#i just conjured it from my mind
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a-sadclown · 4 months ago
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my first otp
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absolutely-not-my-main-blog · 9 months ago
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Hot take 😭
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fisheito · 11 months ago
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squints suspiciously at the next event's silhouettes devs, if that really is yakumo... DON't make me tap the sign.....😒..........
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sugar-plum-obito · 1 month ago
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whenever i think i should start putting effort into dating again i text this one dude i know and ask him about his opinions on womens rights and bodies and i am instantly reminded that im better off alone and just having friends
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istherewifiinhell · 7 months ago
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Save me bean quesadilla.... bean quesadilla save me.....
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the-knife-consumer · 2 years ago
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My first exposure of botw was very brief gameplay clips of it when it first came out or something and i think it was from a zelda compilation back when i was into game grumps but anyway. Point being it was mashed in with other zelda stuff so that could be why my brain did this but. Somehow. I thought that botw's zoras domain was in a cave?? And that the big bad thing is that it was going to collapse and crush the domain. And sidon would just take you on a leisurely swim to previously inaccessible places and help you fish in an area with a bunch of stalagmites (have NO fucking idea how i got that out of the vah ruta sequence). Like. Brain girlie HOW did you fuck up that badly.
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maiteo · 2 years ago
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butcherb1rd · 2 years ago
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instead of painting a background for this digital piece i’m working on i just yoinked the background from another finished piece and edited it. said background was not originally from the finished piece, but from a wip that’ll never be finished. reduce reuse recycle ♻️
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kafkaoftherubble · 5 months ago
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I can never stop scrutinizing every post, comment, or discussion about these topics and wondering if it is about the normalization of neurodivergence and people living with mental illnesses (i.e. "This is also one of the many kinds of human experience"), or if it's just pathologizing human behaviors.
I really detest the latter. It's a personal principle to avoid this pitfall.
However, even this habit is scrutinized on its own. Because you're necessarily playing around with ideas about maladies, sicknesses, and "unhealthiness." When I say, "hold on, this might sound like pathologization," am I genuinely thinking this person is dehumanizing themself, or am I just expressing internalized ableism in the vein of "don't call yourself sick! Sick is a word for the weak! The weak-willed!"?
That is why I'm glad OP added an example to the reblog!
And I'm sure there are many other ways to not pathologize oneself while trying to normalize experiences historically marginalized by the so-called "normal, healthy default." I kinda wanna see what example others/friends can come up with to avoid self-pathologization.
Sick list of symptoms bro. Now try humanizing your behavior instead of pathologizing it.
#Me、personally? I usually don't mention the supposed medical term straight away when I'm discussing my mode of experience#(despite being a science nerd who easily rambles about tHe cOgNiTvE sCIEnCeS ahahhaha).#I just describe what it's like as if I have no idea what the clinical terms or symptoms are.#I also work really hard to be aware of my state of mind just so I can give people heads-up if it's getting tougher to rein myself in.#That way I don't have to withdraw from interacting with them despite it—because they are aware.#And if I fail to maintain composure (yo it does happen、 annoyingly enough、despite my goddamn effort) and snap?#When I explain my behavior once I've calmed down later、 it won't sound like some “bullshit excuse” conjured#to repair my image after hurting that person.#Having been subjected to way too many people's meltdowns (due to mental disorders/neurodivergence/good old neurotypicality)#I really don't want to force other people into my spot if I were the one losing control、 man#Which actually brings back to why I detest pathologization. Huh.#It's just a handy way of shutting down communication innit? “I'm sick okay? I have symptoms ABCDE#You don't understand shit you healthy son of a bitch!”#How do you expect me to know how to accomodate you if you describe your experience like it's a terminal sickness with such *finality* that#it's as if it's impossible to carve out a middle way?#surely that is as far away from normalization as it can possibly get.
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dark-and-kawaii · 13 days ago
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── ♡ Nᴀɴᴀᴍɪ
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“Sweetheart, you really are such a desperate thing, aren't you?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing away the tear that trickles down your cheek before leaning in to kiss you softly.
It's almost unbearable, the need that coils tight within your belly- the dampness between your legs. It's almost embarrassing that you can't control the sob that slips between your lips against his as he presses his thigh between your legs, the cloth of your panties and his knee pressing right where you need it most...
Pulling away from you, Nanami looks deep into your eyes- nothing but pure love and affection coming from his own, “tell me dear, what is it you need from me?”
You slowly grind yourself onto his knee, an attempt to get some sort of friction, “mn’need you~ need my Kento inside m-me-“
He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, his hands gently gripping the soft flesh of your hips, “You don't want the vibrator first? Get nice and wet for me, darling? You know I don't want to hurt you when I'm stretching that pretty pussy of yours-”
You whimper, grinding harder, his words sending heat straight to your cunt.
His grip on your hips tightens, a soft warning to still your movements, the action eliciting another small noise from you.
You look up at him through lidded eyes, your chest heaving and cheeks flushed as you shake your head, the movement slight, your hair falling over your shoulder with the motion, “p-please... I- I want the stretch- wan’it to hurt- just please, Kento... please, please put it in me-“ you rest your head on his shoulder, panting lightly against the material of his shirt, your eyes screwed shut, “just need it- need you inside me- need you to fuck me so hard, make me scream until my voice is gone, fuck- I can't stand it- i- I’ve missed you so much. I- I thought I lost you…”
Nanami is silent for a moment, taking in the sight of you, debauched, practically begging him for his cock, his own length straining uncomfortably against his trousers- his mind conjuring up images of the things he wants to do to you. He presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his large hand coming up to stroke through your hair, “Don’t worry darling, I've got you. You don't have to think about anything anymore… just relax, let me take care of you, okay? Just like always...”
He takes hold of your wrists, bringing them around his neck as he picks you up, the action so fluid, as if you weighed nothing, making you wrap your legs around his waist as he turns and places you down on the bed, laying you out before him like a feast- a treat, “and I promise,” he brings your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the tips of your fingers, his eyes never leaving yours as his other hand slides the zipper of his trousers down, “I'm not going anywhere...”
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khioneee · 2 months ago
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‘honey, i’m home.’
simon, presumed dead for the past five years, appears at your doorstep, very much alive.
the knock at the door cut through the quiet night like a knife, startling you from restless sleep. rain hammered against the windows, and the wind howled through the cracks. your heart pounded in your chest as you shuffled toward the door, dread curling deep in your stomach. no one visited at this hour. not anymore.
you hesitated at the door, hand trembling slightly on the knob. for a moment, you thought about ignoring it—letting whoever it was go unanswered. but something pulled you forward, a strange sense of familiarity, even though you couldn’t place it.
when you opened the door, your breath caught in your throat.
there, standing on your doorstep, was simon.
simon stood before you, drenched from the rain, looking like a ghost dragged back from the edge of the world. his hair clung to his forehead, water dripping down his pale face, and exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. it had been five years since you’d gazed into those stormy eyes—five years of grief, heartache, and learning how to live without him. his familiar eyes, shadowed by exhaustion and pain, locked onto yours. his clothes were soaked, his body thinner than you remembered, like he had fought every step of the way just to stand on your doorstep.
your breath hitched painfully. ‘wake up,’ you said to yourself, heart racing. ‘please… wake up.’
but you didn’t.
‘lovie…’ simon whispered, his voice cracked and hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it for a long time. ‘i’m home.’
your mind swirled and shock paralyzing you. it felt like a cruel trick your mind had conjured. the world around you blurred, and your heart ached in your chest. it couldn’t be real. he couldn’t be here.
simon’s expression softened, and without a word, before you could react, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet thud. he reached for you, pulling you into his arms without hesitation, and the breath left your lungs. his grip was tight, desperate, as if holding you was the only thing keeping him grounded. his cold, rain-soaked body pressed against yours, but you didn’t care.
he was here.
you froze for a moment, and then, slowly, your hands gripped the wet fabric of his jacket, your chest pressed against his. tears welled in your eyes, the disbelief crashing into a flood of emotions—relief, anger, and love. his familiar scent, rain-soaked, earthy, and undeniably him, flooded your senses, overwhelming you.
‘they told me you were dead,’ you sobbed against him, your fists clinging to his jacket as if that could keep him here. ‘they said your plane crashed. that you were gone.’
you clung to him, your heart shattering in your chest. he held you as if afraid you might slip through his fingers, as if his entire world depended on you being real.
simon buried his face into your hair, holding you tighter, his breath shaky. ‘every bloody day, i fought my way back for you,’ he said, his voice heavy with the weight of everything he’d endured. ‘you were the only reason i stayed alive.’
you sobbed harder, burying your face into his chest, your knees nearly giving out beneath you. all the years of mourning him, the endless nights spent crying yourself to sleep, the desperate ache of thinking you’d lost him forever—all of it shattered in his arms.
but then, simon’s grip on you faltered. something had shifted in the way he held you. slowly, he pulled back just enough to look down at your hand. his thumb brushing over the bare space where your wedding ring used to sit.
his body tensed. he pulled back slightly, just enough to glance down at your hand, and his breath hitched. the wedding ring you once wore was gone.
‘where’s your ring?’ he asked, voice quiet but edged with something fragile, as if the answer might break him.
your throat tightened, guilt and sorrow clawing at your chest. ‘simon…’ you started, voice cracking under the weight of it all.
his jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked past you. that’s when he saw them—new photos hanging on the walls. the ones of you and him were gone, replaced by pictures of you and someone else.
it was like the air had been knocked from his lungs. his jaw clenched, shoulders sagging under the realization. his face a mask of exhaustion and heartbreak as the weight of what he was seeing sank in.
you looked away, guilt pressing down on your chest like a heavy weight. ‘i waited…’ you whispered. ‘even when they told me there wasn’t a chance you were alive, i tried.’
his face didn’t change, but the subtle pain and betrayal in his eyes was unmistakable. ‘i came back for you,’ he uttered softly, almost to himself. ‘i told you i’d come to you.’
‘i thought you were gone,’ you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks. ‘i didn’t know how to keep waiting when they told me you’d never come back.’
simon’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away your tears. despite everything, his touch was tender, grounding. ‘i didn’t survive just to be a memory, sweetheart,’ he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. ‘i fought every day to come back to you. and if i have to fight again… i will.’
you leaned into him, your heart breaking and mending all at once. the years apart, the lost moments—they still weighed heavy, but he was here. he had kept his promise, and that was all that mattered now.
‘i told you i’d come back,’ he said, voice low but steady. ‘and i’m not going anywhere. not ever again.’
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tinystarbites · 3 months ago
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accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader
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Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes
Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired
(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)
HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆
Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.
His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-
It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-
“Spencer?”
He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-
“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-
He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –
“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”
An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.
After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.
And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.
For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.
“Hi.”
You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.
You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.
“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”
Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.
“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”
He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.
Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.
The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.
“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”
“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”
You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.
“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-
“Is it because you saw my nudes?”
Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.
“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“
“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.
“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”
Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?
“Therapy sessions?”
You just- ignore him.
“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“
Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.
He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“
You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.
“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.
Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.
“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-
You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.
“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”
You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.
“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.
“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.
Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.
“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.
You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.
“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”
“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.
You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“
“You.”
You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-
You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.
“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”
And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.
Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.
“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.
“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.
“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.
“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”
Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.
It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-
“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”
Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.
Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.
Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.
It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.
Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.
“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.
“What do you mean?”
You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.
“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”
Youryouryouryouryour-
Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.
“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”
You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”
It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.
“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?
You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.
“Sure. Whatever.”
And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.
You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.
“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.
Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.
“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?
There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.
You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”
Oh.
Oh.
You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.
Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.
It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –
A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.
He never knew he needed this so much.
“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.
Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.  
“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“
Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-
Why?
Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?
There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?
“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-
Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?
“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.
“Spencer.”
The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.
He loves it.
“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.
Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.
You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.
He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-
“You like me?”
You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.
“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.
“You- You want me?”
Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.
…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?
“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”
Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-
“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.
He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?
“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-
“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”
Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.
“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.
Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.
You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.
Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-
It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.
A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.
“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.
“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.
“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”
And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)
You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.
You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-
It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.
“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.
He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”
ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”
“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”
And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.
“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.
Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”
At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.
You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”
And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.
“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“
“Hey, hey hey whoa. Spencer, darling. Penguin. Look at me, please?”
But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-
Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-
“Baby, please.”
Spencer sobs.
Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.
“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.
Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.
“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”
Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?
“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”
He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.
He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.
Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.
“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.
He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”
You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-
And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-
He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-
“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.
You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.
He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.
You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –
“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“
You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”
Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”
He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.
“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.
“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”
You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”
“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.
“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.
Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-
“Please.”
“Please what, angel?”
“More?”
“More what?”
Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.
“More touch?”
Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.
You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”
He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.
“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.
“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-
“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-
“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”
You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”
The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-
It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.
You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.
The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.
Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.
But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.
Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.
“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.
“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.
You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.
You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.
You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.
You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.
When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.
“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.
“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.
You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”
That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.
“Words, angel.”
“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”
You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”
He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.
There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.
You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.
Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.
When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”
“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.
It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.
Probably the first reason.
He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.
Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-
“Take it off?”
You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”
Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.
Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.
Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.
He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-
“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.
You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.
Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.
“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”
Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.
Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.
Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.
Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.
Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-
fuckfuckfuckufuckfkcufuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkc-
You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-
“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.
“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”
It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-
He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.
“What do you say, sweetheart?”
There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.
“Yes, I want. Please.”
You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”
Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.
“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.
“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).
There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”
Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”
You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"
Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-
“Yes. That.”
���But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.
“Rossi? Rossi?”
“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”
Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.
He adores you with every fibre of his being.
“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”
And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”
You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.
Ah well. It was still worth it.
“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.
But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.
“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.
“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.
“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”
Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-
He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.
With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.
He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-
“You ready, baby?”
He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“
“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.
It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.
You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”
He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.
“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.
“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.
“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.
You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.
That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.
“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”
He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-
“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”
The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.
“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”
Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-
You give a particularly hard thrust and-
Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.
He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.
“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.
“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-
“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.
You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”
“Killing me with sex?”
“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”
He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.
“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”
Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.
“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”
He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.
Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-
“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”
He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-
“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.
“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”
Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”
You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”
Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?
“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.
You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”
“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.
There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.
--
Bonus
“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”
Spencer chokes on his coffee.
“What?”
“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”
Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.
“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”
Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.
“Shut up, Morgan.”
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆
tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @wasitforrevenge @wannabewolf @tommorecommendedfics @winterhi09 @theoraekenslover @chaewondrful @okeyhoezayy @busy-buzzing @laurakirsten0502 @redros3y @trashxqueen @kitty-kei @so-long-daisymay @hayleythecannibal @jsnsnsnszjzj @reeidsluv @kayane28 @moonysreid @desperately-seeking-serotonin @munsonslunchbox @tul1p-mimi @anuttellaa @pinkgomie @elizabethmidnight2017 @evrmorets @cyanidebitsg @bangchansdog @pinterestwhore145 @some-one-yiu-dont-kno @emma-e-a
i hope these work lmao, also let me know if you wanna be on my eternal tag list for any future Spencer fic ;)
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thevillainswhore · 3 months ago
Text
Loverboy
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Word Count: 4.3k
Summary: Bucky, a lovesick, pining super soldier, vows to keep his feelings for you a secret — no matter how obvious his crush may seem. Those plans are ruined between a meddling Sam, an embarrassing fall, and a visit to the medbay with you.
Warnings: Avengers AU, Bucky’s POV, fluff, crack (my lame attempt at comedy), suggestive thoughts (no smut), just our boy being a lovesick little bean with a big ol’ crush.
Author’s Note: Dividers by @saradika. Proofread by @buckys-wintersoldier, thank you so much sweetie, I love you!! This was inspired by a wonderful request from @prettyboy56, thank you so much! Hope you enjoy x
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“Hi, Bucky.” 
Instantly, he sputtered over his mouthful of cereal, eyes watering from his food going down the wrong way. 
Bucky knew that melodic voice before his gaze even reached its owner. You entered the kitchen, wiggling your fingers at him in greeting. 
Clearing his throat, he swiped his bowl to the side, his breakfast now forgotten about, and directed his attention solely onto you. “Hi—um h—hello, doll.” 
The muscles of your cheeks lifted up to your eyes in a smile that made Bucky swoon. Hard.
Your eyes fell to Sam then, who stood in the corner, fresh from a workout with a shit eating on his face. “Good morning, Samuel.” 
“Mornin’, beautiful. How did you sleep?” 
Bucky fought the growl rising in his throat, the unprecedented possessiveness caving its way through its internal barriers in your presence. 
You grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and closed the door, leaning your back against it to take a big gulp. 
“Not bad at all.” You licked your lips, ridding the dryness that came from a long slumber before your eyes lit up. “Oh, by the way! I drank some of that tea you recommended. It’s helped a bunch—”
Bucky zoned out while you continued to express your gratitude to Sam. He couldn’t help the way his eyes dilated as he rested his head in the palm of his vibranium hand, a lovesick sigh escaping his lips. You were just so gorgeous – a deity in human form right in front of his own very eyes. Bucky had never considered himself so lucky in all his time on earth to be within your vicinity. 
In his own world of oggling, Bucky didn’t notice how the conversation fell short between you and Sam. Neither did he realise how the two of you were staring at him; you with concern and Wilson smothering his laughter with his hand. 
“Bucky? Sweetheart?” He finally registered that you were speaking to him and almost choked, again, on his own spit.
“Mhm?” Bucky murmured, drunk off your attention. 
You smiled once again, so devastatingly beautiful that his left arm whirred in stupor. “Are you okay? You feeling alright?” Not waiting for a response, you walked over to him and Bucky almost let his eyes roll to the back of his head when you lifted your wrist to his forehead. “Jeez, you’re a little hot, Buck.” 
Sam keeled over in hysterics, unable to keep his composure any longer. Meanwhile, a bright red blossom of colour rose up from the skin of Bucky’s neck all the way up to his cheeks. 
Had Bucky not been embarrassingly infatuated by you, the throwaway comment wouldn’t have had any effect on him. But this was you. The woman who had the ability to make him melt on the spot. 
While logic and a basic level of common sense screamed at him that you were talking about his temperature, his mind could only conjure up the fact you had called him hot. 
Bucky saw your mouth moving, however he couldn’t concentrate on the sound of the words coming out of it. You were still touching him, patting his cheeks and sweeping the tendrils of hair that had fell out from behind his ears out of his face. The close proximity of your bodies threw him through a loop and without even realising, his thighs spread further, subconsciously begging you to forego all boundaries and smother yourself against him. 
Gently tapping his nose three times, you managed to gain his full attention again. “You seem out of it, sweetie. Maybe you should go down to the medbay. See if you’re coming down with a fever or something.” 
Sam blew out a breath of air. “Yeah, because that’s what’s wrong with him.” 
You threw a lighthearted glare his way before bringing your eyes back to Bucky. “Promise me you’ll get seen to?” 
How could he refuse when you asked so sweetly? “Anything you want.” He vowed sincerely. 
Scrunching your nose, you chucked his chin and whispered under your breath, “Good boy.”
Bucky almost whimpered when you withdrew your hands and stepped back. He so desperately wanted to follow you and nudge your arm until you paid attention to him once more. Your touch was fire and a cool breeze all at once. Electricity that created static across his stubbled cheek, yet also stoked a warmth through his entire body.  
Peace. He’d never felt anything like it. Never before felt drunk from just the delicate essence of a perfume or experienced the loosening of his limbs, relaxing until his legs felt like jelly whenever you so much as cast him a glance. 
You grabbed a piece of fruit from the table, ready to go down to the gym and train. “Catch you later, Sam,” you called over your shoulder. Meeting Bucky’s eyes a final time, you winked while you headed for the elevator. “Bye, sweetheart.”  
Bucky’s gaze was glued to you, following you out hopelessly until you were completely out of sight. 
He was fucked — well and truly out of his depth. 
Sam crossed his arms and smirked. “You are down bad, man.” 
Bucky swiped a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “Fuckin’ tell me about it.” 
“This is serious.” Sam sobered up, his lips softening into an honest smile. 
With an embarrassingly loud thud against the island countertop, Bucky let his head drop. “I have no idea what to do, Sam. I thought this crush would have passed by now but it’s been months.”
“Well,” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Have you even tried asking her out?” 
“And why would I do that?” Bucky asked, genuinely confused. 
Sam sputtered over his words. “What do you mean—Because that’s what people do when they like someone, you dumbass!” 
Bucky had lost enough braincells daydreaming about you constantly. He didn’t need to be told what he already knew. But the pressure of asking you out to then have a chance of being rejected? He would never come back from that. “Yeah, no thanks,” he mumbled.
“Come on, man. What’s the worst that could happen?” Sam asked. 
Bucky lifted his head up and huffed sarcastically. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe she could turn me down and rip my heart out into little pieces, so much that I would hide out in my room for the rest of eternity never to be seen again?” 
“Now you’re just being dramatic.”
Bucky sighed longingly. “Let me wallow in my misery alone, Sam.” 
“Why? So you can spend your days staring at her with your googly eyes and drooling over her.” 
“I have never drooled over her,” Bucky snarled. 
A twinkle shone in Sam’s eye, a mischievous grin donning his face. “Then what’s that on your chin?” 
Bucky’s eyes widened and he quickly brought his hand up to his face to check if he did in fact have any wetness coating his mouth. Finding none, he looked back to Sam with a scowl. “I hate you.”
Sam shook his head with laughter. “You shouldn’t make it so easy to tease you, loverboy.”  
With a growl, Bucky lifted from his seat and stormed out of the kitchen. 
The irritating voice followed him. “Don’t forget training tomorrow morning, loverboy!” 
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The sun was shining over the compound the next morning and so came the bright idea from Steve that all exercise activities should be held outside. While the recruits in training buffed up on their sparring with the Captain, the rest of the avengers worked out as they saw fit. 
As usual, Sam took any opportunity possible to annoy Bucky, which brought them together, running laps around the outdoor track. 
“When are you gonna man up and ask her out then, Cyborg? Pretty girl ain’t gonna be available forever.” 
Bucky wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t run ahead of Sam. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t. Maybe the pace he kept alongside Wilson allowed him to stare at you so clearly in your tight workout leggings and sports bra as sweat sensually rolled over your skin. Maybe. 
“I’m not asking her out, Sam. Drop it.” 
Sam huffed out an annoyed breath. “Listen, man. It’s not as if you’ve got nothing going for you. As much as you’re a grumpy shit, you’ve got them blue eyes the chicks love. Gets them all gooey when you give them intense eye contact, y’know?” He reluctantly added, “And they dig the brooding, bad boy, leather jacket vibe.”
Bucky let out a rare smile within the presence of Sam. “You tryna hit on me, Wilson?” 
“Look, all I’m saying is you have a chance.” Sam slyly glanced over the field. “And if you don’t quit fuckin’ around, that chance is gonna disappear.”  
The smile instantly dropped from Bucky’s face. “What do you mean by that?” 
Sam’s signature smirk came back with vengeance. “Your girls lookin’ kinda cute today. So I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you ain’t the only one who’s got their eye on her.” 
Naturally, Bucky followed his instinct and let his eyes look over at you. You were a fucking wonder, of course he knew that. But heeding Sam’s ominous warning, Bucky allowed his gaze to venture out, only allowing you to blur into the background for a couple of seconds while he took stock of the other male, and female, recruits. 
Low and behold, plenty of other people wantonly stared at you while you completed your circuit, almost salivating over their barely concealed pining. As much as Bucky hated to admit it, the fucker was right. You were the pinnacle of everyone’s attention. 
With the way you were bending over, squatting and looking like an angel amidst the perspiration the sun brought on, Bucky wasn’t sure if he could actually blame anyone for it. 
That didn’t stop the ugly, green eyed beast within him that wanted to tear everyone’s eyes out for daring to glimpse at you. 
It was silly, he knew he had no right to feel any sort of possessive nature for you. Unfortunately, you didn’t belong to him. Still, he couldn’t control the deep rooted urges that whispered the kinds of fun he’d have gouging out eyeballs that looked where they weren't supposed to. 
Knowing he had stirred the pot enough, Sam figured it was time to try and hit the final nail in the coffin in order to make his friend move his ass. “Y’know what gives you an advantage though, man?” 
Bucky continued to death stare the surrounding agents, while keeping up with his steady jog. “What’s that?”
“Guess who’s making eyes at you right now.” 
At breakneck speed, Bucky snapped his head back around to you, only to indeed find you staring at him with a fire in your eyes and your bottom lip trapped between your teeth. 
A violent shudder ran down his spine and for a moment, the whole world stopped on its axis, allowing Bucky to revel in a daydream brought to life. 
That was until his mind snapped him back into the present. The super soldier was majestic on his feet in a fight, graceful yet utterly dangerous out on the field even with the pressure a mission came with. 
However to his utter bewilderment, you happened to be the most dangerous being he had ever come across, because in all of his years as a trained, professional assassin, Bucky had never, never, tripped over his own feet. 
And so, inevitably, Bucky’s face ungracefully met the asphalt of the outside track with an audible thunk. 
A collective of gasps, oo’s, and ah’s, rang around the large group. Bucky could physically feel the coating of red, hot embarrassment climbing up to his now scratched cheeks.  
Bucky couldn’t see the look of shame and pity on Sam’s face as he dropped his head into his hands. All he was capable of was fantasizing faking his own death and moving far, far away where no one who witnessed his fall could ever find him.  
With a painful, deep groan, Bucky managed to roll himself over. He couldn’t bear to open his eyes and allow himself to accept reality yet and so he kept them closed, waiting for the ground to swallow him up or for the beaming sun to slowly incinerate him, melt him into the ground with his shame and dignity. 
But instead of either of those, a shadow casted over him, the harsh brightness behind his eyelids dulling down. Slowly, he peeked an eye open, only for mortification to kick him in the gut when he found you standing over him. 
“You alright there, Soldier?” Your hands were set on your hips, those deliciously curved grooves of your body that he had shamelessly stared at one too many times during gym sessions. 
“Mhm,” he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing roughly. “Just peachy.” 
Even though you’d just seen him eat dirt, in front of hundreds of learning recruits and the rest of the avengers, your smile was kind as you held out your hand. “Need some help?” 
Bucky took your offering, sliding his clammy palm into your dry one and hoisted himself up with your grip. He hadn’t needed your help, he was a super soldier with a metal arm; an agility and strength beyond normal human ability. But he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to feel your soft skin against his. 
He couldn’t look you in the eye as he stood up, aware of your gaze glued to him. “Th-Thanks.” 
“It’s not a problem,” you said. “Although, you’ve got a few nasty looking cuts on your cheeks.” 
Bucky brought his left hand up to his face, hissing when the cool vibranium stung the open wounds. “Ah, it’s nothin’—don't worry about it. Nothing a few hours won’t fix.” 
You shook your head fondly. “Well, how about I walk you to the infirmary and we get some ointment on them? It wouldn’t hurt to be cautious.” 
Bucky choked on his own spit and snapped his eyes to yours. “W-We?” 
Your smile was blinding — so beautiful with an ability to stop time. At least for him anyway. “Yeah, why not? It looks like you could use a hand—y’know, since you’re a little clumsy on your feet today.” The cheeky smirk that followed your words almost sent him to an early grave.
His cheeks blazed. Bucky was sure he looked utterly stupid, with his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. But he couldn’t help the effect you had on him. “I um—I— ha, I guess.” 
Your eyes glinted mischievously. “I’ll take that as a yes?” 
Not trusting his voice to hold steady, Bucky simply nodded. 
“Great,” you approved. “Just one question though, are we going to keep holding hands on the way?”
Looking down to the space between you, Bucky felt his mouth dry when he saw that he hadn’t yet released his hand from yours. “I’m—oh fuck—I’m so sorry.” 
Still, he made no move to slacken his grip. 
You tightened your lips, and he knew you were willing yourself not to laugh for his sake. Sam would have a fucking field day with this. 
Though to his surprise, instead of pulling away like he expected you to, you began pulling him along, hands still interweaved. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, Bucky.”  
His name on your lips was akin to a siren singing her song; dragging helpless seamen to their deaths. A thought crossed his mind then, that he didn’t think he would mind so much if he sank to his reckoning, not if your voice was the last thing he ever heard. 
“Okay.” Bucky followed you blindly, eyes glued to your conjoined hands and disbelieving of his luck. 
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You had led the way towards the medbay and found a cozy, private room that the doctors used for small injuries. Bucky sat impatiently on the side of the medical bed, twiddling his thumbs and fidgeting restlessly. Never had he been so close to you, alone. 
Bucky internally prayed with all his faith that you couldn’t hear the rapid staccato of his heartbeat. He was sure if he was hooked up to a monitor, the doctors would be thoroughly concerned about his health. 
Finally having gathered all the supplies you deemed necessary along with a first aid box, you walked back over to the bed and dumped everything next to him. 
“So,” you began, an uneasy conspiratorial tone to your voice that weirdly reminded him of Sam. “Wanna tell me what happened out there?”  
“I—,” Bucky sheepishly scratched the back of his neck while his cheeks bloomed crimson red. “I must’ve just tripped over my own feet.” 
He tried to shrug off his nonchalance, but he knew by your raised eyebrow you didn’t believe him. “Somehow, I have a hard time believing a big, strong super soldier such as yourself has any trouble finding his footing.”
Before Bucky could muster up any other excuse but the truth, you ripped open the packet of a medical wipe and warned him, “I’m sorry. This is gonna sting.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said with bravado. 
Bucky wasn’t prepared for the twinkle in your eye as you mumbled under your breath, “I’m sure it isn’t, Sargeant.” 
The breath got knocked out of his lungs. Oh did that do things to him. 
Suddenly, vivid images of you spread out on his bed wearing nothing but his old army hat while you screamed out his rank ran wild in his mind. 
Luckily, you were too preoccupied with cleaning the dried blood of his wound to notice him discreetly palming the bulge in his athletic shorts, trying to hide the effect you had on him. 
“Are you certain there is absolutely no other reason as to why I’m playing nurse right now, then?” Your feline grin was sexy and scary. “No possible distractions that led you off path?” 
There was no way you could read minds, right? Bucky doubled down on his denial, shaking his head from side to side and letting the length of his hair hide the truth in his eyes. 
“I’ll take your word for it then.” You finished up and reached for the healing gel. “I know the serum enhances your ability to repair the cuts, but I’d still like to use this.” Looking into his eyes, you asked, “Only as long as you’re okay with that, of course.” 
Time stopped and the two of you were caught in the other’s gaze. It was such a small gesture, one you probably didn’t even realise meant the world to him. But you asked him for permission on something that would affect his autonomy and if Bucky didn’t already have a hundred ways he was falling for you, that would have been the cherry on top. 
“Yeah,” he breathed airily. “Yeah, I’m good with it, doll.” 
Unseen to him before, you ducked your head and sweeped your hair behind your ear and if Bucky didn’t know any better, he was sure you were shy. 
He couldn’t help the large grin he sported. He was always so enamored with you, quick to falter in your presence and become unsure of himself. Right now though, a small bout of bravery returned. “Ready when you are,” he cheekily murmured. 
You hastily rushed to compose yourself. Clearing your throat, you squeezed the tube of gel, allowing a small drop of the cool liquid on the tip of your finger and stepped between his legs to gently dab it onto his cuts. 
“Okay, you’re all fixed up now.” With a last swipe of his forehead, you smiled. “Don’t worry, Buck. You still look handsome.” 
He tugged his plump bottom lip between his teeth. “You think I’m handsome?”
You giggled. “I would be blind if I didn’t.” 
Bucky blinked at you slowly, still processing your words and trying to calm the excited bubble rising in his throat. 
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, don’t act all coy, Bucky. You must have heard the whispers of the recruits. They stare at you all the time, whispering and giggling to each other.” 
With the most confidence he had ever mustered up, he responded, “Truthfully, I’m too busy staring at someone else to notice, doll.” 
The shock of his sudden boldness was glaringly obvious on your face — it was you this time who held your mouth open, lost for words. 
Bucky’s body screamed at him to tell you that he was in fact head over heels for you. That had he known falling over in front of the full compound would lead him within a hair’s breadth away from you, he’d do it all over again. 
But you seemed to recover after a couple of seconds, clearing your throat and making yourself busy to avoid his eyes. “So, I’ve got another question.” 
“Oh?” Bucky cocked his head. 
“Yeah.” You smiled while placing everything back into the first aid box as you found it. “I’ve been hearing a few rumours around the compound recently.” 
Bucky’s stomach dropped with dread. 
“You wouldn’t know anything about those, would you?” 
“I—” Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. “I have no idea what you mean.” 
“Oh,” you hummed. “So it’s not true then? You don’t have a crush on me?” 
Fuck.
Panicking, Bucky scoffed, though it came off sounding too pathetic, too breezy. “Me? Have a crush on you? That’s—Ha! Nope. No way. Not at all.” 
He watched as you nodded to yourself. Internally, he was begging for the floor to swallow him while he cringed at his own stupidity. 
“Well,” you shrugged. “That’s a shame, I guess.”  
Bucky’s head shot up, eyes wide and shock written over his features. “E-Excuse me?” 
“Oh, it's nothing really.” There was a sparkle in your eye that screamed trouble. “You said you didn’t have a crush on me, so it doesn’t matter.” 
Within seconds, Bucky jumped off the bed and leapt towards you, not even noticing how he had grabbed your hands. “Doll, please. You can’t leave a guy hanging like that.” 
Playfully rolling your eyes, you dramatically exhaled and decided to put him out of his misery. “Leave you hanging? Damn, Buck. It’s not as if I’ve been waiting patiently for you to ask me out for months or anything like that.” 
The air became humid and stuffy and suddenly the clothes attached to Bucky’s body felt too tight and restricting. “You—What now?” 
You rolled your lips inwards, trying to smother your laughter. “Bucky, honey,” you gently murmured. “I’ve heard what the others have been gossiping about. I’ve definitely heard Sam telling the team about your crush on me.” 
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “That fuckin’ punk.” 
You squeezed his hands reassuringly and offered him a warm smile when he looked at you. “I’ve just been waiting to hear it from the horse's mouth himself.” 
Bucky’s eyes darted between yours, trying to find any hint of decievement. “You’re serious.”
“Mhm,” you whispered. “Deadly.” 
It took him a couple of seconds to let the new information sink in. Clearing his throat, Bucky untightened his fierce grip on your hands and hesitantly slid them down to latch onto your waist. “So,” he mumbled. “Say if I asked you out to dinner tonight… You wouldn’t tell me I’m a fool and break my heart into a million pieces?” 
Butterflies erupted in Bucky’s stomach at the sensation of your hands sliding over his chest to rest against his neck. “No, Bucky,” you chuckled. “I would tell you that I’m looking forward to our first date, tonight. Nowhere fancy, just casual. Six o’clock sharp.” 
Bucky smiled, all beaming and ecstatic. “I wouldn’t dream of being late.” 
“Good.” You leaned up onto your tip toes and ghosted your lips over his ear. “See you very soon then, Sargeant.” 
Tingles shot down Bucky’s spine and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He fought tooth and nail to crush the moan that rose up his throat and in his internal struggle, he missed how you’d sneakily slipped out of his hold and started to saunter towards the door. 
He almost begged you to come back; the thought of having to wait for you until the evening was unbearable. But those pesky butterflies that invaded his stomach came back strong and fierce as his gaze became glued to the sway of your hips and the sweet perfume that lingered in your exit. 
“Oh,” you stopped suddenly at the doorway and looked over your shoulder. “One more thing. Don’t go tripping over again, you hear me?” You raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Can’t have you falling for me.”
Your damn smirk was intoxicating and Bucky thought himself the luckiest fella alive to be the one taking you out. He licked his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have a little trouble with that request, Ma’am.” 
The clench of your thighs was unmissable. The way your eyes dilated called to him. Bucky had more game than he realised and he kept that new information tucked safely into the corner of his mind for a later date. 
You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to. Your actions told Bucky everything he needed to know and so he wiggled his fingers with a huge grin locked onto his face and watched you longingly as you left his sight. 
The minute he couldn’t hear your footsteps any longer, Bucky pumped his fist up into the air and began dancing on the spot. 
In his own bubble of happiness, he didn’t hear the footsteps of a new person entering the hallway. Only when an amused clearing of the throat echoed from the doorway did Bucky abruptly stop his dancing and slowly swivel to the intruder. 
Sam stood there, all cocky and mirthful with a shit eating grin on his face. “About time you bagged the girl, man. Dont’cha think?” 
Instantly, Bucky growled and grabbed the closest apparatus. With a pair of medical scissors, he charged towards Sam, who was quick to wipe the smirk off his face and skid out of the room with a scream. 
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collgeruledzebra · 1 year ago
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listened to the tdir audio drama yesterday for midwinter... pretty good overall. didn't love some of the casting (why did the rider need to sound like dracula with a cold) and often felt that the sound design was overdoing it a bit but at least it did follow the story faithfully. also liked that it leaned in somewhat to the moral greyness of the light, I find the portrayal of both the light and the dark throughout the books as having a very 'end justifies the means' philosophy quite interesting. i'd give it 8/10 will most likely be listening again next year
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vampiefemme · 9 months ago
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so, your best friend accidentally sent you a video of her masturbating. what now?
18+ below! smut smut smut!
ellie’s bedroom is heavy with the scent of sex, her fingers still pruned from her own wetness. she’s spent the last few minutes tense and panicked, too paralyzed with anxiety to get up and put some clothes on, and she’s considering what she’ll change her name to and where she’ll move to start a new life when you finally, finally text her back.
it’s okay. give me a second to reply, alright?
the weight on her chest eases a bit at your reassurance, but a new spark of uncertainty flares up at the second part of the message: give me a second to reply. jaw tight, she sends you a question mark, then follows up with you don’t have to respond. it’s probably better if you don’t?? again i’m so fucking sorry.
but as the minutes tick by, slow and lazed, she starts to panic again. her mind conjures every possible response you could send her next: an angry thesis statement on why ellie’s a disgusting pervert, a seething comment about how stupid she must be for sending a video like that so carelessly. would you ever look at her the same way? would things ever be the same?
all it takes is another notification from you to make every imagined worst-case scenario evaporate. ellie clicks the notification as soon as it pops up, chewing on the soft flesh of her inner lip.
it’s a video.
you sent her a video.
she hits the play button without a second thought, heartbeat thudding in her ears.
“i know you’re probably embarrassed,” you say, head tilting as you frown with sympathy. a blush paints ellie’s cheeks bright red. “but i need you to know how wet that made me.”
holding the camera up, you extend your arm outwards to reveal the rest of your body - your naked body, ellie realizes with a shock. she sits up in bed, back ramrod straight, her phone shaking as a nervous tremor strikes through her. but she can’t look away - not when you’re tracing a hand down the soft curves of your body, fingertips grazing over one peaked nipple, then moving lower, lower. ellie swears she’s forgotten how to breathe.
you release a pleased hum. “i liked watching you touch yourself,” you say, so matter-of-fact. “i hope you like watching me.”
and she does, god she does. she settles back down onto the mattress, eyes never leaving the screen as you work two fingers through your soaked folds. you moan and sigh and keen, rolling your hips down against your own hand, the wet sounds of your pussy so intoxicating, ellie can’t believe she’s gone her whole life without seeing you like this.
and it might be wrong, the way her own hand drifts between her legs to find herself still hot and wet, but she doesn’t have it in herself to care. she dips a finger inside of herself as she watches you ride your own hand, grinding down on your palm as your fingers work in and out of your cunt. she finds a rhythm that matches your own; soon enough, you’re both gasping at the pleasure building beneath your waistline. with every roll of your hips, ellie’s cunt tightens, flooding with slickness - as if she could get any wetter.
as you get closer to the edge, your grip on your phone falters and the camera starts to shake. ellie hisses and curses under her breath when your phone captures the blissed-out look on your face: eyes rolled back, brows pulled together, teeth sinking into your lower lip.
“oh - oh my god,” you stutter, panting, “i’m gonna come, ellie.”
ellie. ellie ellie ellie.
“holy fuck.” ellie’s pussy clamps down around her fingers at the sound of her name on your lips; her thumb glides over her clit just right, and she didn’t think she’d come this fast but she does, her vision exploding into blinding white as her orgasm crashes into her. it’s the only time she looks away from the video on her screen - but she certainly hears your orgasm, all high-pitched moans and ragged breaths, your cunt gushing onto your fingers.
when ellie finds the strength to open her eyes again, the video is still playing. you’re catching your breath, chest shimmering with a thin layer of sweat. you look at the camera and smile. ellie thinks she might pass out.
“thanks for the video,” you say, lifting your free hand up to wave.
when you bring your fingers to your mouth and purse your lips around them, sucking them clean of your own come, ellie’s sure she’s going to pass out.
and then, she decides, she’s going to fuck you stupid.
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mariasont · 7 months ago
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My Boss Won't Be Happy About This - A.H
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a/n: back to bimbo brain rot!!!! inspired by the first season that one episode (you know the one) where hotch is all macho man with elle in jamaica
masterlist
₊˚ ✩°。⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆。°✩˚₊‧
pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader
summary: you’re wrongfully arrested and hotch is not happy about it
warnings: creepy officer, inaccuracies of how law enforcement works, hotch being sexy
wc: 1.3k
"Listen I'm not the type of girl to tell someone how to do their job, but I just don't think you're doing it right."
You were speaking to an empty room, or at least, you were speaking to the mirror in front of you. It's the kind of mirror you had seen in countless interrogation scenes, the kind you usually image Hotch standing behind. You let your gaze linger, wondering if eyes are studying you from the other side, listening to your monologue.
"Well, that, and I also just don't think it's very nice." Your brand spanking new heels were tapping against the dirty floor. 
You weren't happy about that. You weren't happy about any of this. Your feet ache, but the fear of the germs lurking on the floor paralyzes any thoughts of relief by removing your shoes.
"And hey, shouldn't I get a phone call? That's a rule, I think," you mumble, lips turning downward in an unusual frown. It seems like the right time for it. "My boss is not going to take this well. I mean, he's got this look, you know? The kind that makes you want to apologize for things you didn't even do."
You conjured up his daunting expression and released a jittery laugh, all while striving to disregard the biting cold blasting from the AC vent, which seemed determine to freeze you into place. 
You were seriously out of your element, not just in surroundings but in dress--so form-fitting it left very little to the imagination. It seemed to be a good idea for a date. That was before you realized said date would be a complete disaster. Now, it felt like a trap. It had been a spectacle for a man unworthy of the effort, and as you sat in this rigid chair, you found yourself tugging at the hem every other moment, a futile attempt to preserve some semblance of modesty.
"So, when he hears about this little error... Well, let's just say I wouldn't want to be in your shoes." Six hours had passed in this dreary space, and you could feel your sanity fraying at the edges. You muttered, half to yourself, "Not that they're as cute as mine, but you get the point."
The door hinge's creak made you sit bolt upright, a silent supplication for Hotch's rescue echoing through your mind. But today, it seemed, the gods were indifferent. The officer who had arrested you stepped in.
"Having fun talking to yourself?"
You flashed your sweetest smile. "Oh, tons! But I'd have much more fun if you'd uncuff me."
He said nothing, folding his arms over his chest as he dragged his gaze up and down your body in a way that made your skin prickle in discomfort. You attempted to dispel the creeping dread, but it stubbornly lingered.
You did what you could to cover up, despite the awkward angle of your arms. "Listen, this is all just a big mistake. I work for the FBI," you insisted, though it was clear the officer's attention was fixated on your tits rather than your words. "Well, I mean, I'm an assistant for the unit chief of the BAU unit. You've heard of Aaron Hotchner, haven't you?"
The officer's mouth closed without a word, as the door was thrust open yet again, and this time, your heart leapt in recognition. Your knight in shining armor with a lethal expression.
His eyes instantly zeroed in on the officer with a look that could curdle blood, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that you weren't the object of his anger. He approached you wordlessly, his every motion precise and determined.
He carefully shed his jacket, a gesture he seldom made, and draped it across your shoulders. The fleeting caress of his hand against your skin was enough to make you lean into his touch. You let out a breath that you had been unconsciously holding back. 
You watched as Hotch turned, his voice a low, steady force, his words carefully chosen and tinged with an unsettling peace. "Officer," he began, the title spoken almost as warning. "I believe there has been a grave misunderstanding. This woman is not only an esteemed member of the FBI, but she is also under my direct supervision."
He stepped closer, encroaching on the officer's personal space. You watched, almost in slow motion, as the officer's expression morphed into one of sheer terror, his earlier confidence dissolving like sugar in hot tea.
"Six hours," he continued, his voice never rising yet somehow it took up all the space in the confined room. "Six hours of unwarranted detention, without due process. I expect her immediate release. And make no mistake, this lapse in judgment will have its ramifications."
The officer was mute, his fingers clumsily unlocking the handcuffs, his movements hurried, his hands trembling. A twinge of pity flickered within you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the memory of considering the table as a makeshift blanket.
The moment the metal clicked open; you wasted no time. You flung your arms around Hotch, the pent relief and biting chill of the past few hours pouring out of you. You were desperate for warmth, specifically his warmth.
He stiffened, caught off guard by your actions. You feel the anger radiating through him, practically pulsing through his skin. As you clung to him, you felt the draft on your legs as your dress slid up, and without missing a beat Hotch's hand discreetly adjusted the fabric, all while keeping his eyes locked on the officer, a silent warning in his gaze.
Once he was certain you were decently covered, he allowed himself to draw him into his arms. One arm secured around your waist, the other weaving through your hair. You were cold. It renewed another tide of rage through his bloodstream.
With the officer's departure, the room's oppressive atmosphere lightened a touch, leaving you still latched onto your boss.
"Oh, sir, you wouldn't believe it," you started, his hands tracing up your spine and sparking a trail of goosebumps that had nothing to do with the chill. "They kept asking me about a heist, as if I'd know anything about that! And then they show me this picture, and I mean, sure, she had my hair, but that's about it."
You rambled on, and he let you, the absurdity of the situation pouring out in a stream of consciousness. Hotch's hold on you tightened. You could sense the coiled tension in him, a tempest of anger held a bay.
"And the room, it was so cold! I mean, I'm sure you can tell. My teeth were chattering, and all I could think of was how I'd rather be filing your paperwork or listening to Reid's factoids about the quantum mechanics of coffee beans."
You felt Hotch's breath on your hair as he let out a sigh. 
"I'm just glad you're here now," you whispered, finally allowing yourself to relax in his embrace.
Hotch gave a curt nod, his jaw set. He was itching to confront the officer, to unleash a tirade not meant for your ears. But he was well aware of how much you needed him right now, and that trumped everything in his book.
Hotch took a moment to compose himself before speaking. "This isn't just incompetence; it's negligence. I will have this place reevaluated for its standards, or lack thereof."
You took a step back, hands still resting on his arms, and he maintained his grip on your waist. "I bet this is the last time you'll let me go on a date without a full background check on the guy, huh, sir?"
Hotch's hold on your waist firmed just a fraction. "Maybe it's the last time I let you go on a date, period."
He was only half-joking.
"Not even with you?" You tilted your head to meet his gaze, drawing his jacket closer around you.
Hotch just simply gives you that look, the one that says a thousand words without a sound. He's telling you to tread lightly.
"Alright, I'll be good," you giggle, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Can you take me home now, please?"
He nods, "Yeah, let's get you home."
And then he leads you out, thinking to himself that the next person to take you out will be him, but that's for him to know and you to find out later.
taglist: @hotchhner @khxna
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