#fluffiest fluff to ever fluff

[babyleostuff]

my nerdy cutie pie

[concreteburialplot]

Wallflower 🌸 // 03

03 - Deflowering

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x F!Reader [Wallflower]

Masterlist: here | Crossposted: ao3 | Playlist: here | Word Count: 9.3k

Summary; After your hangout with Sam at The Arcade turns into something more, you find yourself vulnerable with him in a way you’ve never been fully comfortable with before. When you explain your lack of experience, he takes it upon himself to teach you with patience and care.

Warnings; tooth-rotting sweetness, petnames, alcohol, demisexuality !!!!, loss of virginity (kinda), oral (f & m receiving), unprotected, grinding? riding?, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, gentlemanly sammy, shower, aftercare !!, unrealistic college experiences lol, 18+ MDNI

A/N; thank you so much to anyone who read parts 1 & 2, it makes me so happy to know it was enjoyed so much 🩷

Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does not reflect any members of the band or their real lives/actions/etc. - i hope you like it 💞🌸

vibes this chapter; wish on an eyelash - mallrat the alchemy - taylor swift touch tank - quinnie can’t help falling in love - kacey musgraves

The next day snailed by incredibly slow. Something about it felt different but you couldn’t place why. You had raided your entire half of the closet trying to find an outfit worth wearing to an arcade. As much as you wanted to wear a short little sundress, you figured it was best to opt for high-waisted shorts and a light blue baby tee. 

Sitting on your folded legs in front of the mirror, you analyzed your reflection. The weight of insecurity yanked you back down to earth from the fluffy cloud you’d been sitting on since yesterday. The dullness of your skin and your tired eyes seemed to scream at you, chants of inadequacy. Of course Sam wouldn’t be interested in you like that, if he was why wouldn’t he have invited you to the event himself instead of Jake, or better yet, asked you on a solo date. He was easily the most beautiful boy on campus and looking at yourself then, you couldn’t imagine him looking twice at you.

This is it, you told yourself. 

No matter how much your brain wanted to hold you back, something in you pushed you forward. 

One full go, you thought, go all out to impress him and if that’s not enough then you knew it’d be time to squash the infatuation for good. 

You pulled out your larger makeup bag that held the rest of your cosmetics outside of your essentials, the one you only took out for special occasions. Along with your makeup you pulled out your favorite hair tool.

You took your time, making every mark on your face with meticulous precision to accentuate your features perfectly - not too much and not too little. That attention to detail carried on to your hair as well, crafting it to the hair that made you feel the most put together, most beautiful. Finishing off the entire look with some lip oil, you looked stunning and definitely the best he’d ever seen you. Before leaving the dorm, you made sure to spray yourself down with your favorite perfume, making sure to hit all the pulse points. 

When you arrived at The Arcade, the flashing lights and bustling crowd made it impossible to spot Sam or the rest of the boys right away. You scanned the sea of avid players, feeling slightly out of place as you stood there, searching through the chaos. After a few moments of awkwardly lingering, you heard your name being called from somewhere in the distance. You followed the sound, weaving through the crowd, until you spotted Sam waving you over with a wide grin.

As you approached, his expression shifted. His eyes widened, blinking as he took you in, his gaze sweeping over you in a way that was anything but subtle.

“You look so... nice,” he said, practically breathless, the words coming out on an exhale, almost as if he hadn’t meant to say them out loud. What you didn’t realize was how his nerves had begun to settle in, creeping through him with every step you took. There wasn’t much that rattled Sam, but somehow, in the time you’d known each other, you had become one of the few things that did.

Peach rose to your cheeks at the compliment. You took in his own appearance, his outfit was simple with plain jeans and the same rusty shirt you’d returned to him. As always, he made you nervous as well with his face perfectly sculpted and tan, and his hair voluminous and wavy. You were jealous at how effortlessly beautiful he was. “So do you.” You replied politely.

He smiled a toothy grin at the compliment, and you could’ve sworn you saw a flush on his cheeks as well. 

“So…where is everyone?” You asked, noticing that he was alone, and this was supposed to be a group event. 

“Oh,” He looked all around behind him at the bustling arcade. “The rest of them brought dates so, they’re kinda scattered.”

You had to keep your eyes from widening. 

Did that mean you were his date all along and you had no idea?

“Let’s get drinks first!” He suggested cheerily. Sam had already had a beer to calm his nerves before you arrived, but he’d never tell you that. He guided you over to the neon bar with a gentle hand on your lower back. The warmth of his palm was enough to make you dizzy, feeling the heat radiate into your hips. Once at the counter, you recognized the bartender, it was Sam’s food delivery friend from the other morning. It seemed that Sam had friends and connections everywhere.

“What’ll be Samuel, another beer?” The tan boy asked as he was shaking a metal container full of a beverage for another patron. 

Sam quickly diverted the conversation before you could focus on the implication of his pregame beer, “I’ll take an Ale and,” He pivoted to you with a hand waiting for your answer. 

“I’ll have a White Claw.” You replied, not wanting to carry around an open glass or be too complicated. 

He shifted back towards the bartender with a cheeky smile, “And a White Claw for the lady.” 

You leaned against the counter, letting your eyes scan your lively surroundings. The arcade buzzed with chaotic energy, lights flashing in every direction and the air thick with a mix of laughter, competitive shouts, and the relentless dinging of machines. The place was packed — drunk college students crowded around the neon-lit games, hollering at their wins and groaning at their losses, creating a cacophony that was almost as overwhelming as it was fun. It was so packed that you still hadn’t even caught a glimpse of the other three boys. 

Thankfully though, since it was an adult arcade there were no children running about. But a room full of drunk college kids wasn’t much quieter or less chaotic. Their energy was contagious, but also a little suffocating. You scratched your arm, feeling the overstimulation prickle at your skin, trying to ground yourself in something other than the barrage of noise. The clatter of skee-ball, the rapid-fire clicks of buttons, and the constant beeping and flashing lights seemed to swirl around you. Just as you took a deep breath, Sam’s hand tenderly found your arm, giving it a little squeeze causing the tense energy in your chest to calm just a bit. It was a tiny gesture, but it was soothing, like ice on a swelling injury.

“You okay?” His brows furrowed up in concern and you were a bit self-conscious that he could notice your discomfort so easily. 

You plastered a smile across your lips and nodded, “Yeah, yeah. It’s just a little loud.” You didn’t want to worry him, you knew that once you both were playing something and the alcohol entered your system that you’d relax.

He grinned softly, “Let me know if it gets too much, okay?” 

“Will do.” You nodded but wanted to move off the subject as soon as possible, not wanting to make it into a bigger deal than it was. 

He handed you your beverage and brought his own bottle to clink against your can.  “C’mon I already loaded the token card.” He gestured towards the games and walked towards the entrance, looking over the room as if it was full of opportunities. “What’re ya feelin’?” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” You shrugged, suddenly overwhelmed at all the options. So, you defaulted to a classic. “Air hockey?” 

A mischievous grin curled at the edges of his lips, “Oh you are so on.”

You giggled as you trailed behind him towards the blue and white table, “You’re right because I’m a fucking pro at air hockey.” 

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” He took his spot with the red paddle, leaving you with the blue one on the opposite side. “Ready?” 

“Fuck yeah.” You spread your legs into a competitive stance. 

Sam slid the card through the slot with a smirk, eyes glinting with playful competitiveness, then the machine lit up with a cheerful jingle as the air hockey table whirred to life. Pucks rattled onto the surface, and you were quick to grab your flat, blue paddle, feeling the cool rush of air from the table against your hands as you slid into position.

With an almost effortless swipe, you sent a puck spiraling into Sam’s goal. Another shot followed right after, zipping across the table like lightning. A playful grin crept onto your face as you dodged another puck and sent it straight into the slot.

Sam, meanwhile, was determined. His brown hair fell into his eyes, but with a swift motion, he tucked it behind his ear, never breaking focus. His tongue peeked between his lips as he squinted with laser-sharp concentration, brows furrowed and eyes flicking back and forth as he tracked every puck that dared to cross into his zone. It was hard not to laugh at how intensely he was taking the game—and yet, it made him look even more attractive, a balance of beautiful and utterly adorable. You could tell there was nothing more in his head right then than winning, even though he wasn’t. You contemplated letting him win to boost his ego but your competitive streak wouldn’t relent. 

With one last clank into the goal, your scores blinked on the archway above the table: 280 | 420

“What the hell, you must’ve cheated or something.” He huffed.

“I think this might be a long night for you, Kiszka.” You teased.

“We’ll see about that.” He retorted confidently, squaring his shoulders.

From Mario Cart to coin pushers to Wheel of Fortune and claw machines, your winning streak would not quit. The only game he had had any luck in was a rhythm based game where you had to hit specific panels in time with the beat. He soon caught onto the fact that he easily won those so he had dragged you to every single music-centered game. 

“7 Tokens left.” He informed.

“Hmmm.” You scanned over the floor, before you could suggest anything he let out a small, excited, “Oh!”

You look up at him with a tilted head.

He pointed to the back left corner. “Photobooth, let’s go!”

You grinned wide at his suggestion and the pure excitement in his voice, but it quickly fell as he ran towards the booth. You stood there frozen, unexpectedly flooded with the nervousness of being so close to him in such a cramped space. 

However, a wave of pride washed over you when you remembered how perfect you made yourself look that night. If Sam was gonna have a picture of you forever, you’d make sure it was a good one. 

With newly reinvigorated confidence you made your way over to Sam with your head held high. “Well, get in, let's go.” 

“Okay, okay, miss bossy.” He raised his hands up in defense before swiping the token card. He used his hand to pull the curtain door aside and slid into the bench. 

When you joined him inside the pod-shaped booth you realized it was most definitely meant to be for children from how small the bench was, with Sam taking up most of the real estate. 

“Oh.” You said softly, feeling out of place and a tad sad that it wasn’t something you both could do together anymore. 

“It’s okay.” He gestured towards himself with a swift hand. “Just sit on my lap.” 

Your eyes rounded slightly in surprise, but you nodded, a bit unsure. As you took a tentative step toward him, your foot caught the step up, and before you knew it, you stumbled, falling right into his lap. A soft gasp escaped your lips as you landed, your heart racing from the sudden movement.

Before you could even process what had happened, his arms were around you, steadying you in place. His hold was firm yet comforting, and he let out a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Warmth spread across your skin beginning from your cheeks, it was a simple phrase but one that made you weak in the knees. “Thanks.” You breathed out with a humiliated smile. 

He kept one hand securely clasped around your hip while the other fumbled with the photobooth controls. “Alright, we got 20 seconds.” He said, his voice tinged with playful urgency. 

“Okay!” You giggled, sitting up as much as you could and ready to strike the silly pose the screen was prompting. 

“Oh, wait!” He interrupted and goosebumps spread across your body when you felt his hand cradle your cheek, pressing his thumb into your cheekbone. “You’ve got an eyelash.” Seamlessly, he slid his hand down your face so that his fingertips held your chin while his thumb presented itself in front of your lips. “Make a wish.” And when you didn’t immediately follow his direction, he clarified your confusion, “It’s good luck!” 

You glanced down at the eyelash, then met his eyes—deep brown and earnest. The air between you was thick with anticipation, your breath mingling in the small, dimly lit space. You blew a gentle puff of air, sending the eyelash tumbling away, but Sam’s gaze remained locked on yours. The moment felt like it stretched on for far longer than it did.

Suddenly, you were extremely aware of his closeness and the hand that never left your cheek. His eyes darted to your lips, and you felt a palpable shift in the air. The playful tension melted into something more profound, more urgent. Your heart was frantic in your chest and your breath was held in the back of your throat. With every passing second, the space between you seemed to shrink until it felt almost unbearable. You could feel his breath warm against your skin, his touch tender yet electric.

Sam’s gaze returned to yours, searching, and you could no longer ignore the pull between you. Without another word, Sam leaned in, and your heart raced as he closed the distance. His lips met yours in a soft, tentative kiss, your eyes fluttering closed at the soft pillow-y feeling of his lips. The photobooth camera flashed, capturing the perfect moment in a burst of color and light. The world outside ceased to exist as you melted into the kiss, feeling the soft press of his lips and the thrill of something new and undeniable.

You both melted into the kiss, your lips moving together with a tender intensity that felt exhilarating. You shifted in his lap for easier access to his lips without parting from him. Your hands found the sides of his face, holding him there so gentle yet firm. He kept one hand on your cheek and the other on your hip anchoring you in place. The photobooth captured each frame, preserving the sweet, stolen moments for eternity. When the flashing finished, you finally pulled back, breathless and wide-eyed. 

His pupil-blown eyes bounced between yours, seemingly searching for something - perhaps some sign that you enjoyed it, even though it was quite obvious you did. When neither of you said anything, he spoke up first. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He breathed out. 

“You have?” You whispered back, still in disbelief. 

He chuckled, “Yeah, silly. Was it not obvious?” 

A blush grew on your cheeks. “Maybe. Maybe I’m just oblivious.” 

“I think so, Wallflower.” He smiled and used his hand still on your cheek to smoothly pull you into another kiss. It was soft yet sparking, full of tension suppressed from the past couple weeks. It was nice to finally have him in the way you’d been daydreaming about for so long. When he pulled away, his eyes were filled with both adoration and need. His skin was tingling with excitement every place your bodies touched, and he desired more of you. “You wanna get out of here?” 

You nodded quickly, full of the exact same need and tension. “Take me home, Sam.” You expelled on a breath.

After collecting the photo strips that preserved the sweetness of your first kiss together, you both snuck out of The Arcade without a single goodbye to anyone. 

The trek home was drunk, giddy and affectionate, new love now sparked fully and openly between you both. It was still so new that all the touches were charged but reserved. It was like driving a new car, so excited to take it for all it's got but wanting to preserve the shiny newness. Your hands entwined together, giggling, leaning back and forth on each other just to feel the others’ warmth. 

Once inside the elevator heading to your floor, the playfulness didn’t end. His arms wrapped around you from behind, getting you used to the feeling of his lips on your cheek. It was around floor 2 that a mischievous grin spread across Sam’s lips, his hands slowly headed for your midsection and quickly attacked. You let out a squeal at  the sudden tickling, not expecting at all. “Ah!” You got out between giggles, “Sammy!” 

He just laughed victoriously as you squirmed in his grasp, counting down the seconds til the elevator doors opened for the 3rd floor. 

The second those metal doors slid open you took off like a gazelle trying to escape a predator. “Stay away from me!” You called down the hall without care for the sleeping students residing behind the walls.

“I’m faster than you!” He said, quickly catching up to you. 

You ran to the end of the hallway and realized you had nowhere else to go. His door was closest to you and so you scrambled trying to open it in hopes that he’d forgotten to lock it. Unfortunately for you, he hadn’t.

“Ha, I gotcha!” He announced, his fingers finding their way to your middle again causing you to nearly double over in uncontrollable laughter. When he realized you were wriggling around enough to escape, he grasped your waist and lifted you up. You instinctively wrapped your legs and arms around him for stability. 

As you slid down into where his hands supported you at his hips, the giggles that filled the air dissipated. You both took one look at each other before your lips met feverishly. It was the first heated kiss you shared together, and it had lightning striking all over your body.

His soft lips that you only just learned the feeling of, pressed hard against your own. You mutually opened your mouths and allowed each other in. He tasted like beer and cigarettes in the best possible way. You wished you could bottle up the scent, taste and feeling of him.

He pressed you against the door as he hurriedly searched his pockets for his dormkey. As he worked, your hands buried themselves into his hair trying to see how much you could distract him. By some miracle he got the door open, took one single loop around just to press you against the other side of the door. 

Your tongues danced together, neither one fighting for dominance but desperately needing the other. He pulled away just to drop his head into your neck and had your eyes widening when you felt his lips meet your pulse point. 

“Sam.” You breathed out, your legs still wrapped around him tugging his hips tighter against your core. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of him sucking at your skin. The tingling feeling beneath his lips felt like it dropped directly to your center, blooming a buzzing need there. Your fingers gripped into the roots of his hair as you let out a moan you disguised as a sigh when his teeth lightly dug into your flesh. 

His hands slid up your thighs, giving them a strong squeeze as he pressed himself further against you, letting you feel how mutual the energy was. He let out a little frustrated groan against your neck before pulling you off the door and carrying you to his bed. He didn’t let you fall but carefully set you down, his mouth never leaving your neck. If there was one thing for certain, it was that there would be evidence of this night tomorrow. 

He began moving his kisses down, “I need to taste you.” He mumbled and you froze at the implication. He seemed to pick up on it and stopped, looking up at you curiously through thick brown lashes. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked lifting his head up to eye level with you. 

“I um,” You began but fell short. 

“We don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.” He reassured quickly, feeling a bit guilty for jumping the gun.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just…” You trailed off hoping he’d put it together, but he anxiously awaited your words. “I’ve never… done… that.” You finally explained with an embarrassed grimace and when the look of realization hit his features you covered your face with your hands. You wanted to roll over and die in humiliation. 

“Oh.” He replied simply, obviously not thinking this was going to be part of the journey. But just because he wasn’t expecting it to be part of the experience, didn’t make him any less excited, just more concerned about your comfort. 

“I know, it’s so embarrassing!” You squeaked beneath your hands. This was the last thing you expected happening tonight and you were nowhere near ready to explain that you’d only done some of the basics and none of them were ever pleasant for you. You’d get to a certain point with a couple boys but couldn’t do anything more than fingers and handjobs. You always fell short for one reason or another, for a while you thought you might’ve even been asexual, but you were definitely not questioning that label now. You never had real feelings for the other boys, but you did for Sam, and maybe that was the difference. 

“Hey,” He said, cupping your hands with his own, pulling them apart gently. “It’s okay. It’s not embarrassing.” He reassured and you wouldn’t have believed him if it hadn’t been for that loving smile of his. “If you want, we can stop now. If you wanna continue, then I can show you how good things can feel. Okay?” 

You nodded, “I wanna continue.” You replied quicker than you intended and blushed at the smirk it brought him. 

“Okay then,” He smiled and leaned down to kiss you again. “How about we do like…” He thought for a second, “Colors? Like red, yellow, green? So that you can tell me if you need me to slow down or stop?” 

You didn’t expect a boy to be so accommodating or understanding, you were flooded with the comforting feeling of being cared for. “Okay.” You nodded down at him as he continued his original path. 

His hands snaked down your sides lingering at the hem of your tee. “Shirt?” 

You mulled it over in your head, the bra you chose was nice and had some lace, so you nodded. “Green.” 

He smiled and helped you slip out of it. He took a moment to admire you, “God you’re beautiful.” His head dipped back into the crook of your neck, placing a kiss below your ear. “I can’t wait to make you feel as good as you look.” 

Blood rushed to your cheeks at his comment and sent a flurry of butterflies between your legs. He placed slow open-mouth kisses down your neck, across your collar bones and then where the bra left your breasts exposed. You’d never been kissed there, and it felt foreign but nice. His sizable hands slithered underneath you, running his fingers across the band of your bra. “Color?” 

You hummed, not fully confident yet to commit. “Um, yellow? You can undo it but not take it off…just yet.” 

He smirked against your skin, “You got it, Baby.” 

Your heart swelled at the nickname, it was the first one he’d given you romantically. You loved the sound of it coming out of his mouth. 

He continued leaving kisses down your bare stomach until he finally reached your shorts. “Col-”

“Green!” You nearly spat out and covered your mouth with bright red cheeks. The wetness pooling between your legs was becoming all you could think about. Any time he’d suck and swirl his tongue on your skin all you could imagine was what it would feel like on the most intimate part of you. 

He chuckled at the urgency in your response. “Okay then.” 

In one swift pull of your shorts, you were left with just a thin piece of cotton protecting you from complete vulnerability. 

He kneeled down between your legs. “Oh wow.” He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his eyes locked on your covered center like he was hypnotized. What you didn’t realize was that your white panties would show just how excited you were. Two of his fingers trailed up your inner thigh until just before your core. “Color?” He asked, his voice sounding almost drunk at the sight of you. 

“Yellow.” You wanted to say green, but your nerves stopped you. “Like, green, but slow.” 

He nodded, completely entranced with you as he slowly pulled your panties down, baring you completely. You felt so vulnerable and exposed that you snatched a pillow from beside you to cover your face.

You stiffened the second you felt his touch on the lip of your pussy - it was an odd feeling, being so excited yet so incredibly nervous. 

He took his time exploring you gently, just to get you accustomed with his touch before actually doing anything. He was doing such a good job at making you feel comfortable that it was taking a little too long for you. You moved the pillow enough to peek down at him, “Green, green.” You informed, urgently.

He grinned, finding it endearing. And with that he let himself give into you completely. He pressed a kiss just above where you began before pressing his tongue gently into your clit. You were so worked up that that alone made your mouth make an “O” shape. “Oh my god.” You breathed out slowly. The feeling only worsened when you felt him smirk against where he just licked. 

“Oh, baby that’s nothing.” He said quietly before licking at your nub again. “Fuck you’re so wet and I’ve barely touched you.” 

He decided it was enough teasing and finally dove into you fully. His tongue worked diligently in slow but tight circles with an occasional vertical motion. You had long foregone the pillow by then, choosing to watch him devour you instead. 

He pulled away for just one second to say, “God, you taste like fucking heaven.” before diving right back in. 

You were convinced his tongue contained some sort of magic from how good it was making you feel. With each turn of his tongue, it sent waves of buzzing euphoria along with it. You never knew you could feel those sensations, nothing you’d done with anyone else ever felt that good. But Sam was attentive and really fucking talented at what he was doing.

Abruptly, you felt a tight knot forming in your stomach. “Oh, oh, I, I think, I-” You began but felt short of words, trying to hold on for dear life.

“Just let it happen, Baby, it’ll feel so good I promise.” He said quickly before returning to work you towards your peak. 

Not long afterwards you followed his instructions, or rather, he forced you to when his tongue began making 8’s on your swollen bud, you were done for. 

As cliche as it was, you felt like an exploding firework. Electricity sparked across your body, washing every bit of you in blinding pleasure. It stole all the air from your lungs and words from your mouth. In that moment you were useless to the world, lost in the utter bliss he’d given you. 

His tapering pace brought you slowly back down to earth. You hadn’t realized that your fingers were clamped in his hair until he stopped. 

He licked one last fat stripe up your entrance trying to get every last bit of you on his tongue. Your eyes were glued to the ceiling, too nervous and too shy to look down at him. Though, it seemed he wasn’t allowing that to happen. He lovingly stamped open mouth kisses up your body from your center to meet your face. As if he could sense the anxiety swirling in your body, he took your cheek in one palm while the other kept him propped up. “You were perfect.” He whispered.

You blinked up at him, wondering if that was even possible. You’d argue if your head wasn’t still fuzzy and floating in the clouds. 

He chuckled fondly at your blank response, “Did that feel good, Flower?”

You just hummed and nodded against his hand. “Good…so good.” You mumbled into his palm before giving it an exhausted kiss. 

He smiled that radiant smile of his and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You tasted amazing.” He whispered against your skin. “I could eat you all day.”

You scrunched your nose up at the thought, not believing anyone would find it enjoyable to eat someone out for that long. But the thought soon shifted into experimental curiosity, surely, he couldn’t do that… could he? Could you? How would you endure that for so long… how many orgasms could you possibly have?

Even the mere idea of another orgasm like the one you just had, had your head spinning. In that moment you realized it could be dangerous, sleeping with Sam, because you’d never had a high like that – and just like a brand-new addict, you wanted more.

He moved to lay down next to you, he laid flat on his back but with his head turned to you, which you mirrored. “Was that okay? Are you okay?” 

You nodded enthusiastically, “Yes. Yes.” 

The edges of his mouth curled up, “Good.”

All of a sudden, you furrowed your brows at him while he tilted his head, silently questioning your confusion. 

“Well, what are you doing? It’s your turn.” You stated as if was obvious. 

He laughed fondly at your innocence, “It’s okay babe. I told you we could take it slow.” 

“No, no.” You shook your head vehemently as you peeled yourself from the mattress to straddle him before he could stop you. 

His head tilted off the bed to look at you with wide eyes. He had taken you in while you were laying down, but now you were almost fully nude sitting on him. 

“I wanna learn.” You answered his wordless question simply. Your hands raked down his clothed body until they reached the button of his jeans. 

He cleared his throat, shifting below you, already feeling him hardening beneath your bare cunt. “What?” 

“I want to learn.” You repeated, slowly sliding the metal button through the slot before tugging down the zipper. 

Your nervousness had taken a backseat, the absolute euphoria he gave you had empowered you. You wanted to return the favor, you wanted to be the one to make him feel like that too. And the pulse that returned to your pussy begged you to go all the way. You trusted him, you might even love him, what a better choice was there? 

You mimicked the actions he’d done to you, leaning down and pressing light kisses to the side of his neck. Your hands took a break from his jeans to slide beneath his rusty shirt wanting to feel him as fully as he had you. “Off.” You begged below his ear. 

When he nodded you sat back up to give him the space to tug the shirt off by the neck and toss it to the edge of the bed. You marveled down at his toned chest, running your fingers over the tan ridges. “You’re so handsome.” You said softly, almost ashamed at the rather proper compliment in such an improper setting. 

He let out an adorable chuckle at the compliment and placed his hands on your bare hips. “And you’re so beautiful. Angelic even.” He trailed up your sides to your barely-on bra. “May I?” 

You blushed and nodded, finally ready to bare yourself completely to him. You helped him peel the garment off and discarded it to the floor where the rest laid. 

“God,” He breathed out as his hands tentatively found your exposed breasts. “Could you get any more perfect?” His thumbs flicked at your nipples while he began working the flesh in his palms. 

The feeling of someone’s hands on you in general was foreign but you were quickly warming up to his touch. As he played with your breasts you worked diligently on tugging his jeans down enough to where you could grind against his covered cock. 

He was so preoccupied with you that he didn’t realize what you were doing until you were pressing your bare pussy against his straining cock in his briefs. His jaw fell slack at the shock of it. “Oh my god.” 

That’s where you learned that you loved getting that reaction from him. It only fueled you, rutting yourself back and forth on him slowly. Rather quickly you realized that you desperately needed him out of his boxers. 

You dropped to hover over his face, keeping yourself up with one arm while the other lazily played with the band of his underwear. “I want to suck your dick.” You didn’t wait for a response. “Will you teach me?” 

You didn’t know if his eyes could widen any further then felt his cock twitch against your pussy and it filled you with the most pride you’d ever felt in your life. 

“Oh- I,” He stuttered over his words and blinked blankly up at you. “Yes. Yeah. Yes.” He nodded quickly. 

“Okay.” You giggled, finding it adorable how flustered and excited he got. You were finding that sex came with a feeling of power that you quite enjoyed. 

You slinked off of him and sunk down to your knees between his legs, giving you the opportunity to pull his jeans down fully before slipping two fingers on each side of his short briefs. “Color?” You asked as a cheeky joke. 

“Green, definitely green.” His eyes watching your fingers intently.

And with that, you tugged the geometric patterned underwear down, finally letting his cock spring free. Your eyes took it in fully, following the length of his underside. It was larger than any other dick you’d partially hooked up with, the size both excited and scared you. With any other boy you had never felt comfortable enough to use your mouth, the thought of it with them always disgusted you - but Sam was making your mouth water. 

“Teach.” You asked in an impatient but naive way. 

“Lick.” He blurted out, probably wishing something more eloquent came out. “Taste.”

You followed his instruction, reaching your tongue out to meet the head of his cock. Sam pulled his lip between his teeth watching you, needing more but knowing you required time. Instinctively, you snaked your hand up to hold him at the base so you could take his tip in your mouth fully. The skin there was soft and delicate, and tasted salty of skin mixed with precum. You hummed at the flavor which sent his eyes fluttering closed. “Fuck.”

After you got a sense of him in your mouth, you took the initiative to take more of him - that got you a little groan in the back of his throat. “Fuck baby.” He adjusted beneath you slightly. “Lower.” He instructed, watching you again then went to say something but hesitated. “Use your tongue.” 

You wiggled your brows as you cautiously set your tongue out against the underside of his shaft as you went lower, taking even more of him. “Oh, yeah. Just like that.” His voice dripped in needy lust, and you couldn’t get enough of it.

When he hit the back of your throat, you didn’t expect the involuntary gag that it caused. Despite what you thought was a disgusting noise, he let out a full groan at it. “We can work on your gag reflex a different time.” He breathed out. “For now, just don’t try to push it.” 

You hummed an ‘okay’ with him entirely in your mouth then dipping your tongue out to lap at his base before moving back up and pulling off with a pop. You continued the motions you’d learned on him, looking up at him occasionally to watch his face contort in pleasure.

“Fuck.” He groaned with his brows furrowed up and his jaw slack at your bobbing movements. “I think I-“

You popped off of him to interrupt, “Sammy. I want you inside me.”

He shook his head, “No, baby, you don’t want that I promise, not like this.” He heaved out, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his eyes half lidded down at you. “If I fuck you right now, I think I’d destroy you.” His fingers raked through your hair in admiration. “When we do, I want to take my time. And there’s no way I’d be able to hold myself back from you right now.”

Disappointment in your features was present, but you knew he was right. You didn’t want your first time to be rushed or hasty either. As you held his pulsing cock by the base an idea bloomed in your head like a lightbulb flickering on. “Okay…” You said slowly, “How about this.” 

Sam furrowed his brows at you as you brought yourself back up on your feet. “What’re you doin?” His chest rose and fell quickly as he asked. 

Your knees found each side of his hips and you carefully sunk down on his thighs behind his length. His eyes were bright and desperate like he was a kid in a candy shop wanting to taste every morsel of sugar. His focus was locked in on the proximity of your pussy to his cock and how it was taking every bit of self control to not just give in to you. Your hand gently found his cock and tenderly held it vertically against your lower tummy. The visual made you almost nervous for when you eventually do take him inside you, he was so long there was no way he’d be able to fit completely. Your thumb swiped at the precum that pooled at the tip and brought it up to your mouth. 

His eyes widened as he watched you suck his residue off of your finger. Your eyes fluttered closed at the taste, letting out a small moan. You had no idea what had come over you, just that you were being commanded by throbbing that had made home in your cunt. It was like you were possessed with the utter need for him.

“You are so fucking… fuck, I don’t even know, I don’t have a strong enough word to describe how incredibly stunning you are.” He said quietly, in complete awe of you. He felt as though he truly had an angel in his lap. His cock twitched in your stationary hand as he spoke, proof that he was so turned on by your beauty alone. 

Rose red tinted your cheeks at his words, making you feel bashful again momentarily. The flattery though, quickly turned into fuel. You carefully pressed his cock down flat on his own stomach. Your eyes met his as he watched you slide forward to have his cock slot between the wet lips of your cunt. He sucked in a harsh breath at the feeling of you enveloping him. “Fuck.” He breathed out. 

He looked so gorgeous this way, so on edge and needy and completely infatuated with you. You couldn’t take a single second of it more. You bent down, nudging his nose before rejoining his lips. It was difficult to keep your desperation together as you kissed him, but you wanted it to start off sweet before descending into depravity. He lifted his head to be closer to you and his hands reached up and held your cheeks as he swiped at your bottom lip. He used his hold on your face to bring you down closer to him. Your tongue met his again hesitantly at first, refamiliarizing yourself with his kiss. When you began rutting your hips on him, all control left both of you. Your tongues entwined themselves feverishly while moans escaped your mouths. Grinding your cunt against him proved to be rather pleasurable for you as well as for him. Every time your sensitive clit passed the ridge of his swollen head it made you clench around nothing - all you wanted was for him to be inside you, it was all you could think about. While the action wasn’t everything you wanted, it was fulfilling your needs. 

The same knot as before began to form in your tummy but it was building faster than you could keep up with. The ache in your clit chased release faster and faster with your movements against him. You grew wetter by the second which greatly aided your speed. You pulled away just a centimeter, “Sammy,” You breathed out pathetically against his lips. “I’m close, really close.” 

He nodded quickly. “Me too.” Truth was that he’d been close for a while but had been holding on by a thread, wanting you to climax first. 

His mutual confirmation alongside with your accelerated momentum tipped you over the edge violently. Your head fell into his neck as you fucked yourself on him, letting moans pour from your mouth and into his ear. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He groaned out as he finally let go, painting his chest with his own milky release. 

The twitching and bouncing of his cock against your overly-sensitive clit threw you into an unexpected new sensation. Your stomach burned with an overpowering feeling, something between discomfort, pain and pleasure. You whimpered sharply, gripping hard at his arms, “Oh, oh!” Your nails dug into his skin as another unexpected orgasm approached, this one stronger than you’d ever experienced before. Your entire body seemed to lock up at the overpowering pleasure and then something happened that you had never encountered before - nonetheless knew you could do. You felt a bit of liquid release from you and onto him. It was a foreign but extremely pleasurable feeling combined with the extended orgasm your body was experiencing. Once you rode out your high and realized what you’d done, you stilled completely. 

“Did you just-” He began but you cut him off. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You nearly shrieked in embarrassment and sat up in his lap. “Oh my god, that’s never happened before, I-I didn’t know that was gonna happen. Oh my god your bed, oh I’m so sorry I-”

“Baby, baby, baby.” He placed his hands on your hips to ground you. “It’s okay.” He paused. “That’s never happened before?” 

You brought your thumb up to your mouth to anxiously chew on your thumbnail and shook your head. “No, never.”

He grinned proudly, which confused you because you expected him to be upset. “Did it feel good?” 

A shy smile tugged at your lips and gave him a small nod. “Very.” 

“God that’s so fucking hot.” 

Warmth littered your cheeks, “What? Really?” You asked naively. 

“Fuck yeah. I wanna make you do that again. And again.” He squeezed your hips. “Fuck, even on my face.” 

You smacked his arm gently, “Don’t be nasty!” 

“Speak for yourself angel, you’re the one that just fucked yourself on my cock.” 

“Ah!” Your post-orgasm clarity suddenly making you feel incredibly bashful over all of the atrocities you just committed. You covered your face, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” 

He chuckled, taking your hand from your face and bringing it up to his lips to place a chaste kiss there. “Whatever you say, Flower.”

You looked at him a little confused, remembering that he’d shortened your nickname earlier too. “Flower?”

“Well, yeah, you’re not that shy around me anymore.” He teased, but you pouted. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it?”

“No, I do. I like it.” You tugged at your lip with your teeth, feeling vulnerable. “Just don’t stop using the first one too.”

His heart couldn’t have swelled any more than it did at your request. He loved that you liked your original nickname enough to not want to let it go. “You got it, Wallflower.” He placed a couple more kisses on your hand before giving your hip a pat with his other hand. “C’mon, let’s clean up.”

Sam carefully sat up and snatched the shirt he had tossed off earlier and swiped his chest clean. He set the crumbled shirt off to the side and let his fingertips trail down your arm to tenderly reach your hand. “Shower?” He suggested softly, bringing your hand to his lips again, looking up at you with large brown lovestruck eyes through thick lashes. 

You offered a tired smile and nodded, “Sounds perfect.” 

He grinned, gently easing you off of his lap and leading you over to his bathroom. You were infinitely grateful for his in-dorm shower.

He did everything for you, turned the shower on, tested the water with his palm, helped you step over the ledge, he treated you so delicately, like a princess. 

You reached up to the shower caddy for some body wash only for him to grasp your wrist. “Can I?”

You chuckled, turning around to face him, “Can you what? Wash me?” 

His smile was hesitant and almost shy, but he nodded, “Yeah. I wanna take care of you.” He stretched his arm past you to grab his own body wash and a loofah. You raised a brow at the suspicious puff, not necessarily wanting to use his personal loofah. 

“Don’t worry.” His voice was soft and low. “I got a spare, in case you wanted to shower one of the nights you escaped from your roommate.” His hand squeezed the woodsy-scented gel onto the cream-colored puff. 

“Really? You did that for me?” You asked quietly while you watched him work the blue gel into the mesh. He brought the loofah to your side first, swiping it across your middle. 

“Yeah, of course.” He whispered, moving the puff across your torso and intently watching the suds pour down your skin. 

You nudged him, “Oh that’s why you wanna do this.” You teased, rolling your eyes.

“It’s certainly a plus.” A cocky smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “But no, we did a lot, I wanna do this, I wanna make sure you feel okay.”

You wrapped your hand around his boney wrist, “I do feel okay, Sammy.” You blinked up at him before letting your gaze fall down to the tile. “It wasn’t that much anyway. We didn’t even…” 

“Hey.” He used his free hand to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. His dark brown eyes bounced between yours trying to read them. “We can take as much time as you need. I don’t want you to feel pressured to do that. Okay?”

Your heart filled with gratitude, thankful that the boy you happened to fall for was one who was so kind and patient - in your previous experiences, boys were anything but patient and kind. Your eyes couldn’t help but water at his compassion. 

“Oh,” He pulled his hands from you as if he was somehow hurting you. “Oh, did I do something wrong? We could get out, or-”

“No, no.” You sniffled, bringing a finger to wipe the tears pooling in your eyes even though you were beneath running water. “No, you’re just so…sweet to me.” You shrugged.

“You’re crying because I’m…sweet?” He asked, confused. He passed the loofah back and forth between his own hands anxiously. 

You chuckled, “Yeah, just,” You sighed, letting your arms fall to your sides. “My past romantic experiences haven’t ever gone well.” You admitted with a hint of sadness in your tone. “They were always pushy and always tried to force me to do things I didn’t want to do. And you just… are so sweet, and kind, and caring, and patient with me.” 

The edges of his lips downturned at your words. “I’m sorry you’ve had those experiences but,” He brought a hand to tilt your chin up to meet your eyes directly. “Me being kind to you is just the bare minimum, Y/N. It’s not worth crying over.” 

You went to argue but he stopped you. “I don’t want you crying over mediocrity, you deserve the world, Wallflower. If you let me, I’ll show you more than just kindness.” 

While his words meant to stop your crying, it only worsened it, so much so that you couldn’t help but throw your arms around his torso and bury your face in his chest. You weren’t sure what you wanted to say so all you could muster was, “Thank you.” 

“Oh, angel.” He said softly, smoothing out the back of your wet hair. “You don’t have to thank me for anything.” His heart ached at the thought of anyone being rough with you, especially rough enough to elicit this sort of reaction over sheer kindness. He couldn’t imagine having anything other than love behind any motives when it came to you. The idea of someone trying to force you to do anything or being mean to you was so unfathomable to him. It only made him want to treat you better, to prove that you were worthy of so much more. 

Your arms tightened around his middle before pulling back, feeling vulnerable. You wiped a tear away, “Maybe I’m just extra sleepy.” 

“Okay baby.” He tucked a chunk of your damp hair behind your ear and placed a kiss to your head. “Let me take care of you here so we can go to bed, does that sound good?” 

You nodded, surrendering to the tenderness in his touch as he took over washing you. His hands moved with such deliberate care; every gesture filled with quiet compassion. If you weren't so naive, you might’ve even recognized it as love, though the warmth spreading through you was undeniable.

He started with your arms, his fingers moving gently as he lathered the soap, the sensation of the suds against your skin both soothing and intimate. He worked slowly, his hands grazing over every inch with such gentleness that it made you feel cherished in a way you’d never known before. When he moved to your legs, his touch remained soft but steady, as though he were taking the time to make sure every part of you was tended to, like you were something precious.

Then came your hair. He carefully massaged the shampoo into your scalp, and the sensation was so blissfully relaxing you could feel any tension draining from your body with every stroke of his fingers. The rhythmic pressure of his fingertips kneading your scalp was enough to lull you into a state of near-sleep, your eyelids fluttering as you gave in to the calm. 

You leaned into his touch, the sound of the water running over your skin mixing with the gentle hum of his breathing. It was as if nothing else existed in that moment—just the steady, soothing motions of his hands, the warmth of his presence, and the quiet intimacy that filled the space between you.

When he was done with you he washed himself and after a while, the warm water began to cool. The faucet squeaked as he turned the knob and when the water stopped he gently guided you out of the shower. 

With a soft, sleepy sigh, you stepped out of the shower and he promptly wrapped you in a soft towel, drying you off with the same gentle care he’d shown before - slow and unhurried. You barely noticed, your limbs heavy with drowsiness, the warmth of the bath still clinging to your body. The air felt cool against your damp skin, but the comforting weight of his presence kept you from shivering. 

Too drowsy to even think about getting dressed, you barely registered as he guided you toward the bed, your legs heavy with exhaustion. You let the towel fall to the floor mindlessly b-lining to the mattress. 

You slipped beneath the soft covers, sinking into the comfort of the sheets against your bare skin as sleep tugged at your eyelids. The day’s fatigue along with everything that happened at the arcade and all that occurred in his room just moments ago was slowly pulling you into the quiet embrace of sleep. 

You curled up, naked and content, sinking deeper into the mattress as sleep tugged at the edges of your consciousness. The bed dipped gently when he slid in beside you, and without a word, he pulled the blanket over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders. You felt his warmth immediately, his body like a shield from the cool night air, and you instinctively melted into him, seeking out his newly familiar heat.

In that sleepy haze, with the soft weight of the blankets and his arms around you, a new feeling bloomed in your chest, one you couldn’t quite name. It was a feeling you hadn’t fully recognized before, a warmth so profound it went beyond mere safety. “Safe” didn’t seem to capture it, though it came close. It felt more like being cradled in a world of your own, shielded from everything outside, like sitting in your car during a storm, listening to the rain lash against the windows while you remained dry and untouched, wrapped in your own private bubble.

The sensation was so pure and overwhelming, you silently prayed you’d never have to live without it. It was a quiet plea, the kind you whisper to yourself when you realize you’ve stumbled onto something too precious to lose.

Sure, it felt like a lot to entrust to a boy you’d only known for a month, a college kid whose life was as unsteady as yours. But you found yourself trusting him in ways you hadn’t trusted anyone before. You’d already given him pieces of yourself without hesitation—your laughter, your secrets, your body— why not your heart? 

You knew it was a risk, but lying there in the quiet, with his steady breathing lulling you closer to sleep, you felt certain there was no one else you'd rather trust with it.

Sam’s arm tightened around your midsection from behind, pulling you flush against his bare body and something about it was so intimate, but not necessarily sexual. It was comfortable, vulnerable, and special. 

“Goodnight, Wallflower.” He whispered thinking you were already asleep. His lips placed a soft kiss on your shoulder, and it sealed your deal with slumber. 

“Goodnight, Sammy.” You smiled softly, letting sleep pull you under.

As you hovered on the edge of dreaming, a quiet certainty settled in your mind—if you were ever going to give yourself wholly to anyone, it would definitely be Sam. He made you feel things you’d never known before—things that filled you with warmth, comfort, and a sense of safety you'd never experienced with anyone else. Your heart swelled with a feeling too early to name, too early to speak, too early to be completely sure of. But it didn’t stop you from feeling it fully. Just because it was early didn’t mean it was any less real to you. And maybe, just maybe, one day you’d be brave enough to tell him. Until then, you held that feeling close, savoring the hope that this was only the beginning and that perhaps he felt the same way.

A/N; i am contemplating this being the ending of Wallflower? but i am conflicted, so please let me know if you’d like another part or two? 💓

Either way, i hope you enjoyed the journey so far, please let me know your thoughts/feelings/etc! 🩷🩷

Jake fic coming soon

Taglist; @measuredingold @sacredthefran @shutupdevvie @i-choose-the-road @musicislove3389 @persuasivus @broken0mens @peaceloveunitygvf @deathblacksmoke

[railingsofsorrow]

hiiiiii!!!! i saw your requests were open and i’m so excited i love your writing so much!! i was wondering if you would be willing to do a coffee shop au of spencer x barista!reader? i feel like it would be very fluffy :) <3

a healthy caffeine addiction

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: spencer finds a new coffee shop near work and he may be going there not just for the coffee...

pairing: s.reid x gn!barista!reader

w.c: 3K

warnings/content: a lot of flirting; mentions of case related stuff but you blink and you miss it; fluff fluff!! (you asked for it); swearing.

A/N: hi! I used gender neutral pronouns because you didn't specify so I thought it would fit best. the coffee shop is called “enchanted brewing” just do you don't get confused. one more thing! I mixed two of his best eras, glasses + long hair just because I was feeling a little silly. thank you for the request <3

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

[requested] ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Oh, look, it's boy genius again.” You muse upon seeing a certain long-haired FBI agent next on the line. He's wearing a purple tie today which checks out your theory that it's his favorite color because he's always wearing something purple. It would be funny if it was an unconscious choice. “What's your order today, Dr. Reid? Maybe some coffee with your sugar?” You ask as if you hadn't seen him earlier in the day and had repeated the same thing.

You've met Spencer Reid when he walked in one day as the coffee shop you work in was still closed. He hadn't seen the closed sign. After spending five minutes straight apologizing, you delivered him his coffee order promising he wasn't bothering you. Especially if he was a cute guy with glasses. But you didn't say that last thing out loud, of course.

He's been coming to Enchanted Brewing for two weeks now. You have his order memorized from each early morning that he strides in through the entrance, his satchel hanging from his right shoulder as his bright honey-brown eyes scan through the menu on the wall. He always did that in spite of ordering the same thing from the first day.

Your timeline is slightly offbeat today. Your favorite costumer usually comes in on his way to work, once a day. Except that today he showed up twice. You're not complaining, you're currently trying to hide how happy you are that he appeared right on time for your lunch break.

“I want something different,” he says, adjusting his glasses as he looks at you with a timid smile. “Surprise me?”

“Oh.” You quickly recovered — did you? — from the spell he had you in and moved to prepare his drink. “I'll definitely surprise you, boy genius.” You already had one in mind. Your boss shots you a glare from the other side of the counter where he's delivering an order for a regular. He had reminded you of your lunch break an hour ago but you ended up attending clients and time passed by. You mouthed that it was your last one before lunch and he rolled his eyes with a knowing smile.

You take Spencer to a table outside. The day was good enough to not worry about a storm interrupting your afternoon coffee. Not yet, at least.

“So.” You utter after taking a bite of your sandwich. Spencer is sipping on the surprise he asked for and you are no profiler but your guess is that he liked it. “Aproved?”

“One hundred percent approved. What is this?” He makes a sound of satisfaction as he drinks it again. A smug grin reaches your face. “It's so good.”

You hum, “It is. From how much you like your sweets, I thought you'd like this one. Though, it barely tastes like coffee.”

Spencer silently agrees with you. “What's it called? I can taste caramel.”

“It's a caramel macchiato,” you reply, sipping your watermelon juice. “Caramel is all you can taste, boy genius.” You laugh at the way his cheeks turn pink at your nickname. Ever since he told you about his PhD's and his age. “To what do I own the pleasure of seeing you twice in a day?”

He takes his time putting the cup on the table, fingertips grazing the sides in half circles. When he meet your gaze, you were already staring, but you have the decency to look away, feeling your cheeks heat up. Thank god you were done eating or else you'd be blushing and attempting to swallow your food. Not a good view.

“Um, I... I didn't have a case today and I finished paperwork early so I thought I'd come, um.” He stammers, straightening his posture and exhaling. The middle of his forehead creased a bit and you find it incredibly endearing seeing him trying to figure out the words.

“...you were craving caffeine so you came to the best place near your work?” you complete his sentence with a playfully smirk dancing across your lips.

“Yes!” Spencer exclaims, clearing his throat realising his voice had failed. He offers you a sheepish smile, to which you respond with a grin of your own. “Yes, and... well.”

“It's okay,” you tap your fingers against the hard wood. “You can admit that I make the best coffee.” The convinced stance you had made him chuckle, eyes traveling over your frame discreetly. He could only hope he was being discreet.

“I wanted to see you.” He admits. “And for the coffee, of course.”

Sometimes you had the impression that he did know the effect he had on you, either that or he just didn't want to see it.

“Of course.” You nod as if it was obvious. “Sure.” He wanted to see me? Me?

He pulls his glasses up again, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. He was about to say something when he jumped on his seat, groaning as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“I have to go,” he says, disappointment lacing through his tone. You brush off his apologetic expression.

“That's completely understandable. Duty calls.” Both of you stand up. You still had half an hour left of your lunch, you guess you would have to resort to play your mobile game instead of flirting with a handsome FBI agent. “I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Hopefully,” Spencer picks up his work bag and the coffee cup you thought he had already finished. The corners of his lips raise a bit when he catches the boy genius written in a messy handwriting on the cup. “It's not a local case...”

“Oh,” you try to hide your lack of joy. “Alright. Be careful then.” Spencer nods, giving you a tight-lipped smile. “And don't betray me for another barista, boy genius.” That got you one of his short laughs that made his eyes crinkle in the edges.

“Never.”

──────────────

Spencer was back three days later. The case was a hard one, one of those were the unsub decided to not make their lives easier and kept moving across state lines to hide. He was keeping a victim hostage in the trunk of his car and thankfully, they were able to save her in time. Everybody was granted a day-off to get some rest.

It's not like Spencer was married to his work, in fact, he could enjoy a little alone time in the comfort of his home with a book and some coffee to accompany his quiet reading.

But that's the problem.

Routines are hard to create and they are hard to let go of. Ever heard the saying “old habits die hard”?

Ivan Pavlov researched about classical conditioning. According to him, you have a stimulus and a response in a given situation. It is likely that you'll keep repeating an action if it proves to be beneficial to you. If you like doing it, you'll barely notice it became an habit.

He's been visiting your coffee shop almost every day for the past weeks and that is an habit he's gotten quite comfortable with.

Therefore, in order to not disturb his routine that is very very important to him — honestly? Spencer can't handle changes — he drives down to Enchanted Brewing. The soft jingle of the bell alerted of his entrance.

Spencer gets in line. There's seven people in front of him, maybe because it's lunch hour and all of them are rushing to get their orders. Spencer waits. He still hasn't heard any flirting remarks or winks sent his way and he's not sure if you are not behind the counter today or if his lenses are just really blurried that he can't see your pretty face.

“Afternoon, sir. What would you like to order today?”

You are definitely not behind the counter and he's slightly confused before listing off his order. The clerk notes it down, then he stops midway, studying Spencer with narrowed eyes.

“You're boy genius?”

Spencer blinks, startled. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish and really, what is that question? How is he even supposed to answer that? You call him that, so is that a yes? Is he supposed to say yes—

“Sorry,” the guy says, shaking his head with a laugh, “they told me about you.”

“Oh.” Spencer doesn't know what to say, thankfully, he doesn't have to because he carries on.

“You two have kind of a system going on, right?”

“A- a system?”

The clerk's polite smile widened into a smirk. “Well, yes.” He says slowly. “You order the same thing and they make you an entire difference drink, isn't that it? They explained it and that's how I got it.”

“Uh, yes. I think so. But you don't have to—”

Your coworker waves him off, “I was just making sure you were the guy, really. They left a special order for you in case you appeared while they were still sick.” Spencer's concern is visible through his face. “Sore throat, I asked them to stay at home this week. You know, they don't care about day-offs so I forced it upon them to have it either way since they're sick. Really stubborn, that one. I'm Tim, by the way."

“Spencer.” He gave a little wave while introducing himself and was quick to add. “Are they okay?”

Tim turned to look at him in the middle of the beverage making. He nodded. “Yes, they'll be back in a day or two. Nothing serious.”

Spencer lets out a sigh in relief, leaning against the counter to wait for this order to be ready. He hopes you get better soon and that you were taking proper care of yourself. If he knew, he would have brought some jell-o and mint tea, they are great remedies to soothe a sore throat. After he paid for his surprise drink, he sat down on a table outside, there wasn't a lot of people and he enjoyed his alone time while mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

Maybe if he had gotten your number, he could ask how you were. But he didn't because Spencer doesn't think. He doesn't have game as Derek says, whatever that means. It's not his fault that he can't think straight around pretty people, is it? He can't help it!

He left the café that day with another great drink to add to his list and his mind set on one thing: he's going to ask for your phone number next time he sees you.

──────────────

Every person in the whole freaking world decided to appear at Enchanted Brewing today. Nothing wrong with people. You love people, really!

But your back is aching and your hand is cramping from how much you used the hand mixer. God, you needed to lay down for a month and wake up maybe never.

A costumer just left and you finally turn the sign to closed. Thank god. You're finishing cleaning up the tables when you notice the silence. Being around people all day long can be a little exhausting, especially if you have to yell a name in order for someone to pick their order. Your recently recovered sore throat does not appreciate that.

You're alone tonight. Tim left early to run some errands and you're in charge of closing. You don't mind, it's actually peaceful to close the shop and make your way home. You don't live far and the streets aren't too busy nor totally empty.

Boy genius didn't show up again.

You know his job is demanding, he's occupied being a hero and using his brain to solve difficult cases and catch bad guys. You feel bad complaining about your work, knowing what he does. He must get exhausted daily.

You miss him. And it's weird, you're not one to get attached easily. To be able to call Tim your friend took about half a year, you just don't trust people fast. Spencer just feels different. He makes you feel comfortable, despite not having the experience of hanging out with him outside of your work, he's that kind of person that has a safe ambience all over him. You could be wrong, you're aware of that, you don't really know the guy. He's a regular, he loves your surprise coffees, he's got a cute smile and an awkwardness that is endearing. You don't know more than that, but you'd really like to.

After placing your uniform in your assigned locker, you check one more time to see if everything is in place before leaving.

The doorbell scares the shit out of you and you grab the first thing you see to defend yourself, which is your phone.

It's closed. You turned the sign. The lights are off. Who the fuck is entering a coffee shop when all of the lights are off?!

“Uh, what... Why are you threatening to throw your phone at me?”

And there it is, the man you cannot stop thinking about materialising in front of you. Not a burglar.

Your shoulders slump in relief and you lower your phone back to the counter. “Fuck, genius. Don't do that. Why do you always ignore the closed sign?”

“Sorry,” he responded, bashfully, realising how the situation came out. “I saw you were inside and I just came in, didn't thought it through.”

“Mm. You scared the shit out of me.” A soft smile formed on your lips and it soon became a wide grin. “God, you're so...”

“Annoying?” he offers, grimacing as he buries his hand on his overcoat. Both his cheeks and the tip of his nose are pink, reminding you of how cold it is outside. “Sorry, I'll just— I'll leave you be.” The regret on his features is what puts you out of your dazed stare.

You sprint over to the door, blocking his exit. “I didn't say that.” You let out with bated breath. He halts right in front of you, big doe eyes staring down at you in surprise and you're beaming at him again. “You could never be annoying, boy genius. I was about to say amazing, actually.”

Morgan and Penelope are two people that keep making his life miserable by the amount of nicknames they make up for him. But this one? This one he doesn't complain at all. Boy genius. You could call him that every day and he would never dare be annoyed by it. The reason is because he loves your voice — which he realised it's a bit hoarse right now — but that's besides the point.

That is a nickname he missed dearly.

Were they about to call me amazing?

“I have a confession to make.” Emily is one hundred percent right when she said his IQ is slashed to 60 while around pretty people, because now that he's seen you he can't seem to remember what he came here for. “I betrayed you.”

You raise a brow, surveying him with amusement. “Oh?”

“Yes. I, I ordered a caramel macchiato on a cafeteria in Fairbanks.” He elaborated, lifting his hand to brush his hair behind his ear. You wanted to find out if it was as soft as it looked. “It wasn't good. I don't know, it wasn't the way you made so I didn't— I didn't though it was good.”

Your chest swells for a reason you're not sure.

“What I'm trying to say is that... Your coffee is better. No. It's not actually that—”

“Breathe. You're turning red like a tomato.”

That made him impossibly redder. He pushed his glasses up his nose, swallowing hard.

“Spencer,” you say, dropping your flirty facade in fear of him combusting in front of you. You nudge your finger against his hand, timidly. “I won't bite. You can talk to me.”

“Okay.” He croaks out, playing with your fingertips. And without looking directly at you, he lets out a sigh to muster some courage and says, “I like you.” He manages to say, pretending as if the way you said his name didn't affect him that much. You're smiling at him and suddenly he's fourteen again with butterflies in his stomach because his first crush just greeted him in class.

“I like you too,” you confess in a whisper. You're too close yet so far.

Spencer shakes his head, lifting his gaze to yours since he was staring at your hands. “Not like that. Not in a I like-your-coffee-and-your-flirting kind of way.”

You fear you're misunderstanding him and you don't want to make a fool out of yourself, so you remain quiet, getting lost in the twinkle in his brown eyes provided by the street lamp outside.

“I like you in a... I-want-to-spend-more-time-with-you way.” Finally, he says it. Could he have explained it better? Yes. Is he able to do it? Not with you looking at him like that. “I-Mm, I mean, I love your company and spending time here but I would like to take you on a date.” You were supposed to ask for her number first! What are you doing, you idiot?! “If you want to, of course.”

You can't hold back the giant grin taking over your features. “Boy genius,” you drawl out, doing what you've been fantasizing from the first moment you've seen him: touch his hair. You pull a stubborn strand behind his ear and from the way he almost flutters his eyes shut and leans into your touch, you assume he likes it. “When I said that I liked you, I didn't mean as a favourite-cute-costumer-of-the-month kind of way. But in an I-think-he's-cute way.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” You laugh. “Spencer, I would love to go on a date with you. Preferably, somewhere where we don't drink coffee.”

The crinkles around his eyes show up as he chuckles, nodding. “Okay, yeah, we can definitely do that.”

“Cool.” And you can't stop smiling like an idiot.

Spencer not only got the number but a date with the cute barista. He'd say that's very cool.

[lienwyn]

Happy birthday, @a-very-fond-farewell! I figured you would enjoy seeing Mr. Abyss in a silly apron ;)

And Ga On be like: "DON'T MIND IF I DO"

... possibly connected to Who Holds the Devil, I guess, since Yo Han is cooking? The future we're all longing for, or something. Especially Ga On since he finally gets to bury his nose against Yo Han's neck like he's always wanted. That boy.

[niuxita21]

No one:

Absolutely no one:

Meiji: Why would I sit on a chair/the couch when my girlfriend's lap is literally RIGHT THERE

[lilyrizzy]

for my beloved @catofthecanals289... consider this day one of your twelve days of maxiel advent calendar lol (if i manage to write that much...i'll try...no promises....). but yay! wedding fluff

It's Grace that asks Max, “are you ready to marry my son?” 

On her face there is a grin so similar to Daniel’s, Max can’t help but return it despite his pounding heart and sweating palms.  

Looking out at the sea of familiar faces for a moment, he lets the steady hum of voices wash over him. Just breathes in the sweet smell of the tulips- Daniel’s idea- swirling in the air. Admires how the rays of sunlight filter through the big bay window behind him to bathe the room in gold.  

Max would have married Daniel in a Vegas back alley, but he does have to admit this is all very lovely. Victoria, bouncing Max’s baby daughter on her lap as his twins play with their cousins next to her, catches his eye to give him a sweet smile.  

“I am ready, of course,” Max says turning to Grace, and it’s been the truth since he was twenty years old. 

She squeezes the top of his arm, her smile softening momentarily, before she nods at the registrar. Then, multiple people are instructing Max to turn around, to face away from the aisle and instead to stare out at the setting sun through the window.  

Michelle had teased Daniel about this, said it figured that he would be the one to make the grand entrance of the day. Max had dutifully listened to Daniel’s insistences that he was not a show-off, while secretly agreeing with her. Announcing himself dramatically into a room silenced by the first few notes of a song he's spent months agonising over chosing seemed exactly like Daniel’s style.  

I want a proper first look, Daniel had told Max, it will be romantic. 

Hearing the charmed murmurings of the people they are closest to in the world as Daniel makes the entrance, Max can’t wait any longer to turn and look. 

Max is meant to wait. He’s supposed to count to fifteen, to let Daniel get at least a little way already down the aisle before he moves to look at him. He isn’t totally sure why, just that it had seemed very important when they’d practiced yesterday. Except-  

What he notices first is Daniel, of course. His wide grin, the soft brown eyes Max loves so much, framed by the cheeky way his eyebrows climb up his forehead as though to say, surprise! How beautiful he looks, though Max knows he would prefer the word 'sexy'.  

Then, it’s their children.  

Their twins, each with a hand tucked carefully into one of their dad’s, as the three of them walk down the aisle all together. Max can’t help the laughter that fizzes up from his stomach and all the way to his lips as he glances at the now empty chairs next to Victoria. Joe, who was supposed to be walking Daniel down, shrugs innocently at Max from the seat next to Grace. 

The bubbles of laughter don’t stop, not even as his eyes start to get wet at the corners, making his vision swim. He can still see everything he needs to perfectly; Daniel’s well cut suit, his carefully styled curls. The sparkle of the diamonds he let Max slip onto his fourth finger almost a year ago now, the sunlight bouncing off them. The matching blonde heads of his children, Oli’s topped with the flower crown Victoria had actually made for his sister, Livia.  

The people who remind Max over and over, just how gentle love can really be.  

The song fades out into silence when the three of them come to stand in front of Max. Three perfect faces wearing the same smile Max was first drawn to over ten years ago now.

He wants to kiss the version of it on Daniel’s face the moment that he gets close enough for Max to reach for, but they are fathers first now. Oli throws an arm around Max’s leg, hiding shyly behind him, and Livia informs him seriously, “Papa, I gave Oli my flower power to help him be brave.” 

Even as Max and Daniel exchange a grin, something thicker settles into Max’s throat. He can hardly believe it sometimes, that after years of traveling the world together, fatherhood is yet another adventure he gets to have with Daniel. 

“Hi baby,” is all Daniel says, cupping Max’s face gently. He is the picture of smug, and Max lets him revel in his glory for a moment, before crouching down to be eye level with their children. 

Glancing up at Daniel, Max asks instead, “do you think I could borrow him for a moment, so we can get married?” 

“Guys,” he says seriously, touching each of their sticky-warm cheeks in turn gently, just as their other father had touched his. “Thank you for helping daddy get to me safely.”

When they’d practiced, Joe had been the one leading Daniel up the aisle. Max remembers that this is supposed to be the part where the registrar asks who gives Daniel to be married, but there is no giving away to be done now. They have always belonged to each other, and now to their children as well, just as much.  

“Yes, yes, yes!” Livia declares, throwing her hands into the air excitedly. Oliver is less certain, but Victoria and Grace both speak up then, all gentle encouragement to coax them both back to their seats. They go- each with a parting kiss- and then Max straightens up again, Daniel is looking at him with the same shit eating grin.  

Good surprise? He mouths as the registrar begins the formalities, and Max does his best not to roll his eyes as he lets the fond smile overtake him again. Anything to do with their babies is lovely, so it’s not like it was really a gamble. 

It’s enough even, to blunt the sharp edges in Max’s chest when he looks at the two empty seats in the front row he had asked Victoria to keep free just in case. Fatherhood gave him a renewed belief that indifference and disapproval were not gaps that couldn’t be bridged with love. Now it’s enough to know that whatever divide might have formed between the family he was born into, there is nothing he wouldn’t find a way to cross for the family he made for himself. 

As if that has ever been anything other than the truth.  

He takes Daniel’s hands and repeats everything he needs to so that they can make what Max has always known to be true, official. When Max kisses Daniel, he feel both the promise of new beginning, and the fifteen years of shared history.  

“Who would have thought it, Verstappen?” Daniel teases as he pulls away from their first kiss as a married couple, but Max knows he is thinking the same thing when he adds, softer, “all mine now, Maxy.”  

What is a perfect day for them, is of course a little more boring for the babies. Halfway through signing the register, the children start to fuss, and so they end up with one on each knee, Livia demanding her flower crown back, and Oli forever eager to please the sister he adores. Somewhere, the same song the three of them made their entrance too fades back in and Daniel starts to dramatically mime the words to Max, like the show off he and Michelle both know he is. 

Your love will be, safe with me. 

[timetodiverge]

You Win This Round [WolfWren Modern AU/one-shot/T]

For @wolfwrenweek, Day Four (Prompt: “You Came?” “You Called.”)

A sequel one-shot for my soccer AU fic The Game (She’s in My Head Already). While Sabine is moving forward and winning games with her new team, Shin is stuck still, recovering from her injury. {...almost fluff-without-plot.}

Read on Ao3

[brekitten]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Danny Fenton & Jason Todd Characters: Danny Fenton, Jason Todd Additional Tags: Adopted Danny Fenton, Kid Danny Fenton, Jason Todd-centric, Dad! Jason Todd, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Baking, cooking together, Roses, Rose Milk Cake, Fentonic 2024 (Danny Phantom), One Shot Series: Part 7 of Cat Soulmates Fentonic 2024 Spoilers Summary:

Fluffy baking one-shot featuring dad!Jason and baby!Danny

Cooking Together | Roses

Day 7! @catnek-writing-things and I both panic wrote this, but it's fine. Everything is fine.

Anywho, enjoy the fluff while it lasts, because most of Fentonic is pretty much angst >:3

[munacy]

magnetic

@wolfstarmicrofic

They look ridiculous right now, laying flat on the uncomfortable hardwood floor of the kitchen with a woefully empty bottle of gin between them, heads flush against the Muggle refrigerator. It kicks on noisily. Remus vaguely wonders when was the last time they honest-to-God swept, but decides he can worry about that at a later time.

(That’s always what he thinks. Even sober. It’s why the floor’s not been swept in ages.) “And it’s because they’re…magentic, yes?”

He says it like magenta, the color, forcing a throaty drunk giggle from Remus’ throat.

“Close, sweetheart, close. They’re magnetic, they’re magnets. The metals have, like, opposite poles or something,”—Remus finds that in this state, it’s a bit difficult, accurately recalling basic science, but reasons that Sirius won’t know any better if he gets part of it wrong—”and it causes them to be attracted to one another.”

“Ahh, Moony, then I must be magnetic to you, eh?” Sirius murmurs lasciviously while squirming closer to Remus. However, the motion of his drunkenly swinging hand upsets the precariously placed magnet (a magnet portraying a chihuahua in a purple bikini and thong, because they are classy gentlemen and would never display a naked chihuahua). The chihuahua falls, as all great dynasties do. Smacks Sirius in the middle of his porcelain forehead, causing him to squawk in pain. Remus guffaws with abandon, sharp gleaming teeth, free, loud.

(Only Sirius gets to see this. Every one else gets the breathy chuckle, muffled into a fist or disguised as a cough.)

When Remus regains his composure, he finally notices the precious cargo in Sirius’ hand. It is a Polaroid of Lily and James at their wedding, previously pinned to the fridge by their fallen comrade.

“You know, Remus,” Sirius says softly, if a little garbled, “we should do this.”

“Take a photo together? We’ve got hundreds.”

“No, you giant twat!” he laughs. His laugh is so beautiful, so gorgeous, and, by God, Remus wants to eat it. “We should get married.” His smile is soft, angelic, dimples and blushing innocence.

(Only Remus gets to see this. Only Remus.)

“Sirius Black,” he says gravely. “Did you just propose to me on the dirty floor of our kitchen after calling me a giant twat?”

Sirius barks out a stunned laugh and adopts a put-upon frown. “What, you don’t like it? You won’t marry me because I called you a twat? I thought that—stop tickling me you bastard!—thought that was part of my charm—really, enough, you fiend!”

Remus has gained the hard-won upper hand, straddling Sirius and pinning him down. He smirks down at Sirius suggestively, then attacks with lightly peppered kisses all over his face and neck as Sirius shouts and feigns displeasure.

Through breathless laughter, Remus gets out, “You silly, imperious, capricious, beautiful, stunning creature, you can’t propose to me on the dirty floor of our kitchen after calling me a giant twat and being completely and utterly trollied, you ridiculous sod.”

Sirius puts on his very best forlorn puppy eyes. It shouldn’t work with slate grey eyes, but it does.

“But Moony,” he whines with adorable petulance, and Remus sees his pale hand scrabbling under the fridge (Disgusting, his mind supples unhelpfully), “I got you a ring and everything.”

The searching hand brandishes a bread twist-tie like a weapon, bent into barely a circle shape. Remus laughs delightedly.

“Ah, Pads,” Remus says fondly, slipping the twist-tie onto his ring finger, “You know I can never say no to you.”

He’s being half facetious.

He’s being more serious than he’s ever been.

“But! I would rather never say no to you when we’re both sober,” he finishes, smiling shyly. Sirius grins crookedly at him, kisses his hair.

“Alright, alright, Moony, point taken, no more playing.”

In the morning, when they’re both murderously hungover, Sirius doesn’t understand how Remus could possibly be surprised, not see it coming, as Sirius bends down on one knee for the real deal, with the real ring that he’s hidden in his sock drawer for weeks, both of them weeping like silly little boys. They take a Polaroid of their happy engagement, and this one is pinned to the fridge with a magnet of a Pomeranian in high heels.

[ccaptain]

Do not become my shipping partner, I will send literal murder attempts of cute-feels-y stuff in your inbox unprompted and then run away like it's a bomb ready to defuse, no longer my responsability once I put it in your hands.

[lovelessbachelor]

im such a romantic which is crazy because im not a romantic

[dancinginthesliverglow]

Domestic Bliss by DancingInTheSliverGlow

T | 900 words | Complete

Hades/Percy Jackson/Persephone, Percy & Hermes, minor Percy & Poseidon

Romantic Fluff, Adult Percy Jackson, Family

Hadercy Fest Day 6: Hades and/or Persephone read TLT written by adult Percy and find out that Percy thinks Hades is attractive. @hadesxpercy-events

Polympians: family focus @polympians-event

“Hey Persephone, Hades, look what I found.” Hermes says. “Remember way back when Percy was writing down his quests and he asked me to beta-read them?” “Tell me.” Persephone says, sitting up and leaning towards Hermes with a glint of mischievousness. Not for the first time, Hades spots the half-sibling familiarity between them. Hades hopes another around of Hermes-Percy prank wars isn't about to start. The parthenon barely survived the first. “Percy’s initial description of Hades-” “Shut up-” Percy lunges off the sofa towards Hermes. Within a blink of the eye, the god of speed places the love seat between them. Demeter and Poseidon momentarily stop their bickering to look at the second generation gods. “-was rather spicy.” Hermes finishes, grinning as he dodges Percy’s increasingly motivated attempts to grab the book. “Would you like me to read it?”

[parlerenfleurs]

It's funny how omegaverse started as this fringe weird as fuck thing some people did in fanfics, but the joke's on me because not only does its basic form completely appeal to my erotic tastes, actually, but it has truly become a very fascinating genre to me.

I'm sure someone in an American university doing gender studies is writing their thesis on this somewhere. Because it is such an interesting playfield for commentary, caricature and subversion on gender roles and on the position of potential child-bearing individuals in society, and how could this be structured if it were made 10 times more obvious, or how would we cope with it in a supposedly egalitarian society, and how can we make this man experience mysogyny, etc. And it reflects beautifully all of the fears, anxieties, and fantasies people with the potential to bear children, or perceived as such, can have. And the revolt, utopias, or reclamation that they want to express about it.

There is nothing inherently bad or even inherently anything about it as a whole, because people have created such unique things within the framing of this genre, and I find it incredibly entertaining and intellectually stimulating.

[caitlynskitten]

Rip Lucy MacLean you would’ve loved Ao3

[questioningwriter]

(Y'all remember when I said I'd have second parts out to stories... yeah, then this happened.)

(I typed this in a hurry to get something out, so it's relatively unedited. I skimmed it once, so I may have missed something.)

Boredom

TW: suggestive @ the end

"I'm booooooored." Villain flopped over the side of the sofa in the shared apartment. "Come sit with me?"

From the desk, Hero snorted. "You're such a crybaby." They teased their partner. "Come on, can you wait? I'm working."

Villain pouted. "No." They walked over to see what their partner was working on. "What'chya doin'?"

"You're not the only villain out there, you know." Hero said. "I have to find counter strategies for every possible plan that Supervillain or the others could come up with. Superhero wants them by the end of the day."

Villain sighed. "Fine, I'll go." They walked away, leaving hero to their work.

~

A few hours later, Hero gets a call from the Hero Agency. More specifically, Superhero.

"Come and get your partner." Superhero snapped before Hero could say anything. "They're glaring a hole through me because I gave you work on your day off."

Well, shit. "I'm on my way." Hero grabbed their go-bag, and threw their uniform on over their clothes. "Sorry about this."

"No, I'm sorry." Superhero said as Hero got on his motorcycle drove out for the Agency. "I never should have given you work on your day off. I'll never do it again."

Hero sighed. "Villains holding a knife to your throat, aren't they?"

"Is it that obvious?" Superhero tried to joke as Hero pulled up to the tall building the agency was in.

"I know Villain." Hero answered. "So yeah, it is."

Hero made their way to Superhero's office, thinking every curse word in the book. When they got there, they saw Superhero sitting in their chair, with Villain standing behind them in their villain getup, pressing a knife to their throat.

"Hey, baby!" Villain said cheerily, as if they were just happy to see them come home.

Hero sighed. "Sweetheart, baby, love of my life, I love you with every fibre of my being. Please let my boss go."

Villain pouted, but removed the knife from Superhero's neck. "Come on, baby." They muttered. "You have to see where I'm coming from here. You were ignoring me."

"As if I'm not allowed to work from home." Hero grumbled, but they were smiling.

"Nope!" Villain danced over to their partner, throwing their arms around them and mashing their bodies together. "When you're at home, you're mine!"

Hero winked. "Than why don't we go home and you can make me yours all over again?"

Villain smirked. "Yes, lets."

[doonarose]

Awning Realisation

(Good Omens Crowley/Aziraphale kissing and romance fic)

Rating: T

Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley get caught in a rainstorm on their way home from lunch. This is exactly what you think. I do not apologize for the fic, but I am very sorry about the title.

Rationale: Aziraphale and Crowley will come out of Season 3 talking to each other properly, and acknowledging, out loud, that they love each other, and actually planning for a future together. I’m writing kisses in this delicious, easy setting while I figure out if/how to write proper fix it fic. You can read this on its own, or after their second kiss in ‘The first one that’s right’ and their third kiss in ‘The second one that’s quite rubbish’. This is not the next kiss, this is a couple dozen kisses into their kissing escapades, and it is a good one.

Count: 2200ish

They’re leaving the park and beginning the short walk home when the first few fat drops of rain land. Wet, heavy splotches across their shoulders and into their hair accompanied by a dramatic flash of lightning. Aziraphale and Crowley do not ordinarily get caught out in the rain; it’s easy and convenient to miracle up an umbrella or simply to choose that their corporations not get wet.

Today, sated from a long lunch and deeply in love with each other, the idea of linking arms and walking home under a big black brolly tickles Crowley’s fancy and he raises his hand to bring one into existence. But Aziraphale is fast and grabs his fingers before he can cast. “Wait a moment!”

The rain is starting to fall harder, sheets of it falling across the grass around them, soaking quickly through Crowley’s blazer and starting to seep into the wool of his turtleneck. Standing there, seemingly impervious to it, Aziraphale’s grin only widens, his eyes twinkling; he’s clearly bursting to tell Crowley the secret and so Crowley waits, dutifully.  

The cold makes Crowley’s body shiver involuntarily, prompting him to ask, “Aziraphale?” his voice raised but only to be heard over the wind starting to whip up around them, pushing the rain against them from all sides. “What on Earth are we waiting for?”

A new thought occurs to Aziraphale, Crowley notes the change in countenance. Aziraphale angles his chin up and off to the side, “Wait, was this you?”

Lost as to what Aziraphale means and increasingly exasperated, Crowley responds, “What? Was what me?” Aziraphale just continues to regard him with a degree of suspicion. By now, the cold water has already saturated Crowley’s hair right down to his scalp, it’s running in a constant drip down the back of his neck, trickling down his spine to the small of his back and wetting the wool from the inside out. Somehow, it’s making his wings itch; he does not like the cold and he could storm off and miracle himself back to dry and warm but Aziraphale’s still grasping his hand.  

Suspicion gives way to a tight little secretive smile. “Just wait,” Aziraphale says, squeezing Crowley’s hand. Aziraphale gives a joyous little jolt of surprise at another flash of lightning and almost immediate thunder, letting out a giggle that sounds nervous.

Bemused but distracted by Aziraphale’s obvious delight in a rainstorm of all things, Crowley watches as he turns his head up to the rain, eyes closed against the whip of the wet and the wind. It’s a picture, he admits, worth the chill: everything about Aziraphale in this moment is radiant and contrasted up against all the greys of the London sky.

Eventually, though, as gorgeous as the angel looks, Crowley’s about to demand an explanation, or at the very least shake his hair out, when suddenly Aziraphale brings his chin back down and opens his eyes. He grins, mischievous and his eyebrows waggle just a little. His voice slips too easily into the overly dramatic play-acting tone you’d expect to hear in some classic farce. “Quick! Quick, Crowley, over there! There’s an awning!”

But before Crowley can react to this revelation – and even he isn’t clueless enough to not realize immediately the game Aziraphale is playing – his hand is being squeezed again and Aziraphale is pulling him along. In moments, he’s been led across the road, weaving between the crawling traffic and the scurrying humans, along the footpath, past shops packed with people escaping the deluge, to come to a stop under the deep blue canopy of some quaint little bakery.

They stand close in front of the shop window, catching their breath as the sound of the rain on the bricks and the fabric of their shelter becomes even louder. There are streams of water coming down off the awning in the corners and splashing from the ground so that it’s only the square foot they’re occupying that’s truly staying dry. And warm golden light pouring through the shop window, pastries and breads piled high on display, the scents of jam and yeast mingling with the petrichor and the car fumes.  

They’re sopping wet, drenched to the skin, and being sheltered under an awning at this point is actually kind of pointless. But Crowley can’t help but grin like an absolute idiot, wondering at the inner machinations of Aziraphale’s mind and waiting to discover exactly how he will play this out.

Aziraphale drops his hand and scrubs the water back off his face. “My goodness, what an unexpected and tempestuous storm!” he narrates, gleefully. “You’re soaking wet!” As though he hadn’t just been the one to make them stand in the rain for a solid minute and a half.

“Yes, quite,” Crowley plays along, failing to stifle his grin and get into some sort of character. They’re in public but no one’s paying them attention so he slips off his sunglasses and lets his eyes sparkle for Aziraphale to see. “There comes a point where you’re so wet you just can’t get any wetter.” He shakes his arms and shoulders sending water droplets flying, and then rakes both hands through his hair, pushing it back and away from where it’s started to fall in wet clumps across his forehead.

Aziraphale’s biting his bottom lip in an effort to hold some of his excitement at bay, and then he steps in, close and not quite warm, just wetter still where their clothes make contact and press into their skin; toe to toe, hip to hip and chest to chest. He loops his arms around Crowley’s waist and captures him there against him, holding his gaze steady and playful with their faces only a few inches apart.

“Oh Crowley,” he sighs, very much overly dramatically.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley encourages, tone tinged with mockery but overflowing with affection.

They continue to stare into each other’s eyes until there’s another rumble of thunder. Aziraphale yells to speak over it as it dissipates: “You know, until this moment, I never really knew myself.”

Crowley chuckles, hands at Aziraphale’s hips, just gently rubbing little circles with his thumbs and willing Aziraphale to kiss him now. “A lovely sentiment, thank you.”

“Yes, and you should know,” Aziraphale continues boisterously. “That my feelings will not be repressed! You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

“Ah,” Still grinning and shuffling to try to get that little bit closer, Crowley recognises that. “Our friend, Jane.”

Aziraphale looks pleased with the both of them. “You’ve been reading!”

“Watched the movie,” Crowley explains, giving Aziraphale’s hips another squeeze. “And it’s only fair, Aziraphale,” Crowley’s confession catches in his throat: this is silly and wonderful, but vulnerable, too. They’re not like this often, even now, they struggle with it, because it’s so vulnerable and they could never ever have been vulnerable before, not with all that danger and risk. But they can now, and deep down, Crowley wants to be.

So, he swallows and focuses on Aziraphale’s grinning, expectant, wet face. “You are every reason, every hope, and every dream I’ve ever had.”

In the end, he tries to play it off as silly, failing, thankfully, because his cheeks are burning hot enough to start to evaporate the water, and his eyes are imploringly honest because actually, he means every damn word. He holds Aziraphale’s gaze.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathes out and looks suddenly on the brink of blissfully happy tears.

“It’s from The Notebook,” Crowley mumbles.

“Don’t care,” and then Aziraphale’s lips are pressed up against his, sweet and slick with the rain, hot with passion and still curved up into a smile.   

Crowley falls into Aziraphale like he’s starting to do every time they kiss, collapsing into his embrace and crumbling to have found his refuge. His arms snake around Aziraphale’s back, crushing them even closer together as Aziraphale kisses at his lips and cradles his cheeks in his hands.

Everything is deeper and somehow more with the wet heaviness of their bodies and their clothes, with the rolls of thunder overhead, and the warm golden light from the bakery cut through by blasts of white lightning. The rain draws out the essence of them, the familiar rosewater and sandalwood Aziraphale always wears almost overwhelmed by the earthier base notes of his skin and his hair and his mouth, right there under Crowley’s hands and lips.

Aziraphale’s mouth shifts, peppering kisses across his lips and his cheeks, and then back to focus on the pout of Crowley’s bottom lip to slip and tug at it in a manner that’s becoming familiar and expected. Aziraphale sucks against it, gentle and slow, as his hands slip back into Crowley’s hair, fingers splayed and sliding seamlessly into strands made slippery with rain. His hands fist, grasping hold in a way that wrings water from Crowley’s hair in wet dribbles and makes Crowley’s eyes flutter open for a moment, his lips parted around a quiet, unexpected gasp. Aziraphale’s tongue flicks up against his open lips, against Crowley’s teeth and behind and this time it’s crepes and sweet cream and sticky raspberry jam that Aziraphale tastes of.

Crowley can’t help but groan at it, quiet and private, just between them, but undeniably letting Aziraphale know that he’s coming apart. Crowley kisses him back, hard and letting go of some of his control, licking into Aziraphale’s open mouth, meeting his tongue and shocked to find himself starving for the taste there. Crepes, cream, raspberries, Aziraphale, licking it from his lips and his tongue, swallowing it down like it’s the very best wine.

Crowley wonders if Aziraphale knows that that’s what this kiss tastes like, wonders if he can sense – whether he can match – the desperation. It’s not just tender and loving – they’ve gotten good at that – this is hungry and delicious and perhaps too much for standing on a footpath. Yes, definitely too much. Crowley needs to slow them down and does, arms uncoiling from around Aziraphale’s waist, hands going back to his hips to squeeze and dig into the soft flesh just a little too tightly. Crowley pulls back and Aziraphale releases his hold of Crowley’s hair, hands shifting back to his cheeks. Crowley does his best, resisting Aziraphale’s gravitational pull until their faces are far enough apart that they can look at each other.

White hair curled messily from the rain, clothes hanging heavy off his shoulders and his bowtie askew and coming undone, Aziraphale looks out of breath and a little dazed, his lips kissed pink and wetter than the rest of him, cheeks a ruddy red, and his eye shining. He pouts and goes to say something, but Crowley falls back in for one last taste, lips meeting quickly, roughly, and Crowley licks at Aziraphale’s lips until he lets him in to feel the vibration of a moan and taste the sweetness and the lingering rain on his tongue. Crowley’s fingers dig into Aziraphale’s hips and then they really do pull apart.  

Aziraphale takes a very deliberate, loud deep breath, in through his nose and then shakily out through his parted lips. He casts his gaze around, settling appreciatively for a moment on the bakery display; Crowley’s stuck still staring at his mouth. “Well then…” Aziraphale says and trails off as he turns back to look at Crowley with an encouraging, somewhat flustered smile.

Crowley commits to nothing and gives an audible but unintelligible murmur in response.

“I stand corrected,” Aziraphale offers after a couple of moments.

Crowley isn’t sure what he means but has noticed that he’s starting to feel cold and wet and not fantastic again. He arches an eyebrow in question, “Oh?”

Aziraphale’s gaze dips to the pavement and then back up to meet Crowley’s.  “Well, you know… Vavoom.”

“Vavoom?” Crowley turns the word – his word – over in his mouth and understands exactly what Aziraphale is getting at. “Yes, vavoom indeed.” He presses his lips together to stop from smiling too broadly.

“Honestly,” Aziraphale continues, tone turning conversational. “I don’t know how Maggie and Nina didn’t fall in love immediately, even with all the extra water. It’s a wonder they even noticed they were getting wet.”

“Humans…” Crowley offers by way of explanation with a shrug. “Although admittedly, I am starting to understand some of their proclivities.” He slips his sunglasses back into place and looks out into the still-falling rain. “Are you ready to dry out?”

“Yes, certainly,” Aziraphale says. “That was, as always, very lovely, but I’m not sure it couldn’t be improved by the water being nice and warm.”

“Agreed.” Crowley wriggles his fingers in Aziraphale’s general direction, dispelling the water from their skin and their clothes in a million tiny droplets thrown off in every direction all at once. Just for good measure, he gives Aziraphale’s ensemble the added warmth and softness of a recent tumble dry without any of the potential fabric damage.

This is clearly to the angel’s liking, as Aziraphale beams at him in thanks before offering Crowley his arm and pulling a large black umbrella from nowhere. “Time to go back to the bookshop, my dear,” he says.

Crowley loops his arm through Aziraphale’s, joining him under the umbrella, and together they step out from under the awning to continue making their way home.

A/N: It is what it is, folks. Whatever head-shaking, cheek-aching grinning, eye-rolling, or snickering you have done, I, too, have felt it. When they work themselves out and get to this very pleasant place where it’s working through their trauma and their weirdness together, it is going to be ridiculously glorious. I have a few more of these planned and they’re all getting posted on AO3 now!

A/N 2: Should also say, that yes, there are five or six direct quotes, or close approximations through this from Four Weddings and a Funeral, Pride and Prejudice, and The Notebook. Because without the quotes it would only have been very fluffy and I wanted it ridiculously fluffy.