#like yes the kiss is weird but it's the pattern of what's before that makes me more stressed

[tinystarbites]

accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader

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

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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 ;)

[talaok]

The final jump

Pairing: Step-dad!Joel Miller x Step-daughter!reader

Summary: When your stepdad finds out you and your boyfriend haven't had sex yet, he tells you the reason is that you're a virgin, but thankfully... he can help with that.

Warnings: step-incest, manipulation, straight-out lying, hence dub-con, Perv!Joel, predatory behavior, very very naive and innocent reader |Smut| fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), virginity loss, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, dacryphilia, and daddy-kink. Joel is a full-on perv in this one ok, don't say I didn't warn ya, 

a/n: this is wrong and weird and for the first time since i opened this blog, i actually doubted whether i should post something or not, but at the end of the day this is all fake and i do not condone in any way what's portrayed in this fic. And please for the love of god read the warnings and just scroll if you don't like what you see.

Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4

"c'mere" he instructed, pulling you into his lap like he always did when Mom wasn't around.

"there's nothing wrong with this" he had explained the first time it happened "Your mom just doesn't need to know about everything"

You nestled your head into the crook of his neck as you continued watching the movie, while his hands settled around your waist and onto your naked thigh.

He always made you wear skirts when you were alone, he even bought you some, and each time they got shorter. Once, you had asked him why, and as always, he had an explanation

"It's good for your skin, sweetheart, your legs need to breathe"

The one you were wearing right now, for example, a very cute baby pink one, barely covered your butt, which must have meant it was very healthy for your skin.

And then of course for the same exact reason, when Mom wasn't home, bras were banned, and you could only wear small tank tops, preferably very low cut and that let your stomach breathe.

You didn't mind the rules Joel had given you, you trusted him, and he knew what was better for you.

Plus, you would have been lying if you said you didn't like all the attention he gave you, even if it was just when you were alone. You loved how much he obviously cared about you, and you loved even more letting him take care of you.

You had never had a dad, unless you count the first three months of your life before your real dad decided to split, so now that you had such a good step-dad, you felt on top of the world, and even if you were 18, you didn't mind being taken care of like no dad ever had.

If he had offered to read you bedtime stories to get you to sleep, you would have probably accepted just to see what you had missed out on, that's how desperate you were.

You wrapped your hands around his neck, clinging to his warm self, and letting his scent wrap around you in the best way.

"You comfortable?" he asked, as his fingers gently drew patterns on your legs

"yes daddy"

Oh, that's right. Calling him daddy was another rule, if not the most important one.

"good" he said, kissing the crown of your head 

Ghostface appeared behind Tara on the screen, and you tightened your hold on him a little bit.

"You scared, babygirl?"

"'m not scared daddy, I've watched this movie like ten times" you giggled

"What a brave girl" he cooed "You're not scared of anything huh?"

"no 'm scared of lots of things daddy, just not horror movies"

"ah that's right" he murmured "You're still scared of spiders, aren't you pretty girl?"

"Well of course" you nodded "but I have you to get rid of them"

"of course you do" he smiled, pulling your legs closer to him by the back of your knees, and making you beam happily.

Your whole backside was exposed now, making you blush a little bit.

You knew there was nothing wrong with this, but you still felt a little insecure about showing so much of yourself to Joel.

He didn't seem to notice as his hand went right to the newly revealed skin.

His hands always felt good against you, in a way you had never quite experienced, they were so big... and so rough, and oh so warm. If you could, you'd let him touch you all day every day.

Suddenly, a ching ran through the room, startling you.

Joel's soft chuckle vibrated through his chest and into yours.

"Not scared huh?"

"I just wasn't expecting that" you whined, removing your hands from him to reach onto the coffee table.

You had to stretch your whole body to do that, giving Joel a full view of your white cotton panties, and what they were trying to cover.

If Joel's cock was hard before, it was now quickly reaching the painfully hard territory.

"Oh sweetie" he tutted, as you grabbed the phone.

"what?" you asked, a tint of panic in your tone.

"it's just these panties..." he trailed off, as his fingers reached for them "This fabric is not good for you darlin'"

"These too?" you asked, a tad disappointed.

It seemed none of the panties you owned were ever good for your skin.

"Yes babygirl," he shook his head "here, let me help you, I'll take them off for you" he said, starting to gently drag them down your legs.

"but daddy-"

"what?" he stopped "I'm just looking out for you sugar, I just want you to be real healthy"

"A-alright" you nodded "I-if you say so"

"There's no need to be shy, babygirl, I'm your daddy, I only do what's best for you" he promised, tugging your underwear until they pooled at your knees.

Joel had to bite down a groan at the sight of your perfect little pussy.

"I know," you said, swallowing slowly 

"Tell you what," he spoke, "I think it's best from now on if you just don't wear any panties when we're alone alright?"

"Sure daddy" you agreed "Can I sit back down now?"

"Of course" he urged, bringing you back into his lap, and slowly taking off your panties completely.

You checked your phone to see who had texted you, already forgetting about what had just happened, when Joel noticed something as he inspected your pretty little panties.

"These are wet babygirl," he said, holding them up for you to see.

your cheeks flushed a little bit as you looked up from your phone.

"Is-Is that bad?"

What if the fabric of your panties was so bad that it made you sick?

You hated being sick

The expression on his face was unreadable, he was looking at you differently.

"Does this happen to you a lot?" he asked, ignoring your question

"O-only sometimes...when I'm with you" you whispered "A-am I sick daddy?"

And then he did the last thing you were expecting, he smiled "no" he shook his head "You're not sick sweetie"

"oh" you breathed, relieved "then what is it?"

"It jus' means you like spendin' time with me a lot"

"Well of course I do" you giggled, looking back at your phone.

Joel watched you for a moment more, your face so innocent... too pretty for your own good, before pocketing the panties to add to his collection.

He didn't understand how you still hadn't noticed half your underwear had disappeared from its drawer.

"who was it?" he asked, once he had placed his hands on your ass, and on your inner thigh, feeling the warmth of your core closer and closer to his fingers.

"Just Chad" you answered "he's asking if I can hang out with him tomorrow night"

"mh" he considered.

He never liked Chad much

"This Chad" he started "he's good to you right?"

"Yes daddy" you stifled a laugh "You don't have to ask me every time I bring him up"

"Jus' wanna make sure" he shrugged "You're being safe and everything?"

"what do you mean?" you frowned "I don't think there's anything risky about going out to eat once in a while"

"now that's not what I meant babygirl" he smirked 

"oh" you breathed "what did you mean then?"

"I meant to ask if you're usin' protection"

"Protection?" your frown just deepened.

You lived in Austin Texas, not the Wild West, protection from what, mosquitoes?

"Yeah protection, sugar" he nodded

"From what?" you asked, more confused than ever.

"oh baby girl" he laughed softly, leaning back onto the couch "condoms. You use condoms?"

And in an instant, your face had turned red.

"Oh, I- We- I haven't- we didn't-" 

That's all you could muster from your flustered state.

Joel's amusement left his face in a second to make space for something... else.

He had prompted this subject just to see you all embarrassed, and hear you talk about what he dreamed of doing every night with you, but this... this had just gotten interesting.

"you haven't done it?" he asked

It took a moment before you finally managed to shake your head no.

His grip on your thigh got tighter

"why's that?"

Your teeth let go of your bottom lip so you could respond.

"I-I don't know"

All it took was another look at you, at your big blown-out eyes, at your red cheeks, and it all came together.

"sweetheart," he said gently "are you a virgin?"

Your forehead creased again in puzzlement.

"w-what's that?"

His lips pulled into a smirk, and you watched each muscle on his face with curiosity.

"Oh baby" he smiled "I mean have you ever had sex?"

Your chest was rising and falling so quickly that you wondered how long it would take for you to hyperventilate.

The redness of your skin had now spread to your ears and neck too.

"I-I" you mumbled, avoiding his eyes

"Sweetie" he cooed, gently guiding your face to look up at him "You can tell me"

You gulped, looking into his hazel eyes.

Oh, how stupid you were being. Of course you can tell daddy.

"No" you slowly shook your head.

"Ah" he hummed "then that's why"

"That's why what?" you asked

Now, a good man would have stopped there, a good man would have dropped this right there... but good men didn't fantasize about their step-daughters, good men didn't come up with rules to watch them walk around the house half naked, good men didn't pull their panties down just to catch a glimpse of what they'd been dreaming of for months, and Joel, well Joel was already going to hell, so why not make the final jump.

"That's why Chad hasn't had sex with you"

"W-what?"

He wet his lips, not thinking about anything else but how good that pretty cunt of yours must feel around his cock.

"No guy wants to be a girl's first, babygirl" he murmured, stroking your cheek.

"Really?" your eyes widened at the realization "but- why?"

"lots of reasons sweetie" he explained "girls tend to... get attached"

"oh" your perfect mouth created the cutest little o

"yeah baby" he nodded "I'm sorry"

Your eyes were starting to water, and your throat was getting clogged up

"but then... who's ever gonna want to make love to me?"

make love? god you were so innocent

"you want Chad to make love to you, pretty girl?"

You were pouting so cutely Joel's heart was starting to break a little bit.

"I mean- maybe... I don't know" you murmured, tears falling from your eyes now "but he's never gonna want to now!" you sobbed

He wiped away your tears with his thumb before bringing you closer to his chest, giving you a big tight hug.

"It's ok sugar, shh" he calmed you down.

"H-how is he ever gonna want to make love to me?" you asked, raising your doe eyes to him.

And there it was, his free pass to the flames of hell.

"Well, there is a way," he said gently

"W-what?" you stumbled over your words

"I could help you out" he spoke

"H-how?"

His eyes darted from your watery eyes to your pretty pink mouth.

"I could be your first"

Your heart missed a beat.

"Y-you?"

"Yeah sweetheart, that way you can tell Chad you're not a virgin, and he'll for sure want to make love to you "

Your eyes sparked up

"Really?" you beamed "Y-you'd do that for me?"

"Of course" he promised, "What else are daddies for?"

"Oh thank you, daddy!" You threw your arms around him to hug him like your life depended on it "You're the best"

He grinned into your hair, thanking every existing being for having granted him such a gift: you.

"oh sweetheart, trust me it's you who's the best" he murmured.

You leaned away, a smile from ear to ear plastered on your face "So-uhm- How does this work?"

He smiled at your eagerness

"Well, first of all, we gotta get on a bed" he explained "so wrap your arms and legs around me and hold on tight baby girl"

"Like this?" you asked, after obliging

"Perfect" he nodded before standing up from the couch.

A soft whimper fled your mouth as he made you bounce a little bit to set you better on his body.

"Calm down sweetie, I'm here" he cooed, starting to walk up the stairs, and before you realized, you were in your room.

"why didn't we go to your room?" you wondered aloud

"I just like yours better" he dismissed your question as he settled you on the bed.

You looked around the walls and posters and floor you knew so well and then back at him.

You didn't think he'd ever been in here before, and it was such a weird image.

he looked so out of place in such a girly space.

"and now?" you asked, looking up at him expectantly.

He smirked "Now we take off these pretty clothes of yours"

"O-oh, alright" you nodded, watching as he kneeled in front of you.

His hands went to your tank top first, slowly seeping underneath it before taking it off of you.

A small groan left his throat, and you observed how his eyes focused on your breasts.

"I-is there something wrong?" 

"No, sweetie, I'm just real happy to help you, 's all"

You smiled cheerfully at that.

He was always so nice.

"Now we gotta take off this skirt" he explained, gently pulling it down for you until it pooled at your feet.

You didn’t think you'd ever seen Joel smile so wide.

"Good God baby girl" he breathed, taking each and every inch of you in like you were a piece of art in a museum "You're real pretty, you know that?"

Your cheeks reddened as your lips pulled into a shy smile.

"T-thank you" you mumbled

He stroked your thighs a little, but way too soon he was standing up.

He reached into his back pocket for something, and a moment later his phone was in his hand.

You watched as he swiped somewhere on the screen and then took a step back to make sure the camera didn't miss any part of you.

"What are you doing?" you asked, curious more than anything.

"Takin' some pictures"

"Oh," you murmured "W-why?"

"Don't worry baby, 's just me" he reassured you, now stepping closer to you again to caress your cheek softly, making you forget all about your worries.

"Do you think you could pose for me a little?"

"sure" you nodded, wanting to please him however you could.

"Such a good girl" he praised more to himself "Lay down for me mh?"

You immediately did, scooting more onto the bed and resting your back on the mattress.

"Spread your legs now" he instructed, loving the way you so easily obeyed.

You heard a soft click as he took another picture from right between your legs.

"Very good" he said "Now smile a lil', show me how happy you are Daddy's helping you out" 

You did of course, and this time he moved his phone a little upward so your face was more in the frame.

"now c'mere again" he said, urging you with two of his fingers.

You sat at the edge of the bed, right in front of him.

"so obedient..." he smirked, as he stroked your cheek "suck on my fingers sweetie" he ordered, slowly pushing his index and middle finger past your lips.

You were very very confused about this pose, but chose not to question it.

"Look at me" he instructed, and you watched his grin widen as he took the photo.

"You did real good honey" he spoke, placing his phone on your nightstand.

"Thank you daddy" you beamed, as he kneeled before you again.

A question came to you while he did

"Is Chad gonna take pictures too?" 

A tint of jealousy flashed behind his eyes

"No," he said firmly "and if he tries, you take his phone and throw it away, ok?"

"O-ok" you nodded.

"Now" he seemed to get back to himself "How 'bout you lay down and let me take care of you?"

"S-sure" you stuttered, lying down again.

You raised your head to look at him as he slowly spread your legs.

You felt very much on display, but you weren't embarrassed, you knew Joel only had good intentions.

Suddenly, he bent down to kiss you right on your mound.

You let out a gasp

He looked up at you, a devilish smile plaster on his face as his lips traveled lower, now finding your clit.

"Daddy!" you gasped again.

"what is it baby girl, it don't feel good?"

"N-no it just feels..."

You honestly had no idea how to describe how it felt.

"How?" he insisted

"tingly" you murmured

He smirked, kissing your clit again just to taunt you

"That's good baby" he explained "It means you're enjoying this"

"Oh- really?" you asked, wide-eyed 

"Really" he confirmed, before abruptly licking a long stripe of your pussy, and forcing your gasp to soon convert into a moan.

Oh, he definitely liked hearing that.

And the moment he decided on that, he started quite literally devouring your cunt, feeding off of it like it was the source of eternal youth.

"Oh my god" you started chanting in a high pitch, as your legs got a life of their own at the feeling.

You were losing yourself in the feeling when, suddenly, you felt something probing at your... entrance, and you whimpered in surprise.

"Daddy, what are you doing?" you asked, as your hands grabbed the covers for something to hold onto.

He fought the urge to ignore you and do what needed to be done.

"Imma put a finger inside of you now ok?" he explained as sweetly as he could, desperately trying to hide his frustration.

His cock was begging for some sort of relief, and you were only slowing him down.

"a-a finger?" you breathed "W-why?"

"Because I need to make sure this pretty little pussy of yours can take all of daddy"

You scrunched your nose, making a face

"What?" he asked

"I don't like that word"

"What word?" he asked "pussy?"

"mh-mh" you nodded

He couldn't help but laugh a little "What would you rather I call it?" he murmured mockingly,(only of course you didn't realize) "Your tootie?"

"I'm not a kid" you giggled " I haven't called it that since I was-"

Your words died in your throat once his middle finger plunged into your heat.

Your mouth parted in shock, but no sound came out.

"real good sweetie" he praised you, bending down again to suck on your bud, as he started moving his finger in and out of you.

"Daddy!" you cried, at the feeling

"I know, I know" his tone was loaded with false empathy "Now stay still for me alright?"

But before you had time to ask why, another one of his fingers had made its way inside of you.

"Daddy wha-" your own sentence was interrupted by a moan "You said you were gonna put only one finger in!" you protested

"I know baby girl" he whispered against your heat, sending a shiver up your spine "but I know what's best for you, don't I?"

Of course he did

"mh-mh" you nodded

"Good girl" he praised, not missing the way your walls tightened around him at the praise "How does it feel?"

"I-it hurts a little" you winced, 

"mh" he considered "that's because no one had touched you down here before" he spoke in between licks to your clit "Not even yourself right?"

"n-no" you answered in a breathy whisper.

"good," he said mostly to himself "And how does it feel now?" he asked, curling his fingers into your g-spot.

Your back arched from the bed

"b-better" 

He kept doing that, making you gasp and squirm under him until...

"and how 'bout now?"

A third finger intruded your hole, making you cry out so loud the neighbors probably heard.

"daddy!" you whined as your eyes watered "T-that hurt, why would you do that?"

"oh sweetie... I needed to do that" he cooed, watching your pussy struggling to stretch around his fingers "If you wanna take daddy's cock you need to be able to take three of my fingers at least"

"t-that's a lot" you sobbed

"Oh I know" he murmured "but you did it like a good girl" he kissed your clit as a reward, "Now all you gotta do is relax and come around daddy's fingers"

"b-but I've never done that, I-I don't know how to-"

"shh" he shushed you, moving his fingers inside your warm cunt as he leaned down again to put his tongue to use "Just relax for me sweetie"

And so you did, you closed your eyes and fell back onto the bed as you tried adjusting to his fingers and the feeling they were bringing with them.

You had no idea what was happening to you, you'd heard some of your friends talk about sex, and you did a few lessons in sex ed, but you never really got it... and this was very different from what you were expecting.

Joel's hands were gripping your thighs to keep your legs apart, and when he curled his fingers inside of you again, a pang of pure pleasure took over you, and as a deep moan left your mouth, your left hand got a life of its own and found Joel's hair, gripping it tightly.

He groaned into your cunt and a strange feeling started pooling down your belly.

"Oh god" you whimpered "Daddy- I-"

He started going even faster, the squelching of his fingers plunging into your core filling the whole room as you cried out louder and louder.

"I-I think it's h-happening" you breathed "W-what do I do?" you moaned "D-daddy?"

He was lost in the thought of how good your walls were gonna feel as they tightened around his cock instead of his fingers, but as you cried again, he came back to earth.

"Let go sweetheart" he urged, watching your face contort in all sorts of expressions and bashing in the knowledge that it was him who was provoking them "Be a good girl and come for daddy"

And with that, your eyes snapped open to glimpse at him before every cell in your being exploded and rearranged itself inside of you as you came.

"You did good" he spoke as you tried calming your breathing "you did real good baby" he nodded, as he took his fingers out of you and stared at your pussy like it was a piece of art.

"t-thank you" You gave him a shy smile, as your hands dropped to your sides.

"but now you're gonna have to do even better" he started, as he got up "Can you do that for me? Can you be good?" he asked, as he took off his t-shirt and started undoing his pants.

A tint of fear made its way into your excitement, but you didn't let it show.

"Of course Daddy" you eagerly answered "I'll be good"

"you sure?" he arched his brow as his pants fell to his feet and all that remained on his body was a black pair of boxers with a very big tent probing in the front.

"I-I'm sure" you nodded "I'll be good for you"

"good" his lips pulled into a proud line and then finally, he took his boxers off, and an involuntary little gasp came out of your mouth.

"it's nothing to be scared off sweetheart" he chuckled "Here, why don't you touch it"

You gulped as you raised yourself into a seated position, coming eye-to-eye with his scarily big penis.

You looked up at him for approval and he he offered you an encouraging nod, so you slowly raised your index finger, and gently pressed it again his red tip.

You let your finger graze his whole length, feeling every vein and curve of his manhood, and before you could do it again his voice interrupted.

"don't be scared, wrap your hand around it" he urged, watching as you slowly obeyed "Jus' like that" he said, his voice deeper now "go up and down now" 

you did, and you were fascinated by the feeling of his dick twitching in your palm and his skin rubbing against yours.

One of his hands reached the back of your head impatiently as you admired his length, urging you closer.

"use your mouth baby" he breathed heavily.

You slowly leaned closer and met your lips with his tip, leaving a little kiss on it.

He couldn't help but chuckle "Open it, sweetie," he said, looking down at you as you abided "Stick your tongue out for me" 

You did, and before you knew it, his penis was filling your mouth.

"Now suck" 

You hollowed your cheeks as best as you could and suddenly, his hand in your hair started guiding more and more of him into your mouth, until his tip hit the back of your throat and you gagged loudly as a tear ran down your cheek.

"that all you can take?" he watched you "We're gonna have to work on that, 'm not even halfway in baby" he smirked to himself, before retracting his hips and leaving your mouth empty.

Before you had the time to ask what he meant by that, he'd already given you another order.

"lay down"

You found your initial position again, and in a moment, he had grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed.

One of his hands was gripping his dick as he looked right in your eyes 

"Stay still" 

that's all he said, before he started pushing his huge cock into you.

"Ah!" You cried as you felt your hole stretch and burn and hurt all at the same time.

"Shhh" he shushed you, not listening as he continued to push.

"d--daddy it hurts"

"It's supposed to hurt" he lied "Now relax"

And you tried, you really tried, but once another inch of him invaded you, you moved away, or at least, tried to, since his hands started gripping you tighter, giving you no chance to move.

"I told you to stay still" he sounded angry, and you didn't want daddy to be angry, but it hurt so much.

Tears pooled in your eyes and your voice broke as you spoke.

"I-I'm sorry Daddy" a sob climbed up your throat "b-but it's too big"

I don't give a fuck if it hurts, just stay still, he thought, but of course, he couldn't say that.

"Daddy's just tryna help you baby" he cooed "Do you want Chad to make love to you?" he asked, earning a nod from you "Then you have to stop moving and let me put my cock inside of you, ok?"

You sniffled as other tears fell from your eyes "O-ok"

He pushed inside of you again and your cries only got more pathetic.

now if it were up to him he would have already forced his cock inside of you, ignoring your whines and enjoying seeing you cry from how big he was but... if he ever wanted this to happen again, he needed to be gentle with you unfortunately.

"here" he said, pushing his thumb past your lips "suck on it sweetie, that 'll calm you down"

You did as told, and even if it still hurt like hell, it did take your mind off of it a little.

"we're almost there" he promised, watching you take more and more of his cock "Just a little more and-" 

"Good God" he breathed, taking a moment to memorize every inch of your walls and the way they felt around him.

"you feel so fucking good baby" he groaned, his head falling to his chest a moment at the feeling.

You felt better than he could have ever fucking imagined.

"I'm gonna start moving now"

He retracted his hips and noticed with a sick enjoyment the blood covering his dick before thrusting into you so harshly that even if your mouth was busy, the cry you let out could be heard perfectly.

"such a crybaby" he cooed, thrusting into you particularly harshly just to hear you cry again for him.

He watched the tears fall from your eyes as he started finding his pace.

And slowly, oh so slowly, you started adjusting, and from the pain, came the pleasure, pleasure so strong it felt like it could kill you.

"fuck you're tight" he grunted, "look at you" his eyes alternated between your eyes and where your body met his "Taking all of daddy's cock so well" he groaned "Being so good" he hissed, as he fastened his pace "fuck-tell me how it feels baby, tell me how good daddy's making you feel"

His thumb left your mouth and a brutal moan left it with it.

"tell me" he urged you again, gripping your waist.

"'s so good" you whimpered while gripping the sheets "You feel so good, Daddy"  

"yeah?" he smirked, as a drop of sweat trailed his forehead 

"yes Daddy" you promised before one of his hands found your core and started circling your clit.

"Daddy!" you cried

"what is it baby, 's too much?"

"mh-mh" you nodded as your eyes threatened to spill again 

"it's ok, daddy's here" he cooed, "you trust me, don't you?"

"I-I do"

"then relax"

You swallowed thickly and you did as told, trying to calm your racing heart as your breathing got more and more ragged.

"daddy?" you whimpered, looking up at him with doe eyes

"yeah, sweetheart?"

"could you... could you kiss me please?" 

A smug smirk pulled at his lips "You want me to kiss you?"

"Yes please"

"you sure?"

"yes, daddy please!" you begged now, more desperate, and before you knew it, he'd bent down and his lips were on yours while his tongue was in your mouth.

He let out a low groan at how fucking heavenly you felt, while you tasted all of him like you were starving.

He was such a good kisser...

And right as he pulled away and whispered "fuck you're perfect" the same feeling that he'd given you with his fingers erupted all over again.

A low chant of daddy left your mouth and as you squeezed him so fucking good and so fucking tight Joel couldn't do anything but follows suit, emptying his balls inside your tight cunt and ruining you definitively.

Fuck it, he was gonna buy you a plan B tomorrow, and if that didn't work he'd just blame it on Chad.

"Jesus" he muttered, as he pulled out and fell next to you on the bed.

Both your chests were rising and falling way too quickly.

You turned to him, and when he noticed, he did the same.

"thank you so much daddy" you murmured, nestling closer to him and kissing his cheek.

"no worries baby" he smiled, putting an arm around you to keep you closer as he kissed your forehead "You did good"

"thank you" you blushed

"but y'know..." he cocked an eyebrow "guys like girls with a little experience"

"Really?" you asked, wide-eyed

"yes sweetheart" he nodded "So before you make love with Chad, I think it's best if we practice for a bit, what do you say?"

Your eyes found his, and all you could see in them was the perfect stepdad, helping you in any way he could.

"I'd like that, thank you so much, daddy"

Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4

[azrielbrainrot]

A Night To Remember

Pairing: Rhysand x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Virginity

Description: Rhysand takes your virginity.

Warnings: Smut, fingering, vaginal sex, virgin reader, hint of oral sex, dirty talk

Word Count: ~2,8k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: Rhysand is pretty young in this, I'm not exactly sure how fae aging works but I was thinking he had left the Illyrian training camps a couple years before this and was just starting to work more in court with his dad, so he would be like 21/22 in human years. Reader is about his age, maybe a bit younger. Hope you enjoy!

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

“Rhysand,” you whimper, your brain struggling to keep up while the Night Court heir leaves open mouthed kisses all over your neck. “I need to tell you something.”

The only sign he even heard you was the delayed hum he lets out as he's switching to the other side of your throat, marking up your soft skin, pushing one of his knees between your legs, hands grabbing at your hips, both of your scents deepening and mixing deliciously.

This isn't good. You had gotten too lost in the moment, too lost in his taste and the way his strong hands felt on your body. As soon as the heir started flirting with you by the bar, you told yourself that you wouldn't miss this opportunity because of your nerves once again, but you wanted to do this right.

You call out his name again, and this time he pulls away from your neck, a bit of worry visible in his enchanting violet eyes, fighting past the haziness as he stares into yours, your hands come up to cup his cheeks, almost pulling him into you once again, hoping to get at least one more taste in case he stops like so many others have before.

“I need to tell you something,” you repeat, tongue peaking out to wet your lips.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No, that's not it,” you rush out, taking a deep breath, unable to meet his eyes as the next words tumble out of your mouth, “I'm a virgin.”

Still staring at the wall on the other side of the room, suddenly entranced by the golden pattern painted on the dark wall, you try your best to keep your heart from racing, breathing in and out slowly. You weren't sure what his exact reaction had been, apart from the way he tenses against you before relaxing once more, but old memories flooded your mind.

This wasn't the first time you had to tell someone these same words, and seeing as you were still a virgin, it was safe to say this conversation usually took a turn for the worst, whether it came as weird sympathy or cruel remarks. You didn't think Rhysand was the type to push you away simply because you were inexperienced, which was one of the reasons why you had let him take you home, still you had thought the same of every other male who came this far and they had proved you wrong rather quickly.

It had never been your intention to wait for this long, but since you had been so busy with working and studying in your younger years, the time for dating had been next to none, and by the time you realized you might have waited too long, all your peers were already in relations or at least sexually active.

“Are you sure?” His question pulls you out of your thoughts, meeting his eyes instinctively. You don't find any anger or disinterest there much to your relief, only a hint of confusion and a seriousness that hadn't been there before.

“Yes, I'm sure. I never-”

He laughs, cutting you off before you can finish. A strange feeling rises within you, humiliation starting to spread and fear making itself known once again. He leans in and pecks your lips when he notices you tensing up against him, soothing you immediately.

“I'm asking if you're sure you want me to fuck you,” he clarifies with a smirk on his face, and you relax further into him, face heating up at the mistake, “Maybe you should wait for a serious relationship or someone special.”

He meant well, you know that, but you can't help but get a bit annoyed all the same. It was because you had waited for so long that you were in this situation. Life was unpredictable and so were people, especially males, waiting around for someone special to come around could very well mean waiting for the rest of your life. Right now the fact that he wanted you as much as you wanted him and he was treating you with respect was special enough for you.

“Did you wait for someone special?”

“No,” he admits, shaking his head. “Doesn't mean you shouldn't.”

“I don't want to wait, I want you,” you say, pulling him in for a kiss, a shiver running down your spine when he simply angles his head and lets you take control, thumb rubbing slow circles over your thigh as you taste him, one hand holding the back of his neck as the other wandered down. You thought you would have to convince him, but it seems he believed you on your first try.

Rhysand pulls away right when you were about to start unbuttoning his shirt, wrapping an arm around your waist and taking a step back, winnowing you to a different room in doing so. He takes off his own shirt as you look around, unable to hide the amazement on your face at the intricate paintings and ostentatious furniture. You were so caught up in your nerves that you had almost forgotten who he was.

“We're not in my father's house if that's what you're wondering.”

You turn to look at him wide eyed, the absolute horror of getting caught by the High Lord rushing over you even though it was all in your imagination. While you were sure the rumors spreading around your home court were exaggerated, his father didn't have a particularly kind reputation even in his own court either.

“I hadn't even thought of that,” you murmur, taking his hand when he reaches for you, letting him pull you in closer with a chuckle, dropping a chaste kiss to your lips, clearly ready to end the conversation about his father. He starts walking you backwards towards the bed, watching with endearment as your eyes travel over the marks over his chest and down his shoulders, humming when you muster up the courage to reach out and trace the inked skin.

When you get to the bed, he grabs the hem of your dress, lifting it up and over your head with your help, hands falling on your waist as you kick off your shoes as well, tucking your thumbs into the band of your underwear, only hesitating for a second before pushing them down your legs and letting them fall on the floor as well, baring yourself to him completely.

Hungry eyes roam over your body, feasting on the beautiful sight in front of him, taking his time before meeting your gaze once again, your heart beating loudly in your chest at all the attention and desire you find written in the violet, goosebumps spreading over your skin as if he was actually touching you.

“I suppose I should apologize in advance,” he purred, taking a step closer to you, making you angle your neck further back to keep eye contact.

“Why?”

“Because I'm about to ruin every other male for you.”

If this was anyone else you would have probably cringed at the arrogance, but you knew the future High Lord meant every word. It was plain to see in the unbelievable amount of power rumbling under his skin, in the way he held onto you, attentive but intentional, in the raw hunger written in his eyes.

His lips were on yours before you could react, pushing you down onto the mattress gently and falling over your body, positioning himself between your legs. Strong hands caressed your breasts as he trailed kisses down your neck, going back to nibbling on the skin just as he had been doing before you interrupted him downstairs.

Fingers tangle themselves in his hair, breathy moans escaping your mouth unattended as he expertly played with your body until you were melting over the soft duvet. His hand starts traveling lower when he feels the last bit of tension leaving your body, strangely attuned to your needs even though you had just met. You spread your thighs further apart when he reaches your cunt, staring into his eyes when he pulls away from your neck in favor of watching you.

“Need to get you ready,” he whispers, coating his fingers in your wetness before circling your entrance, smirking at the way your body trembles under him.

“Please,” you whimper, hips bucking up into his fingers, desire running through your veins like you had never felt before.

Rhysand chuckles down at you, coaxing one of his fingers inside you carefully. “You don't have to beg, darling. I'll give you anything you want today,” he whispers against your lips, biting the plump flesh as needy moans escape you.

You've used your fingers to pleasure yourself before, but his were much bigger and he knew exactly how to work them in to make you see stars. Hands falling on his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he adds another finger, scissoring them inside you slowly, stretching you out patiently, circling your clit with his thumb softly all the while.

It was no surprise that you were already getting close, walls fluttering around his fingers as he did his best to swallow your soft whimpers and sweet pleas, not giving you a chance to breathe as you fell apart beneath him, a shudder running through you as his name escaped your lips.

Rhysand whispers praises in your ear, dropping kisses all over your face and chest, only stopping when it didn't sound like your heart was trying to fight its way out through your chest and your eyes flutter open.

“Still with me?”

You nod up at him, hand cupping his cheek and bringing his lips down to meet yours once again, you don't think you'd ever tire of kissing him even if you did a million times. Rhysand hums into your mouth, sucking on your tongue playfully as he pulls away, getting up to take the rest of his clothes off.

Sitting up so you could watch him properly, your eyes follow his movements as if in a trance. You couldn't help but linger on his cock, taking in the tremble that runs through him as he strokes it once in front of you. Your own hands grip onto the duvet, wondering what he would feel like.

“You can touch me,” he purrs, half lidded eyes almost begging you to, groaning when your hand reaches for him, mimicking the movement.

Surprisingly, there were no signs of nerves as you stroked his cock, only desire and curiosity running through your veins. He seemed more than content with letting you play with him, even praising you when you did something he liked. It makes you feel bolder, having all this control over him of all people. Leaning forward, you take the head of his cock into your mouth, wanting to know what he felt like on your tongue, what he tasted like.

Rhysand lets out a particularly loud moan, not expecting you to do such a thing, looking down at you proudly, his characteristic smirk growing.

“We'll have to leave that for next time,” he starts, pushing your head away carefully, “I need to fuck you now, alright?”

“Next time?”

He hums, pushing you back against the bed, laying down over you, taking your bottom lip between his. “There's still a lot I can show you.”

“Oh.” You didn't know what to say. Never in a million years did you think you'd be in Rhysand's bed, let alone that he'd want you back. Wrapping your arms around him, you pull him as close as physically possible, shivering at the feeling of his hard muscles against your soft flesh, your breasts pressed against his chest, his cock weighing on your stomach.

He positions himself at your entrance, never breaking the kiss, relaxing your body with every stroke of his tongue against yours, every soft caress down your body. You do your best to breathe through it all, accommodating him between your thighs, trembling at the feeling of his hard cock grinding over your cunt, coating himself in your juices.

“Tell me if it hurts or if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, pecking your lips before continuing, “I promise I'll take care of you.”

It might sound silly but in that moment you could have followed him anywhere. The sincerity and care reflected in his eyes almost took your breath away, finding yourself staring into them like an anchor as he started pushing inside you, mouth opening in a silent moan at the foreign feeling.

You had been prepared to feel almost unbearable pain, remembering the stories your friends told you of their own first times and advice they've given you, but aside from an uncomfortable pinch and strange sensation, you could only feel the promise of pleasure.

“Good?” His voice was deeper, clearly affected as he held himself back from thrusting into your warm, tight cunt. You nod and kiss him, hoping it's answer enough, wrapping your legs around him, needing to feel him deeper. Rhysand keeps pushing his cock into you carefully, slowing down anytime your body tenses even a bit, until he finally settles inside you, his hips flush with the back of your thighs.

His hands travel all over your body, mouth still moving against yours, distracting you from any pain or discomfort that you might feel. Your own hands kept caressing up and down his back, feeling the hard muscles ripple under your touch, tracing the small scars you found along the way.

Holding each other so close it was almost impossible to see where one ended and the other began, you felt a fire lighting on the pit of your stomach, a needy pleasure spreading over your veins to every inch of your body, legs tightening around him.

“Rhysand-”

“Can I move?” He asks against your lips, forearm braced right next to your head as he grinds into you once experimentally, humming when you whimper into his mouth. “Want me to fuck you? Want to feel my cock stretching out your tight little cunt?”

“Please,” you breathe out, a long drawn out moan escaping you when he complies, pulling his cock out and pushing it back in, eyes never straying from yours.

He sets up a slow pace, going in impossibly deep, hitting all the spots that make you see stars, trailing wet kisses down your jaw and neck until he reaches your chest, sucking a nipple into his mouth as your head falls back against the duvet, eyes falling shut in bliss.

You almost want to curse yourself for waiting this long, for being too focused on your work to experience this, but you're also eternally grateful that you waited for him, there was no doubt in your mind that he was the perfect person for this. You feel him smirking against your chest, hips never stopping as he lets go of your nipple with a pop.

He lets you pull him into another short kiss, violet eyes staring into yours, hovering over your face, only a breath away as he keeps going, speeding up a bit, going harder as you struggled to keep eye contact, damn near purring at the way you trembled and your walls fluttered around his cock.

Time seemed to stop as you got lost in his eyes, in the pleasure he was bringing you, only noticing how close to the edge you already were when you were about to fall. A rushed warning tumbles past your lips as you descend into madness, his hips grinding into you as shivers run through your body and moans of his name echo around the room, every nerve on your body alive with pleasure.

He fucks you through your orgasm, grinding into your cunt and cooing at your fucked out expression until his hips start faltering, going in deeper as his own high reaches him, barely pulling out of you in time, stroking his cock maddeningly as rope after rope of cum falls on your stomach and chest, his own needy moans filling the room this time.

Chests rising and falling, both of you do your best to catch your breaths and fall back down to earth. Swallowing down the dryness in your throat, you open your eyes to find him mesmerized by the way his cum paints your torso, one hand pushing his sticky hair out of his forehead as a drop trickles down your breast.

A devious thought crosses your mind. Reaching down your body, you gather a bit of his cum with your finger, bringing it up to your lips as his eyes follow the movement, moaning at his taste and the hunger in his eyes, smirking at the curse that he lets out. You reach down again, wanting to repeat the action when he catches your hand, stopping you so he can do it himself, feeding you his cum on his own fingers, cursing as you clean them up happily.

“I think I'm going to keep you, darling,” he declares, eyes fixed on your mouth as you lick your lips.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” he breathes out, leaning down to kiss you. “You're all fucking mine now.”

[skywalkerslvt]

Inked- Ellie Williams

❥Pairing: Ellie Williams x AFAB!Reader

❥Summary: Ellie gets a stomach tattoo and then fucks you in a public washroom

❥CW: 18+ smut, oral sex (reader receiving), semi-public sex. 1.3k words

❥a/n: NOT PROOFREAD! I lowkey hate this and might edit later but here's the long awaited fic that I took way too long to post lol. Sorry if the formatting is weird- i'm posting from my phone. Hope u enjoy!

The tattoo parlour was a blend of buzzing needles and low conversations, the air thick with the smell of antiseptic and ink. You walked in with Ellie, walking close behind her as you looked around. You had been best friends for years, sharing countless memories and adventures, and today was about to add another chapter.

Ellie was finally getting the stomach tattoo she'd talked about for months, and you were there for moral support, as always. The artist greeted you with a nod, already prepping his station.

Ellie seemed calm, but you could sense the underlying nerves. As she lay back in the chair, your hands instinctively reached out to give her hand a squeeze.

Ellie lifted up her shirt and pulled the waistband of her jeans down slightly, exposing the canvas of her skin. Your eyes trailed over her exposed skin, lingering on the slight v-line that disappeared beneath her pants. You felt a rush of warmth to your cheeks and quickly looked away, hoping Ellie didn't notice.

The session began, the buzz of the needle filling the room. You watched as the artist skillfully worked on Ellie’s skin, the blank ink slowly forming intricate patterns. You tried to focus on the tatto, but your eyes kept drifting back to Ellie's exposed skin, the taut muscles of her abdomen, the soft curve of her hips.

Ellie winced occasionally, her grip on your hand tightening. Each time you offered a reassuring smile, but inside you were battling your own desires. The way her body reacted to the pain, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath as her teeth worried her bottom lip–it was all too much.

You found your mind wandering, imagining what it would be like to feel Ellie's hands on you, her mouth exploring your body. The thought of her pinning you down, her fingers teasingly tracing your skin, sent a shiver down your spine. Your eyes traced the V-line of her abdomen once more, and you could almost feel her pressed against you, her breath hot against your ear as she whispered your name.

Your body reacted to the fantasy, heat pooling between your legs as you shifted in your seat, trying to find some relief. You bit your lip, your eyes flicking back to Ellie's face. Her eyes were closed, her breath coming in shallow pants as the needle continued its work. You wondered if she could feel your gaze, if she could sense the effect she had on you.

The thought of Ellie's hands gripping your hips, her body pressed against yours, her mouth claiming yours in a heated kiss-it was enough to make you ache with need. You clenched your thighs together, trying to focus on anything else, but the image of Ellie fucking you, her voice husky with desire, refused to leave your mind.

Ellie attempted conversation with you, but you were too distracted, not hearing her words as your focus zeroed in on her skin. Her grip on your hand loosened, and her fingers splayed against your upper thigh, squeezing slightly to grab your attention.

Your eyes meet hers, heat flooding your face at the contact. “Are you okay?”

Shit. Did she notice you staring? “I- Yes. I'm fine,” you stuttered out, sneaking another glance at her v-line before meeting her eyes again. Something in her gaze shifted and–oh god, you had to get out of there. The way she was looking at you through her lashes had your aching cunt soaking your panties. “I have to use the washroom.”

You got up abruptly, not waiting for a reply from Ellie as you beelined to the washroom towards the back of the parlour. Once inside, you leaned against the sink, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. The mirror reflected your wide eyed, lust fueled expression, your thoughts racing with the memory of Ellie's exposed skin.

Minutes passed, and you heard a light knock on the door. “Hey, you okay in there?” Ellie's voice was soft but laced with concern.

“Yeah, just…give me a minute,” you called back, trying to steady your voice.

Ellie's hesitation was palpable, but she opened the door anyway, slipping inside and closing it behind her. Shit. You forgot to lock the door.

"I was worried about you," she said, her eyes scanning your face. "You seemed... off."

You bit your lip, avoiding her gaze. "I'm fine, really."

Ellie stepped closer, her hand gently tilting your chin up to meet her eyes. "I saw the way you were looking at me," she murmured, her voice low. "And it's okay. You don't have to hide it."

Your heart pounded in your chest as her words sank in. "Ellie, I-"

She cut you off with a kiss, her lips soft but demanding against yours. You melted into her touch, your hands gripping her shirt as you pulled her closer. The kiss deepened, years of unspoken desire finally breaking free.

Ellie's hands roamed your body, sliding under your shirt to caress your skin. Her touch was electrifying, sending shivers down your spine. She pushed you against the wall, her mouth moving to your neck, sucking and biting gently.

You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in her hair.

"Ellie," you breathed out, your voice heavy with need. She pulled back slightly, her eyes dark with desire as she looked at you.

"Do you want this?" she asked, her voice husky.

"Yes," you replied without hesitation. "I want you."

Ellie smirked, her hands moving to unbutton your jeans. She slipped her hand inside, her fingers brushing against your soaked panties. "You're so wet," she whispered, her breath hot against your ear.

You gasped as her fingers slid inside your panties, teasing your entrance.

"Ellie, please," you begged, your hips bucking against her hand.

She slid two fingers inside you, curling them to hit just the right spot. You moaned loudly, your back arching against the wall. Ellie's thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles as she fucked you with her fingers.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, the pleasure building inside you. "Ellie, I'm gonna-"

"Come for me," she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. Her words pushed you over the edge, your body shuddering as you came around her fingers.

Ellie didn't stop, continuing to finger you through your orgasm, drawing out every last bit of pleasure. When you finally came down, she pulled her hand away, bringing her fingers to her lips and licking them clean. "You taste so good," she said, her voice filled with desire.

Before you could respond, Ellie dropped to her knees, her hands gripping your hips as she pulled your jeans and panties down. She kissed the inside of your thighs, her tongue flicking out to tease your skin. "Ellie," you moaned, your hands gripping her hair.

She licked a long stripe up your slit, her tongue swirling around your clit. You cried out, your hips bucking against her mouth. Ellie held you firmly in place, her tongue delving into your core, tasting you. She alternated between licking and sucking, her tongue expertly working you towards another orgasm.

Your legs trembled, your breaths coming in short gasps as the pleasure built inside you once more. "Ellie, I'm gonna come again," you panted. She hummed against your clit, the vibration sending you over the edge.

You came with a loud cry, your body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. Ellie continued to lick you, her tongue gentle now, helping you come down from your high.

When you finally caught your breath, Ellie stood up, her lips glistening with your arousal. She kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. "That was incredible," she whispered against your lips.

You smiled, your body still tingling with pleasure. "Yes, it was," you agreed. "But what about you?"

Ellie grinned, her hands moving to unbutton her own jeans. "Oh, I'm not done with you yet," she said, her voice filled with anticipation.

[literaila]

hey v ! what about peter and reader getting ready to go somewhere and after reader puts on some red lipstick peter can't stop kissing her ?

lipstick

warnings: ugh, peter

*

“how many times have you done that?”

peter is standing behind you, leaning against the wall, probably ruining your focus, or your makeup, or your sanity. he’s probably staring just to mess with you.

you refrain from smiling in the mirror. wipe a smudge with your nail. “i don’t know, peter,” you meet his eyes, and his nefarious smirk. “how many times have you watched me do it?”

“i got lost somewhere around the first time.”

you laugh at him, crumbling the napkin you’ve been using, now filled with kiss marks, and turning it around so you can throw it at peter. “are you sick?” you ask him.

instead of answering, he licks his lip and unfolds the napkin, staring at the red marks, creases and tireless efforts arranged in a messy pattern. “this is like art.”

“why are you acting like you’ve never seen anyone wear lipstick before?”

“what?” he asks, hand to his chest. “i cant watch you get ready? i’m banned from being in the bathroom when you are?”

“yes, and yes.”

it does not escape your notice when peter tucks the napkin into his pocket for safekeeping.

he shrugs. “i don’t mind breaking the rules.”

you scoff at him and pat his shoulder as you walk past him through the doorway. “i would’ve locked you out if i knew you were going to be weird about it.”

“weird? how am i being weird?”

“you were lurking. you’re still lurking.”

“i’m talking to my girlfriend. that’s part of our contract.”

“you’re following me.”

peter smiles. “well, i like you.”

you roll your eyes, almost—almost—smiling when you feel his arms wrap around your waist. “please don’t make me argue about your stalker like tendencies.”

“we don’t have to argue,” peter says, kissing the space beneath your ear. his breath is hot.

“i need to put my shoes on, peter.”

he smiles, his teeth clashing against your skin like a dreadful reminder. some type of jumpscare—minus the fact that you merely lean into him, sans jumping. “we can spare fifteen minutes.”

“how can you be thinking about anything besides the fact that we’re already late to meet may?”

he nibbles on the skin by your collarbone, then licks it, as reprieve. “it must be the lipstick.”

“you’ve literally seen me with lipstick before. i wore some on our first date.”

“‘s probably why i like it so much.”

his lips are needy as they crawl around your skin. his hands are stationary, but they pose their own threat as they lurk.

“peter, we have to go.”

“i’m not known for my punctuality,” he spins you around, his lips curled in mischief, “you know.”

“i’m aware.”

you refuse to indulge him. your brows furrow, your hands held in the air—just so you can avoid accidentally touching him. purposefully.

“then why are you so worried?” peter asks, kissing your cheek.

“i’m not kissing you,” you say, instead of answering.

“you’re not?” peter pouts like a child. he is far too grown.

“no.”

“how come?”

you try to pull away from him, but, shockingly, peter is stronger than you are. your will is weak. “you’re going to smudge my lipstick. i just finished.”

“you have more, don’t you?”

“not the point.”

“what?” he asks, his voice so serious and teasing. “you don’t want to kiss me?”

“no, i do not.”

you look away from him, admiring a wall that has always been there.

“are you sure?” peter asks, ducking so he can catch your eyes again, because he is nothing if not cruel.

you break, pouting. “peter,” you whine, “we’re not going to be late again.”

“i think we are.”

“you can kiss me when we get home later,” you promise, trying again to wiggle out of his grasp.

“that is a terrible compromise.”

“you won’t compromise,” you snap back. “what else am i supposed to do?”

peter grins, tilting his head. “okay. i have an idea. how about i kiss you, and then we leave? you don’t even have to kiss back, even though we’d both prefer it that way.”

“i’ll kiss you,” you mock him. “you’re the worst negotiator i’ve ever met.”

“then how come we haven’t left yet?”

you scowl at him, and he scowls back, but his eyes are alight.

your skin is ravenous with an ache to touch him, he’s so close that kissing him would be nothing—merely breathing, really—but you don’t want to lose this game to peter. and you dont want him to stop looking at you.

he pretends to check a watch. “hmm, it’s getting awfully late.”

“are you british all of the sudden?”

peter grins, biting his lip before he tries to bite you. you lean away. “if you like my accent, all you have to do is say so.”

“i like it when you get out of my way, and stop trying to sabotage me. i like that a lot.”

“no clue what you mean, dear.”

you roll your eyes and manage to cross your arms in his hold.

“i wonder how we could solve this,” peter muses, tapping his finger on your waist. “it’s a big problem.”

“i could leave you behind and have lunch with may myself.”

“that’s one option.”

you roll your eyes again.

“i was thinking something else, though,” peter says, and he’s closer now, but you’re sure that you never saw him move. “something more… proactive.”

“shove it, peter.”

“you don’t even want to hear it?”

you sigh, leaning your chest into him, out of pure delusion. “fine. what?”

peter smiles at you, eyes catching eyes.

the look on his face is soft, delirious. he’s got that look in his eyes, and that smile on his face, and he’s still staring at you like he’s mesmerized by whatever you’re doing.

“what?” you repeat, but softly, like you can’t find your voice in the chest cavity peters taken hold of.

“kiss me,” he says, softly, and it’s really not your fault that his lips are already brushing yours.

and it’s not your fault when you lean in, sighing in relief at the mere feel of him.

you’re almost breathless, from the tiniest of kisses.

but then you kiss peter again, and again, and your hands finally wrap around him—keeping hold of something real in this fake reality—and your voice isn’t your own when you groan at peter for making you do this.

you have evacuated your body. you have lost common sense.

but it doesn’t matter, because kissing peter has always made you forget all of that.

and it still does, when he pulls back, grinning like he’s won. “see?” he says, voice ragged. “it was simple.”

“we’re going to be late and it’s your fault.”

peter laughs, kissing you again, staring at your red lips. “gladly. i’ll take all the blame.”

“and you’re making it up to me later.”

“whatever you say,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

he releases you and watches as you finally put on your shoes.

you don’t think it necessary to mention the red marks on his lips. it’s not like it’s your fault they’re there.

*

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 8 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Now that Anna knows what Bob's hands feel like when he's holding her close, she doesn't know how to stop herself from going back for more. But she's unwilling to even humor Bob when it comes to what he wants the most.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, masturbation, eventually 18+

Length: 5300 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

"I'm waiting for you to thank me."

Bob looked up to see Nat in front of him with a little smirk painted on her lips. He'd been spending the last twenty minutes trying to act normal, something he forgot how to do after Anna kissed him in the kitchen. Because it wasn't just a kiss, it was everything. It felt like she really wanted him.

"Thank you for what?" he asked cautiously.

Nat laughed heartily like he'd just told a very amusing joke. "For pushing you and Anna together. Bradley told me the situation, and that woman was jealous of me touching you. Her face was all pinched, and her lips were pressed into a tight line. Jealous. She wants you. And my god, she's hot. What the fuck do they do at San Diego State? Only interview you if you've got your PhD and a modeling contract?"

Bob knew he was blushing, and he was happy she wasn't calling him out on it. His friends were all talking about him and Anna behind his back at this point, trying to figure out what was going on. "We kind of just made out in the kitchen," he muttered, glancing across the yard at Anna who was talking to Jess and still holding the can of ginger ale he gave her.

"Yes!" Nat said with absolutely no subtlety, slapping Bob's shoulder. "Oh fuck, the two of you will have the cutest kids! Freckles and strawberry blonde hair!"

He had to close his eyes against the idea of it, willing the flush in his cheeks to subside. When he opened them again, Anna was looking right at him. Her gaze was a little unsure, and he was starting to get afraid she wouldn't let him drive her home later. But he wanted to walk her up to her door. He had been thinking about it since the very first time he drove her home.

"It's not like we're together or anything," he muttered.

"Yet," Nat told him, looking so certain. "Not yet."

It was getting late, the sun dipping lower in the sky. The temperatures would start cooling down once it was dark, and Anna was only wearing shorts. Bob's eyes easily found those freckles on her thighs once again. Her skin looked so damn soft. He wondered if he would feel goosebumps beneath his fingers if he traced that pretty pattern, gently connecting her freckles with an imaginary line. He had to swallow hard as she started heading his way.

Nat squeezed his wrist and muttered something about work, and then she vanished into the house. With Anna standing right in front of him, Bob wished he could just lean in and kiss her the way Jake always did with Jess, and the way Bradley always did with his wife. He wanted it. With Anna.

"I'm getting a little chilly," she told him. "I guess I overestimated how warm autumn was going to be in San Diego. It's still better than New Jersey though." She was talking to him like she hadn't been rubbing the front of those little shorts against the fly of his jeans barely an hour ago, and now he was sweating.

"You should wear jeans next time," he replied before realizing how stupid he sounded. "Not that you should be covering your legs or anything like that! You have very nice legs. Nice freckles? I just don't want you to be cold."

He cradled his forehead in his hand while Anna laughed softly. "I'll wear jeans next time. Do you think you could give me a ride home soon?"

"Sure," he promised immediately. "Absolutely."

"Great." Then she turned, and Bob heard her saying goodbye to Jessica. Why was he so awkward? Why was that exchange so weird? How was he supposed to make Anna want to kiss him again when he could barely string two normal sentences together?

--------------------------

Anna was trying to make a quick getaway, craving another few minutes alone with Bob. His truck was cozy, and she knew it would feel warm. His voice was sexy, and so was the way he moved. She wanted to kiss him again, even though she knew it was a terrible idea.

"Take some leftovers!"

"No, I'm fine," Anna told the hosts as Bradley tried to talk her into taking some of the extra burgers home. "But thank you." She was terrified that Jess may have said something about how sad Anna's lunches were; she had been doing her best to hide her current financial state from her friends, but she must have slipped up somehow.

"Well, will you come over for dinner one night? I love cooking for Sugar, but I always end up making way too much food."

Anna looked down at her feet. "Sure. I could do that. Jake invited me over there, too. I know he always cooks for Jess."

"Okay," Bradley said, his voice a little rough and his face annoyed when Anna looked up. "I'm a lot better at cooking than Jake is, first of all. Second of all, why don't you have dinner at his lame ass condo, and then let me know what he cooked. Then I'll cook a much better version of it for you and Sugar one night."

She was trying not to laugh; she knew they were competitive, but she didn't know it was quite this bad. "That sounds great, Bradley. Thanks for inviting me over today."

He just waved her off. "You're always welcome. You're one of us." He said it so casually before he started scraping the grill and cleaning it up, Anna just stared at the pattern of his tie dye shirt for a few seconds. He considered her part of this group now? This ridiculously cool friend group? If she thought about it for too long, she knew she would start crying. 

"Thanks," she whispered, turning and running directly into Bob's solid chest.

When she looked up at him as her fingers grazed along his shirt, he asked, "You ready to head out?"

"Yeah." Anna felt the slight pressure of Bob's hand at her lower back, guiding her toward the door.

"After you," he said softly. 

Anna had to walk inside the house and past Natasha, who she had clearly embarrassed herself in front of before. But the brunette just waved goodbye like she was completely unfazed by the events from earlier. Like it was totally normal for Bob and Anna to be together, heading out front to his truck as the setting sunset turned the sky orange.

Bob pulled the door open and helped her into his truck, and Anna thought maybe it was okay for this to be normal? To get a ride home from Bob after kissing him in her friend's kitchen? To have a painfully unrelenting crush on him that made her feel like perhaps love was a choice that you made for yourself? 

She watched him walk around the font of the truck, his glasses catching the last rays of sunlight as the streetlights started to warm up. He was beautiful. He climbed into the truck gracefully and looked at her bashfully. She was the reason he wasn't more confident right now; she knew it, and she was annoyed with herself for it.

He cleared his throat quietly and said, "Before I forget, I have your copy of Papillon." Then he reached for the glovebox, his knuckles brushing her bare knee. "Sorry," he whispered, pulling his hand away immediately.

Anna's heart was in her throat. How was she supposed to tell him that she liked it when he touched her, even by accident. He reached for the glovebox again, this time making sure his movements kept him clear of her leg. "It's okay," she told him, breathing deep. "I didn't mind it."

The only answer she got was Bob carefully handing her worn out book back to her. There was another little note folded up inside which made her remember she never read the one that was in Wuthering Heights before she left it in her office at work. He started the engine. The drive back to her place was too long, and too short at the same time. She was surprised to find that he was heading in the right direction without a reminder about her address. As the sky darkened, Anna tried to listen to the music playing on the radio, but all she could really hear was the sound of her own heart pounding. 

When Bob parked the truck in front of her building, she watched him squeeze the steering wheel with both hands while he stared out the windshield. "Anna...when you say you didn't mind it when I touched you...what does that mean? And what happened back at the cookout? Am I allowed to kiss you now? Or am I supposed to just figure out how to get over you?"

She fumbled with her seatbelt, heart thundering at the sound of his unsure voice. She wanted to ask him why he even liked her, because she had literally nothing to offer someone like Bob Floyd. But instead she said, "I meant I like it when you touch me. Even if it's by accident."

He turned to look at her, and when he saw she was crawling across the seat, his eyes went wide, and his hands slid from the steering wheel. "Anna." He inhaled a sharp breath when she planted one hand between his thighs, brushing his jeans with her fingers. She couldn't stand him thinking she didn't want him for another second. He was all she wanted. Somehow moving to San Diego got her some actual friends and a job she liked, and now a decent man with only green flags was into her, and she just couldn't make him think she felt otherwise. Even if they couldn't be together.

Bob's hands were planted on the seat at his sides, and he wasn't moving an inch as Anna straddled his legs. It was dark out, but she could see his gaze dip down to her cleavage before he met her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was deep with need. "Is it okay if I touch you now?"

"Please."

Anna's little cry of delight echoed through the cab of the truck as soon as Bob's hands settled on her bare thighs. His touch was light yet intentional, and it just left her wanting more. He was running his thumb along the frayed edge of her denim shorts, teasing her as he whispered, "I want to kiss you."

She didn't answer. Instead she reached for him, letting her fingers sink into his silky hair, leaning closer until her lips met his again. The kisses in the kitchen had been a little frantic, forcing her to get over the fact that Bob didn't want Natasha. He wanted Anna. But this was something different. Languid and slow. Needy yet decisive. She wanted to touch the rough stubble of his cheek, so she did. She wanted to feel his bottom lip tugged gently between hers, so she did. Then she parted her lips and tasted him.

The scrape of her nails along his jaw had his fingers sliding up inside the bottom of her shorts, and she wished she wasn't wearing them at all. She wanted to know the feel of his hands everywhere. "Anna," he murmured against her lips. She tugged on his hair and kissed him a little rougher, but she gasped and gave up control as soon as his big hands found their way over her shorts to her hips and yanked her snug against him. There was no more polite distance. No more breathing room. Just his hard body pressed to her soft one.

Bob's glasses were cool against her cheek, keeping her grounded as his fingers met the skin of her lower back while he tasted her tongue. His touch tickled her, and she rolled her hips forward, earning a grunt of pleasure from him. "Please," Anna whined, like it was the only word she even knew. Then her mouth was back on his. Bob's fingers traveled an inch higher, and she ground against him, but this time he broke the kiss.

When he tipped his head back, he looked bashful in the glow from the streetlights. She could feel him. He was getting hard for her, and it was delicious. Her brain supplied every suggestive line of poetry it had ever absorbed in her lifetime, and all she wanted was to make him get harder. 

She was ready to start unzipping his jeans when he eased his hands away from her body and whispered, "Will you let me walk you to your door? I've been wanting to do that for weeks."

----------------------

It was slow going, trying to get to Anna's apartment door. They kept stopping to kiss, even going so far as to end up with her body pinned between his and the wall in the stairwell. Her soft laughter as he kissed the side of her neck echoed through the enclosed space, and then she said his name.

"Bob."

Actually, it was more like a whine, and it reverberated off of the walls beautifully. "Yes, Anna?" he whispered, letting her lace their fingers together. He wanted to do this all the time. He wanted to be her boyfriend. 

She just made a strangled sound as he kissed as many of her freckles as he could get his lips on before pulling her away from the wall. Then they finally made it upstairs to her door. If she invited him inside, he wasn't sure what she would expect. As much as he was ready to skip all of the pleasantries, he knew he needed to do this just right.

"Oh," she whispered, seemingly to herself as she unlocked her door. But she didn't turn the knob as she looked back at him over her shoulder. Her pretty brown eyes flashed with concern, so he took a step away, but then she just looked sad. 

"Everything okay?" he asked. She nodded. "Will I get to see you this week? I'd love to buy you a ginger ale at the Hard Deck. Or Chippy's."

She bit her lip before abandoning the door and wrapping her arms around his neck. She was all rough kisses on her tiptoes, and Bob was ready to turn the knob, head inside and deal with the consequences later. But she ran her tongue along his bottom lip before pulling away from him just as quickly. "I need to...I'll see you later, Bob."

In a flash, she squeezed herself in through the smallest gap imaginable, and then she gently closed her apartment door behind her. Bob stood there for a minute, his cock still half hard in his jeans as he stared at the spot where Anna had just been standing. She was giving him whiplash at this point, but maybe he sort of liked that kind of thing.

He quickly adjusted himself in his jeans before heading back downstairs and out into the cool night. He was going to have to ask Jake or Bradley how long he needed to wait before asking Anna out. They would know what to do. And he had Nat back now as well. He had enough resources that he would figure it out.

But the next day after work, they all seemed to make everything more confusing for him. 

"So did you finally fuck her then?" Bradley asked casually as he put deodorant on in the locker room.

"Well, no," Bob muttered. "We just made out for a bit."

"Kids these days," Bradley muttered, shaking his head. "Well, did you at least thank Nat? For coming to your rescue?"

Bob sighed, knowing this man was going to be no help after all. "I already talked to Nat," Bob replied as they walked out of the locker room. 

Of course Natasha was in the hallway and did a double take. "Did I just hear my name? I've been so popular since I got home yesterday." Her smile slipped into a look of excitement. "Did you fuck the redhead?"

Bob cradled his forehead in his hand. "Her name is Anna. And no, because I'm actually trying to date her."

"Why not both?" Nat asked, leading the way out to the parking lot. "Give that girl what she so desperately wants."

Bob was scared Anna was going to pull away again. He hadn't heard from her at all since last night when she disappeared into her apartment. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be texting her or not today. It was like he was living in a choose your own adventure story, but somehow none of the options were correct.

He turned right toward his truck while Bradley and Nat both turned left, but then he realized that Jake had parked next to him and was already in his own truck talking on the phone. Bob tried to sneak past, but Jake put his window down and said, "Jess wants to know what's up with you and Anna."

"Is she on the phone?" Bob asked, tossing his bag into his own truck.

"Hi!" came Jessica's voice through Jake's bluetooth. "What did you do to Anna? She was practically singing when she showed up at lunch today."

Bob immediately scrambled toward Jake's truck and stuck his head in the window. "She was?"

"Yes. And she was having a hard time paying attention. You know how she gets when her head is in the clouds."

Jake met Bob's wide eyed gaze and smiled. "You should go to her office hours," the other man drawled. "That's like a green light for fucking on her desk."

"Hey!" Jessica complained through the phone while Bob grimaced. "Jake, keep your mouth shut about it. But yes, Bob, you should go to her office hours. She'd probably really like that. It shows you're thinking about her."

Well Bob was almost never not thinking about Anna, so maybe it wasn't a bad idea. "Take her some flowers," Jake added. "Seriously, man, she'll be handing you her panties within a minute."

"Hey!" came Jessica's voice again, and this time Bob ducked into his own truck, not wanting to hear any more of that conversation.

-----------------------------

Monday was a bit of a blur. The first thing Anna did when she got to her office was grab her copy of Wuthering Heights from her shelf. The note she forgot to read from Bob made her smile right away.

This book made me feel like it's okay to be completely caught up in another person to the point where you forget where you are or what you're doing. Also, I'm going to think of you every time I see a dog eared page for the rest of my life.

She whimpered softly. There had been a similar, slightly more intimate note tucked inside Papillon when she checked it last night after she squeezed herself into her depressingly tiny apartment in embarrassment. She would never be able to invite Bob inside for anything. Not for a cup of tea, and not for a sleepover.

After that, Anna spent the entire night on Sunday reading her favorite poems and touching herself. Sky Writing seemed to have fallen in love, based on his new post. That idea wasn't surprising at all. Anna was convinced he was the perfect man, so it was just a matter of time. But the thing that did surprise her was the way he wrote about a certain woman with red hair. Late into the night, she was laying in her tiny bed with her fingers inside the font of her underwear, picturing Bob as she read the words to herself.

It was almost too much. Her lips were still a little bit puffy on Monday from all the making out, and she felt sated if only by her own touch. She knew Bob's beautiful hands would be so much better, and she was still thinking about them when she went to find her friends at lunchtime. 

Tuesday wasn't much better. The only damper was that she hadn't heard a single word from Bob. Nothing. She hadn't texted him either, because what was she supposed to say? Hi, I think I could fall in love with you, but I'm not allowed. Can we still make out? That would be the worst idea in the world.

"She's got her head in the clouds again."

Anna blinked a few times and realized she was sitting by the weird tree with the warm sunlight on her face. Her uneaten sandwich was in her hand, hovering halfway to her mouth, and she had been staring off into the distance. "Sorry," she muttered, finally taking a bite. Her lunch didn't even seem as sad today as she thought about Bob's hands on her thighs. 

"Can you blame her?" Jessica asked. "She kissed Bob."

"Not one bit," the other woman said with a grin, as if Anna wasn't even there. "He's a damn catch. Sweetest man ever."

Anna rolled her eyes and said, "As if you aren't married to the human equivalent of a golden retriever."

"Oh, so she is paying attention," Jessica said with a laugh. "We thought you'd blasted off for planet Bob with no return ticket."

"Your astrophysics jokes are the worst," the other woman said, and Jessica pretended to pout.

"Listen. All I know is that he's a great kisser, and that his hands fit really nicely right here," Anna said pointing to her back and her hips. Both women squealed in delight. "But I can't take things any further with him."

"Why not?" Jessica demanded. "The two of you have been playing this game since you met at the bookstore. And also since you met again at the Hard Deck."

Anna thought about Kevin and all of her money that she'd never see again. She thought about her manuscripts she'd put on hold to work three jobs. She thought about how she'd willingly given up Princeton for him.

"I don't want to drag him down to where I am," she whispered, running her finger along the condensation on her can of ginger ale. "I can't be in a relationship." That's all she wanted to say about Bob and Kevin right now, still too afraid to tell her friends everything. So she cleared her throat and asked, "What's with the cooking rivalry between Bradley and Jake? It's like an episode of Chopped." That seemed to open a very controversial can of worms, but at least the focus shifted away from her personal life.

------------------------------

Bob didn't even know what kind of flowers were the right ones to get, and once again, everyone else gave him useless information. 

"I rarely get flowers for Sugar. I usually just grab some good beers on my way to pick her up from school, and that's enough to seal the deal. Then I get to drink the beer I like while my hot wife goes dow-"

"We get the picture, Bradshaw," Jake said loudly. "Bob, just get some cheap flowers and save the money to make her dinner one night."

"Do not get her cheap flowers!" Natasha chimed in. "If the two of you weren't attractive looking," she said, pointing to Bradley and Jake, "Sugar and Jessica would have bailed before they bothered to uncover actual brain cells underneath the pretty hair." Both men looked startled before eventually nodding in agreement. "You need to get good flowers and plan to invite her for dinner. Not one or the other," Nat finished, pounding her fist into her other palm. "No wonder Bob never gets laid when I'm not around to straighten everything out."

"Can we not talk about that?" he mumbled, adjusting his glasses. "And it's not like I just want to...get laid. By just anybody."

"Yeah, yeah," Natasha said, tapping away on her phone. "You're a romantic. Go get her flowers like these ones."

Bob examined her screen when she held it up for him. He memorized the red and orange blooms the best he could, and soon they started to remind him of Anna's hair. "Got it," he told her, turning toward his truck before anyone else could tell him something that may or may not end up being useful. He'd get the flowers and then invite her over. He wasn't as good at cooking as Jake or Bradley, but he'd try anyway. He was mostly out of practice since he didn't have anyone to cook for, really, but they both offered to send him their favorite recipes. 

The florist was nice and listened to him ramble about orange and red flowers for a minute before putting together something that was even prettier than he could have imagined. The sixty dollar price tag shocked him, but it didn't stop him from also grabbing a book from the front window of the shop next door. It was a new one he'd been wanting to read himself, not quite one of the classics that Anna seemed to favor, but he figured she wouldn't have read it yet. He'd let her borrow it and dog ear all the pages up, and then he'd read it and think about her the whole time.

But when he got to the San Diego State University campus, he sat in his truck and stared at the clock on his dashboard. It was 6:32. She had office hours until 7:00, so he really needed to head in there. Doubt was creeping in now, because they left things off at a weird place. He had no idea what Anna really wanted from him, if anything. If she told him no or hesitated today, he was going to have to start sorting out his feelings for her and dismantling them bit by bit.

It was 6:47 by the time he finally made his way through the academic building on his way to Anna's office. Several people turned and looked at him in his khaki uniform with the huge bouquet of flowers in his hand, and this would have been a lot less stressful if Anna was actually his girlfriend and not a woman he thought might never be that. When he reached the hallway that smelled like freshly baked bread, he found her small office right away where it was tucked back from the main walkway. The door was ajar, and he could hear her voice, so he stood there in the hallway a little awkwardly, trying to fight the urge to run back to his truck.

The door opened another inch, and Bob could see Anna's fingers and her burgundy painted nails peeking out as her voice got louder. "Here's a copy of the extra study guide. Don't forget there's a quiz on Monday. If you can ace that, then I think you'll be in better shape for the final. And try not to be too hard on yourself, Hemingway can be a bit of a challenge for anyone."

"Thanks, Dr. Webber."

The door opened all the way, and a young man filed out with a frown on his face, and then Anna was just standing there right in front of Bob. Her hair was in a loose braid, her lips had some sort of purple-ish gloss on them, and she was wearing some snug jeans and an SDSU sweatshirt. "Bob," she breathed, and it sounded like music. Her gaze raked over his uniform and the vibrant flowers before returning to his face, brown eyes more vulnerable than he ever thought they should be.

"Hi, Anna." He couldn't think of anything better to say as she backed up a step into her small office and nodded her head once for him to join her. After two of his long strides, Bob was practically bumping into her desk. Then she closed the door and leaned against it, hands tucked behind her back.

She cleared her throat, but her voice was still soft as she said, "You look nice in your uniform."

"Thanks," he replied automatically. She could have said anything, and he would have thanked her.

"Those are beautiful. Are they for me?" she whispered, eyes falling to the flowers again.

"Of course they are."

Bob watched her eyelashes brush her cheeks as her eyes fluttered closed. "You didn't have to do that. Flowers are so expensive."

"I got you a book, too," he said, sliding it out from behind the bouquet. Her eyes snapped open so she could read the title, and he said, "It's a new release, so I was hoping you didn't preorder it or anything."

Anna's cheeks were growing pinker by the second, making her freckles look more prominent. He was about to ask if she wanted to come over for dinner one night when she launched herself across the three feet of empty space, colliding softly with his body. Bob dropped the flowers and the book onto her desk just as she kissed him, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

She kissed him like they did this all the time, and his hands went right to her waist where they fit perfectly. "Thank you," she murmured against his lips. "Nobody ever got me books before you."

The words before you echoed in his brain. He didn't want there to be an after. He wanted this to be the real deal where neither of them had to be in a relationship where they weren't constantly trading books back and forth with someone. 

Anna kissed him until his glasses were crooked, and she raked her fingers through his hair until he was sure it was a mess. And somehow she ended up pushing him back until he was sitting on the edge of her desk with his long legs splayed apart. He knew he was in trouble; he could feel himself slipping already. She let her hands trail down the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and down the front of his shirt. She adjusted all of his pins and touched his name tag along the way as her lips barely brushed his. Her fingers moved so slowly, he thought maybe he could get himself under control, but it was no use. He was hard in his pants, and her exploratory hands weren't stopping.

"Anna."

All that did was make her kiss him harder again.

"Please."

All that did was have her pressing the font of her jeans to his khakis with a little gasp. Maybe the guys had been right about this kind of thing after all. Maybe visiting her during office hours was all it was going to take to get to the next level. Her fingers made it all the way down to his thighs, scraping along just inches from his erection, and Bob was afraid he was going to embarrass himself. He thought about icebergs and refrigerators and the Arctic Circle, but nothing alleviated the aching heat under his skin as Anna licked his lip and almost nudged the tip of his cock.

But then she said the most devastating sentence he could think of. "Bob, I really like you. But we're just friends, okay?" Then she kissed him again like she hadn't spoken something so harsh, and he thought maybe he imagined it. "Just really good friends who make out with each other."

"Fuck," he grunted, trying to get control even as his hands kneaded the bare skin of her lower back. "Anna." He swallowed hard and pulled his mouth away from hers, examining her wide eyes. Her teeth sank into her pouty bottom lip when he said, "I was going to invite you over for dinner later this week."

"As friends?" she whispered, her hands still planted on his thighs. 

Bob nodded like an idiot, because once again, he was going to agree to anything she said right then. "Sure."

She kissed him softly and said, "Okay."

-------------------------

But is it okay? Is it really? Next up, let's see how this dinner goes. We might need Nat to fully step in and take care of business again. Also, I love Bradley and Jake in this chapter so so so much! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 9

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[loserlvrss]

꒰ 𝐋'𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐄 𝐌𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐄 ꒱ 배준영

summary : you were tired and not feeling well because of your period, just wanting to go to bed—so, your boyfriend helps you shower

genre : fluff, jacob x afab!reader, established relationship tws : they’re in the shower (but no weird shit), language(?), skinship, kissing, mentions of periods/cramps (described as being gross, but only by reader), domestic fluff as hell (i mean AS HELL), they’re in love your honor, not proofread author notes : i’m baccckkkk (?) word count : 1k

you had just gotten off of work, finally making it home through the traffic; stressed out, tired and not feeling well. you had barely gotten through the door, barely gotten your shoes off and barely put your purse down before flopping onto your couch. you nozzled into the plush side, eyes shutting instinctively. the vague scent of home that lingered throughout your apartment was comforting, and you swear you could drift off into dreamland promptly. 

and that you did, only being woken up by your boyfriend who had also just gotten back from work (really, practice). “baby,” his hand rested against your cheek, “you gotta wake up.” you grumbled in response—but too sleepy to protest further. “let’s at least get ready for bed, okay?” 

then jacob was gripping your sides, ragdolling you (gently) to turn over, your fingers grabbed his forearms. at least the movement woke you up enough to be coherent. 

“baby, did you just get back?” you said through a yawn, “was practice okay?”

“yes, my love,” he sat you up, kissing the side of your head, “was work?”

you hummed, remembering the less-than delightful memories from earlier in the day. “no…” you trailed off, swinging your legs over the side of the couch and getting up. “did you eat?”

“i did, but don’t change the subject. do you want to talk about it?”

“i was just so stressed with my workload. and, my cramps are killing me—i started my period, but at least it was during my lunch break.” 

“do you want to shower then?” he asked, helping you stand. “i can help yo–” 

“no!” your eyes shot open, awakening you fully, “that’s kinda gross, don’t you think?”

he hummed sweetly, “never, love. i find nothing about you gross, okay?”

“are you sure?” you pouted out a lip, however instead of responding verbally, he just kissed said lip quickly. “fine, but i warned you it’ll look like a slasher movie.” you pointed.

your boyfriend laughed, taking your extended index finger and putting it down. “good thing your favorite genre is thrillers.”  

“shut up.” you lightly hit his chest. 

“and, frankly, i could probably use a shower, anyways. we’ll save water.” you huffed, “go start it and i’ll find that hoodie you always want to wear, okay?”

and, you were never the person to refuse such a tempting offer—you were also too tired to care about the trivial details that he let go. 

once inside the bathroom, you twisted the handles, letting the water run to the right temperature. the humidity filled the room and warmed your skin. you stepped in, the gentle pattern soothing your tensed muscles (that you’d eventually gotten used to throughout the day). 

your eyes started to close, body leaning against the tile when the sound of the door awoke you. you felt his hand slide to your hip, chest lightly touching your back as you shared the stream. if he wasn’t the embodiment of comfort, then you weren’t sure what ever would be. 

and if you wouldn’t drown as the result, you would’ve thrown your head back and rested it in the nape of his neck. 

wordlessly he started to wash your hair, simultaneously giving you a scalp massage—you hadn’t realized how much tension you were holding until it released little by little. your knees felt weak, heart swelling at the little action. he then helped you wash your body, like he said he would, not caring about your monthly torcher that washed down the drain. 

he placed his soft hands on your shoulders, pulling you back fully against him, “hey, lean against me if it’s too hard.” 

“i’m sorry, i don’t know—i’m just so tired today, jacob.” 

his arms snaked around your hips, resting against your lower stomach as he hugged you. “don’t be sorry,” he whispered, tone laced with nothing but honesty, “i understand.” and you both knew that he’d still take care of you even if you were fully awake. “i’ll get you some medicine for your cramps, then we can go to bed.” 

“can we watch that stupid dating show again, i think it’s so funny.” 

another kiss landed on your temple, “sure, you know i’d do anything for you.” 

“let’s go before i actually fall asleep standing up.” you hummed a laugh breathily, “then i won’t be able to watch it at all, a tragedy really.” 

he started a reply, “i’d stand all nigh—“ before you interrupted. 

“romeo oh romeo! where art thou, romeo? l'amour de ma vie! i feel like such a princess, my knight in shining—well actually, you’re not wearing any armor…” 

“oh shut up, babe,” he taunted, “you love me.” 

“yeah, i do. armorless and all.” 

he helped you out of the shower with soft giggles and little struggle. then dried you off, letting you dress yourself halfway as he toweled himself. he of course wanted to be the one to pull the hoodie over your head for some strange reason.

once you were both fully clothed again, smelling of soap and love, the comforting silence broke. you were brushing your teeth when he finally admitted, “i could spend my entire life like this, you know.” 

jacob had said a lot of things throughout the time you’ve been dating, but nothing has ever made you blush so hard; cheeks borderline as red as cherries. 

“you just look so pretty… in my clothes, doing mundane tasks. i don’t know, i could marry you right now.” 

you still had toothpaste coating your lips, sort-of brushing when you replied, “maybe you should.” looking up at him through the mirror, “i’d say yes, by the way.”

he looked as if he took a mental note—but, it was never a secret. not even a guess. you’d follow him until the ends of the earth, and be by his side buried in a stone garden until time ran out. if you had it your way, you’d be together in each other's arms until the planet collapsed from the solar system. he was the only person you could ever look at, and the only one you ever wanted to look at you. 

you were forever thankful for the angels that let him go, because now he was yours. 

eternally. 

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[riality-check]

#42 with any ship you want for the “100 ways to say I love you” prompts?

VERY late but here we go!

42. "Is this okay?"

The weirdest thing about Steve Harrington is that he's weird.

Since the spring break from hell, Eddie has learned that he's been a bit of a dick. For all his railing against stereotyping and conformity, he subscribed to a lot of it under the logic of shielding his little sheep. He's had his assumptions proven wrong again and again since by people like Better Wheeler and Better Sinclair and Steve, and he thinks he's probably a better person for it.

His personal growth isn't the point, however monumental.

He's grown past the point of thinking Steve was just another brainless, clone-like jock, but he's still learning new things about him.

Like, Steve is really loud sometimes. He talks to himself like he forgets that other people can hear him, and one time he started singing "Hammer to Fall" before he realized that the D&D session in the next room over quieted down specifically to hear him. It's more common when they're at his house than anywhere else, but it still happens.

And Steve is a really good cook, but he makes the strangest things. He can make delicious meals out of the most random ingredient combinations - Sinclair and Henderson have, indeed, put this particular skill to the test time and time again - but when Eddie asked if he could make chocolate chip cookies, he looked at him like he had three heads.

But the weirdest thing about Steve, by far, is his thing with touch.

He oscillates wildly between being the clingiest motherfucker on the planet and actively avoiding all human contact. Sometimes, Eddie can see the switch happen in real time, can see how he seeks out contact from Buckley one moment and freezes at a hug from Henderson in the next.

It's weird. Steve Harrington is weird.

But, while Eddie is a touchy guy, he's not a dick. So, he's come up with a new catchphrase, at this point, around Steve.

"Is this okay?" Eddie asks, putting an arm around his shoulders.

"Is this okay?" he asks, grabbing for Steve's hand.

"Is this okay?" he asks, kicking his feet up into his lap.

Steve says "yes" most of the time, and when he says "no," Eddie calmly moves away.

It's that simple, because Eddie isn't a dick.

He's not the only one who does this. Buckley, Better Wheeler, Better Sinclair, and Henderson all do the same thing. They all check first, albeit in different ways.

But Eddie starts to notice a pattern. Soon, he becomes the person Steve asks the most often.

He lightly shuts it down the first time it happens. Tells Steve he doesn't need to ask. Eddie has always been touchy, practically hanging off of all the friends who are okay with him using them like personal jungle gyms.

Steve shrugs, plays it off the way he plays off everything because he's still cool, just not an asshole. But Eddie can see the relief in his face.

There's nothing special about this time. Steve curls into his side without asking, without preamble, as has become more common, while they engage in the weekly pastime of watching a tape Steve "borrowed" from work.

Robin is usually there with them, but she and Nancy finally figured their shit out. They're off doing god knows what.

Probably each other, Steve suggested dryly when Eddie brought it up, causing him to spray Coke out of his nose right when the movie started.

But now? Westley isn't dead, and as he's threatening Humperdinck, Steve whispers, "Is this okay?"

Eddie turns to the side just in time for their lips to meet softly.

And that's when he realizes that months and months of "is this okay" and gentle touches have been his own personal "as you wish."

He's been in love with Steve Harrington for months.

And he thinks that this kiss, and the next, and the next, and the next, are more perfect than anything Westley and Buttercup could ever dream of.

Prompts here.

[judasgot-it]

Hold Me Tight (and Don't Forget Me)

Scenario: Dazai takes you out on a date the day he's arrested. Slight Warning for Jouno being an ass.

Hold Me Tight - BTS

Pt. 2

1.3 k word count

Blue skies and perfect weather - the worst, because that meant that today would be the perfect day before Dazai would ruin it once again.

It was a strange feeling to have. It was too peaceful, like a flock of seagulls waiting to be chased.

There was nothing wrong. And that was what was wrong with it.

"Dazai. Did you do something?"

You knew it was impossible to ask Dazai these questions and get an honest answer - your ability didn't work on him, so it was only a force of habit to want to interrogate him.

In response, he only smiled, like a cat that was too high for the barking dog. It made your skin bristle every time, but today he was handsy - he smoothed down your sleeves, easing your nerves with a gentle touch.

"I didn't do anything that you need to worry about. We're supposed to be focused on us, remember?"

His grin was honest, almost charming. He sipped his coffee rather loudly to make his point, drinking as if to remind you with force that you were in a diner, not at the Armed Detective Agency.

"Well, yes. But I know you, and you're only hiding the inevitable. You can tell me Dazai, we are dating."

It was weak to pull a card like that with him, but it was always worth a shot anyway. As if dating would make a difference in how Dazai acted.

The man was a mystery, sitting in front of you in his casual attire - nicer because for once, he had washed them for this occasion. He looked put together as well, hair nicely done and his face looking as a man in his younger 20s should.

He typically looked a little disheveled, hidden behind his charisma but noticeable with anyone who cared for appearances. A good smile managed to hide a lot of things, and for once you didn't need to think about it.

In your mind, you knew that something was wrong from this. The last time he had taken you out like this, he had known he would almost die from an ability user, and it was his apology beforehand.

The strange sense of doom was disconcerting; but so was Dazai's cold skin. He was always bouncing so quickly between temperatures as if he were a broken heater - but being cold? On such a warm day?

"I know we are. Just enjoy yourself babe, can't you do that for me?"

His smile was warm, enough to reach his chestnut eyes - treated with a light varnish from the sunlight penetrating the windows. Whatever warmth his body did have, he must have given it to you through that smile, because now you felt just a little hot.

"I don't like you sometimes."

You averted from his gaze, still holding onto his hand despite this. Dazai didn't say anything, his fingers gently tracing patterns along the hair on your wrists.

"Your face says otherwise. Looks like you're loving my company."

He leaned in closer, careful of your plates, pulling your face to match his. It was easier to kiss him than to say you had lost.

But still, something was wrong.

Dazai kissed you as if he would walk out like this was his last dinner. It wasn't hungry and yet it wasn't polite - it was desperate and it felt like an apology for a crime he hadn't even committed yet.

Or maybe one he already had.

-

It was only the middle of the day when Dazai had decided that a good way to spend your time would be horse betting.

Gambling seemed like an odd place to have a date, but it hadn't been the worst one of his ideas. At least it was outside, and it made for good conversation - even as he insisted on staying as close to the crowd as possible.

Dazai had thrown around some big money - enough to make you worried he was going to actually kill himself tonight.

He was just...strange. As the races had gone on, he had become more and more nervous, fumbling with his pockets and becoming a sort of weird handsy with you - as if you wouldn't notice the strange clamminess his skin had become.

Cold and sweaty, a strange feeling on Dazai.

You were left stuck in deep thought as you stared at the pale white horse Dazai had bet on, a bold '9' staring right back at you.

"Excuse me"

A soft and polite voice had broken you out of your thoughts, forcing you to look away from the race - you had won, and a little bit of relief was felt knowing that Dazai was at least lucky enough to have not blown his last three paychecks on horse racing.

"Would either of you happen to know who won this race?"

His eyes were closed, while his smile seemed...off. Your ability was near constant in your mind, and you could feel how wrong this man was. He didn't really care which horse won that race.

"Number 9 won." In your silence, Dazai responded for you, smiling as if this were an idle conversation. He hadn't seemed to notice the scheming mask the man wore, like a fox ready to jump for the canary.

"So you won then, right? You seem quite pleased with yourself after all."

"Wow! How'd you know all of that?"

You tried to lean closer to Dazai, almost feeling how wrong the man was. It was almost like he knew something you didn't, and it was disturbing to you. His smile practically was still friendly, nothing wrong. But it felt almost as cutting as a knife.

"After I had lost my sight, I had gained new senses - I can hear your heart rates, smell your fear, and even feel your future in my back pocket."

Swiftly, the man had handcuffed himself to Dazai, revealing a pair of sharp canines behind his wicked smile.

"And I know that you, Osamu Dazai, are going to be arrested for 138 counts of conspiracy to murder, 312 counts of extortion, and 625 counts of assorted fraud. I could keep going, but I feel like your fiancé has heard more than enough."

Dazai turned to you, his face paler than the cumulonimbus clouds that towered the sky behind you. By his expression alone, you could tell he had no idea that this would happen.

"Wait, hold on-"

You held onto Dazai's arm desperately, reaching for the handcuffs that were beginning to tear him apart from you. This felt like a dream turning into a nightmare, and that you were running too slow.

"I'm a Hunting Dog. I know more than enough about you as well, and your ability should have told you that I'm not a liar like Mr. Dazai here."

Maybe that was why he felt so off. It was more than just the way he said horrible things - over 100 counts of murder, with complete and utter truth.

"Y/n."

Dazai looked back at you with a solem look. There were so many emotions in your head, that you could only focus on the words that had come out of his mouth.

"I love you. Don't forget that, okay?"

Abruptly, you felt him pry your fingers off of his jacket, and look back to the Hunting Dog who had arrested him.

"There's no chance of escaping you, is there?"

"Even if you're hiding in the crowd, I would just kill them. I can take liberties with human life. I can kill your darling too, if you don't start walking."

Numbly, you watched as Dazai left. As if it were a dream, you were stuck in place, unable to chase after him and tell him to stop and even explain how the hell he had gotten into this situation.

You hadn't even gotten the other man's name, not so you could curse him out for taking your love away. There wasn't even the chance to scream.

It was a horribly numb feeling, stuck there in that moment, watching as Dazai walked further and further away from you.

Sorry, had this idea for a while. I was gonna use this song for Jouno, then Nikolai, then GOJO but ended up being a depressing Dazai fic once again....sigh.

[luimagines]

Not sure if this has been asked already but scenario with the chain where reader is asleep but randomly calls out Link/one of the boy’s name. Would the guys think it’s cute or be embarrassed wondering what reader is dreaming about?

Oh this one is good!!! XD Let's see what I come up with.

Masterlist

Part one will include Warrior, Sky and Wind.

Content under the cut!

Warrior

Warrior had taken the fourth shift of the night. It was early. By the time his shift would be over the sun would be coming up. He hopes that he'll fall asleep fast enough to catch the last two hours of the night before they set up to leave the for the day.

He yawns and shakes himself awake. He's so tired. But a job has to be done.

You turn over in your sleep. The movement catches his eye and he smiles subconsciously. You're adorable. Your hair is messy from your sleep and your hands are curled by your face. You looks peaceful.

Warrior sighs and runs his hands through his hair. He's being creepy, watching you while you sleep. He needs to get a grip and look elsewhere. His only consolation is that you're asleep and so is everyone else. So no one can call him out on this.

"Mmm..." You grunt and hide your face with your arm. "...Link..."

Warrior sits up straighter in an instant. Well, nevermind. All forethought is thrown out the window. He's no longer going to hide that he's watching you.

He tilts his head and leans close to you. Who are you thinking of? It can be any number of them. It tells him so much and yet so little.

No, no, no, no- He's looking away. He's ignoring it. He's not going to get his hopes up. What hopes? That you're dreaming about him? Weird. Besides- no one said it was a good thing. He's not going to pay attention, he swears it.

"...Captain..."

Warrior curses in his head and winces. He's afraid to even breathe. If he so much as makes any noise it might wake you up.

He starts frantically bouncing his knee, looking the other way with his fist in his cheek. He has so many questions. He wants to be nosey and ask and wake you but that would be literally the worst thing he could do in this moment.

His mind starts to run with the idea of what you could be dreaming of. Is a good dream? He hopes it's a good dream. He would feel horrible if you were thinking of him in a negative light. (A small voice tells him, that logically, it could be a dream with him in it. It doesn't have to be about him. He ignores it.)

You makes another small grunt and turn around again, pulling the blankets over your head.

Warrior curses under his breath, feeling his blood rush through his body. He needs to get his mind and body under control. It wouldn't do anyone any good for him to be out of his mind throughout the next day.

He can kiss goodbye the thought of sleeping again after this. Warrior whines in the back of his throat, wondering how on earth something so innocent so go far into the gutter so quickly.

It's not fair! How on earth is he going to look you in the eye tomorrow? It's not like you're aware of this!

Warrior takes in a shaky breath and picks up his sword. He can do one last perimeter check before he has to wake up Wild for the last shift. That should help, right?

It doesn't.

Sky

He was so tired.

You both had been traveling in this dungeon for what felt like eons. With little progress to show for it, Sky called it about time that you both took a break.

He thought he was going to fall asleep any second, but it seems like you beat him to the punch.

Sky watched over you, keeping his sword out just in case any monster decided to break their walk pattern and walk in on the two of you. His head is lulling to the side with the need to keep watch over you, he finds himself unable to sleep.

You roll over and sigh. Sky sighs with you, letting a small smile grace his face. He understands. Even in your sleep, you're still frustrated with this situation.

"....Link..."

He sits up straighter.

"Yes?" Sky tilts his head and waits for you to respond. Were you awake already? Did you need something?

You don't reply.

You were talking in your sleep, he realizes. Which should have been a more comforting thought- had you not said his name. But that begs the questions, doesn't it? Are you talking to him? Or one of the others?

Sky can feel a blush slowly take over his face. He looks away from you. It's probably someone else. What would be the odds that you were calling out to him in your dream? There's a lot of Links these days. No need for him to get his hopes up, rig-?

"Sky... Please..."

Sky covers half of his face with his hand. He accidentally drops the sword.

Oh, it's him. You're dreaming about him. You're talking to him in your dreams.

All sense of fatigue leaves him in an instant. Spurred on by embarrassment and endearment, he feels as it he could take on this whole dungeon- just to avoid the emotional conversation he would no doubt have with himself in regards to this.

By Hylia, why do you talk in your sleep? Have you always talked in your sleep?

Do you always dream about him?

He hopes it's a good dream at least.

Wind

Wind was bored. And so were you. Enough so that you fell asleep on his shoulder.

Wind felt bad. He didn't want to wake you up, but he also didn't want you to get caught for falling asleep during the very important briefing that did not have to be so early in the morning.

He sighed and tucked you closer to him, wrapping his arm around you. He pats your head and rests his head against yours.

He huffs and puffs and closes his eyes, trying to not fall asleep either.

It's hard. He can hear Time and Warrior sharing ideas in the background about their next moves and how they would try to split the group up into the traveling groups, with quiet input from Twilight and Sky every now and then. It's boring stuff.

He starts to feel himself nod off before you shift from under him.

Wind blinks his eyes open and looks down to you. No, you're still sleeping. Maybe you're uncomfortable? He shifts you again, laying you back against the wall, trying to cushion your head as much as he can.

"Nn... Link..." You mutter, not once opening your eyes.

Wind freezes and waits to see if you'll wake up. His heart starts pounding. It feels weird, hearing his name after so long. He pokes your forehead and waits.

You don't wake up.

Wind lets out a breath and tries to reorient himself against you and get comfy again. He's so sleepy. A little cat nap wouldn't be too bad right?

"Wind..." You whisper and Wind can feel himself be jolted awake once more. "...Pirate..."

Wind tilts his head and watches you for a moment. You frown in your sleep and turn your head away. A nightmare?

Wind won't chance it.

He shakes you by the shoulder and doesn't stop until you wake up. "Hey."

You take a startled breath and look around. "Wha- Huh? Where am I?"

"Oh good." Time calls out. "We need your opinion on this. Come here."

You nod and rub your eyes, standing without missing a beat. You pat Wind on the head and yawn. Wind frowns some more as he watches you engage with the group, it's almost as if you weren't asleep at all. You slip into the conversation easily.

What were you dreaming about? Why did you call out to him?

Wind is nervous to ask.

Part 2

[throneofsapphics]

ruhn helping you paint your nails drabble

warnings: anxiety, panic, a hint of suggestiveness

word count: 655

a/n: sorry about the very creative title, but this is the result of a poll I did a little bit ago!

You suppose you are the one who wanted a new hobby, and therefore only have yourself to blame for your frustration. 

Still, it. Is. Annoying. 

Smudges, weird patterns, red all on your skin but not quite seeming to get on your nail. Your hands look like a toddlers who stole their mothers nail polish and tries to paint for the first time, not a fully grown and supposedly fully capable fae female.  

Not sure what else to do, you start scratching away at the sides of your nails, determined to clean them up somehow. The result is a bigger mess, and the beginnings of tears in your eyes. 

It’s a little thing, logically you know that, but right now, after the day you had you just need one thing to go right. Really, you should email the writer of that article you read the other week, one claiming painting nails was relaxing, and call ask her exactly when the relaxation is supposed to set in, and which fucking part of this bullshit is relaxing, because right this second it’s none of it. 

You feel the subtle displacement of air. 

A door opening. 

He’s home. 

After a brief second of lighting up with a smile, it disappears and the beginnings of panic set in. He’s going to see you, think you’re a fucking mess, leave you, then you’ll be alone and nobody -

Footsteps through the doorway, you tried to focus on your breathing, focus on pushing your anxiety aside and focus on the realistic things. 

‘What’s going on?’ Ruhn’s voice surprised you, flooding through your mind and filled with unmistakable worry, like he’d tried speaking to you aloud and it wasn’t working. 

You blink up at him, words not exactly coming how they’re supposed to. Gods can you do anything right. 

Warm hands grip and envelope both of yours. 

His mouth is moving, your mind isn’t registering words or sound. 

‘Squeeze left for yes, right for no,’ his voice is inside of your mind again, steady and soothing. 

You nod. He gives an encouraging smile. You can do this. 

‘Are you injured?’ 

Squeeze right.

‘Do I need to kill someone?’

Squeeze right. A small smile. 

‘Are you frustrated?’

Squeeze left. He knows you, perhaps in a way nobody else does, and at times it annoys you but right now it certainly comes in handy. 

‘Trying to paint your nails?’ 

Squeeze left. There is no mocking in his tone, no lilt or cadence to make you think he’s going to make fun of you. 

“Let me do it for you, love,” he spoke aloud this time, and you were unsurprised you heard him. Prolonged exposure to his presence always has a calming effect on you. 

Carefully, he dips a cotton ball into a pot of remover, and starts wiping away the evidence of your attempts. A shadow makes its way to the remote, and turns on your favorite show. It is sweet, really, but you are lost watching him right now, and his cocky ass probably knew it. At least it was a rerun. 

His fingers make gentle but firm movements, and Cthona competency can seriously be a turn on. You did not think watching your boyfriend paint your nails would do it but - 

“Later, love,” his voice is full of sensual promise, and you grin, teeth digging into your bottom lip. 

Before long, he makes it to the color. “You know I used to practice this, for hours, just to piss off my dad. I’m not saying you need to practice for hours,” he grinned up at you, pausing. “Actually, I’d rather you let me do it for you.” Your lips pursed, about to protest before he kept speaking, “because I enjoy doing this for you,” he pressed a kiss to your knuckles, “quality time, and all that shit.” 

“Quality time, and all that shit,” you echoed. 

He chuckled, “it’s good to hear your voice, love.” 

[bunnypansy]

NSFW Alphabet: Pantalone!

Rated R for EXPLICIT CONTENT!

A short script about the ABCs of The Regrator's sex life!

Featuring: Pantalone, and you!

Beware! This film contains: sexual content (duh), objectification, humiliation, financial domination, pet play, submission, handcuffs, spit kink, orgasm denial, edging, dacryphilia, mild degradation

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Perfect. Really! While the richest harbinger, Pantalone does not strike me as the lazy type. He’s not going to pawn off the aftercare on any staff, he’d rather do it himself. Pantalone goes through the same steps every time; he quickly cleans himself up, then gently wipes up the majority of your… fluids. He’ll run you both a nice bath- and you KNOW the Regrator has a giant, beautiful bathtub. Of course, Pantalone will clean you up with the highest quality soap, and when you’re done, he’ll moisturize you from head to toe! No need to stay awake, Pantalone doesn’t mind if you doze off. While he’s mostly hands on, he’ll have staff swap out the messy sheets before he lays you down to rest. Most likely, he’ll hold you close while you fall asleep and he reads.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your skin overall, which yeah, I know sounds weird, but walk with me. He loves your soft, smooth skin that’s perfect for bruising, kissing, biting; so pretty and delicate. Even in nonsexual moments, Pantalone likes to run his fingers over your skin and trace patterns, just for funsies. Like most of his things, he’ll do his best to make you take care of your beautiful skin. Also lips, beautiful, soft, pink lips just get him hard immediately; wear lip gloss and he’ll fall apart.

It’s not hard to see that Pantalone takes incredible care of his hair. He spends an immeasurable amount of time fussing over it, with a detailed washing schedule and care instructions. He spends much of his morning routine brushing, and styling his hair; if you feel like playing with it or styling it, feel free- but NEVER pull on his hair. EVER.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Pantalone takes impeccable care of himself, he’s well hydrated and keeps a good diet, so his cum is a clear, almost pearly color. It’s textured a lot like syrup and has almost no taste except for a faint saltiness- you’re not really sure how he makes his cum that flavorless. Pantalone doesn’t cum very much, it’s a bit disappointing but I’ll let you in on a little secret; if you squeeze his balls a lil bit you can make him squirt, and if you feel like putting in the effort, keep milking his cock after he starts cumming and he’ll cum even more. Please draw out his orgasm!!! Pantalone prefers cumming in your mouth, on your face or on your tummy- he’s not fond of trying to scoop his cum out of you later, too messy. Besides, don’t you just look beautiful with his cum on your face? Of course you do.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to try butt stuff. Huh? No no, not on you. (:

Okay fine I'll elaborate. I don't think he's experimented with anal on his own, he simply has a curiosity that he wants to sate. After sometime, Pantalone might bring up the subject, as casually as one might talk about the weather over morning tea. He actually wants to start rather vanilla with this, a bit of fingering, some gentler sex. After getting a small taste for subbing, he might let you do a few other things to him (cough cough sounding)

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Fairly? I don’t think he’s all that experienced when it comes to sustained relationships, he's very busy and not opposed to hiring sex workers! Everyone has needs, and he is happy to pay for services he deems necessary, as long as he’s satisfied with the result. In short; intimate experience? No. Casual experience? Yes.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Pantalone is usually fucking on the go (read: in his office), so he usually goes for the classic bending over desk. If he’s in the office, he’ll press your chest down the desktop and take you from behind, usually with his fingers in your mouth to pull you back and hold your jaw open. For a long while, he'll probably do this in the bedroom for a while too, bending you over the edge of the bed instead; but once he gets more accustomed to intimacy, I think he'll switch to missionary. Call it vanilla, but he likes being able to see your face, your expressions really heighten the experience for him.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

I wouldn't call it humorous, so much as mocking. He's not laughing with you, he's laughing at you. Pantalone likes humiliating you in little ways, squishing your tear-stained cheeks together and calling you a crybaby, then laughing at you. If you try to tease him back however, he'll brush it off and somehow turn it back onto you. He's mean? Awww, but you like it don't you? Mean perv.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Pantalone strikes me as the sort of man who just. Full body waxes. Not hair to be found on this man. Which is a damn shame cus he's got some of the most beautiful hair I've ever seen, so silky and soft… no he won't stop waxing even if you beg. Sorry sports fans, your hairy man is in another castle.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

When Pantalone was younger, (shallow) people weren’t exactly interested in him, now he’s just too busy with work to bother forming a relationship with others, so he's used to transactional sex. He's probably going to remain rather distant for a while; you will have to have a conversation about it for sure. Pantalone will take your criticism into consideration very easily, he wants you both to enjoy your time after all, then change his behavior for you. It's going to be an awkward change at first, and he'll engage in a lot of pillow talk to go over what was good and what needs improvement, but Pantalone will be nothing but agreeable.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Why would he attempt to satisfy himself with his hands when he could just pay for an escort? Truly, Pantalone doesn't see the need and doesn't get horny enough to crank the ol' hog. But I am nothing if not a kind God! So I'll write this for you anyway.

Unlike with sex, Pantalone will not want to mastrubate in his office, it's too vulnerable and he finds it a bit embarrassing. He is definitely the type of guy to take it slowly, slow strokes over his shaft and rubbing his thumb over his tip, then a good squeeze around the base. Pantalone stays quiet most of the time, just barely panting as he touches himself.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Humiliation: Pantalone loves to feel superior, full stop. As long as you give consent, Pantalone likes to keep you naked in his office, sitting on his desk or the floor like an ornament. His favorite thing to do is keep you bound in a corner, stuffed full of toys for anyone to see, but only him to touch.

Financial domination: He likes being the one with all the money in the relationship. A little part of himself thinks you'll only like him as long as he's rich, so flaunting his wealth to you is a turn on. It's also relieving to him that you're dependent, so that way, you can never leave. Pantalone loves most to dress you up in fineries, then tear it all off in the heat of the moment, just to prove how little those things mean to him.

Mild pet play: dragging you around on a leash is one of Pantalone's greatest pleasures. He likes feeling as if he owns you, calling you pet, giving you orders. Pantalone is definitely the type to buy you a very fancy collar with real jewels on it, then use it as a handle while you fuck. If he's going to have any pet, it'll be a puppy, he's interested in the absolute obedience dogs have.

Submission: Pantalone does not put up with brats, hands down. He desires complete and utter obedience from you in the bedroom, you can either comply or miss out on your dick appointment. Brat taming? In this economy?

Handcuffs: While I don't feel Pantalone likes full body bondage (he likes to feel you struggle against him), he appreciates handcuffs or general hand bondage. It's a good way to yank you around and make sure you don't pull his hair out. His personal favorite is to bind your hands, then make you sit on his lap with your arms around his neck.

Spit: I can't say I have strong reasoning for this, it's just a gut feeling. It's something about spitting in your mouth and making you swallow it that makes the possessive part of him flare up.

Objectification: I mean really, is anyone surprised? This man fully believes he can buy anything, including you. He owns you, and he's not going to act otherwise. Sometimes, if he's had a stressful night, he'll just lube you up and fuck you like a fleshlight, and he's not afraid call you such things either. "Pet", "toy", and "doll" are some of his favorite things to call you.

Orgasm denial/Edging (they go hand in hand for this man): This follows closely with his objectification kink- oh you wanna cum? No, no, no, pet. Fleshlights don't need to cum do they? Ah- they don't talk, either. Watching you squirm and cry for him strokes his ego greatly, and he's not afraid to make you beg.

Dacryphilia: You look. So pretty. When you cry. Your lips trembling, your eyes glittering with tears, eyes and nose reddened, cheeks wet- and at his hand? Even better. Of course, Pantalone cares too much about you to enjoy when you're simply miserable, but when he edges you to tears? Nothing better.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Pantalone is a rather private man, he'll want to stick to his two safe spaces; your bedroom and his office. Of course, the bedroom is your house, but he claims that no one can argue with what he does in the privacy of his own office, especially if someone forgets to knock- not like he'd stop either way. Public bathrooms or secluded alleys are beneath him, while fucking on couches or in showers is just too much of a hassle.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

What Pantalone REALLY wants out of this, is to feel like he owns you. He wants to know that you belong to him, that you are dependent upon him, and that he controls you; it's almost a comfort to him. If Pantalone holds all the control between the two of you, then it is utterly up to him whether you stay or go.

However, Pantalone will spend every waking moment reminding you why you should stay, and this applies to the bedroom as well. He wants to hear you cry out, feel you squirm, watch you cry; a reminder that he is the best man you will ever have.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Piss. I wouldn't call this particularly controversial, only a bit disappointing for the little pee-pee boys in the crowd (it's me I'm pee-pee boys). He doesn't like much of any kink that creates smell and a mess, it's just too much of a hassle to clean up and isn't worth it to him.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

For such a greedy man, Pantalone is a giver!!!! He doesn't care for receiving oral- it's fine -but why would he waste his time on fucking your mouth when he can be inside you? He much prefers the reactions he gets from eating you out or sucking you off. Considering this a bonus to the favorite position category, but when giving oral Pantalone has two favorite positions; letting you lay back and grabbing your hips to lift you to his mouth, or placing you on his lap upside down so your knees rest on his shoulders.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Pantalone keeps his pace moderate, focusing on making his thrusts deep and hard instead. He'll grab your waist and roll his hips against yours, aiming for all your sensitive spots with long, deep strokes. Of course, Pantalone's pace becomes a bit erratic when he's closer to cumming, speeding up then slowing to crawl- you know he's really at the edge when he starts pounding you as hard and fast as you can.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

No. Sorry guys. Pantalone wants to take his time with you and isn't going to settle for an ultimately dissatisfying quickie, he won't apologize either. Good things come to those who wait, don't they?

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

If you wanna try something new, Pantalone is happy to agree, most times he won't say no; though he might show hesitation if you ask him to harm you. You'll have to tell him in advance so he can properly research the kink and how to enact the fantasy safely, and even before you have sex he'll probably warn you that he's going to try something new.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

My guy is a one and done kind of man, squirt then skirt if you will. So yeah, unfortunately you're only getting a single round out of Pantalone, but that round can last about as long as you like- and perhaps longer. A session with Pantalone can last from one hour up to three, and he won't let himself cum once until you cum at least twice, so there are no worries of being left unsatisfied.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Yes! Absolutely! Nipple clamps, a couple bullet vibrators, a wand vibrator, vary sizes of plugs, beads and dildos, an O-ring gag, spreader bars- though he only uses those last two if you're being shy with him. For afab partners he also owns a rosebud vibrator, and for the amabs he owns sounding rods and cock rings. Mostly the toys are for you, but with a bit of encouragement you might be able to coax him into using a few on himself. After a fair bit of experimentation, Pantalone finds himself in favor of wearing a cock ring and nipple clamps while fucking you… you might get him to warm up to a bit of sounding.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If Pantalone isn't a tease, then I don't know who is. He takes great pleasure in riling you up, then denying you sex entirely, not even allowing you to touch yourself; a test of your obedience. God forbid you break his rules and get caught using any toys on yourself- and you will get caught -Pantalone will spend hours punishing you for disobedience. You'll find yourself handcuffed and stuck in spreader bars, the largest dildo of Pantalone's collection stuffed into your hole. Your lover shows no kindness, grabbing the base of the toy and ramming it in and out as fast and hard as he can, but stopping right before you cum and waiting however long it takes for you to calm down. This will go on for hours until you're sobbing, begging for forgiveness and wailing your apologies. So yeah. Pantalone is far from fair.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

A few whimpers, mostly panting, maybe grunt here or there; While Pantalone may not be much of a moaner, he certainly is a chatterbox! He'll go on and on with you, muttering praise and degradation, fully expecting a response from you (how unrealistic, sir). He gets even worse when he gets closer to his orgasm; Pantalone's words break up with moans and become less coherent, but he still forces them out as fast as he possibly can, until he's stuttering forward a slew of curses at a near shout. Cutie <3

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

The male boob lovers in the crowd are going to like this one- I believe with my entire heart that my double D malewife has sensitive nipples, his left one pierced. They're naturally puffy and pink, and they turn all red and swollen when you play with them. Unfortunately, Pantalone isn't going to give you much of a chance to toy with his chest, so when do you get boob time? One of the few times he subs, that's when. He's not going to argue if you pinch and pull on his nipples in the middle of easing your way inside of him, Pantalone is going to whimper. Enjoy this power, and use it wisely.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

This man is vice president of the pretty penis club (I'll elaborate on the prez in a later post). He sits around 5.7-ish flaccid and an easy 6 when he's hard, a skinny penis haver but it's okay because I love him. He only really has one prominent vein that trails from the underside of his shaft then wraps around to the front side, just beneath his tip. Speaking of his tip!! It's a beautiful shade of pink that reddens when he gets hard, and drips soooo much pre. He's got a slight upward curve and when he's very hard, his dick nearly touches his abdomen.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Pantalone has a relatively low sex drive, really only feeling the need for sex every two to three weeks, however! He has no problem going at it more often if you so desire, if anything he likes how dependent upon him you are, please, ask for more.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sleep?? After sex??? Pantalone could never. If anything, a good session clears his head and calms him down. He's more than likely to grab a lapdesk and do some paperwork while you're dozing off, but if it's really late or you went for a particularly long round he might just read at your side or even talk you to sleep.

That's the end of our showing for today, and as always, thank you for attending!

You can really REALLY smell the favoritism on this one, I'm very very in love with Pantalone and I wanna kith him.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

Can I get more of the Angle and devil on the shoulder AU with Steve and Eddie oneshot but a little smutty like maybe y/n gets embarrassed that they’re probably seen her getting off(and if this could be a series that would be amazing but you don’t have too you’re the writer)

A/N: ah yes! the devil and the ANGLE ♡ (sorry, I had to tease. we've all made that spelling error and it's always hilarious)

and I realise this one is more of just some lore and warm up, hardcore smut is yet to come, though a thing I am DROOLING to write. if anyone has any ideas (they can be kinda darkish because I'm honestly feeling that vibe for this au) then please send them my way!

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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“Can you just like go away?”

“That’s not really how it works, sweetheart,” Steve explained to you, “if we go, then you won’t notice it at all. When we aren’t on the job, when we go back, it’s on a different dimension than this one, and time there, um, it works differently, it’s kinda weird and isn’t connected to here where you are at all. Does that make sense?” he cocked his head slightly and gazed upon you as if you were the most adorable child he had ever seen. 

“But you can’t even just turn around?” you kept on asking, your brows still stubbornly furrowed, “just for a bit? Just like while I’m in the shower or something? Or even stand on the other side of the door?”

“Why?” Eddie chimed in from his leisurely position at the foot of your bed, “is it really so bad having an audience? Because it’s nothing new, you’ve had it all your life…” propping himself up onto his elbows and caught your eye as he spoke, “every moment, every second, we’ve seen everything…” smirking at your flustered reaction. Eddie’s eyes then flickered down over your form, taking in even the tiniest little twitch your body made under his observation. Keeping his voice low, he asked teasingly, “you wanna be alone right now, honey?”

Breathing out a nervous chuckle, you averted your gaze, “what makes you think that?”

“You forget that we know you,” his tongue poked the side of his cheek and he slowly moved in closer to where you were seated, “your breathing pattern, your flushed cheeks, your bitten lip, how tightly you’re crossing your legs right now and, oh, your nipples poking through your shirt, saying hello,” you let out a small gasp as he grazed a hooked knuckle over one of them, his cold rings just shyly missing your goosebump ridden skin, “you wanna be alone right now or am I wrong?”

“I-…” you breathed as you looked back at his challenging gaze, “I don’t know what you’re talking about…” you tried to look away, but your vision never strayed for too long.

“Oh, I think you do,” he teased, leaning in closer, “it’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to be shy with us,” your breath got caught in your throat as he bowed down to be right by your neck, never truly touching, just grazing faintly against your skin like a ghost, “like I said, we’ve already seen everything…” 

Feeling his soft lips press against your skin, your eyes fluttered a moment, coming to a complete close, before focusing in on the man still leaning against your dresser, anticipating for him to interject, but he didn’t, Steve just stood there, arms casually crossed and watched with a gentle smile upon his lip as the sly devil in front of you slowly kissed his way up your neck. 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble

[tonydaddingham]

i did not break my own heart last night thinking about the missing 1941 scene and have it sat in my brain all of today spinning around like a fucking microwave in order to not make you lot suffer with me. and i somehow feel i may be right about this so buckle up and lets break it down.

so yes, following on from this post, i think that there is going to be a third 1941 scene. twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. it's been literally set up like that by even bringing back 1941 into s2 in the first place. but we're missing a crucial detail because it does not - at all, really - explain how they went from evading danger from hell and having a cosy candlelit bottle of red to celebrate, to the bastard 1967 scene. we all know this, this is nothing new.

the symbolism of nightingales is probably going to cast a shadow on this. these two excellent analyses look at the meaning of nightingales in the context of R&J, and the relation that the song has to this point in time, respectively. in summary; it's a song that should be around in 1941 courtesy of vera lynn and others, and the nightingale itself carries the meaning of love being hidden and forbidden by way of it singing under the cover of darkness, before being replaced with reality and soberness - represented by the lark. the Dinner of '41 scene is set in the bookshop at night; this would parallel - that they are safe and concealed, and truths can be shared, but the writing is on the wall that stepping outside would be to shatter the illusion, so to speak. it might be that the song itself gets miracled up onto the record player, or a wireless lying about - whatever. note: i don't think they'll dance though, not given crowley in ep5, "you don't dance"... but then again, if there ISNT a kiss in s3-1941, an aborted dance seems like the next best option... the cowardly one, but i'll take it

this would also track with aziraphale having his epiphany after the church in s1-1941; specifically, in my eyes, that he doesn't necessarily just realise he loves crowley, but that crowley by way of saving his books loves him too. this is only supported by the whole of the s2-1941 scene of trusting in each other as the only way to pull off the trick, the subterfuge. this is then, again, also important in the context of what i think happens in s3-1941.

i do think aziraphale is going to bring the books up again, and what crowley did, because it needs to be addressed. the Nazis/furfur confrontation has scared him, regardless of whether he saved them both, more than he realised. its put things into startling perspective. i think he's going to bring up the books, and actually question crowley a little more as to why he did it. the repeated use of, and subsequent weird reaction crowley has to, the use of the term "friend" in s2-1941 would indicate that this is going to be a focal point in s3-1941. are they just friends? is crowley disappointed that aziraphale is still referring to him as that, after what he did? 'saving' aziraphale in the church, and then saving his books? or is aziraphale just saying 'friends' so hesitantly in both instances because he's not completely sure where crowley stands?

we as the audience know the answer to this, but they obviously do not. if one of the crucial themes of s3 is going to be resolving miscommunication, it makes sense for this scene to be the first, and last, time they communicate properly... at least, until they sort out the issues that culminated in the Final Fifteen.

so let's say they start getting into a very roundabout way of discussing what they mean to each other. there will need to be the sobering, ice-water-over-the-head realisation however, as s2-1941 demonstrated, that they cannot belong to each other, because they manifestly belong to heaven and hell respectively. crowley is still being spied on, and it firmly places aziraphale in their line of sight too. it's going to bring up the holy water discussion; why crowley asked for it - to protect himself, whether by taking out demons or taking out himself, as long as it means he - and most importantly, aziraphale - does not get hurt.

they actively confess that they want to be together, in a way that is more than they are now. aziraphale wants to, but says that they can't, because it's too dangerous. crowley suggests that no one ever has to know, they can hide it (there, in the bookshop, whilst the nightingale is singing), and even if they are found out, they can run. "hell won't just be angry; they'll destroy you..." // "no one ever has to know".

aziraphale doesn't want to have to hide it, doesn't want a halfway measure- is still thinking in black and white. crowley however thinks that something is better than nothing - thinking in the grey. but ultimately, as long as they are still shackled, they cannot do what they want, and it puts the other in danger. "surely the great thing about being a demon is that you can do whatever you want" // "you sound jealous, angel...". instead, aziraphale promises that the day that they are no longer tied to heaven or hell, they can be together; crowley scoffs, thinking that that will never happen, so they will never happen, "you're so clever! how can someone as clever as you be so stupid?!"

the reason they can't right now is because they could be caught. they would have to skulk around, be ashamed, feel guilty - and aziraphale is tired of feeling like that. because only having crowley in secret would hurt more. not being able hold his hand, or dance with him, or kiss him, unless it was in the bookshop. if hell were to find out, crowley would be killed, true, but if heaven were to find out, aziraphale could be cast out. and if crowley survived hell long enough to see aziraphale fall - he'd never forgive himself, and in a way, i don't think he'd ever forgive aziraphale either.

it's tearing them to pieces, but they have to stop whatever is happening between them in its tracks. it's acknowledged, but it's not named. this gives them plausible deniability; if they called it 'love', it would be undeniable. so, aziraphale asks for crowley to go; asks him to leave before they do something they can't come back from. crowley doesn't listen - crowds him, gets in close, and aziraphale is powerless to stop it. doesn't want to stop it. he's selfish by nature, a selfless kind of selfishness, but he wants this with all his being. and then - "this is too fast, crowley, please don't..." // "im sorry, angel. please... please, forgive me". aziraphale never gets to answer, to grant him that, because boom - the actual first kiss.

so. now that i've had to make you read that, i'm going in for the kill. let's look at everything that follows - and look at how the above might recontextualise it.

1967: the offer of the picnic, the Ritz? ie. the literal lyrics of berkeley square? aziraphale has caved in the interest of giving crowley a weapon to use if all else fails, to protect him, but that's as far as he's willing to progress. everything else is still too painful; he's on the brink of tears, promising that one day they'll be able to do what they want, to be open about how they feel, but not yet. they can't. crowley tries to push, "ill give you a lift, anywhere you want to go..." (him offering again to run away? a second chance to leg it?), and aziraphale reminding him that they can't, he can't... don't make him go too fast again, it's not fair. it also sets up perfectly that aziraphale and crowley don't speak for the next 40 or so years (as far as we're aware) until armageddon is threatened.

bandstand: mostly this is still centred around the apocalypse contextually, but i think with the above hypothetical scene in mind (the offer to hide, to run away, to be together), aziraphale is sent back to remembering their mutual confession that they've nonverbally agreed not to bring up, because it's not safe, and it's too painful. they've skirted around it, and returned instead to a tentative kind of friendship at the beginning of s1, but they're still not safe to address why seeing each other again, being so close to each other and not being able to touch is so painful. anyway - aziraphale refuses their side, but the above scene would re-view this as 'our side can't exist yet, you know this! you know why it can't!', and crowley leaves, again after pushing a bit more than aziraphale can stand.

alpha centauri: basically a facsimile of the above; same steps, same dance. but this time, crowley harks back to aziraphale's foolish (?) hope that they will be together, without having to run away, when the day comes that they don't have to answer to heaven or hell. and aziraphale smacks him right back, echoing crowley asking for aziraphale's forgiveness in kissing him, "i forgive you." crowley knows exactly what aziraphale is getting at, there - he's answering crowley's whispered plea to forgive him for pushing, for trying to force him, for acting in desperation. but he's also not answering that - he's skirting around that very thing, forgiving him like a knife would, slicing back at crowley for not only insulting aziraphale on something that is likely a genuine insecurity of his, but also putting him back in his place, for their safeties, because them being together just cannot happen. not yet.

and "please forgive me" in 1941 might seem out of character, but idk if it is; crowley knows that doing what he's about to do will hurt aziraphale, aziraphale has (hypothetically) told him as much, but he needs to do it - and seeks not benevolence or forgiveness as crowley-the-demon, but actually seems aziraphale's forgiveness, as crowley-the-person. the echo would certainly match the tone given here, in multiple ways:

the ritz: i mean, what is there to say? yes, their song is literally playing on the piano, and heralds the shift in their being out from heaven and hell, the day has finally come where they can - again, going by this entirely hypothetical scene that ive concocted - actually be together as they want to. and the nightingale literally singing outside, but as @shoemakerobstetrician beautifully pointed out, god remarks that it's covered up by traffic. so actually, if we again refer back to R&J interpretation of the nightingale, the love is still hidden, still somewhat under wraps, but can only just about be heard over the noise of the streets outside. the prohibition of them being together, of loving each other, is dwindling. and one day, it'll stop singing altogether. that day is coming, it will come, and then they can do what they please. so whilst the ritz scene may well be a mark of them starting the next chapter, it's slow to take hold, there's still hesitancy - which absolutely makes sense when we see that they are still very tentative with each other come the beginning of s2.

s2 general: aziraphale realises their freedom first; he gets excited by the dance, and being able to show his love to crowley, completely and without barriers, in the form of the ball - what he has read to be the best way to do so. he touches crowley more. he shares his bookshop with him, gifts it to crowley as being his as well as aziraphale's, this safe space that is so wholly theirs that crowley has the power to grant entry. the same with the bentley - aziraphale sees it as theirs, and crowley silently agrees, granting aziraphale the same power. crowley is comfortable in the bookshop to remove his glasses, has a place for them. the bookshop becomes tidier, more minimalist, to make crowley more comfortable in it (it is more cluttered in s1, im certain of it). it might just be the grading between s1 and s2, and lack of clutter, but the yellow is more prominent - his literal favourite colour. everything just screams that aziraphale is ready to make good on his promise from s3-1941.

crowley... for once, is the one not quite catching up. not realising the little dates here and there are literally poses them as a couple (although yes, the coffee shop one is to prep crowley for the goob jumpscare), that aziraphale has granted him the power to grant entry. aziraphale literally asking, practically begging, crowley to help him hide goob. the mf colour of the walls. the colour of the bentley. it's not until nina outright asks him if they are together that he realises how careless they've been - but wait, is it careless if they have nothing to be careful of? well, arguably crowley does, hell are still hanging around him like a bad smell... but this is what he wanted! this is what he was pushing aziraphale for! so, does he risk it? he's not sure, but he's certainly realising that aziraphale is ready, if nothing else. and by the time the ladies stage their little intervention, crowley finally realises that the confession he started in 1941 now can be fully aired, can come out into the open.

the Feral Domestic: *fingers at temples* i know i have been fairly vocal about my interpretation of this scene, and frankly - until we get this hypothetical s3-1941 scene, i stand by it - but let's say this speculation about the scene is true, and re-examine the key points in the Final Fifteen that would completely turn on their heads in terms of meaning:

literally, harking back full circle to what aziraphale promised in 1967 as what they would do when they could fully acknowledge their love, and what they did as soon as - on paper - they were free at the end of s1. this is however before he's spoken to by nina and maggie, so maybe this is what crowley was planning in terms of confessing fully to aziraphale, but after their meddling he realised that yes, they need to actually talk about it again. he doesn't understand why they're telling him what they are - because he's existed so long in gestures and gifts and not talking, literally dismissed it now as a viable option, that it doesn't even occur to him to try talking again.

which is why he does something brave, and tries to tell aziraphale instead (say it out loud, make it undeniable, put a name to it, "i love you", something that i think was crowley's actual intention before aziraphale interrupts him) when he comes back to the shop... he's so nervous, because it's vulnerable, and because the last time he did, they ended up hiding for 50-ish years.

next up:

now, im reluctant to think that aziraphale lied in the Feral Domestic, because i do think the key thing at work is his paramount need to do the Right Thing (ie. make a difference in heaven). whilst metatron obviously manipulates him, im not entirely convinced that aziraphale wholly sees through it. i don't think he knew that metatron was up to something, i think the shaking off of this naivety is going to be part of his s3 character development. but this sentence - again, especially in context of the hypothetical s3-1941 scene - must on some level frighten him. especially if you take this meta into account, aziraphale must realise at least that they were never safe, even when they were denying what they were and how they felt, it didn't make a bit of difference. now, metatron could have just been talking about the arrangement, not referring to any romantic elements of any kind, but the threat of it? no wonder he pushes for crowley to join him in heaven; he could keep crowley safe there. they could be together, and heaven - in his eyes - would be able to say a word against it.

then:

the fear sets in; crowley was too late in telling him, acknowledging that they could be together, realising what aziraphale was saying to him without words, and now heaven has come for him. plonked them right back where they were in s2-1941, but perversely mirrored; instead of hell coming for crowley with violence, heaven came for aziraphale with kindness. crowley doesn't have a magic trick he can just do on the fly, perform it perfectly when the need for it is greatest, and has to cling to the hope that aziraphale still sees them as the barrier to them, the reason they can't be together. and in true miscommunication fashion, i think aziraphale does see it, but what metatron said lingers, and in addition to being inside the institution, changing it from the inside out, in order to make a difference... he knows that whilst it's exactly the opposite of what they wanted, he needs to make them safe. better to be inside the tent pissing out, than outside the tent pissing in.

but aziraphale doesn't tell crowley what metatron said, because instead he either deliberately tries to deny the implications of it (cognitive dissonance king behaviour), or he doesn't want to panic crowley and is trying to convey to crowley that he can't speak his concerns, not when the metatron could still be watching, and instead just needs crowley to trust him, take his hand, and join him in heaven where they can be safe. doesn't tell crowley that heaven hasn't captured him in shackles again, but he's willingly held out his wrists because it's the safest thing for him, and them, to do.

so it's one thing to look at what crowley's saying, but aziraphale's reaction? before, i just found it to be out of confusion, him not really understanding what crowley was saying, but tbh i never paid much attention to it (david stole this bit of the scene - not to put down my beloved michael here, but he did). and i know others have remarked here that aziraphale is flitting his eyes to the window and looks scared and stressed, but i don't completely think that its because he's scared that metatron is watching (although, now, i will accept with the rug thing and hypothetical s3-1941 in context it is definitely playing a part), but also because he's just starting to recognise that this is a repeat of the s3-1941 scene, "this sounds familiar, we've been here before... oh, we've definitely been here before... oh shit. i still can't do this, not unless he comes with me. we still can't be together, not in the way crowley wants. the way he's trying again, now, to ask for."

but the issue is: crowley wants to run away together. again. and i totally get why, but once again, going back to 1941: it's exactly the solution that will not work. they cannot run from this. heaven, and hell, will find them. they will come for them. it wasn't an option in 1941, it wasn't an option in 2019, and it isn't an option in 2023. aziraphale begins shaking his head - crowley is confessing, but a) aziraphale doesn't run from things, it isnt in his character, and b) it's just putting them back where they started - something that they have to hide. it defeats the purpose.

and this? yeah, im sure on neither side it was meant the way im about to interpret it, more of an unspoken thing, idk... but if the bookshop is indeed their place of safety, and is where they (as far as crowley sees it) can speak and keep their love, it makes sense that crowley is telling aziraphale he needs to stay. the bookshop can be interpreted so many ways - it represents their relationship, or that crowley means him, himself - but what if we looked at it like crowley is trying now to covet it, because it's protecting them? what if he's saying, "well, if you won't run away with me, we can't be free to have our relationship as we wanted it, not unless we stay here... heaven has come for you, has come for us, and whilst they're here we can't move. so what other option is left remain in this bookshop? to never leave it, and what we have inside it, because there's no other option in which we can be together if you won't run with me."

and what if aziraphale is saying, "no, i have an option, and that's to be together in heaven! they won't be able to do anything, not when im in the position the metatron has offered me, that can be our new bookshop... nothing lasts forever - this bookshop won't last forever, it's compromised, and we can't continue to secret away what we feel inside it, it's time to move forward."

welcome to the line that breaks my heart the most in this whole goddamn scene - and tbh i think is fairly self-explanatory in the hypothetical s3-1941 context. that aziraphale is trying, once again, to tell crowley that he is offering himself, letting them be an 'us', as crowley says shortly after - that before he couldnt do it, and these arent the best of circumstances, but they can finally do it and not have to hide in the bookshop. but crowley reminds him, "hey, i was in your shoes, remember. i wanted us to be together then, and you told me you couldn't, didn't want a halfway measure - well, now i don't either. and this will be a halfway measure, because i don't think us being together in heaven is going to go the way you hope it will. i understand a whole lot better than you do." in any case, it would explain why aziraphale choses this moment to look so devastated. this is what he promised crowley, but now crowley - to his mind, in the things left Unsaid - doesn't want it... him.

and then... back to the nightingales. they're not singing at all, not even under the rumble of traffic, like they were at the Ritz. they're completely absent - day has broken, the things unspoken have now been said, and there's no denying them anymore. from crowley's point of view, there was nothing to stop them this time, but if aziraphale won't run with him, then they have to go separate ways, because there is no other way. aziraphale knows there's the possibility that the only place they could actually be safe is heaven itself, that the bookshop was never as safe as they hoped it had been, but that crowley might actually come to see that. but the fact that crowley is resigned to just... returning to 'reality', to a world that's still turning where they aren't together? despite everything they've just said? "we could've been... us." well, that hurts.

and then... the kiss. now. im still of the mind that the kiss was an Issue. i definitely think it was meant out of love and desperation, and out of possibly being a goodbye. this would echo the hypothetical s3-1941 kiss... but it was hurtful. it was abrupt, and harsh, and not at all romantic (imo). it was possessive, and almost cruel. i do think still it was a last ditch attempt, a temptation, to get aziraphale to change his mind, before crowley leaves the shop and returns to the 'real world'. but it hurts aziraphale in many different ways - but with 1941 put in there, too? crowley is just testing his resolve, trying to push him, come around to giving in. crowley asked him to forgive him the last time he kissed aziraphale, and this time - this time, aziraphale is giving him what he asked for.

[kitthepurplepotato]

Week 9 - Awkward.

Summary: Izuku and you try to act normal. It’s not working. Then Melissa Shield appears out of nowhere and everything escalates - for the best of for the worst? See it for yourself.

Warnings: Swear words, a bit of angst at the beginning.

First Chapter Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“You’re overworking yourself.” Your voice is loud in the silence of the night, even though you are half asleep on the sofa; you are dead tired and your hands hurt so much from all the commissions you’ve had to do this week, but you couldn’t take the silent treatment anymore. You stayed up until he came home; it’s 3AM. 3 fucking AM in the fucking morning.

“I…” Deku stills in the hallway, his costume full of blood, his face full of small, untreated scratches. You don’t let him finish the sentence.

“You haven’t eaten at all at home. For a week. If you don’t like my cooking, just tell me.”

“You know that’s not true…” he tries again, but no, you are not finished.

“You left without seeing your recovery team. Again.” Izuku is far away but you can see he’s shaking; he’s in pain, he’s tired, everything is just wrong and you have no idea how to fix this; you know it’s your fault, it’s your stupid feelings that makes him keep the distance, but you can’t fucking fix that, can you? You can’t just tell yourself to stop feeling this way and go back to being nothing but roommates, like you haven’t kissed for an hour on the sofa, content and happy until the realization hit afterwards and things went to shit. “Do you want me to leave? I can. I understand…” You say, but your whole body shakes from the sudden wave of tears pooling in your eyes. Izuku doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with pure horror and you can hear the restraint snapping as he runs through the living room, right into your arms.

He doesn’t say a word, just shakes quietly, small sniffles leaving his mouth as he smears blood all over your pajamas, but you don’t care; not right now, not ever when it comes to Midoriya Izuku.

You stay like this for several minutes, shaking and crying for no reason at all, all the suppressed emotions bubbling up all together. The sky starts to rumble dramatically in the background as the first drops of rain hit the window, spattering aggressively on the glass in a soothing pattern. The sudden wind clears the strong metallic smell of the blood and you should probably close that one open window, but the sound is too nice to muffle it; small droplets of rain fall onto the floor, the soft sound of pattering comforting your troubled soul, just enough to be able to make a sentence.

“Early breakfast or late dinner?” You ask while your fingers untangle the frizzy curls on Izuku’s head.

“Both.” Izuku smiles for the first time this week; you can’t see it but you can feel it on your chest, the tiny movement as his lips quirk up, happy and content in your arms.

“Have a shower then.”

“Yes, boss.” Izuku salutes and he’s gone; the flat is silent again but it’s not the same as it was before; the stuffiness is gone, the air is fresh, and eventually, everything will be alright.

~•🥦•~

Things are weird, but it’s okay.

Being with Izuku feels like a game, a challenge to see who can keep the poker face on for longer, who’s better at ignoring the elephant in the room. It’s the opposite of how things have been; back before the whole kissing thing, it was all about honesty and being yourself around the the other, about the way you two pulled towards each other like two opposite sides of the magnet and you just let it happen, because that’s what felt right, but right now it’s all about staying away, keeping a safe distance, pushing down every single thought of a fleeting touch, about small stolen kisses, faking a weird “normalcy”, even if it feels like the betrayal towards your own selves.

Izuku comes home around 10 every day now. He eats, he smiles, he says “thank you” and goes to sleep then he’s gone the next morning. He goes to see his mom on his next free day then comes back in the evening. He watches a movie with you but he doesn’t cuddle; he just puts his head on the arm rest and lies on the sofa, his legs in your laps, his eyes forced on the movie the whole time; his legs move up and down absently in a desperate attempt to soothe his urge for intimate contact. Izuku made sure there is no romantic plot to the movie either, it’s plain and boring but none of you comment on it; it doesn’t really matter as you are way too focused on the uncomfortable feeling in your chest; it feels like there is a massive gawking hole inside, a missing piece and you have no idea what to do about it.

It’s around 9PM on Izuku’s day off when there’s a knock on the door; it’s light and elegant so it’s definitely not Bakugou; Izuku looks up at you with confused eyes and you shrug; you’re not expecting visitors and by the look of it, neither is Deku. There is a hint of worry in his eyes as he ushers you to stay seated but he schools his face into a neutral one as he makes his way to the door.

He looks at the screen next to the door and perks up; there is a pang of jealousy in you by the sight of his smile but you try to push it down as far as you can.

“Melissa!” Izuku smiles at the “intruder”; a beautiful, blonde lady, around Izuku’s age, maybe a bit older. She doesn’t wait around for long and jumps into the hero’s arms and Deku sways with her for a few moments before he puts the girl down.

Your stomach churns and every single part of you screams; you want to stand up and put your hands on your roommate’s back, stand next to him, let the girl know you and Izuku come as a package deal now, but you push is down. You are so fucking done with pushing shit down. One day, you’ll explode, but for now, you just take it. The blade in your heart stings and there’s blood leaking from the wound but you take it like a champ. Deku looks at you for a second and he sees something in your eyes; his own eyes change into that dark color they always do when he sees you with a stranger and fuck, the world stopped moving again; it’s just you and him, trying to convey everything with a fleeting look; his eyes scream “I want this to be you” as Melissa cuddles into his side, giggling and chatting away about her long journey while you two to do something that could be called “eye fucking” if this stupid fanfiction wouldn’t be so PG. Melissa senses the weird vibe and looks towards you; he jumps away from her green friend and starts rambling about bad timing but Izuku puts his hands on her shoulders to calm her down.

“Mel, this is Y/N.” Izuku smiles and ushers you to come over. You are terrified of this pretty lady. She’s too cute to be true.

“Oh my god, so nice to meet you! Izuku can’t shut up about you, it feels like I already know you! How’s your hand?”

Oh my God, she’s adorable. And sweet. And nice. And kind. And… she has nice boobies. They bounce in between you two as she hugs you tight. Wow. Just wow.

“What? My hand?” You mumble awkwardly; you have no idea what she’s talking about.

“Izuku said you draw a lot and that sometimes you start touching your wrist subconsciously, when you overwork yourself, that’s all!” Melissa smiles and Izuku blushes immediately.

“Yeah, it hurts a bit, but it’s fine. I just need to let it rest for a few days before I start working on commissions again.” You smile awkwardly, your hands automatically caressing your own wrists, but it’s more like an anxious tick right now than a way to soothe the pain. Deku senses your awkwardness and decides to speak up.

“Melissa is from I-Island, she’s the daughter of All Might’s best friend and ex-colleague. His father made All Might’s first proper costume. Melissa is also an amazing gear designer, she’s the one who made my full gauntlet. She’s also quirkless.” Deku smiles, patting the girl’s shoulders proudly. You give the girl a sad smile.

“Wow, you’ve achieved so much even though you are quirkless, I respect that.”

It’s true; to be quirkless and achieve anything in the hero field is almost impossible; even the support course if full of people with suitable quirks for their career, and the same goes for the business and general classes; fuck, even art classes are full with people with artistic quirks or quirks that can create. When you are quirkless there is always someone better than you; most people just give up on their dreams, go with the flow and hope there is a stupid convenience store or an office that still allows quirkless applicants.

“With my father being in the business I don’t really feel like I achieved as much as it looks like, Y/N. I’m just lucky.” She smiles shyly, somehow sensing your discomfort.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Mel. Your works are amazing, you have so much talent and I can’t wait to see your collab with Hatsume Mei! You two will definitely make something amazing!”

Ahh. That hurts.

“Izuku-kun, shush…”

“Uhm, I think I’m gonna hit the bed, you two have fun.” You try your best to smile, feeling unimportant and worthless. Fuck, what were you even thinking when you fell in love with Japan’s number one hero? You don’t have a job, you leech off him to save on rent and draw stupid comics for pocket money.

“Y/N, it’s half past nine.”

Back to normal names now? Great. Peachy.

“Uhm, actually…” Melissa speaks up and you can feel how awkward she feels right now; you start to feel really bad for her, this is a terrible timing to visit this flat. “I don’t really have a place to stay tonight. Can I crash on your sofa? Mei and I rented an apartment together in the city, but it’s on Mei’s name and her flight was canceled…”

“Oh, I’ll sleep on the sofa, you can sleep… uhm… fuck…?” Deku mumbles and you can’t help but laugh at that.

Okay, here’s something you’ve never talked about; Midoriya Izuku doesn’t let anyone into his room. At all. You’ve been living here for more than two months now and you haven’t even been inside yet; his door is closed when he’s not around, and he’s never asked you if you want to come in. He doesn’t have anything creepy in there; sometimes, when he’s at home he leaves the door open and it really looks like a normal room but somehow, you still feel like there is something about his room he wants to keep for himself and now that he’s stopped in the middle of his sentence, eyes wide as saucers you are certainly sure he thinks about his room as a safe place; his own, untouched wonderland waiting for him after a hard day of work, something that’s his and only his and he wants to keep it that way even if it makes the whole situation awkward as hell right now.

“Just use my room, Melissa. I’ll go and finish a commission in the garden. Tell me when you guys are ready to sleep and I’ll take the sofa. I kinda feel like drawing.”

Well, that’s a big fat lie, but drawing might help getting over your sudden anxiety and to be honest, you really don’t feel like you would get a wink of sleep anyway so you might as well just do an all-nighter and finish a bunch of projects. Izuku doesn’t like this option at all, so he barely lets you finish your sentence before he interrupts .

“But you just said your wrist hurts…” Melissa mumbles but Izuku jumps into her sentence.

“Y-you can sleep in my room, Sweet Pea. You… can. Just don’t touch the bookshelf in the middle. Please. I beg you.”

“That sounds hella sus, mate.” Melissa giggles.

“It’s n-nothing creepy I swear!” Izuku stutters again, his arms flying around his body in the funniest way possible.

“I know, Mr. Walking Green Flag. Someone has a secret Tumblr full of gay fanfictions, someone has a secret room full of creepy nerd shit. We all have secrets.” Melissa winks at you and bro, she couldn’t be more right. You feel personally attacked.

“Who said anything about a secret room?!” Izuku makes a really high pitched noise that makes All Meowth so agitated he starts running back and forth on the hallway. You both start laughing at Izuku’s startled face and all the tension is gone from the room; even though you still feel a pang of jealousy towards the beautiful blonde girl, she sounds like a really cool gal you really want to be friends with. You might even be able to exchange your fanfiction links by the end of tonight.

“Anyone up to play Mario Kart?” You grin at the two, all your worries long forgotten in the heat of the moment. It was stupid anyway. Melissa is great.

“You’re staying?” Izuku looks at you with a hopeful glint in his eyes. You love this man. So much.

“Yeah, I’m staying.” You smile, your cheeks rocking a tiny blush from the knowing look Melissa gives you.

“I’ll destroy you two. I hope you are ready to get your asses kicked.” Melissa yells and…

You do get your ass kicked a few minutes after that.

~•🥦•~

Mario Kart is fun; Izuku doesn’t sit too far away this time, he sits right in the middle and you both sit down on the two sides; you try to sit a bit further away out of habit; sadly, it did become a habit in this week and you hate it so much; but Izuku scoots closer to you, just as the first game starts. Your heart flutters and you feel like it’s the first time he’s ever been this close to you; it’s really silly to feel this way after knowing how his mouth tastes, but you can’t help it.

Melissa wins the first round and the second and the third, Izu makes a soft whine and begs for mercy but Mel wins again and again. There is one point when you are so close to winning, you race with her side by side while Izuku’s car falls out of the screen; you almost win but then Izuku puts his hands on your thighs to cheer you on, and the warmth of his palm is so distracting you slip on a silly little banana peel right by the finish line. Izuku makes a defeated whine and throws himself back on the sofa, his head leaning on your shoulders as he laughs. The world has stopped again, the only thing audible is the adorable giggling from the red faced hero. His eyes shine with pure happiness and for a second, everything is back to normal, just you and Izuku filling up the space in the living room with fondness and adoration, pinks, greens and reds swirling around the room like little strings, tangled and happy to be able to dance again, to turn the grey world into one full of colors. The feelings doesn’t last very long; Izuku gives you one last smile and slowly moves away; Melissa stands up awkwardly and leaves to your room, leaving you two alone in the darkness, the only light in the room coming from the TV, swirls of rainbow colored roads filling up the screen but it’s nothing compared the colors which swirled around just a seconds ago; instead of the earlier swarm of butterflies it fills you with the sense of reality, dark and dreadful and you now you need to leave before it all spills out, together with all the tears you’ve been suppressing for days now.

“You sure you don’t want to stay in your room? You are working tomorrow, I’m just… here. Doing nothing. I can do that with a bit of back pain.” You smile sadly. Izuku’s face contorts into a frown and a hit of anger sips through his cool facade.

“Don’t say that about yourself.” Izuku retorts angrily. “You are an artist. You make art. You take care of this flat. You take care of me even when I’m being an ungrateful little prick. You tend my wounds and force me to eat.”

“Okay, I get it, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t.” Izuku jumps into your words. “My nightmares used to be about me and my friends being beaten up to pulp. Now my nightmares are about an empty flat where you don’t wait for me to come home. And fuck, I would do anything to have nightmares about battles, blood and villains, because they are so much better than a world without you.”

The suppressed tears roll down your face all at once; even the thought of loosing him makes you want to claw your own heart out and throw it in a ditch and you start to understand why is Izuku acting this way; a life full of suffering is so much better than a life without him by your side.

Romance is a fickle thing and can go wrong any time; a small mistake, the wrong words at the wrong time can break the fragile glass wall around you but nothing can break a bond of companionship; Izuku’s not pushing you away, he’s just trying to save your relationship while breaking his own fucking heart together with your own and somehow, it makes sense now.

“Good night, Izu-Izu.” You smile through the tears and make your way towards Izuku’s room. The door clicks softly after you and you turn on the lights. Everything in this room screams of Izuku; the All Might posters framed on the wall, all signed with small motivational quotes on every single one them, the beautiful shelves full of figurines; two for All Might and three for all his friends; the whole class A is there, even Mineta.

The walls are a beautiful dark green color except the one brick wall behind the head of the bed. There are bunch of Polaroids hanging from the brick wall, all attached to a beautiful string of fairly lights, just like in the living room, but the pictures are much more personal; there is a picture of Izuku in the hospital, smiling, even though all his limbs are in casts, then another one of Katsuki, who’s covered in bandages like a mummy; he’s not even able to breath without a tube; and there is Izuku by his side, his hands grasping the other’s in his sleep. Izuku’s head is resting on their entwined fingers while he sits in the little plastic chair in the most uncomfortable position possible. There is a scribble underneath the picture;

“If we’ve made it this far, there is nothing we can’t achieve.”

There is an old picture of the squad, sitting around the fire, smiling.

“Together, we are stronger.”

And then there’s All Might, skinny and fragile, with a happy smile on his face as he looks at the teen version of Izuku by his side.

The note says:

“I thought I’ll never know how does it feel like to have a dad, but then I realized I’ve always had one.”

Tears fall down on your cheeks as you go through the memories and for your surprise, there is a picture of you, sleeping on the sofa with All Meowth. The note says:

“Home.”

You had no idea he took this picture of you; you didn’t even know he actually owns that camera himself; you thought the pictures in the living room were made by one of his friends; but there is a green polaroid camera sitting on his bookshelf, cute and bright, small little stickers all over the case.

On Izuku’s bedside table there is a beautiful golden statue of All Might with a little tag hanging from his neck; you flip the little tag and there is a message on it.

“To the son I never had. From Toshi.”

You are not surprised he’s never let anyone step into this room except Katsuki; one step into this place and you are inside Izuku’s brain, his whole life story written all over the walls and shelves. This room is another level of personal and you can’t believe you are allowed in here. After a few minutes of crying you move towards the bookshelf; you don’t touch the one in middle as per Izuku’s instructions but you can’t help but move towards the little pile of mess on the side; there is a picture frame turned to the other side and a bunch of little notes scattered all over the place; you take one in your hands and your heart soars; all of the notes are from you.

“No one cares about All Might’s back muscle, stop judging my work so harshly, Midoriya! ><“

Ahh, you can’t help but laugh at the note; it feels like it was ten years ago when Izuku left silly notes on every single one of your drawings. It was fun for the first few days but then it just made you angry. You also giggle at the fact, that you called him Midoriya; you don’t remember the last time you did that.

“Stop changing the settings on All Meowth’s feeder! He’s on a diet!!!! Silly Deku >.<“ !!!”

Yeah, you gave up on that for now. Apparently, Izuku likes his animals “fluffy.”

“I found a blonde hair on your costume, are you cheating on me, Izu-Izu?”

Spoiler: it was Kacchan’s.

“Pizza in the oven! Just press the left button and leave it on for 5 mins to re-heat it. I miss u.”

“Bloody costume goes into the black bin, Izuku! It’s not rocket science!”

Oh my god, you are crying and laughing all at once right now. He kept every single one of your notes, even the mean ones. They are all here, scattered all over the shelf, like it’s not even worth it to put them into a neat pile because he goes through them so frequently; the edges are frazzled and they all look old and wrinkled, like he’s been reading them every day for at least a month. You put the last note down and move towards the picture frame to face it towards you; on the back, there is a sticky note attached to it.

“If love is a picture, it’s this one. Just let it bloom, will ya? - Eijirou”.

You are terrified to turn the frame over but you take a deep breath and do it; it’s a picture of you in Deku’s old costume, snuggled into his side in the backstage area of the convention. Izuku looks at you with teary eyes, a small smile decorating his blushed face as he looks down at you. His arm is around your shoulders and his fingers are playing with the green fake hair attached your scalp.

And that’s when it hits you…

You can’t fucking force this to go away. It will never work. Not for you and not for him.

The love that blooms between you two is indestructible; even if you make a mistake, even if you fall apart, you two are bonded by a bond stronger than any fucking villain, shit, it’s stronger than death itself and it won’t ever change, romantic feelings or not. Even if it ends bad, even if it tears you apart on the long run, you know you’ll stay by his side and he’ll welcome you with open arms, as a friend as a lover, or as a long-lost ex, it doesn’t fucking matter.

“Fuck it.” You yell into the emptiness right as the time changes to 0:00. You stomp out of Izuku’s room to grab that stupid motherfucker by the collar and drag him into his motherfucking bed.

… Next Chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- I’m so sorry to do this to you guys! I’m a mean little potato; but trust me, it will worth the wait! The next chapter is so bloody cute I can’t 😂

- The first season ends next week! I want to cry 😭😭😭 After the first season is finished there will be a one week break so I can get my shit together and then we are back with Deku’s silly shenanigans!

- A more personal note: this week was hell for me, guys. I haven’t written anything except a Midoriya POV of this story which will be the first chapter of season one. First I had Covid then I had a really shitty time getting out of it; I have a really bad immune system + heart issues and bro, I genuinely thought I’m not gonna make it. It gave me terrible anxiety as well because I lost my father a year ago thanks to heart issues, so man… I need a fucking break so much right now. It took me a week and a half to not sleep through the whole day and I had to go to work after a few days so I ended up working 7-4 and sleep for the rest of the day. I can’t believe I managed to keep my fanfiction timetable to stay on time 😂 Priorities, man 😂😂😂

- On a more positive note: I started playing this My Hero Academia mobile game and I’m obsessed. That’s the other reason I’m behind with my writing 😂😂 not even gonna lie, man. It’s called MHA Strongest hero! If you play the game, my name is PurplePotato and I suck balls. 😂

Likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! Send me your thoughts, they keep me motivated! 🩷

TL:

@porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @kastuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @thekookiecorner @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @ronimacaroni77

[captain-mj]

Dragon 2/3

There is going to be a third part

Ghost felt so heavy. His limbs were weighed down by the heavy chains. They chose to use iron and it burned his skin. It didn’t feel like his flames. The flames he loved. More like chemical burns. They wrapped around his wrists, ankles and his wings. He didn’t raise his head when someone came in. He stayed as a deadweight as he was dragged forward. 

Roba stepped in front of him, his shoes in his line of sight. “A young King just turned 25. How exciting, yes?” 

Ghost stared at him. Silent. Annoying. 

“I apologize, dear friend. I searched everywhere, but it seems you’re alone. No more dragons anywhere.” 

Ghost stared at him. Impassive. Horrid. 

“Which means you’re going to be my gift to him. I’ve heard he doesn’t find comfort in women, so I can’t give him that. Giving him a few men would be seen as shameful, understand? It’s best to give him you. A dragon. They consider you religious. Do you think yourself divine?”

Ghost did not. He felt painfully solid. His wings were thin from disuse, though his body still had plenty of muscle. 

Roba dug his heel into a weak point of his wing and Ghost bit his tongue. “Words, Ghost.” 

“No, sir.” 

“Good. Get him cleaned up.”

They used cold water. It tingled. So cold against his already cold body. Dragons were not supposed to be this cold. But the burning feeling in Ghost’s chest had faded to an ember. Only kept up by a stubborn need to live even when Ghost was accepting he’d much rather die. 

Alone. The word rattled in his brain. No one else? No others? How unfortunate. How sad. Ghost certainly felt alone here. But that was not a new feeling. 

They scrubbed his skin, blood dripping from wounds they opened with how careless they were. It felt good. In a weird way. Finally being clean was a huge plus too. They took his chains off carefully. Always keeping just enough on that he couldn’t escape. As if he would.

One of the servants kissed his cheek. Gently. A mockery of love. “Good luck.”

How would they deliver him? Whole? In pieces? Maybe they were cleaning him so they could dismember him and deliver him on a platter?

Ghost wouldn’t mind. Dying. He only hoped when the King was done, he’d get rid of his body. Burn it. Most likely, he’d be hung up like a trophy. At least, his wings would. 

Ghost fell asleep in the carriage. They had been keeping him awake lately and now he knew why. No matter how hard he tried, he just passed right out. 

Until his head was being dunked in ice water. How Roba even managed that was beyond him. He had been dressed while asleep. Simple loose pants. His chest was bare. More iron around his wrists and along his throat. 

“Don’t embarrass me. You understand. You’re a gift. Act like it.”

Ghost nodded absentmindedly. His eyes already glazing over. He had gotten used to the patterns in Roba’s cruelty. How would this new king be?

“His name is Soap. It’s his coronation and 25th birthday. They did a joint celebration.”

Soap. 

Soap….

What a weird name.

Ghost had his hair cut slightly, just enough to make it look nice again. It curled and kinked up and the person trying to make it stay down was getting upset. He ignored them and they gave up eventually. 

When Roba had taken him from the farm house, he had yelled for Johnny. No one had known who that was. He had screamed until his voice went hoarse. They said no prince in the area had the name Johnny. Did the human lie to him? Why? Being royalty meant nothing to Ghost. Him being a prince meant nothing. 

“Put your wings up. Need him to know you’re a dragon.” One of them hit him lightly and made him hold his wings up. 

They were heavy. They had never been heavy before. But right now, they just ached something fierce. Ghost felt them start to drag and one of them quickly corrected them. 

“Either hold them up or we cut parts of them off.” 

Ghost found the least uncomfortable way to hold up his wings. He tried not to let his eyelids droop. Exhaustion was getting to him. 

Then, he was marched into a room. Full of people. All of who looked at… at him. 

Why were they looking at him?

“King MacTavish! I hope I’m not late.” Roba walked forward and Ghost trailed behind him, feeling like he was being set on fire and not in a good way. “I brought you something?”

Ghost felt like the room was spinning. Was it spinning?

A thick accent. One he swore he heard before. It was talking but the room was spinning too had. His wings were drooping. They hurt. He was heavy. 

Someone was screaming. It was loud. High pitched. Maybe it was him. 

Roba’s voice. Full of pride. 

“The Last Dragon.” 

Ghost knew he wasn’t the one screaming. He was on the floor. A blade. There was a blade. 

More screaming. It was so loud. 

Ghost fell asleep. 

He missed Soap’s hate filled berating of Roba. The way he pulled out a weapon and threatened to cut him from throat to belly button. If he saw it, he’d be proud. 

Ghost only knew that when he woke up, there was not a single chain on him. That the ground beneath him felt soft. A blanket draped over his body. And he had been scrubbed clean in his sleep. He could tell because his skin tingled and smelled floral. 

Soap, his King, paced at the foot of the bed. Angry, violent footsteps.

Ghost had displeased him. Most likely by passing out. 

He didn’t move an inch. Simply waited. Maybe he’d calm down. 

Soap stopped moving. The deafening silence followed. 

Ghost bit his tongue as he felt him approach. Felt soft fingertips along his back. Along the bulk of his wings. 

“Simon.” 

Ghost felt him saying that name like a stab wound. “Ghost.”

“Ghost.” 

Hands through his hair. Gentle. A mockery of love. 

“Oh, Ghost. What did they do to you?” Soap asked him softly. 

Ghost’s eyes fluttered. “Johnny?”

“Hi.” 

Oh. He was a Prince. 

Ghost didn’t want to move. He felt tight. Like he’d break open if he moved too fast. 

Soap gently brushed his hair out of his face. “Look at you. Still so bonnie.”

His accent had gotten thicker. Ghost still flinched when he came too close to his face. 

He moved to instead stroke Ghost’s hair. He scratched his scalp gently and it felt so nice Ghost almost moaned. Instead, he went slack, letting Soap manipulate him how he wanted. 

Incredibly careful hands touched his body. Inspecting the cuts. The bruises. The now harsh scars that would never leave. 

Then came the kisses. A simple press of the lips over every one. Until Ghost felt so wound up, he was afraid he’d break apart. Shatter into a thousand tiny little pieces. A sob passed his lips and Soap pressed into him. 

“You’re okay. You’re alright.”

It was too much. 

“Please.” 

Soap pressed closer. His skin impossibly too hot and too cold. “What do you need? How can I help?”

“Stop touching me.” It was a risky move. 

Soap yanked back. “O-of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean.”

Ghost pressed his face into the pillows. “If you want something from me, just take it and go.”

“No. I’ll do nothing of the sort.” Soap said quickly. Ghost shuddered, wondering what he was planning. 

Was he still mad Ghost left all those years ago? Yes, it wasn’t on purpose, but that meant nothing to human. Or maybe he wanted to finish what he started all those years ago. 

The idea of Soap, or Johnny he supposed, pinning him down. Taking advantage of his weakness to fulfill his human desires. 

Wouldn’t be the first time. Soap was softer though. Weaker than your average human. Maybe he’d at least take it slow. That would drag it out though. 

“Are you hungry? You’ve been asleep a long time.”

Ghost tried to piece together how long exactly he had been asleep. He was hungry. So fucking hungry. 

“I’ll take that as a yes you are.” Soap rang a bell and someone brought them food. He started to situate the pillows, making them into a weird pile. 

Ghost watched him pat the pile multiple times before realizing he was supposed to sit there. He slowly moved and sat in front of him. Soap pushed him into it and… it was comfy. Really comfy. 

Ghost slowly melted into it, head tilting back. Soft underbelly exposed. 

Stab him. Cut him open. Bleed him dry. 

Soap did no such thing. He took the plate from them and knelt in front of him on the bed. “Just eat, yes?” There wasn’t much room for arguing. His hand was cupping Ghost’s jaw with the other holding bread, making it impossible to escape. 

Ghost opened his mouth slowly and he could see Soap counting his teeth. Some had been filed or broken, but his body would just make more. He’d have to remove some of them before he could replace them, but it would be fine. Ghost ate from his hand slowly, feeling intense shame from the act but an understanding that he wouldn’t be fed otherwise. It wasn’t the most degrading thing he had to do for food. 

Soap kept stroking his face. His chin, his cheeks, under his eyes. 

“Beautiful.”

Ghost was confused what he found attractive about his scar riddled body, but if he had his fetishes, he had them. He finished eating, starting to feel sick despite only getting a few mouthfuls down. 

Soap cupped his face fully, taking him in. 

“I missed you.”

Ghost didn’t look at him. 

“That’s okay. I’m so glad you’re alive. That I can see you again.” 

Ghost closed his eyes slowly.

Soap was feral. A bit like a puppy. He kept touching Ghost. His fingertips running over his wings. Presence all around him. He smelled so strongly of different things. Nice things, don’t get him wrong. Just overwhelming. 

Ghost opened his mouth but before he could even get words out, Soap was jumping up and down. 

“Need a drink? You must be thirsty.” Soap fixed him a glass of tea and brought it to him. He still had his crown on. And his coronation outfit. It was funny, seeing someone that looked so royal care for him. 

Soap’s red coat hit the ground, gorgeous against his white shirt. Ghost could see the intricate gold coloring and it took him a minute, but he realized it emulated his own gold scarring. The designs on the coat jumbled on the back, giving the appearance of wings. 

Did Johnny miss him that much?

Ghost hated himself for leaving. 

Soap hesitated. There were mere inches between them. It felt like nothing to Ghost and too far to Soap. Ghost felt smothered. Unused to such affections. 

Soap wanted to swallow him whole.