out and brush strands of caramel hair out of his face, but he seems to be thinking so hard you’re hesitant to distract him.

“I’ve never told you this, because I know you’d just shoot it down, but… you are genuinely the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my life.”

Something twinges in the depths of your stomach—the darker shades who live there and exist solely to whisper not enough not enough not enough to you every minute of every day.

But they’re simply not a match for the softness you find when you do reach out for his hair, or the way he looks at you. Spencer loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist—not a cuff, but an affectionate hold.

“Do you believe me?”

There’s so much earnest hope in his voice it almost jars you. He so badly wants you to understand how feels about you—he’s been trying to tell you for months and all you know how to do is refute his praise and insist on your worthlessness.

Ever since Spencer, you don’t see the faces on magazine covers or in superhero movies, no matter how mathematically flawless they are. Nobody gets close to being as beautiful as he is in your eyes. He’s in an entirely different echelon, and despite how you feel about yourself, you have to accept that he might feel the same about you.

“I do,” you say, equally soft, and 100% honest. You believe that he believes it, and that’s enough. It’s all that matters.

The shallow knit of his brow loosens. His lips ease into a suggestion of a smile. But it’s most visible in his eyes—the way smoldering coals reignite, melting the amber glass of his irises until they’re molten.

The way he kisses you then, you’d think you’d lassoed the moon and pulled it down from the sky for him. But apparently all it takes to make him incandescently, contagiously happy, is to accept a compliment.

There’s a renewed sense of urgency on his breath as he kisses you deeply and quick enough your heart is racing. It only goes faster when he remembers his previous task and begins tugging your jeans down, but he doesn’t even bother to pull them past your knees before his hand is creeping up your thigh. Goosebumps race each other across your body as you try to remember what it feels like—what he feels like. But you can’t, even as his thumb fans over your inner thigh and pushes it open, gently encouraging you to give him more access to you.

“You’re not wasting any time,” you breathe against him while he traces the edge of your underwear.

“Do you want me to slow down?”

Judging by the way the tips of his fingers only barely shy away from the fabric, he really wants the answer to be no. But you know in his searching gaze that he’d never push you.

“No, it’s fine. As long as we… don’t go this fast the whole time.”

“We won’t.” The hasty words are of lower priority than the next kiss he plants to your swollen lips. “We won’t. I just missed you so much.”

“Yeah?” You giggle airily as he drags his fingers over your clit through the material, trying to ignore the way it makes your head spin.

“Yes. Yeah.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, so… desperate for you, as he drops his lips to your neck and presses barely-there kisses everywhere he knows you’re sensitive. Just the feeling of his breath against your skin has you shivering. His hand between your legs only brushes your most nerve-dense spot, but a few touches in and you’re already wound up, like if Spencer doesn’t give you more soon you’ll burst. And not in the good way.

When he finally commits to actually kissing your neck, you squeak, warmth emanating from that spot just below your jaw all the way to your toes. The frantic energy of earlier is slowly melting away, and he loses focus with his hand, as it begins straying wider, stroking your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach. It’s like your nerve endings are on overdrive, delivering twice as much feedback to your brain as they normally would. Each touch feels like he’s conducting electricity over your body, like you’re a plasma ball. He’d probably like that analogy—you, a core of alternating voltage, and him, the conductor, tracing a path and giving all those electrons an easy release. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d tell Spencer you found a way to work Nikola Tesla into your mutual sex life, and he’d probably propose on the spot.

But that electricity is building fast—even more so when he drags his lips down just above your collarbone. Your breath hitches, simultaneously trying to crane your neck to give him more room, and curl into him so as to escape the stimulation. Finally he pulls away, and losing the softness of his mouth while the air feels so cold against the places he’d kissed almost hurts.

“You’re a mess,” he chuckles affectionately, raising his hand to brush hair away from your face before stroking the heated high point of your cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”

It’s teasing, but so low and gentle and honeyed it swirls your stomach.

“Whatever you want,” you admit quietly. It’s a shy confession more than it is a salacious flirtation because he already has you. And you want nothing more than for him to act on that in any way he so pleases. Whatever he does, it will be careful, and kind, and because he loves you. You know that no matter how he takes you apart—he’ll put you back together again.

“I don’t know if I can. You’re all jumpy.”

God, he has the prettiest smile—even when it’s twisted with sarcasm and a thin veneer of guilt, like he knows he shouldn’t be teasing and just can’t help himself.

“I’m not,” you defend, face heating further. “I’m not nervous. I don’t know what it is.”

That sticky sweet tone is back, pooling in his eyes and dripping all over you like nectar as he languidly looks you over.

“I didn’t say you were nervous. Just a little bit jumpy.”

It’s not accusatory—he’s simply stating a fact. Easy, gentle, designed to soothe.

You shrug helplessly and chew on your lip, unsure of how he wants you to respond. It’s definitely true that excited as you are, you’re slightly on edge. You feel taut as a string on a guitar, tense and waiting to be yanked at any second.

His expression is serene, and his thoughts inscrutable as he continues lavishing you with his eyes, down to where he’s lying over you and back up. His lips part, but he doesn’t speak for a moment as he formulates his words.

“Can we try something? There’s this tantric exercise that might help you relax.”

Your brows draw earnestly and you nod up at him, not requiring any convincing even though you have no idea what he’s talking about.

Spencer directs you to sit up, and you do—kicking your jeans all the way off so you can sit criss-cross with your hands braced on your ankles.

He’s next to you on the bed, at a slight angle, one of your knees in his lap. You blink at him.

“Now what?”

“Now you give me one of your hands,” he says, tone tinted with a hint of an amused smile, as if your impatience is funny to him. Of course it probably is.

Frowning only a little, you unlock your left arm and hold it out for him, watching curiously as he takes your one hand between his and flips it palm-up.

“Did you know,” Spencer begins, voice low and confidential, “that the fingertips are the second most sensitive part of the human body?”

“What’s the first?”

“Lips,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your hand where he’s brushing the tips of your fingers light enough it almost tickles. “They’re both incredibly important for keeping you alive, which is why they’re one and two. But you’ll be particularly sensitive anywhere you’re vulnerable.” His words are trailing off as he brushes his thumb over your palm and to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Like here.”

His knuckles skim up your forearm, to the crook of your elbow.

“And especially here.”

You’re fascinated as he traces back down the length of your arm and over your inner-wrist, feather light. Then up once more, with the blunted edges of his nails, and your breath catches. You’ve never noticed how sensitive such an innocuous part of your body could be, but it has your stomach flipping—more so when he looses a breathy laugh. “You know, some people are actually able to reach orgasm just by light stimulation to this area.”

Your response is just as airy—you don’t recognize your voice when it comes out like that, hanging in the pitch black between you.

“Really?”

An affirmative hum from him, as he lifts your hand and places an intentional kiss over your pulse at the bend of your wrist. Your chest aches and heat is pooling in your stomach as his gently trails them up the delicate skin of your arm. Maybe you should be embarrassed by the reaction you’re having—after all, it’s just your arm. But he treats every part of you like it warrants love and attention and intimacy. Even the parts you typically ignore. Certainly parts you never considered to be sexually or romantically relevant. It’s dizzying. It’s like magic.

“Arms up,” Spencer finally directs, just as sweetly as he’s doing everything else, and helps you tug your shirt over your head. Every brush of fabric, every seam against your skin registers more than it normally would. Everything is heightened, and despite your state of undress you’re still warm. “Your neck is really sensitive, too. It’s the most commonly acknowledged erogenous zone.”

Erogenous zone. Of course this all comes back to biology.

“Tilt your head for me, honey.”

Utterly entranced and useless to not abide by him, you do so. Spencer brushes your hair over your shoulder, and if the slip of it down your back weren’t enough, the graze of his fingertips against the nape of your neck has you shivering.

The warmth of him at your throat feels completely brand new, despite having already had his lips there only minutes before. But now they ghost over your skin with a kind of novelty, and your own lips part in silent pleasure, head lolling to allow him greater access.

“Lie back.”

Without hesitation (but perhaps a bit sluggishly in your stupor) you obey, sliding down until you’re propped up only by pillows once more. Spencer takes his place propped above you once more, thighs slotted with yours as he quickly picks up where he left off.

The sweet kisses are perfect and feel so much better than you’d ever thought to notice before—but at the same time your core aches and there’s that pressure building again that’s starting to get to you.

“Spencer,” you try, and it comes out hoarse but you don’t care at all. “More.”

“You want me to leave marks?”

And the offer is so tempting you’ll wait a few more minutes to ask for what you really need, nodding semi-frantically and ‘mhm’-ing desperately.

As he gently latches onto a spot that will require concealer later but feels fantastic for now, one of his hands slips down your side, just barely letting his nails skim, and your back actually arches. It’s a shocking amount of stimulation for being nowhere near any sexual hotspots. That tiny caught breath dissolves as his fingers continue down just as lightly over your hip and thigh. Your muscles tense as you chase and run away from the feeling. It’s ridiculous.

There’s no point in trying to keep your eyes open now—they grow heavy and you let them fall shut as he sucks another love bite to your throat.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? It’s kind of weird.” He says, voicing your thoughts as he eventually decides the mark will be sufficiently dark.

“Yeah,” you agree, lacking all eloquence as he caresses every sensitive place you didn’t know you had and your hips writhe minutely in a little desperate dance of your own creation.

“Most people aren’t aware of the potential of the erogenous zones that aren’t actual sex organs. They don’t pay attention to them. You know what else is an interesting function of erotic stimulation to areas that aren’t directly involved in reproduction?”

“Hm,” you hum as his hand skims to your back. You lean into it and he promptly undoes your bra with a single hand—a skill you’re not even sure you have.

“It releases not quite as much oxytocin as an orgasm but more than sexual pleasure alone. So you’re less tense before sex than you usually would be, and you’re primed to build more trust and feel more connected with your partner during.”

God, he’s a nerd. And it’s so, so hot.

You roll over on your back again and look up at him through half-lidded eyes. The corner of his mouth flickers as he takes in your expression, before trailing downward, following the path his fingertips make over your skin as they tug the straps over your shoulders. Trying to stop him, to be shy, would be a pointless venture. He’s seen you like this and you want him to see you again.

A shaky exhale of his own brings a little smile to your face as he pulls your bra away and observes the newly bared skin with a hunger that you can feel.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, eyes cast pointedly down and thumb brushing over the side of your right breast.

“You mentioned.”

“I’m not allowed to say it again?” He teases, leaning down to kiss you soft. Your lips curve against his.

“You can say it as many times as you want.”

Spencer hums, finally thumbing over your breast’s sensitive peak. It sends a chill down your back and seeing as you’re already worked up to the point of near insanity, the pleasure from such a simple touch is much stronger than it would be otherwise.

“Good. Because I missed you a lot.”

After that, he doesn’t waste much time—only toying with your flesh for another minute as he kisses you before his hand is skimming down your abdomen and dipping below the waistband of your underwear.

“Please,” you whisper, tilting your hips toward him when he doesn’t move to touch you anymore.

“Please what?”

“Spencer, don’t.”

He smiles at this, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as his hand travels lower. Fingers slip between wet folds and he begins making the lightest of circles over your clit.

“You’ve probably been waiting long enough, huh? I should be nicer.”

Your answer is a breathy almost-whine as you seek more friction against his hand.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pressing down harder. The sensation sends sparks down to your toes and you attempt to clamp your legs shut around his wrist. “These need to stay open,” Spencer chuckles, “or else I can’t help you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The words are a sweet sing-song against your cheek as he kisses you there, before hooking his fingers into the fabric of your underwear and pulling down. You try to help wiggle out of them as best you can, gasping when he tosses them away and immediately returns his hand between your legs. He dips his head down, tongue lathing over your breast, and teases you with the tip of one finger circling around your entrance.

“I need—”

“Shh. Let me worry about it.”

With that, he’s dipping his ring and middle fingers just barely inside of you to the first knuckle, then back out, before pushing a bit deeper, and repeating the cycle until they’re as far as they’ll go. When he slowly starts fucking you with them, still mouthing sweetly at your breast, you’re ready to melt.

The room is quiet except for your breathy mewls, the lewd, wet sound of his fingers inside of you, and the blood rushing in your ears. Soon your breast pops from between his lips and he finds somewhere else to leave his mark. Spencer is turning you into a work of art, with his fingers, with his mouth. You don’t mind at all. You’d let him sign his name, if he could—but you doubt he’d let you get his name tattooed.

Soon you stop fighting the perpetual tug of your lids down and let them flutter shut, loosing a freer moan as he brushes over that sweet spot inside you. Even when he’d told you how to find it over the phone, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t like this—maddening enough to have your hips twisting again and that hot bed of coals in your tummy sparking.

“Spencer,” you warn, leg twitching as he stokes the fire beyond the point where you can passively enjoy it. Either he’s got to slow down or he’s got to let you burn all the way up. You practically jump when you feel his tongue flick over your clit—you hadn’t even been aware of his shifting positions. Maybe you’re more out of it than you’d previously thought. Your eyes shoot open and he does it again. “Oh, fuck.”

The words are simple, quiet, and apparently that’s not enough. Before you can even process the sensation of the tip of his tongue on you he’s latching onto your clit, suckling in a way that has your vision momentarily going out. You cry out and kick involuntarily, hips jumping up, but he captures your leg and presses you down into the mattress so no matter how much you squirm and squeak you can’t get away.

“Fuckfuckfuck, Spencer I wa—ah—sn’t ready—oh my god.”

He remembers his fingers deep inside you and begins rutting them and you hiss, inhaling sharply through your teeth before letting it all out in a tremulous moan. The orgasm is building up so quickly it almost feels like an attack on your poor body as you try to process it all to no avail. Every sound you make is a vulnerable mess of pleasure and pain, a clear fear of surrendering to something inevitable. Of course, it doesn’t really hurt at all. As usual, he’s blindsided you. Found you unprepared. You rake your fingers through Spencer’s hair, continuing on with your shaky moans that sound half-worried.

“Oh, please.” Really, you’re just pleading to be put out of your misery. It’s in moments like this, as the black is creeping in around the edges of your vision and your thoughts become threads in the tangle of an existence knotting in on itself with no discernible end or beginning in your mind until everything is completely abstract, that you’re reminded why the French refer to orgasm as the little death.

Your fingers lace tight enough in the wilds of his hair to pull, and he groans against you, and those vibrations are your undoing. You succumb to the dark momentarily but he continues a loving assault of gentle kisses to your clit—careful enough so as to be inoffensive even after the euphoria abates and you’re hypersensitive, still relishing soft strands of hair between your knuckles.

You’re breathing hard as you blink your vision back, looking down at him as he looks up at you from his place between your legs and rubs the top of your thigh.

“I wasn’t ready,” you pant, lips flashing into a tired smile that doesn’t hold a candle to his own livelier one.

“Took it like a champ.”

If you weren’t already so warm his sarcastic comment would inspire more heat in the apples of your cheeks.

“Dr. Spencer Reid using sports idioms?” You smile as he climbs back up your body.

“It’s unreasonably sexy that you said idiom and not simile.” He kisses you, grin mirroring yours, and you don’t complain about the slick still on his lips. “And look at that. Not afraid to kiss me when I taste like you anymore.”

“I remember what you said,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, glowing amber pools in the low light. The words echo in your head from the first time he’d gone down on you and you’d been hesitant to taste yourself.

One day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.

“So do I,” he points out needlessly. “Eerily prophetic, hm?”

“I think you just like going down on me,” you laugh.

Without the light on, his smile is just as brilliant as usual.

“You might be right about that.”

Another interlude of quiet begins, but you don’t mind it. Taking this slow, as desperate as you’ve been for it, feels nice. Easy. Waves of burning need ebb and flow, but for now, it feels nice to be bathed in his candlelight gaze, know you’re loved, and nothing else.

“What next?” You whisper after a long moment, lifting your hand to trace the line of his jaw. He leans into it slightly, lips brushing your palm.

“That’s up to you, angel. What’s going to make you feel most comfortable?”

Your bottom lip rolls between your teeth as you think and he tracks the movement, corner of his mouth twitching fondly.

“It might help if you weren’t fully clothed.”

“I think we could probably do something about that.”

He pecks the tip of your nose playfully and then he’s pushing off the bed. Your brow wrinkles as you follow suit only partially, sitting up with your legs folded under you and pulling the sheets over your body to combat the chill and the vulnerability of being completely naked.

“Oh, my god. You had your shoes on that whole time?”

“I got distracted,” Spencer defends, almost tripping over himself in his hurry to slip the loafers off.

You clutch the sheet to your chest, watching the adorable way he pushes his hair out of his face as he rushes. He’s so clearly excited—it shows in the flush of his cheek and his even worse than usual coordination.

“But on my bed?”

“I’m sorry,” he says without seeming very apologetic, leaning down to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger and pressing his lips to yours. “I’ll pay to have your comforter dry cleaned. I’ll buy you a new one. I don’t care.”

“How chivalrous.”

“I am,” he insists against your lips, shaped by what is surely a boyish smirk.

Unsurprisingly, you get lost in the kiss, dropping the sheet to hang onto his shoulders. Spencer takes advantage of the once-more revealed skin, rubbing your thigh with slow passes in a way that has you all lit up again already. It doesn’t help that his tie is skimming right over the recess between your folded thighs as he leans over your seated form, kissing you deeper as the moments pass.

“You’re distracting me now,” you scold, but your voice is quiet and smiley as your noses brush.

“Do you want to help me with my clothes?”

You nod, heart hatching like a cocoon and already slipping a finger into the knot of his tie so you can tug perhaps not gently enough. He chuckles, bracing himself with his fists on either side of your lap as you pull and yank until the fabric comes loose and you slip it from around his neck, flinging it blindly for dramatic effect. Then he slowly draws back to his full height, until you’re about eye-level with his chest. His gaze fixes on you, feverish and intent as he finds the buckle of his belt without looking. The slide of leather on leather, the jingle of the metal has the hairs on the back of your neck rising and you fight a chill as he pins you with his stare—feeling rather powerless as he towers over you, still essentially fully clothed while you’re completely naked.

You probably shouldn’t be as thrilled by it as you are.

Spencer tosses the belt on the floor and watches on, utterly charmed as you rise to your knees. His hands find your waist, steadying you as you begin unbuttoning his shirt with slow, careful fingers.

“See?” You murmur bashfully. “Helping.”

His voice is equally as soft.

“Very helpful. Thank you.”

The tension in the quiet room gets to be too much and you have to focus hard on the task at hand, failing to bite back a twisty smile. For once, he keeps his stupid perfect mouth shut and lets you push the fabric of his open shirt from his shoulders in humid silence.

Your fingers skate down his torso and you watch the muscles tense. You wonder if he notices the way he pulls you slightly closer or if it’s subconscious as you both track the path of your hands.

“Your button is on the wrong side,” you note, voice wavering slightly, once your fingers stall at the waistband of his pants.

Spencer chuckles. You feel silly.

“Men and women’s clothing tend to have the buttons on different sides, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence, before the words come pouring out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m still a little bit nervous, I think.”

“That’s okay,” Spencer assures you, hands gliding up and down the soft lines of your waist. “It’s okay that you’re nervous. But I’m going to take really good care of you, okay?”

You nod, not looking away from the exposed skin of his torso.

“And if at any point you need to take a break or stop, you’ll tell me.”

“I will, but… I don’t need to stop right now.”

“Then you can go as slow as you want.”

You swallow and take a moment to gather yourself before continuing on undoing his pants. With his assistance, you pull them down, and with them his boxers tug an inch or two lower, exposing a subtle v-shape before it disappears beneath the waistband. The fabric is obviously tented. A ball of nervous anticipation spins faster in your stomach, drawing all the heat in your body down between your legs. He’s pretty everywhere. You’d nearly forgotten.

Spencer’s stomach tenses under your light touch as you drag your fingers down, down, just to the waistband. It’s then that you look up at him for permission to continue, and find his eyes already on you, heated and intense.

“Go ahead, honey.”

Again you find yourself quite excited to touch him, but you start cautiously, simply letting your hand fall over the shape of him through the fabric. Even that has his chest rising and falling at a slightly quickened rate, and one of his hands finds your unoccupied one, twining them together. That small gesture inspires you to bolden your explorations, becoming more insistent in the way you palm at him. He feels big, which is a concern of yours. But you try not to let that intimidate you.

Already he’s quite hard, you suspect from going down on you earlier (which is flattering as much as it embarrasses you) and your fingers graze a small wet patch of fabric. You fixate on the shaky little breath he releases as you push down his boxers with new fervor, and his cock springs up.

He’s still perfect.

You smear beads of precum down his tip, and he sighs, letting his head fall against yours as you both watch. A few coquettish pumps and he’s humming, kissing your face and dragging his lips down your neck where he makes a home for himself. Apparently the sight of your hand wrapped around him had been too much to bear.

“So good. Missed this.”

“It’s just my hand,” you whisper, a little insecure that he’s maybe playing it up for your benefit.

“It’s you.”

His voice is so breathy, you sort of have to believe him.

“Can I…?”

Too nervous to voice what you really mean, you trail off, but it apparently doesn’t matter to Spencer. He lifts his head like he’s in a stupor but you’ve said something urgent.

“Anything you want. You can do whatever you want.”

“Okay. Um…”

You let go of his hand (and his dick). Spencer automatically rotates to accommodate you as you end up on your knees on the wooden floor in front of him.

“This is what you want?” He breathes, already pushing his fingers through your hair and gathering it back as you look up at him and nod.

Very quickly you have him back in your hand, trying to remember what you learned from the few times you’ve done this. You start perhaps a bit softer, less eager to prove yourself than you have in the past—simply dragging him over your tongue before enveloping his tip in your mouth, and releasing with a pop. Despite being overtly, explicitly, and undeniably sexual, there’s something almost chaste about the way you handle him. It’s a (dirty) expression of love, and you think he understands that as he rubs at your cheek affectionately.

Eventually, however, you get too excited, and you take him into your mouth in earnest, bobbing your head slowly and seeing how much of him you can take without gagging.

Spencer makes the prettiest noises—they’re breathy, and not ostentatious, but he’s got such a nice speaking voice it’s like his gasps are bars in a song. You whine around him, wriggling your hips in a rather pathetic display, and then all too quickly he’s tugging your hair so you can’t keep him in your mouth.

“What?” You ask, closer to pouting than you’d care to admit and voice slightly hoarse. “You said I could do anything I want.”

“Not if you’re that good at it. Come here.”

He helps you up and catches you in a deep, messy kiss before you’ve fully regained your footing, swaying against him, but he holds you fast, pulling away slow like strings of honey trail between your mouths.

Spencer’s eyes are fixed on yours, lips parted in a sort of wonder before he glances down to your own mouth, wiping the shine from your bottom lip. Any moment you’re expecting him to say something, to tell you you’re beautiful or perfect or that he’s in love with you—but instead he just meets your eyes again, that same wonder-struck look on his pretty face. A tiny, breathy laugh forces itself from his chest like you’re a genuine miracle.

You feel so observed—seen in a way you’ve never been seen, looked at closer than anyone has ever looked at you before. And he still looks at you like you’re the human embodiment of love, the closest mortal manifestation of the divine, Galatea come down from her marble pedestal. The way he looks at you has your heart pounding and your breathing hastened. Adoration has never been something so physical, so tangible, ever before in your life. Your blood hums at the frequency of his electromagnetic field—an energetic aura that surrounds each person and can be detected from several feet away, as he’d explained it to you. It originates from the heart and if you spend enough time close to someone, syncs up the beating of your most vital organ with theirs until it’s a perfect match. Maybe that’s why, almost as quickly as your heart had begun to pound, it slows again, and you feel any reservation flush from your body like a fever.

“Okay,” you breathe, cataloguing every angle and curve of his face to store with all the rest, all the moments that feel important. Of course, you’ll never remember them like he does yours. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try your hardest.

“Okay?” Spencer asks. He understands the confirmation for what it is, and searches for signs of hesitation on your face while rubbing reassuring circles into your hip. You nod resolutely.

As he lays you down on your bed, it feels like you’re entering some kind of altered state. Everything is muted and glowing with a watercolor aura in the dark and you really only care about the man on top of you and the way moonlight dances on his skin and the way he smells like smoky amber and rain. He makes sure the pillows are fluffed under you, before sweeping your hair from beneath your shoulders into a corona around your head. All the while his eyes are so soft on you, just like his hands, and his lips when he leans down to touch them to yours.

One of said hands finds its way to your jaw, trailing down over your neck and collarbone, before settling over your breast where he swipes a thumb over your nipple, lightly, slowly, several times.

Once again you’re struck with the odd feeling, even with his hand on you like this, that the situation isn’t sexual in the way you’d anticipated. It’s not pornographic, or even very dirty. Everything Spencer does, even as his hand sneaks down between your legs, he does because he loves you.

“One more like this,” he mutters against your jaw after a moment.

“Why?”

Your impatience yields a smile you can only feel against your skin.

“Just want you relaxed and feeling good. That’s all.”

When you assent, his fingers are already slowly pushing inside you.

It seems you’ve entered some sort of time warp as well, because you reach a gentle peak in what feels like record time, aided by his easy murmurings and saccharine praise.

“Perfect. That was perfect,” Spencer says with a kiss to your shoulder as he slides his fingers from you and you feel yourself literally dripping onto the sheets. “Can I ask you something before we get carried away?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sweet and compliant as pleasure dulls your inhibitions for the second time tonight and your head lolls into the pillows.

“Baby,” he croons, voice soft as worn paper as your lids flutter and lashes brush febrile cheeks, thumbing over the heated skin. “Need you a little more alert, sweet girl.”

“’M trying,” you whine, though it’s half self-effacing laugh. Spencer chuckles too as you shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to reinvigorate yourself. “Okay. Go.”

“Well… we don’t have any protection.” Before you can groan, loudly, he hurries on. “And that’s… I’m okay with that, if it’s what you still want. I trust you. But there will come… a moment of reckoning. And I need to know where I should… reckon. So you don’t end up surprised.”

Now you’re really laughing—a giggly mess beneath him as your arms loop over his shoulders.

“Stop it,” he whines, pressing his nose to your cheek as you turn your head in an effort to not snort at your boyfriend to his face. “That was for your benefit, you know. You get squeamish.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t take you seriously when you refer to it as reckoning.”

“Fine. I’ll rephrase. When I come, you essentially have two options. Inside, or on your stomach. Tell me where you want it.”

Your breath catches and your stomach does that tripping-over-itself thing again.

“Um…”

Another fond half laugh, at your expense, is pressed against your skin. It’s enough to prompt you into answering—he doesn’t have to say anything to make his point about your being squeamish.

“Inside,” you mutter, shy as you attempt to bring him closer so he won’t be able to look at you quite so closely. You wonder if he’s remembering the conversation you’d had over the phone last week—before he’d accidentally kind of broken up with you—about this very subject. You certainly are.

“Okay. I want you to have everything that you want.” A few kisses to your neck later, between nips, he speaks again. “Just need to hear that you want this one more time.”

“I want this,” you repeat, obedient and honest, plain and simple. “Now, please.”

Spencer responds by first kissing you, firm and loving. It soothes you, and he punctuates it with a kiss to your cheek, before he’s reaching down and guiding himself between your legs. You feel surprisingly calm, more overcome with love and the light pleasure rolling down your back as he drags himself over your clit than you are by nerves. Still, you pointedly hold his gaze, not looking down in case you psych yourself out. He slots himself in place, tip resting against your entrance.

“Remember, if you need to stop at any point—”

“I remember,” you cut him off hurriedly.

Okay. So perhaps you’re still slightly nervous.

He watches you, sympathetic though you’re not sure what for.

“I need you as relaxed as possible, okay? I want this to be easy on you.”

You take a moment, scanning your whole body for tense muscles. When you feel sufficiently relaxed, you offer Spencer a small nod, and at that, he begins pushing into you ever so slightly.

At first, it just feels foreign. He’s going so slowly, so carefully, you’re not sure he’s moving at all—until he finds resistance and the odd full feeling changes to a hint of burning stretch. Your hips jump and your breath catches, and Spencer stops immediately, relieving the pressure with a tiny shift in position.

“It’s gonna hurt,” you realize, eyes darting between his like he might be able to tell you otherwise. You’d always been aware of the possibility, but you were holding out hope that you’d be one of those people who didn’t experience any pain their first time.

“Just for a minute. Then it’ll feel good, angel.”

You swallow and nod. At the end of the day, you trust him completely. You trust him enough to let him hurt you.

“Super deep breaths for me.”

He watches intently as you follow his directions, taking several deep breaths in succession, before he begins pushing into you once more. The pressure builds and builds until he pushes past that point of resistance, and it’s like he’s breaking you in two.

“Ah,” you gasp, abs twisting as your body tries to escape the sensation without any input from you.

“I know. I know, baby, that was the hardest part. Breathe.”

He drops his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles with light pressure to distract from the pain.

You nod, lips pressed together tight as the deep ache muddles your brain. It’s an insistent pressure against something does not seem to want to budge. It burns and stretches and is laced with sour, flirtatious pleasure so that you can hardly tell what it is you’re feeling. Mostly, you’re dizzy and hot.

“Relax, just like that,” he strains, looking down. “My good girl. We’re almost there, baby.”

Cries spill unbidden from your mouth and your eyes shut as he continues to open you up deeper, until finally, finally, his hips settle into the cradle of yours.

Spencer sighs a curse under his breath, so quiet you don’t think it was meant for you.

He’s inside of you. It’s bizarre.

You whimper, and he snaps out of whatever revery he’d been in.

“You okay? How does that feel?”

You take a shuddering breath, closing your eyes and trying to clear your head to no avail—your thoughts are like TV static.

“I’m good. I need… I need a minute.”

“You can have as much time as you need. It’s a lot, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admit, voice small and weak.

“I bet,” he agrees, peppering soft kisses all over your face. “But you’re doing so well. Proud of you, brave girl. You’re doing so well and we’re gonna make sure it feels good soon, okay? Whenever you’re ready.”

“Will you please kiss me again?” you whisper, and Spencer’s brow knits with concern.

“Of course, angel. Of course I’ll kiss you,” he says, and makes good on his promise with his lips on yours. It sweetens the ache. “I’ll do whatever you want. You can have anything. You’re so perfect.”

He kisses you again, just as lovingly, and soft, like you’re delicate. All the praise is only contributing to your lightheadedness, but you don’t mind at all. It feels good.

“You can… you can move.”

“Okay. We’ll go really slow, yeah?”

He waits for your nod before his hips are pulling back and you arch at the odd sensation. When he pushes back in, eyes carefully locked on yours the whole time, you keen slightly, frowning and brain shorting out as it tries and fails to process this new feeling.

“Uh-huh. You’re okay, I promise.”

At first it doesn’t feel good. It mostly hurts. But slowly, the pain begins to abate as you acclimate to having him inside of you, and he’s careful the whole time.

“Spence?”

“Hm?”

He sounds concentrated on the task at hand—you’re entranced by the sight of him above you, the parted lips, the unkempt hair over the brow furrowed in pleasure and focus. But he’s never too busy for you.

“Does it… um—” you pause to hold back a whine—“what does it feel like for you?”

At this, he slows even further and chuckles—it’s a strained, slightly breathy sound.

“For me?”

“Mhm.”

“You feel perfect, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

The slight fry in Spencer’s voice as he curses, which is a rare event in and of itself, flips your stomach, turns you on immensely. The idea that you’re giving him pleasure too—it’s almost overwhelming. That’s when it starts feeling good.

“Oh—” you squeak, jaw dropping and bucking your hips inadvertently as the first bolt of true pleasure shocks deep in your core. He hums.

“Yeah, is that it, sweet girl?”

But you can’t answer for a long moment. Your brain is melting as your legs lock around him.

“Mm—it’s—it feels…”

“I know it does,” Spencer murmurs.

You whine and press your face into the curve of his shoulder as each thrust gently rocks your body. As the pace picks up bit by bit, you feel yourself clenching hard around him. His hips stutter and he hisses.

“Ah. Can’t do that, lovely.”

“What? Did I hurt you?”

He laughs breathily.

“No, you didn’t hurt me. You almost pushed me out. You have to relax.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. “’M trying.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. I know you’re trying, baby, you’re being so good for me.”

Your nails skim his back—a small expression of a much larger desperation. Once he’s sure you’re relaxed around him, begins going faster.

Your gasps and soft moans come more often now as he finds a steady rhythm and it feels so different when he’s actually fucking you. It feels like he’s everywhere. Every time your hips meet you feel the sweet shock of it in your teeth, your toes, the back of your neck. In the best way, you feel consumed by him. It’s not at all like you’d imagined, and it’s perfect.

“Wait, Spencer,” you breathe, struggling to form the words. Immediately he stops again, lifting his head from your shoulder to examine your face.

“What is it?”

He sounds just as wrecked as you feel, panting and strained and it feels good to hear.

“I wanna watch.”

For a moment his eyes dart between yours like he’s trying to determine what you really mean—but you said exactly what you meant. Then he laughs, a huff of air from his nose as he presses his head to yours and gives you a quick kiss.

Your toes curl as he readjusts his position, holding himself a little higher and resting your heads together so you can both look between your bodies.

“There,” he murmurs as he slowly begins to withdraw again. “Like that?”

But you can’t answer, because you’re too busy whimpering at the sight of him pushing into you. The feeling seems to increase tenfold as you watch it happen. Distantly you wonder how the fuck it fits.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Like that.”

Spencer takes this as a blessing to find a pace again, slower now as he seems to be just as enthralled by the sight as you are.

“Give me your leg,” he rasps after a few moments like that, and you don’t know what he means exactly but you lift your right leg slightly only for him to press his hand to the back of your knee and push toward your chest, effectively opening you up and giving him more range of motion. It also enables him to fuck you even deeper. Again he slows, apparently savoring the feel of you yielding around him all the way down to the hilt.

Black spots dance in your eyes as he settles at your deepest point—not pain, necessarily, just overwhelming sensation. Your jaw drops and you choke out a moan as he presses into recesses you didn’t know you had, as he shows you a part that you might have gone the rest of your life without knowing existed. He stops there, like that. Everything stops there, like that. If the cars on the road below ceased to drive, if the airplanes froze in the sky, you’d not be the least bit surprised. Somehow, you’ve unlocked a small eternity. There’s no sound but your joint heavy breathing and your heart pounding in your ears. The words just come bubbling up out of you in a little whine.

“I love you.”

Spencer’s breath pauses for a moment before he’s letting it all out at once, brushing his lips up the ridge of your nose before they settle on your forehead in what seems like a permanent kiss. A few breaths in, you allow your eyes to flutter shut. Your heart rate slows down a touch, and you settle into the moment, never having been quite so content as you are like this—never having felt quite so adored and safe.

“I love you,” he finally echoes, voice rasping, lips still pressed to your skin, still breathing against your hair. When he starts to move again, drawing back ever so slowly, you hiss softly. He raises his head from yours, and you look away from where he’s pulling out, meeting his eyes just in time for him to push back in, just as deep. They shine in the mostly-dark room and you moan unabashedly. It’s a high-pitched, sweet thing, nothing that will have the neighbors complaining—but so clearly true, from the depths of your soul, an expression of everything you’re feeling—not just the pleasure.

Although that’s good, too, as Spencer shapes you to him again and again, the head of his cock kissing places nobody’s ever been and places you hope nobody else will ever venture to. This is all you need. Him.

“Jesus,” Spencer groans, eyes fixed on your face as he fucks you slowly. But you can’t bring yourself to talk, too new to this kind of pleasure to find it anything other than mind-boggling and world altering. Your lips are still parted, allowing each sound to pass without filter. “Listen to you, beautiful.”

When he stops again, just to look down and marvel at you, you’re conflicted. On the one hand, you can taste the pleasure on the back of your tongue and he keeps taking it away when it’s so close. But on the other—you’re just as overwhelmed as he said you’d be. Your body has never had to process this kind of sensory information before, and you’re exhausted, but it’s so good.

“Spencer,” you manage. He looks up, pupils blown and eyes lidded where they’d normally be wide. “Please don’t stop.”

He swallows, spurred into action again as soon as you say it.

“Good?”

You nod and whine again as he picks up the pace bit by bit, remembering to push your leg back once more so he can get as deep as you need him.

“So good,” you exhale at the top pitch of your voice. Your brows pinch and you release a fuller moan as Spencer finds a speed that’s fast enough to constantly feel good no matter where he is. You’re gasping for breath, back arching—and he finds a new angle, catching against the spot inside you that renders all those years of human evolution that gave you sentience and intelligence a waste. He chuckles airily at your series of series of affronted moans and halted gasps.

“Right there? That's a good spot, isn’t it?”

“Oh, go—fuck, fuck!”

It feels so good it almost hurts, and your eyes are stinging to prove it. Your legs clamp tighter around him and you realize there’s a very lewd wet sound and you can’t believe that’s you.

“Spencer, you’re—oh my god, I love you,” you whine, and it sounds like you’re pleading for your life. At this makes his own sound of pleasure, and hastens his messy circles on your clit as if in reward.

But it’s too much all combined.

Your hand claps to your mouth to obscure the loud, licentious moan that comes out—but Spencer immediately moves his hand from between your legs to grab your wrist and pin it gently to the bed, intertwining your fingers.

“Don’t do that. Let me hear.”

You nod, and he lets go of your hand to return his fingers to your clit. If possible you get wetter around his cock—you can feel yourself gushing.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine as if pained.

“Yeah? Gonna finally let me feel you cumming, angel?”

He has a filthy mouth when he wants to. The words hit like high voltage to your core and the very pit of your stomach. You can’t even respond beyond a desperate sob.

“Show me, baby. I’m right here. Let go.”

You cum around his cock with a broken cry and it’s like a purge of every drop of angst you’d felt over the past week or so—hell, it’s a purge of all the insecurities that had bubbled to the surface since you started dating him. None of it matters anymore. How could it matter when you have him? When you have this?

The orgasm washes you out like a tidal wave, taking everything with it. It’s strong, and it’s so good, so intense, your body is overwrought with sensation and it’s too much even though it’s perfect. Your brain is drawing a blank as it tries to react to the feeling, and it’s like every button on the damn panel has been hit.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Spencer grits, and you feel it in the way he adjusts his position, shifting as he grips at the edge of the mattress for leverage and the thrusts become messier, needier. You gasp as his other hand tangles in your hair, turning your head to ghost your lips over his forearm. It’s not entirely surprising when his own lips find your shoulder—but the feeling of him finding his release just as his teeth sink into your skin does come as quite a shock. It doesn’t hurt, and you’re sure there’s no skin broken, but it’s an undeniable fact that he has grounded himself in the throes of passion by biting down on you.

Inside you, he feels hot. Searing, almost, as his spend tries to fill space that doesn’t exist. There is absolutely no room for anything else inside of you. Stars dance in your eyes at the overstimulation, but long after he’s finished he’s still fucking into you—albeit much slower and with far less technique. Spencer moans like a two bit whore, like he’s reached pain to a point of ecstasy, and to you it’s as good, as special as the singing of the planets. If he’s as sensitive as you are now, it’s no small feat for him to keep going on like this. It’s a testament to how much he doesn’t want it to be over. The pleasure is carrying him away, but you’re beginning to feel how soft you must be and how if he continues on like this you may bruise like an overripe peach.

“Spencer,” you manage, skating your hand up and down his back in what you hope are soothing lines. “Baby.”

He whines as his lips detach from your shoulder, but his hips finally slow to a stop, nestled inside you.

“Jesus, fuck, I'm sorry,” he breathes, opting now to bury his face in your neck (with significantly less biting this time).

You’re still reeling, toes still curled, still struggling to breathe as your head spins and spins and spins. His chest pushes against yours with every heaving breath, hot and heavy on your skin, and that’s the only sign he’s still alive until his hand eventually reanimates in your hair, scratching your head tenderly.

For a span of minutes, you stay like that—silent, twined together like caducean serpents. His weight on top of you is perfect. This, the lack of differentiation between your body and his, is perfect. You don’t know where he ends and you begin and you don’t need to. It’s a blissful moment.

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, lifting his head to look at you with flushed cheeks and messy hair and sparkly eyes.

“Hi.”

He smiles.

“You’re so pretty.”

“You too,” you murmur, moving your hand from his back and pressing your thumb into the hollow of his cheek. His eyes map the curves of your face as he pushes your surely askew hair back.

“How do you feel?”

It takes you a moment to seriously consider his question, scanning your body for any undue pains, but for the moment, you find none, beyond a dull aching throb that you can manage.

“Good. Tired.”

You wince at the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. Spencer hums sympathetically and presses a sticky kiss to your lips which makes it a little better, though you can’t ignore how uncomfortable all the previously pleasant wetness has become between your legs.

“Here—stay here, I’ll get a wash cloth and—”

“It’s fine,” you insist, holding on even as he tries to roll off of you. “I just need… will you stay here for a little bit?”

“Of course,” he promises, now pressed close to your side and propped up on an elbow, “whatever you want.”

You lavish in his gaze, warm like a spotlight, as he strokes your cheek and plays with your hair. Very quickly you’re lulled into a doze, eyes fluttering shut. Minutes stretch. You feel drunk on waking dreams, and perfectly at peace. Safe.

“Angel girl,” he christens you fondly. More than anything, it’s an observation, so lovely it sinks into your skin like a balm, soothing every tired muscle and little mark he’d made. Even half-asleep, it makes you smile.

“You’re an angel,” you slur, reaching blindly for him, and he chuckles, catching your wrist and helpfully settling your hand on his cheek.

“I thought you were asleep.”

You hum, “mm-mm,” looking up at him with just as much adoration as he has for you. Those cuddle hormones must be kicking in because soon you’re attempting to pull him back on top of you. He doesn’t quite comply, probably for fear of crushing you—rather he settles next to you, gathering you in his arms.

Silence blankets the two of you, but it’s not unpleasant as you just watch each other with barely-there smiles curling your mouths. This kind of intimacy still manages to give you butterflies, even after everything else you’ve done. This kind of satisfaction, reverie in the sound of each other’s blood flowing and lungs filling. Setting aside words because you don’t need conversation as a pretense for wanting to be around each other anymore. You don’t need an excuse to look at him like this. You don’t need words any more than you need clothes. It’s enough to just be.

“I love you,” he says, a soft reminder, and entirely redundant with the way he’d already been looking at you, touching you.

“I know. I love you too.”

The smile flickers brighter on his face.

“And thank you.”

Your eyes narrow minutely as you consider what he could possibly be thanking you for.

“For what?”

“For loving me. And trusting me. It’s…” your heart squeezes as you realizes tears are pooling in his eyes. He takes a moment and clears his throat. It’s incredibly endearing. “It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

You look down, thumbing at the sheets where you’ve hoisted them over your bodies.

“You do realize how lame we are if we have sex and both immediately start crying, right?”

At this he laughs loudly but not loud enough to pop the little bubble you’re in, and you look up just in time to catch the brilliance of his smile, the way it changes his whole face and he becomes superhuman in his beauty, the lines that form by his eyes and the way they narrow and crystalline tears bead his lashes like precious gems.

“Don’t cry,” he requests gently, hypocritically as your own eyes sting. The way his smile fades is like the sun setting. Gorgeous, like everything else he does. “You’ve cried so much, honey. Please don’t cry.”

You sniffle, gathering yourself.

“I’m not. That would be pathetic.”

Spender leans forward to kiss you tenderly a few more times. Ordinarily you’d worry about coming across as clingy when you hold onto him so closely and so insistently like this, but for now you don’t care. Neither does he, it seems, as he seems unable to get you close enough. Eventually, you end up curled against him, head tucked under his chin and dozing on and off as he traces shapes into your skin.

“What are you writing?” You mumble some time later, cheek smushed against his shoulder. He only responds with a soft hm, like he was lost deep in thought. You clarify, “it feels like you were writing something.”

“She Walks in Beauty.”

Your lips pull into a sleepy smile.

“The Lord Byron poem?”

The first time you’d met Spencer, he’d inadvertently caused your painstakingly annotated copy of Lord Byron’s works to go flying all over a cafe, and then kindly helped clean up the pages and reorder them for you in record time. Among the poems had been She Walks in Beauty.

“Yeah. I was trying to figure out when exactly I fell in love with you, and as someone who is deeply skeptical about love at first sight, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I keep coming back to our first conversation. I mean, I believe in genetic compatibility, and how that contributes to attraction and what we think of as chemistry, but—”

“Wait, what about our first conversation did it?” Your cheeks ache from smiling as you speak. “As I recall I was being a bitch and I was covered in coffee.”

He laughs dreamily, still tracing letters over the small of your back. You wonder what part of the poem he’s at now.

“Yeah, mean to me and covered in coffee is pretty much exactly my type. But I think it was actually the annotations on that copy of Lord Byron’s works. They were so insightful, and personal, I—it kind of took my breath away, and I know I shouldn’t have read them all but I couldn’t stop. You were compelling, and charming, and funny and wildly intelligent and beautiful and… and I didn’t stand a chance.”

Everything aches. It’s a good ache. Despite being seconds from tearing up all over again, you snort. He never told you about that first day.

“You thought me writing ‘sister fucker’ in all caps every time he mentioned Augusta was charming?”

“Oh, obscenely so. But now that I’m looking back, I feel like… I feel like I can’t remember not being in love with you. I mean, I remember when I realized I was, and that was later. But it was like I met you, and then I was just… waiting for you to catch up.”

You grab his hand and interlace your fingers, watching the way the ambient nighttime light from the window and the bathroom dips them half in color.

“We were pretty much on the same page. I was debating courthouse versus small intimate ceremony as soon as you left.”

You watch him watching your joined hands, features soft and relaxed, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly as he speaks.

“Definitely small intimate ceremony. I have too many friends who would kill me if they weren’t invited to the wedding.”

You giggle and pretend the thought doesn’t give you butterflies. You imagine a ring on your finger, the one he’s got between his own. Marriage had never been something you’d considered. Not when you had no reason to. It seemed like something for other people. But maybe one day, it will be for you, too.

“Did you know Lord Byron had a daughter who is regarded by many as the first computer programmer? She wrote the first algorithm for a theoretical machine that was so complex it couldn’t be built with the technology available at the time. It was called an Analytical Engine.”

He sounds almost wistful as he gives you the utterly unprompted, but still welcome, abridged version of her life. The description is ringing a bell—but you can’t quite place her, sleepy as you are.

“What was her name?”

“Ada Lovelace. She was exceptionally gifted. The odds of parent and child being so extraordinary in their respective fields are incalculable, but from a purely theoretical perspective, negligible. I mean, they’re both massive historical figureheads. That’s extremely uncommon.”

You adore it when he goes off on these tangents—the passion that stains his voice, the ardor that grips him until he has no choice but to tell you exactly what’s got him so excited. You could listen to him talk for hours. It means he’s here with you, and he wants you to love what he loves.

Since he met you, that’s all Spencer has wanted—for you to love what he loves.

You want the same.

“Pretty name,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Tell me more.”

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

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lilislegacy · 2 days

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even though i don’t think percy and annabeth start having kids until their mid to late 20s, they are still probably among the first of all their friends to have kids. and their first one is probably the most loved-on little munchkin ever.

and imagine at first, seeing their little family makes other demigods want to have kids. because their friends would see how happy and carefree percy and annabeth are. in my own head, their first kid is a little boy with curly blonde hair and sea green eyes, who runs around with his rubix cube and splashes around in water. he’s got percy’s sneaky troublemaker smile and annabeth’s calculating look. he’s freaking adorable. and people would see annabeth - looking so at peace - holding him close to her chest and running her fingers through his little blonde curls. they would see him running into percy’s arms, and percy - looking happier than anyone has ever seen him - throwing the little guy up in the air and making him giggle and kissing his cheeks. and people would think wow. i can have this too.

until something happens. until the first time people see their sweet little family under attack. and here’s the thing: percy and annabeth will always make absolutely sure nothing happens to their child. no doubt that when annabeth was pregnant, they spent countless late nights planning for every possible scenario. and you’ve never seen those two truly fight until you’ve seen them fight to protect their kid. so the little guy was never actually gonna get hurt.

but he still screams his little lungs out. he cries for his daddy as percy dives into an army of monsters that all look straight out of a nightmare. he cries as his mommy holds him painfully tight against her as she runs the other way. until annabeth hands him off to a trusted friend, and tells them to take him and run, to which he screams even louder at being separated from both his parents now. and it’s at that moment that many demigods realize that parenthood is not for them.

because watching that little boy cry, hearing his screams, seeing the terror in percy and annabeth’s eyes - a terror worse than anyone has ever seen those two show - the moment they realize their son is in danger… it’s too much. it’s not something that people are willing to go through. the potential happiness is not worth the stress and the fear and the potential for unimaginable pain.

imagine percy and annabeth being the ones to show people that even the most targeted demigods can settle down and have a family. and imagine them also being the ones who make people realize that they never want to have families themselves.

#i’m sorry #but also it’s true #to percy and annabeth it’s worth it #they love their kids more than anything #but to other people there is no reason good enough to risk it #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #percababies #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #rick riordan #riordanverse #pjo headcanons #camp half blood #camp jupiter #demigods #adult percabeth

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dante-mightdie · 2 days

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long awaited poly!141 angst (poly!141 au but this part is mainly price)

c/w: mentions of neglect, angst, comfort

there was a tense feeling in the house for the next few weeks, a painful guilt hanging in the air every you came into contact with one of the boys. you’re not sure exactly what made them snap out of this neglectful phase they’ve recently entered, all you know is they’re desperately trying to make it up to you

the mornings are filled with borderline breakfast feasts, it’s almost becoming exhausting. sometimes you just want a coffee and a bowl of cereal. it’s almost pathetic the way they grovel for some form of attention from you, desperate just to see you smile at them again. perhaps, if they’re lucky you’ll even return their affections

to say it’s been overbearing would be an understatement. you know they mean well, but that doesn’t mean you have to be happy with kyle waking you up at the crack ass of dawn, asking if you’d like to go on his morning run with him. you certainly don’t enjoy the way johnny crowds your space, forgetting that he needs to earn that trust back from you. simon nearly always puts him back in his place though

it could be worse, you think. you could still be on the outskirts of your relationship, begging and pleading for just a scrap of attention from them. now you have them wrapped around your finger but you didn’t want that, to feel trapped in the vines of their guilt. you’d much rather be intwined with them, warm and safe in their loving embrace

it was a neverending stream of gifts and surprise outings, movie nights which end with them pleading with you to come and sleep in their bed, your bed. slumped shoulders and defeated frowns on their face when you mumble some excuse and run off to what you consider to be your room

they are trying, you can’t deny that. and you wanted nothing more than to let yourself melt into their strong arms and sweet words. the only thing stopping you was that nagging feeling in the back of your head, attempting to convince you that this treatment won’t last. they loved you once and then they abandoned you, they will do it again

“what’re you doin’ awake, lovely?” john’s deep voice rumbled through the cozy walls of his office. his tired eyes softened even further when he saw you, nervously standing in the doorway. he pushed his chair out from under the desk, spreading his thighs open and patting one as a signal for you to come closer

“couldn’t sleep.” you mumble once you’ve shuffled over to stand between his open legs. his hands come up to rub over the skin on your thigh, exposed by your pajama shorts

“can I do anything to help?” he says, reaching for your hands instead when he sees them fidgeting in front of you. he places a kiss to your knuckles, giving you that warm smile he gives you whenever he wants you to smile back at him. “somethin’s on your mind, princess. talk to me.”

you let out a soft sigh, looking briefly into his eyes before looking down at the floor, “why did you all stop talking to me?”

john frowns and joins you in looking down at the floor before he pulls you a little closer, “there’s no excuse I could give you that would ever justify how we treated you, princess. when you put your life on the line like that, the possibility of losing you became far too real and I guess we just… distanced ourselves because we wouldn’t know how to deal with that pain.”

a frown tugs at your lips at his words, you feel unable to meet his gaze. the room is silent for a few moment as you process what john just said to you, he doesn’t rush you. instead he just brushes his thumbs over your knuckles, a silent show of support

“but you expected me to deal with the pain of losing you all? you may not have died but it was like you just disappeared from my world, john. I understand losing me would be unbearable for you, but would it be easier to lose me knowing I would have died thinking you hated me? died knowing that I questioned every thought, every action, every word in a desperate attempt to know what I did wrong!”

the words spill from your lips before you can even think, tears begin slipping down your cheeks and john looks away, ashamed. he knows your right, him and the boys are ashamed of the way they acted towards you

“we’re so sorry, love… nothing can undo what we did but please let us try. you trusted us once, think you can again?” he asks, hopeful. it felt cruel to snuff that out, even though you were well within your rights to. and after a few seconds of silence, you respond

“maybe.”

#simon riley x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #soap mactavish x reader #mw2 #cod mw2 #poly!141

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maidragoste · 3 days

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Something wrong with me

Jacaerys Velaryon x Wife!Reader

Summary: Jacaerys comforts his wife after she tells him her worries.

I hope you have a good read. If you like it, don't hesitate to like, comment and reblog. These three things serve to motivate the writer to continue writing 🥰💖

My inbox is open if you want to make any requests or share any headcanon.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Something had happened. Jacaerys had no idea what she was but she knew something had happened because today you seemed distracted all day and during dinner, you barely spoke and you didn't eat much either so your husband was worried. First, he waited to see if you would tell him what the reason for your distress was, but now that you were both alone and in the shelter of his bed, your head on his chest and his arms hugging you, even so, you still didn't seem to dare to tell him so. He decided to ask you directly.

“Today I noticed you were distracted, my lady,” he said as he caressed your waist with one of his hands. “Do you want to tell me what is worrying you? That might make you feel better” he asked softly making you look at him.

“I'm bleeding,” you noticed the panic in your husband's eyes so you hurried to clarify. I mean my moon blood” You felt his body relax again.

Jacaerys thought about getting up and asking the maester to bring you some tea to alleviate any discomfort you had but when he was about to ask you to please move so he was going to look for the maester you surprised him by talking again.

“Are you disappointed?” You asked, abandoning the warmth of his chest to get a good look at his reaction, not wanting to miss any small-expression or movement. But your husband didn't look angry or sad but rather he seemed confused.

“Why would I be disappointed?” he asked, feeling lost. You hadn't done anything to make him or his family feel bad nor had you broken your marriage vows so he didn't understand how you could have let him down.

“Because I'm not pregnant!” you responded with obvious frustration and eyes full of unshed tears. You looked away and sat down feeling ashamed of yourself, for having lost your temper and especially for not fulfilling your duties. “And there's obviously something wrong with me,” you said, finally saying out loud what you had been thinking all day since you saw your red-stained clothes.

You hid your face in your hands, not wanting the prince to see that you were starting to cry. Barely a few seconds passed when Jacaerys was in front of you, gently removing your hands from your face. He felt pain in his heart when he saw your beautiful eyes full of sadness and tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Hey, don't talk about yourself like that. There is nothing wrong with you, my sweet wife. Your value is above the children you can give me” he said while carefully wiping away the tears. “You are more important than that, you are the one who gives me love and joy every day” he gently takes your face before kissing you on your forehead, his lips soon land on the tip of your nose and then on your cheeks, he begins to spread kisses all over your face until finally the tears stop and a smile forms on your lips and Jace finally kisses you like a husband should kiss a wife. You feel like you are melting from the sweetness of his kiss and from all the love he transmits to you. You feel so lucky to be his wife. He is so kind, sweet, and attentive to you. And you just want to make him as happy as he makes you feel every day. That's why you're so angry and disappointed in yourself for having your moon blood again.

Somehow Jacaerys must feel that your thoughts are turning dark again because he stops kissing you to calm your fears.

“Now, my sweet wife, I don't want to invalidate your concerns but we have only been married for a few moons so I think it is normal that you are not pregnant yet,” he said as he caressed your cheek. You still didn't seem to be completely calm so he hastened to add. "But if in a few moons, you are still not pregnant and you are still worried about it, we can go talk to my mother or the maester. I'm sure they will be willing to help us."

Jacaerys hoped that the two of you wouldn't have to have that uncomfortable conversation with the maester but for you, he was willing to do anything. He just wanted you to stop worrying.

“To be honest, it doesn't bother me that it's just the two of us for now. “I would like to have you a little more to myself,” he declared shamelessly, making you laugh before rushing you to kiss him again.

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hotd masterlist

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lottiies · 2 days

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what, too big, sweet thing?

cw: mdni, fem!reader, drabble, size difference, breeding kink, mention of birth control, aftercare

note: he could crush me. not that he would because he’s a sweetheart, but omg pleaseee i wanna be lovingly smushed by him ૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝<꒱ྀི i cannot describe the positions well, hope you guys understand

umm anyways, yes <3 thinking about how bulky he is.

him kneeling back on the heels of his feet and shoving his cock inside you while you straddle his hips, one of his hands splayed against the plush of your ass while his other arm is slung around the small of your back, keeping your back arched so you’re pressed against him all nice and snug.

you reach back to hold onto one of his hairy forearms—the one whose hand is fondling your ass. your nails leave indents on his skin, the slight tinge of sharp pain only making him slow down his pace so he can focus more on deep thrusts and making sure he buries himself to the hilt, until his balls are pressed up against your bottom.

or when he’s prone boning you, rutting into you from behind and making the mattress shake. your hands clawing at the sheets so hard your knuckles turn white. it’s only natural to need to clutch onto something when a hunk of a man is making your vision all blurry and rearranging your insides. right?

“leon…so big…fuck.” your sentences are all chopped up and spoken through high-pitched gasps, all you can do is say whatever words come to mind first.

“i know, i know i’m big. feels good, doesn’t it? you love this dick?”

geez, what a bastard. you nod eagerly.

one of his hands leaves the side of your hip, instead reaching over to slide his hand on top of yours. massive, of course, his fingers spread yours apart to accommodate the size of his. and god, you’re sure your fingers can’t spread anymore than that.

or hello? when he has you in a mating press, murmuring false promises of getting you pregnant against the shell of your ear. “c’mon sweet girl, you’d look so pretty with your stomach all swollen. what do you think?”

yours hands settle on his biceps, squeezing the built up muscles. so beefy. the headboard is slamming against the wall so aggressively you’re scared the wood will chip and break. okay, actually, no you’re not. you’re not even worried about that. you have better things to be concerned about, like whether leon is going to break you in half or not.

leon’s very aware of how big he is compared to you, even with his mind all clouded with thoughts of how good your cunt is and how much he wants to make you gush around his cock, he still manages to keep some rationality and keeps some of his weight off of you.

“mhm, want it. wanna get knocked up by you.” you whine in response, acting as if you weren’t on birth control and way too fucking unprepared for such a thing. not a problem, a girl can fantasize, can’t she?

it’s always so cute to him when you cum, the way your entire body writhes around while he cages you in entirely, the way you babble his name out endlessly, and he has to kiss you to shut you up. “so noisy.”

he always takes care of you afterwards. cleaning you up, massaging your entire body because yeah, being manhandled into different positions as if you’re a soft pretzel is taxing!

“here?” he asks, his hands on your hips, kneading away the discomfort that had built there. you’re just glad you didn’t get a cramp while he was fucking you.

he can’t help but laugh a bit (a lot) when you try to get up and your knees buckle. what an ass. but he’s also nice, so he carries you to whatever destination you desire until you tell him you’re completely okay.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader

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the-original-skipps · 2 days

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|| When you try to spank them. || Wind Breaker ||

just a hilarious idea I thought of lol it was in my drafts for a while but I couldn’t finish it cuz of writers block sighhhhh

: Sakura Haruka. Suo Hayato. Nirei Akihito. Sugishita Kyoutaro. Umemiya Hajime. Kaji Ren. Togame Jo.

❥ Sakura jumps a little and lets out a loud yell. A yell that has the town’s people looking at you both. He even has you startled, he sure has a loud voice. Sakura quickly turns around to face you, his eyes squinted and face blazing red. You burst out in laughter which has him steaming, fists clenched. You’re lucky you’re his significant other or else he would have returned the gesture tenfold.

"WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!"

❥ Suo has his signature smile on his face as his hand holds your wrist before they could come in contact with his behind. You're disappointed and honestly impressed that he managed to grab your hand just right before you were about to spank him. Does he have a secret third eye behind his head? Even though you didn’t touch him, Suo will definitely find an opportunity someday to tease you by gently tapping your butt.

"Let's keep these things within the bedroom, love."

❥ Nirei squeaks and jumps in surprise, he’s shaking from embarrassment and maybe a bit of pain. He’s soothing his behind, he looks like a kicked puppy which has you cooing . You quickly apologize to him pulling him into a tight hug. Gushing on how cute he is. This will not be the last time you will be attempting this.

“(Y/N)! P-Please don’t do that..! It’s n-not funny…!!”

❥ Sugishita just stands there still like a statue. You’re kinda let down that he didn’t give out a reaction you were hoping for. He then slowly turns around to look at you, his eyes in a glare. He does not say a single thing, just staring down at you which is honestly making you nervous. You finally crack under the pressure of his gaze, letting out a timid “sorry”. At your words his eyes return to normal and he pats your head before turning around and continues walking as if nothing happened.

“……..”

❥ Umemiya lets out a gasp of surprise, his hand instinctively placed on the area you just hit. You couldn't help but burst out in laughter at his reaction. You just spanked Umemiya Hajime, the great leader of Bofurin. At the sound of your laughter Umemiya laughs along too, before a big grin graces his face-mischievous in his eyes. He tries to get you back, but you instantly dodge his hand-not letting him get behind you. Still unable to control your laughter, you run ahead while Umemiya follows closely behind you.

"I'm gonna getcha!"

❥ Kaji freezes as your hand makes contact with his behind. A look of shock on his face, the lollipop he's eating almost falling from his lips. Eventually, the look of surprise turns into irritation as he quickly turns back to look at you accusingly. You're unfazed by his gaze, as you laugh out loud. Swiping the lollipop from his mouth, he yells loudly at you (his headphones are still on). With his yell you laugh even harder.

"WHAT THE HECK?!"

❥ Togame just stands there for a while before he slowly turns back to face you-eyes full of confusion. It seems like he didn't even process what just happened to him. He tilts his head to the side in puzzlement. His lack of a funny reaction causes you to pout, maybe you didn't hit him hard enough. His actions almost remind you of a turtle, which causes your pout to turn into a smile. As your smile turns into giggles, Togame eventually smiles at how adorable you look. His hand reaches over to pat your head.

"You're so cute."

#wind breaker satoru nii #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker x you #sakura haruka #sakura haruka x reader #hayato suo #suo hayato x reader #nirei akihito x reader #hajime umemiya #umemiya hajime x reader #ren kaji #kaji ren x reader #togame jo #jo togame x reader #skipps writes #nirei akihito

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temis-de-leon · 1 day

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He has a nightmare where he rejected you

Characters: Lucifer and Mammon (x gn!reader, separately)

Main Masterlist

CW: very OOC since they'd never reject you to begin with, but hey, that's why it's a nightmare

A/N: the rest of the brothers, as well as the dateables, will have their own part too, but I'm writing the requests and the fics for the 500 followers event at the same time, so everything will take some time <3

Lucifer – You weren’t his first choice

Under the fear and the mistrust, you showed a clear interest in him since the beginning.

He couldn’t blame you; he was handsome, after all, and he knew his attitude was attractive to most.

And while he found you beautiful as well, you meddled too much in his family’s business and your defiance to him only felt irritable.

You were a nuisance. A threat to his Lord’s wishes.

He made sure to keep you at arms’ length except the few times he felt the need to threaten you.

Surprisingly, the more you forced him to know you, the more he couldn’t say no.

Your shared time turned enjoyable and you soon started to hang out in his office late at night or, if you were an early riser like him, in the morning during breakfast.

He should’ve expected your romantic feelings towards him, something he saw before you had the chance to tell him. The way you looked at him or blushed when he paid you attention, how you searched for his presence more and more.

He rejected you before you could even talk to him about it.

It was brutal, in a way, cold and straight to the point. He didn’t bother to pour his heart into his apology.

He had his duties to Lord Diavolo, to his family and the kingdom.

The attraction he felt for you, the love that could’ve been, wasn’t enough for him to stay.

There were two types of pain in his chest when he woke up: the pressure in his sternum caused by the sharp edge of the desk and the sting in his heart from the hurt in your eyes.

He didn’t do that, did he?

He accepted you, he accepted your love with open arms, gave his in return. Lucifer could remember the smile in your first kiss just as much as the sincerity in your voice each time you reminded him the depth of your feelings. He always opened his ribcage like you would with a book to show his reciprocation.

Staring at his paperwork in horror, the pool of saliva slowly drying under his distress, Lucifer searched for memories that could prove the existence of your relationship. Your weight on his lap, your scent in his clothes, the last message you sent him, the last time he treated you on a date.

When was that?

How many days ago?

Weeks? Months??

His fingers trembled when he pushed his hair back and he knew the sting in his eyes wasn’t due to fatigue. Now gasping, eyes wide open in panic, he got up and paced around the room, the false reality of his dreams thankfully fading away and letting him see himself pouring two drinks while you stared at him in adoration, setting you on top of the table to kiss you carelessly or letting you drag him out of the office for a good night sleep.

“Dear Diavolo” he mustered to himself, taking his coat off and letting it fall to the ground before breathing deeply. “How stupid… Stupid…”

Although not entirely, the embarrassment of suffering such despair for a nightmare washed the panic away, making him thank everything that would listen that none of his brothers were there to witness his fear and desperation.

It was the last thing he needed.

However, still hating the oneiric sight of your heartbreak, Lucifer refused to stay in the office. Reading official documents and signing them with his beautifully practised handwriting seemed like proper torture now and he knew that going back to his work would only give him more suffering dreams.

Would you hug him for the rest of the night if he asked or would you rather have the roles reversed, as it usually was? Oh, what he would do to feel your fingers through his hair and your heartbeat under his cheek. He’d stay awake forever if that meant never letting you go the way he did in his dream.

Mammon – He wouldn’t admit the truth

He thought so lowly of you during your first week in the Devildom that once he caught feelings, admitting them was simply mortifying.

The second born, Avatar of Greed, falling in love with a human? It was embarrassing at best and pathetic at worst.

Yet, he followed you every step of the way. Going to classes, to the cafeteria, back to the house once the day was over...

As days went by, he even spent more time in your room than his; watching a movie, taking a nap, studying or just hanging out.

And when he wanted to do something else? Something more… illegal and underground?

Oh, you followed. You followed him just as blindly as he followed you.

It was painful, yet wonderful.

How full his chest felt whenever you smiled or even looked at him, the complicity in your conversations, the comfortable silence you shared.

The quiet sobs that closed his throat each time he insulted you because he accidentally showed too much of himself, the horrifying emptiness of his room that engulfed him when you finally had enough and wouldn’t let him visit you out of the blue anymore.

Your feelings for him were as clear as the ones he had for you, but none of them were spoken about.

Yours came and went, first hopeful and then neglected.

His stayed.

He still followed, you just didn’t look back anymore.

He woke up crying, body hyperventilating and sweating and mind still in the horror that his dream had created.

He recognized the sheets as the ones from his bed, but everything else looked blurry and too dark to pay attention to. However, Mammon could feel the spot next to him still warm and the silhouette of your figure was visible on the mattress. A quick glance at the door and the lights of the bathroom shining through helped set his heart in a steady pace.

You were there with him, unavailable for just a couple of minutes, but soon to return to the comfort of his arms. Your clothes were mixed with his on the sofa, he was charging his DDD with your charger because his was in your room.

Even if it was hard to say out loud, Mammon loved you too much to ever let you go, as did you.

There was no possibility of that nightmare ever being real.

“Did I wake you up?”

There you stood, above him, hair completely dishevelled, eyes half closed, either from grogginess or the temporary blindness from light exposure, and hands reaching out for him. Your fingers intertwined with his as soon as they found each other and your lips slowly came down to clumsily kiss the corner of his mouth.

“What was that?” he softly laughed, quickly forgetting about the nightmare.

“Shut up, I can’t even see you”

He could only observe in tenderness and relief as you climbed over him, ignoring your side of the bed in favour of his entire torso, but, just when you were settling in, you licked your lips and stared at him, even if you weren’t entirely able to see.

“Baby, are you crying?”

“No, I’m not” he immediately answered in a defensive stance, blushing in embarrassment.

How could you know being blind as a mole?? Did you taste his tears when you kissed him?

“Mammon”

You tried to look serious, but the exhaustion betrayed you, turning your glare into a pout. He could’ve laughed at you, and he would’ve in any other situation, but the feeling of being too late to freely love you still crushed his heart and the only thing he wanted to do was to keep you close and hope you were still there by morning.

“I’m not crying” he insisted, this time in a softer tone.

That seemed to reach whatever was left of your consciousness, so you finally let your head fall on top of his chest to continue your slumber, talking one last time only to say what he needed to hear the most.

“I love you, Mams”

“I love you too” he sighed.

He’d tell you again once you were awake. And once more after that, just to make sure.

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brainoutofstock · 2 days

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[Previously on... read part 2 of accidental sugar baby here]

It was Sunday afternoon, but the bright sunlight didn’t reach the room through the thick black drapes. Your weekend schedule had been hectic as sleep wasn’t limited to nighttime anymore, you simply slept when you were tired and needed a power nap. And even that was spent in Simon’s embrace. He kept you close to himself, arms tight around your body as if he was afraid you would slip out of his apartment while he was sleeping.

He didn’t tell you anything, but he didn’t have to. You could sense there was something dark that was meddling with his consciousness, something that was probably a well hidden secret he would never reveal to you. But whatever it was, it made him crave intimacy, even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself. You had made a playful comment about how needy he was, but he just scoffed then shut you up with a kiss.

By now, you were exhausted and every single one of your muscles hurt from all the exercise you did in bed with him. But it wasn’t painful, it was uncomfortable in the best possible way, reminding you that these two days were more than just a fever dream. He didn’t just fuck you as if you were a mere toy to him, he could be gentle too, properly making love to you while whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Every time you were dancing on the edge of sleep, you couldn’t help but think about what this could be. Despite how close you were by now, you knew it was only physical. Emotionally he was far away from you, keeping a safe distance with all the baggage he was carrying with himself in secret. Your conversations were weightless, only getting a little serious whenever it was about you, but never when it was about him.

You raised your head a bit to rest your chin on his broad chest and look at his sleeping figure. He was a light snorer, but as annoying as it seemed sometimes, it was still kind of adorable and it suited him. Maybe it was the result of his once broken nose, although the reason didn’t matter. All of his battle scars screamed of his bravery, loyalty, and dedication, traits that gave you hope that maybe he could use these in a proper romantic relationship one day.

You fell asleep at one point to the soothing, steady rise and fall of his chest which was accompanied by his strong heartbeat when you finally laid your head back on his chest. Even in your sleep, your fingers were aligned with a long scar on his side, as if you were trying to heal it with just the soft touch of your fingertips. While the moment probably looked blissful from the outside, your mind was still full of troubled thoughts. You knew about his military past, and in your dream he returned to active duty, leaving you behind knowing full well you were worried to death about him.

“Love, wake up.”

It took you a few seconds to realize you weren’t dreaming, and when your eyes fluttered open, you were met by Simon’s warm amber eyes. He was here with you in bed, his strong arm holding you firmly by the waist, grounding you as you slowly returned to reality. As you returned to him. While you couldn’t see your eyes, it became obvious there was a certain level of worry or sadness in them, maybe both, when he gulped and you saw that sad look on his face. He was clearly concerned about you, a reaction you were honestly grateful for.

“What did you dream about?” he asked before pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Nothing,” you mumbled in response, feeling silly that such thoughts would even appear in your stupid head. He had said it himself once, he had enough of the battlefield and wanted to live a peaceful life now. But Simon didn’t seem to believe you, because his free hand moved up to cup your cheek and his thumb began to draw circles into your flesh. With a sigh, you decided to explain your complicated feelings. “You went back to the military. I begged you to stay, but you still went back.”

To your surprise, he let out a deep laugh. “I would never leave if you asked me to stay,” he informed you with a smile.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from saying something you would regret later. You hadn’t put a label on whatever this was yet, and here he was, promising something you weren’t sure he would keep if the time came. Who the hell were you to him? Just someone he spent time with, someone he bought gifts for, someone he had sex with. Beyond that, you were just strangers.

“Now that we are both awake, how about another round?”

That cheeky grin made you weak, but sex was the last thing on your mind. Shaking your head, you tried to push him away to get out of bed, hoping some distance and maybe a glass of cold water would help you think straight again. But Simon used his strength to keep you in place, eventually grabbing you and turning you on your back so he would be on top, his right knee nestled between your legs, and his arms resting on both sides of your head. He didn’t say a word, he just gave you an expectant look and knew you would eventually start to talk.

Gulping, you looked away and tried to keep your composure. You couldn’t cry, no matter how painful it was to hold back your tears. You could feel the pressure build up in your head, the dull pain that was situated right under your eyes, a feeling you could only be freed from if you gave in and let the tears fall. Too bad Simon saw through the tough girl façade as he soon placed a soft kiss on your cheek, letting his lips move over to your mouth when you finally decided to look at him. Once the eye contact was there, he rested his forehead against yours and took a deep breath.

“Sweetheart, it will only work if you talk to me. What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

“What is it? What is it that won’t work?”

His eyes narrowed and slightly tilted his head to the side as he tried to figure out what you meant by that. Was he really this slow? Or was he just playing some stupid game with you? For a moment you wondered if he enjoyed seeing you suffer. Did he get a kick out of this? Was your pain his drug that made him feel euphoric? You began to spiral, your thoughts slowly drifting away as you unintentionally began to paint the image of a sadist in your head.

Simon placed a soft kiss on your nose before he let out a long, troubled sigh. “I have no idea. But I know that it is something I want to fight for. I don’t want to lose you,” he replied quietly, his almost trembling voice giving away that it was a brand new feeling for him too.

Maybe he was right. Maybe whatever it was, you were both supposed to fight for it.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost #call of duty #modern warfare #mw2 #mw3

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cressidagrey · 3 days

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Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 1

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings:

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Magical Orthodontry...

(I should probably mention that my thoughts about plastic surgery/any kind of cosmetic enhancement are pretty much that as long as the person who has it done likes the result, it does not matter if anybody else thinks they needed it.

It’s their body, their choice and if they think they look prettier with a new nose/straighter teeth/fuller lips, good for them.

For myself, I love what braces did for my teeth and what one of those heatless curler things currently does for my hair lol)

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

It was bad.

Eira shouldn’t have expected any differently.

Maybe it had been the promise of mail-order catalogues that had made her think that maybe this time she wasn’t going to want to die halfway through her biannual week of torture…

But there was nothing the shadows could do, short of giving her pain potions that rendered her unconscious and plying her with soup.

She let them.

She was too weak to protest, in too much pain…feeling like a baby bird that needed them to slowly spoon broth in her mouth so that she only needed to swallow.

But at least they were there. They didn’t leave her alone. Regardless of when she woke up…at what time of day or night…they were there.

Ready with pain potions and armed with soup, and when she just needed something to get her mind off the pain, they told her stories.

Little fables of Illyria and Prythian…children’s stories.

Maybe one day she could tell the same stories to Nyx.

It took 4 days… halfway through that week, when there was a knock at her door.

Elain, the shadows whispered into her ear and she held back a groan.

She didn’t want to deal with her sister.

“Come in!” she called nonetheless and only then realised that she still had the key in the lock. The shadows swarmed out to turn it and then disappeared, scurrying underneath her desk.

She forced herself to sit up, wondering how much of a mess she looked…probably like death warmed over twice, but to be completely honest…she wasn’t pretty on a good day, so what did it matter?

Becoming Fae had somehow perfected the faces of her sisters. They still looked like themselves, but the cauldron had seemingly made them much more symmetrical, their limbs longer, their ears pointed…and for Elain, the cauldron…it had turned her from beautiful into otherworldly gorgeousness.

For Eira…it had made her ears pointy.

No, wait that wasn’t true…Her hair was seemingly even more unmanageable than it ever had been as a human…and her teeth…the less was said about that was better.

She had already been self-conscious about them as a human. As a fae, surrounded by ridiculously attractive people every day, it was…something else entirely.

“Good Morning,” Eira said quietly. Elain stared at her, surprise etched on her face.

“Have you really spent the few days moping in your bed?” she asked, judgment clear in her voice. Eira wanted to bristle. Hadn’t Elain done the exact same thing when she had first been made? And Elain hadn’t had the excuse of a cycle for it.

“Yes, Elain,” she said back quietly. “It’s….It’s that time of the year,” she mumbled, looking at everything but her sister. If Elain couldn’t even smell the thick cloying scent of blood that was clinging to Eira, she couldn’t help her.

Elain just harrumphed. “Look, I do realise that I may have been needlessly harsh,” she said, crossing her arms. Somehow managing to sound gracious even now.“But you do need to realise, Eira, that that is never going to go anywhere.”

Eira blinked. Twice.

Somebody put her heart into a vice and crushed it.

Of all the things she had expected Elain to say…this wasn’t it.

“Azriel is completely disinterested,” Elain continued. “And it would be better for you if you finally realised that.”

“What does it matter to you?” Eira finally managed to bring out, her voice thankfully not shaking…And still….she sounded…weak. That’s what she sounded like.

“I want you to be happy. And thirsting after a male that will never return your affections you won’t do that,” Elain said with a roll of her eyes. “He’s not going to change his mind, Eira.”

Eira flinched at Elain’s words. She couldn’t help it.

Even when she knew…she knew her sister was right. She knew that…

“You should just stop your pathetic attempts of flirting with him. All you manage is to make him uncomfortable,” Elain continued with a roll of her eyes.

Pathetic attempts of flirting? What did Elain even mean? Her nervous ramblings? Her stolen glances? The way her heart skipped a beat when she got to see him?

She had never asked him out…on a date or anything else…she had never even mentioned courting in his near vicinity. She had done nothing, said nothing to Azriel that made her feelings obvious to him.

It was all just…

“There are plenty of fish in the sea…” Elain said with a sigh. “You’ll find somebody else one day,” Elain told her, sounding some mixture between pitying and bored, as she turned to go. “Do you want me to ask Feyre to send Madja?”

“No, thank you. I have pain potions,” Eira whispered, and Elain turned on her heel, marching back out of her room.

Eira listened to her sister leave…she buried her face in her pillows.

“Would you lock the door, please?” She whispered.

Nobody else. Just her.

Why shouldn’t Elain once again stab her in the same wound…why not? Why…

And then…somehow it was like somebody flipped a switch.

She turned angry. Angry at Elain, at her twin sister. Who hid behind this veil of sisterly worry and only used it to hurt Eira?

She was so…she was so…She was so angry.

She never was angry. But right now it was swelling beneath her skin and she wanted…she wanted… Not revenge. Not really.

She made Azriel uncomfortable with what? With nervous ramblings and stolen glances?

Fine. She would stop that. She would stop all of that.

She wouldn’t even talk to him again, so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable. She would ignore him. She would be icily polite and that was that.

And she would find herself a husband and have all the babies she wanted and that would be that. She would find herself…somebody else. Somebody who wanted her. Somebody for whom she wasn’t annoying…who she didn’t make uncomfortable.

Somebody for herself.

Something for herself.

She would fill her room with stupid trinkets she bought herself because nobody else would do it for her. She would buy pretty dresses that tried to mask that she wasn’t as pretty as her sisters. She would do all of that.

And what her sisters thought about any of that…well, she didn’t fucking care. Not anymore.

She wasn’t the only one angry. The shadows were hissing, spitting, swirling menacingly, nearly filling the whole room…and she wasn’t scared. That didn’t even cross her mind.

How dares she? The shadows hissed. She owed you an apology, not…not this.

Maybe for the first time in her life, Eira Archeron wanted to be utterly and completely selfish.

Nobody was going to put her first. Not if she didn’t do it herself.

“I’ll be buying myself something horribly expensive,” she finally said, her voice shaking.

Do it, the shadows said, amusement bleeding into their voice, still angrily swirling, coming to wrap around her wrists. Buy whatever you want.

They dropped a catalogue next to her hands, and Eira reached out to take it with shaky hands.

Whatever she wanted.

The problem was only, she had no idea what she wanted.

Maybe a new dress? Maybe some jewellery…like a necklace? Or a bracelet?

A ring?

Like the rings her sisters had? Given to them by their mates, who loved them?

Feyre’s Sapphire? The Ruby that encircled Nesta’s finger since her mating ceremony?

Or maybe Elain’s ring…gold and diamond, looking like the rays of the sun, so fitting for the future wife of the heir to the Day Court.

No. No jewellery.

These godforsaken pearl earrings had been enough.

Something Eira wanted. Something Eira needed.

Eira could use a new pair of shoes. She already had brought her old ones to the cobbler thrice. Maybe…that wasn’t a ridiculous request after all…

She opened the catalogue, paging through it until she found the shoe section. She stared at the little pictures accompanying them. Humans hadn’t yet figured out how to do print in full colour, but the drawings on this page were brightly colourful. Clearly not a problem here in Prythian.

She quickly slipped over the pages that had silk slippers and pretty heels on them. That wasn’t practical to run after Nyx with, right? Then she found a page with practical leather shoes… decisively female, a small heel…they weren’t that dissimilar to human fashion.

She examined them closer. “Laces or Buckle? What do you think?” she asked the shadows. The ones with shoelaces were cheaper…but if she bought one with the buckles, she could also change them out, buy extra buckles…swap them with a crystal-embellished buckle or silver for gold…

All of that was possible.

The ones with the buckles! The shadows said quickly.

“They are pretty, aren’t they?” Eira commented and marked the page by folding down one corner as she turned the page.

Definitely one contender.

She couldn’t remember ever having done anything similar before.

When she had still been human, as a child her mother had reigned over her wardrobe with an iron fist. They had never been allowed to pick out anything.

And then later…after they had lost their fortune…well, picking out anything involved turning around every clipped copper coin.

She had never been able to just…leisurely look at things and find the pretty and think about buying them…without even really looking at the price tag attached to them.

Eira flipped back to the shoes, the tip of her finger tracing the writing…she had always been atrocious at reading. The letter tended to change their position, and it hadn’t changed as a Fae either. and she could never tell that to anybody, because the one time she had, her finger had been violently rapped by a wooden ruler and that had been that.

If she just took her time…carefully…it worked. Just took her longer. She found the price attached to the shoes, knowing that even without the shadows, she could afford them.

She had stashed away money in the chest at the foot of her bed after all. Not a lot but…enough for the shoes.

Eira paged through more of the catalogue…oohing and awwing over dresses, where the shadows tried to talk her into buying herself a ballgown much to her amusement, though in the end, they agreed on a pretty blue-grey dress with billowing sleeves cuffed at her wrist…

Eira would never feel comfortable in the Night Court fashion of cropped tops and pants…she would much rather be covered up completely. But that dress…that looked quite pretty.

She turned to the next page, and the next after that, trawling her way through skirts and cardigans and shirt waists…

And then Eira found the fabric section, biting her lip. Any time she had gone to a fabric shop in Velaris, it had been to buy fabric for a gift for her sisters. Never for herself. She didn’t need anything.

That’s pretty, the shadows whispered in her ear, seemingly solidifying to point out a specific cotton print on that page.

She wondered how they even saw anything. They didn’t have eyes. But then magic seemed to be the answer to nearly everything in Prythian.

It was pretty. A ditsy little floral print…white ground, green leaves…It was pretty. So was a white cotton gauze with little dots…that was the one that she considered seriously. The price was good…she could use a new dress for her birthday…

She marked that page as well, flipping over to the next…and there it was.

It was an advertisement that caught her eye, and she was nearly flicking to the next page as she caught the word teeth.

“Faes can fix teeth?“ she asked weakly, as she read that advertisement, a promise about cosmetic procedures…like full lashes and eyebrows and…perfect teeth.

Perfect teeth.

“Could they fix mine?” she asked, desperation bleeding into her voice.

Her teeth were…well, her greatest insecurity on a good day. They were…fine. It wasn’t painful at least. It was just that her two front teeth were too big for her face…which made her look like…

What’s wrong with your teeth? Do they hurt you? You’ll need a healer for that, the shadows said immediately, worriedly.

“They are too big. Just the two front teeth. I look like a rabbit,” she admitted in a whisper. Or a mole rat. Her mother had preferred the latter.

Everything else could be fixed one way or another…but nothing could be fixed for her teeth.

When she had been a child she had still hoped that she would grow into them, but that had never happened.

And not even the cauldron had thought it would be prudent to fix them. Leaving her with them…still standing out starkly.

They were the reason why she never smiled widely, why she made sure to talk with her lips pulled over them…why she didn’t wear bright lipstick.

A few dozen things that she didn’t do because of them.

You do not look like a rabbit, the shadows disagreed with a snort…and then after a moment: Do they bother you?

They asked that like it was a near foreign thing…like…

“My mother used to…She used to tell me that…” She tried to bring the words over her lips but she choked on them. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t…

Once you feel better, you can go and have them changed to however you want to look, the shadows told her softly. Do they truly bother you that much?

“I know that I won’t ever be the beautiful one. But…if…If I could just feel…just feel pretty…just once,” she whispered, staring at that advertisement.

If they could just fix her teeth…

As soon as you feel better, the shadows promised her. But that’s not ridiculously expensive. Neither is one single pair of shoes, that dress….or a few yards of that fabric. Nearly teasing.

But it was nice teasing. Sweet teasing. Teasing that did nothing but make a small smile appear on her face.

“I could always buy more fabric,” she gave back, biting her lip and the shadows tugged at her fingers in response.

But if magic could fix her teeth…maybe it could also fix her hair.

A light brown mess on her head that never did what she wanted it to do…

“Is there something for my hair as well?” she asked hesitantly, and the shadows flipped through her catalogue until it brought her to a page with hair care supplies.

There are potions you can use…enchanted brushes too, they told her. You’ll want something for naturally curly hair.

They didn’t need to tell Eira that twice.

The morning she stopped bleeding she was out on the streets of Velaris as soon as the sun rose…dropping off the dresses she had hemmed, and picking up her newest commissions and then walking to that shop that promised her perfect teeth.

It was a woman, a female, her age who looked up from the magazine she was reading, took one look at her, asked for a handful of gold coins…gave her a mirror in her hand and then drily said: “Just say stop when they have the size you want.”

And that was that.

Eira could have wept with her gratitude.

Her teeth looked perfect. Just like she had so often hoped they would look.

The same could be said about her hair after one bath with her new potions and a run-through with her enchanted brush.

Unmanageable frizzy hair that never looked like she wanted it to look?

With magic no more. Thick, perfect, glossy curls fell over her shoulders in fat ringlets.

To say that she was in a good mood after that…It was the understatement of a dozen centuries at least.

Eira was ecstatic.

She loved it. She felt…she felt so pretty. For once.

“Good Morning!” she chirped as she entered the dining room. Not even the sight of Elain pouring over her wedding binders could put a dent in her happiness that morning.

“Good Morning,” Elain responded, staring at her like she had gone mad but Eira didn’t care, as she poured herself a cup of tea, took a slice of toast, smeared jam all over it...

“It’s a beautiful day outside, isn’t it?” she asked brightly, as she took a bite, chewed, swallowed…

Elain stared at her.

“Eira…what did you do with your teeth?” her sister asked her, staring at her.

“I got them fixed! Isn’t that great? Magic can do that!” she enthused. They were perfect! They looked just like she wanted them to look!

It was like thunder pulled over Elain’s expression. “You can’t be serious!” she snapped. “What were you thinking?!”

“That I got my teeth fixed?” Eira gave back questioningly. What did it even matter to Elain? Couldn’t she just be happy? Eira was so fucking happy about her choice.

“This doesn’t change things, Eira!” Elain said harshly. “It’s still never going to go anywhere!”

She opened her mouth to respond, but she was beaten to it.

“What is never going to go anywhere?” Feyre’s voice came from the doorway as she entered, Nyx on her hips, staring around the room…waving chubby little arms in Eira’s direction that made her smile at him brightly.

“Eira’s little crush on Azriel,” Elain said evenly. “He’s completely disinterested. and she has gone and gotten her teeth fixed in some hare-brained attempt to…”

“What does it matter to you?” Eira interrupted her. This had nothing to do with…him. This had been for her. Because she was the one her teeth bothered, long before she had ever even met him. “They aren’t your teeth.”

Feyre stared at her and Eira smiled brightly, showing all her teeth…something she would have never done before. But now she did.

“Your teeth were fine before,” Feyre told her, staring at her like she couldn’t quite believe that Eira had gone and done this.

“My teeth were too big for my mouth,” Eira disagreed. And really, she didn’t understand why she even needed to defend herself on this. “The last time I checked I was allowed to do with my body whatever I wanted,” she murmured under her breath.

And this…this was harmless. This was just fixing her teeth. It didn’t hurt anybody. Not her, not anybody else…

Feyre didn’t seem convinced. “How much money did you spend on this?” her sister asked her, a sharpness sinking into her voice and Eira crossed her arms.

“Not a single coin that belongs to you or your mate,” she gave back, her voice cold. “I spend my money, money I earned, on something that I wanted.”

She was allowed to want things. Whatever she wanted, the shadows had promised her and they had kept that promise.

“Did you do this because of Azriel?” Feyre asked, softening slightly. “Eira, that’s not going to work.”

She knew that.

“My whole life does not revolve around other people,” Eira said calmly, meeting her sister's gaze. “I wanted it.”

“He’s still not going to be interested in you,” Elain snorted.

Once again. Hitting that one weak spot her sister had sussed out.

People always thought that Elain was oh-so-sweet. What they forgot was that even the most beautiful, most fragrant rose had its thorns.

She said nothing. Didn’t flinch away. Didn’t say anything.

“It’s true,” Feyre said with a sigh, actually agreeing with Elain. “I have wanted to talk to you about that, Eira…” her sister said, visibly uncomfortable. “Could you at least try to get over him? It’s…it would be better for…this court.”

Of course, it would be. This court.

Because that’s what mattered, right? That’s what mattered to the High Lady.

That the court was functional. That the spymaster wasn’t uncomfortable…that her sister wasn’t having a ridiculous puppy crush on another member of this court.

And what was Eira supposed to say to this?

What was she supposed to say to that?

Eira’s feelings didn’t really matter anyway. They were nothing but an inconvenience.

“I am sorry,” she said, her voice quiet, staring at her hands so that she didn’t need to look at two of her sisters…so they wouldn’t see the tears gathering in her eyes. “I’ll make sure that my feelings won’t inconvenience anybody else ever again.”

“That’s not…” Feyre started, but Eira shook her head.

“I understand,” she said, the words tasting like ash in her mouth, all her appetite gone, as she stood to go back to her room.

#lightning in a bottle #acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #my writing

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