#smut adjacent

[mii-ji]

viktor breaks jayce's mind in a different way this time

okay coming in hot with this post lmfao

i mostly am a top viktor truther, but i think jayce is a switch / they switch for each other depending on mood. when u love each other cosmically in all lifetimes in all possibilities, it seems like everything's on the menu, yknow? all that aside i think seeing viktor like this always breaks jayce's brain, especially if he swears. :))))

so much more fanart to come dfksljcx

[itiswormtimebaby]

Here’s what I’m thinking about:

Biker!Bucky (who also happens to be your brother’s best friend) comforting you when you accidentally get way too high and think you’re going to die. 

TW: Recreational drug use (weed), talks of death (reader feels like they’re dying), virgin reader, suggestive

The illicit baked goods were handed over with very clear instructions, only eat HALF. But you were so hungry, and the brownie was surprisingly good, and what would really be the harm in eating a whole instead of a half? Death. Inevitable death would be the harm. 

There’d been a very pleasant twenty-five minutes where it felt as if you were dancing on air, now you could barely get any- breathing shallow, chest tight, head heavy. This was it. Goodbye, cruel world. You knew there was little to be done so you decided to embrace the inevitable, if you acted quickly maybe you could go in your sleep. So you filled your cats food bowl, pressed a quick kiss to her head, and crawled into your hammock to await the end- but wait, wait you couldn’t go with regrets, that was a sure fire way to come back as a ghost and you did not want to haunt your crappy walk up forever. No, no regrets. 

So you called James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, your brother’s Bucky. Bucky who lived only a few blocks away, Bucky who could send you off without regret. He picked up on the third ring, and didn’t get much in edgewise after a hesitant “Hello?” 

“Bucky! Bucky I’m dying and I need you to come over right now. The doors unlocked.” You’d hung up before he could ask any questions, best to save your breath, you reasoned. For his part Bucky had politely but firmly asked the girl currently occupying his bed to leave, and made for the door, tugging on gray sweats as he went. While he was positive your dumb ass wasn’t dying he wasn’t willing to leave you in a distressed state. 

When he kicked off his bike and made it inside he’d found you curled up in your hammock, clinging to your cat, eyes squeezed shut; he’d grabbed your attention with a gruff “Bug?” You’d shot up, furry feline friend taking off with a displeased hiss at the sudden rocking motion; “Thank God, Bucky! Get over here, I don’t have much time.” He’d crouched down next to your hammock, bringing his cool metal hand to your cheek, brushing away some stray hairs and taking note of your blown out pupils; “What the fuck are you on?”

“It- it was supposed to only be half the brownie, but I ate it all, I’m such an idiot and now-” He bit back a laugh realizing you were just stoned off your ass, not wanting to add insult to injury as your eyes welled with tears “-now I’m dying but I can’t go yet, Buck, I can’t, because if I die full of regrets I’ll have to haunt this stupid place forever.” 

“For Christ’ sake, Bug, you’re not dying, you’re just stoned.” 

With an adamant shake of your head you reached down and grabbed his flesh hand, pressing the palm of it flat to your chest as the tears in your eyes finally spilled over with a warbling hiccup; “I- I’m not, I am but I’m not- I know what death feels like.”

His mouth popped open in mock surprise; “Oh, you do? Because you’ve experienced it so many times?” 

Your bottom lip quivered as you glowered pathetically at him, “D-don’t be mean to me. Not right now.” Torn between pushing the issue and humoring you he chose to go with the latter. 

“Okay then, Bug, no regrets. How can I help?” 

With a small watery smile you turned in the hammock to fully face his kneeling form; “We’ve got to have sex-”

“Jesus fuck!” Your sincere expression, tear stained cheeks, and glassy eyes awakened something dark within him, pleasure spiking within his groin and pulling him to half mass even as he adamantly shook his head no. Seeing his refusal you began teetering on the brink of tears again; “Please Bucky, please, you have to fuck me, it has to be you. I don’t want to die a virgin and I love y-” 

Quicker than your sluggish brain could process the cool fingers of his left hand wrapped around your mouth, silencing you as his other hand smoothed across the top of your head and down to cup your cheek, thumb stroking it in small even passes. He took three steadying breaths, eyes clenched shut, before he met your gaze; “Shut up. We are not having this conversation right now.” You whined behind the gag of his hand, but he just shook his head firmly in return, so much for humoring you. “Bug, you are high as a fucking kite. So here’s what’s going to happen; I’m going to go get you a drink, and then you’re going to sleep. End of.”

He stood abruptly, moving towards the door of the bedroom as you pleaded with him to come back and take you, promising he could do whatever he wanted as long as he was inside you. You didn’t stop rambling until he stormed back in with a glass of water, towering over your prone form. “Listen to me,” he hissed “when I finally fuck you the only thing you’ll be high on is my cock, so do me a favor and shut the fuck up about it so I can take care of you until then.” 

AN: In hindsight I’ve taken some liberties with the use of the word “comforting.” 

[briarberrythornedhart]

Trust me

Contains: Post Season 4, Hurt/comfort, implied sex, Eddie Munson X You, no Y/N, roommates to lovers.

🦇 🛋️ 🦇 😴 🦇

Eddie lived.

And now he lives with you. You invited him to stay with you in your apartment and lie low while the Sheriff’s dept and the FBI completed the investigation of the murders (and exonerated Eddie, obviously).

There is some damage to his tattoos and a half destroyed nipple but otherwise he was unharmed physically by the events in Hawkins.

Mentally, he struggles.

He is uneasy and anxious.

Extremely Jumpy.

You’ve taken to wearing an ankle bracelet that jingles so he’ll hear you coming and not panic.

He doesn’t sleep well. He’s always tired and can’t even nap. He’s not even cranky about it, he’s just listless.

Dustin says he’s very different from the Eddie he knew in High School. Almost the opposite. Revved Down.

Eddie tells you he can’t sleep anymore because when he closes his eyes he sees the murders. Even Fred’s, which he didn’t witness in person, his brain cruelly recreates on a loop of guilt with the other deaths. It does no good to tell him he shouldn’t feel guilty, he can’t turn off the feeling that if he’d done something differently… he could have saved them. Like he personally could have taken Vecna out if he knew the solution. Like he picked the wrong CYOA path. It’s ridiculous and he knows it but he can’t seem to change that feeling, especially at night.

In the time you’ve chosen to take him in as your own personal project— sorry… as your roommate and good friend - You have barely seen him close his eyes at all.

The chocolate orbs are usually on you, meeting your gaze, watching your movements. Curious as a cat.

Right now it’s breakfast and he’s watching you make cinnamon toast.

Your way. Which is a very specific way. Exactly how you like it.

He looks like he’s taking mental notes but his head is heavy on his hand and his shoulders are curved like he could almost fall over from fatigue.

The black eyeliner he let you decorate his eyes with is smeared over the dark circles under his eyes. The black nail polish on each short nail bed on each long skilled (guitarist) finger is chipped. You will offer to repaint it later.

Even bone tired in rumpled sweatpants and an old tshirt that has holes in the armpits and at the collar… he is still unbelievably hot.

Without a doubt, if you weren’t certain-sure he was not into you in the slightest, you’d have tried something already.

Probably. You have a type and it is this guy.

“Smells good.” Eddie suddenly says. Perking up slightly.

“Do you want some toast?” You ask.

“Yes, please, princess.” He uses his trademark terms of endearment with everyone. It isn’t condescending or anything. After all he calls Steve Harrington and ‘Coffin-Jeff’ from his band and Nancy Wheeler ‘Princess’, too. So you think it doesn’t mean much of anything.

He licks his lips in anticipation.

The man would live on foods that are nutritionally-void vessels for butter if you didn’t insist on the occasional salad or omelette.

“You can have as much as you like if you’ll take a nap for me after.” You promise, handing him a triangle of toast.

“With you?” Eddie raises his eyebrows in a twist of confusion.

“Yeah. I mean…At the same time.” You Disambiguate. He slumps slightly and nibbles on the crusts. “You could take the couch and I could take the loveseat… Unless…”

“Unless???” His eyebrows are back up, way up, hidden in the curly brunette fringe.

“Well….I’ve heard that weighted blankets help with uneasy sleep, nightmares, anxiety and stuff. We don’t have anything heavy bedding wise but…I could be your weighted sorta blanket…if you trust me.”

“You’d do that for me?” Eddie smiles softly. “Even knowing I usually wake up yelling and screaming about scary shit?”

You did not know that. “Of course. Let’s try something new, you need sleep and I want to help if I can.”

He finished the cinnamon toast in 2 bites.

You lead him to the big thrift store find monstrosity of a chesterfield that he had helped you heft into the apartment.

It was wide and deep and cozy.

“Will I fit?” Eddie looked skeptical. “I usually curl up on my side on couches, these darn legs are longer than they look…”

You pressed gently on his shoulders. “Trust me. Get comfy.” You insisted. “Bend one knee up against the sofa back.”

He flopped down on his back, hands behind head, legs slightly spread and gone boneless. “Climb aboard.” He said wryly.

You crawled from his bare feet up between his spread legs to ease yourself onto his body. You tried not to feel some kind a messy way about how he body-rolled against you as you both tried to find the most comfortable position. Eventually your head was resting on his broad chest.

You shifted and felt like you were gonna roll off him, off the couch, but he said “whoa, princess.” And wrapped an arm around you to keep you there.

You were held and warm and not a little bit well….to be honest you were just completely massively turned on by the perfect scent of him and being pressed against his body.

“You good?” You asked.

“Yea, sweetheart. How bout You?” Eddie whispered.

“I feel safe.” You lied. Because what you felt was more complex than safe could ever be.

“Good. When I get… uh…if you notice that I am…” Eddie cleared his throat. “Just know I’d never do anything. I promise.”

You peered up at him. Your turn to be very confused.

He stammered and his face reddened. “I mean if you feel uh… ‘little Eddie’ getting ideas down there, don’t worry, I’m in control. Just because you feel so nice… perfect even… know I’m at the helm, right? And I value our friendship and would never…”

“I thought I didn’t do it for you?? Like at all?” You stammered back.

“I mean, obviously you do. You Do all of it for little Eddie.” He gestured at his crotch which was pitching a size large (OMG is that real?) tent in the sweats. “You are hot and sweet and funny and whip-smart and you’ve got this ass that I… ::fuck:: I’m sorry, forget I said… I mean, I wouldn’t ever do anything about it, not ever.”

“Why the hell not??” You got up on your elbows and sat on his belly. You looked down at his gorgeous flushed face. He bit his lips hard.

“Princess, You mean too much to me. When I think about losing you…”

“Why would you lose me? I’m very hard to just…misplace.” You stuck out your tongue at him.

He gave you a small chuckle and his hands found your hips. Squeezed you there. One hand stroked down your leg to run a finger over your jingling ankle bracelet. Then he frowned and then his hands dropped away.

He took a deep shuddery breath. “I usually lose when I love… one way or another, it’s inevitable… I have extraordinarily bad luck.”

“Eddie, nothing is totally inevitable.” You touched his cheek. Rubbed his lower lip with your thumb. “Can you trust me just a little bit more than you fear bad luck?”

Perhaps a smile teased one corner of his mouth. Almost a smile. Nearly one. “I trust you, Princess.”

You dismounted Eddie and took his hand to lead him to your room. Soon to be his room too.

He did yell that night but not in an unhappy way.

[exhaustedpirate]

all's fair in love and muay thai

day 18 of @bucktommyfluffebruary (i'm speedrunning these!) buck tries to learn muay thai...again, they bet on it; buck is determined to not get distracted, tommy is determined to make it harder for him! they both win! it gets smutty, well smut-adjacent! big shoutout to @theredrenard for the title!

rated M | 1410 words also on AO3

“Are you sure you’re ready?” 

“Yeah,” Buck grins, jumping on his toes, excited energy in his veins. “You’ve been promising me a Muay Thai lesson for months!”

“Alright, alright,” Tommy laughs placatingly, taking hold of his boyfriend’s hands. In a surprisingly not-surprising way, Buck feels his anxiety settle, feels the older man’s calm energy soothe his. “Let’s see if this time you can actually learn something.” 

Buck flushes at Tommy’s raised eyebrow, his teasingly accusing stare. It wasn’t the first time they were trying this. More like the third. 

He asked to learn, first, after Eddie had left Tommy’s house a few months back. There had been a MMA match on TV and Buck was more than happy to just enjoy the banter between the two men. He suggested Tommy teaching him Muay Thai when his boyfriend mentioned wanting to exercise. After a whole afternoon of watching half-naked men pummel each other and then, seeing Tommy in those shorts and shirtless…well, they didn’t even make it out of the bedroom.

The second time, he doesn’t count it as his fault. Not really. He’s only human after all. Buck had joined Tommy in his garage to work out, but also to be in his boyfriend’s presence. Tommy had all but finished his workout, tank top clinging to his chest, hair wet from sweat. With a grin, Tommy had suggested a Muay Thai practise since he was all warmed up. Buck nodded dumbly, eyes still tracing this drop of sweat rolling down Tommy’s arm. His self-control lasted only until the moment Tommy took the top off. Again, not his fault.

None of them complained.

“Why don’t we bet on it?” Buck smirks, his hands on his hips, noting the way Tommy’s eyes zeroed in on his muscles - Tommy is almost obsessed with his arms, he is not complaining. “If I get…distracted, I’ll, uh, I’ll watch all the movies you want.” 

“And if you don’t,” Tommy pretends to think for a moment, the smirk teasing the corner of his lips giving him away. “I’ll watch all the documentaries you want.” 

Buck bites his bottom lip at that and they grin at each other. The bet is almost meaningless. They lo-care for each other so much, making these “sacrifices” for one another is effortless, it’s all about the competition.

They shake on it, Tommy’s hand gripping Buck’s a little tighter, thumb running over his knuckles and Buck looks at him suspiciously. If there is one thing Tommy knows about Buck is that, whereas Tommy obsesses over Buck’s arms, he obsesses about his boyfriend’s hands. Especially the places on his body they fit so well, the way they grab and stroke and-Focus.

Tommy giggles and he steps back to stand on the mat, Buck following him after shaking himself off.

“Alright,” Tommy claps and Buck inhales sharply. “We'll start with the basic combos. I already know how flexible you are,” Tommy’s eyes roam the length of his body and Buck forces himself not to preen under his stare. “And how you can hold your balance, so this should be easy for you.”

And as Tommy guides him through basic punch-kick combos, Buck tries so hard not to focus on his boyfriend’s hands on his hips, on his arms, on his thigh, his knee. Tommy fixes his posture, stands plastered to his back holding his hips while Buck forces himself to focus on kicking his leg while maintaining his balance. 

“You’re doing great,” Tommy speaks in that low tone that drives him crazy when Buck demonstrates several kicks in a row perfectly. He bites his lip against that little tug in his gut at the praise. “We’re doing high kicks next, think you’re ready?”

Buck’s eyes roam Tommy’s face, the way his eyes shine with pride and mirth with his hands on his hips. That tug in his gut becomes a fluttering. Tommy is sharing a part of himself with Buck - he’s sharing it so that Buck can participate in it with him, so that they can do it together.

Tommy’s grin softens the longer Buck looks at his boyfriend. Tommy wants Buck in his life, wants him to be a part of the things he likes, just like he does. The older man tells him about the rom-coms he likes to watch, about the cars he likes to fix, shows him different types of beer in the same way Buck tells him about the newest documentary about an obscure topic he’s in to, about this new dish he’s experimenting with, the way he brings him to family events.

There is the mutual understanding that they can have their own interests, participate in things without the other. That they can choose not to be a part of a particular side of the other.

They know that but they don’t. They want to be in each other’s lives. 

Uh.

In a fast movement, Buck grabs onto Tommy’s damp shirt and pulls him for a kiss. He swallows his boyfriend’s surprised grunt, feels Tommy soften against him, his arms wrapping around his waist, feels his long hum vibrating against his lips. Feels a foreign but welcome feeling run down his spine - a feeling he yearned all his life to experience in its true, overwhelming sense - and tugs on Tommy’s bottom lip to keep himself from saying it out loud.

They break away slowly, soft lingering kisses on each other’s lips, as if they don’t want to pull away. They don’t. Buck’s hand flattens against Tommy’s chest and he feels the fast pace of his boyfriend’s heart against his palm, knows that, were he to check his own pulse, it would match.

“Evan…”

With a sharp inhale, Buck takes a couple steps back, his feet as wide as his shoulder and arms bent close to his chest. “High kicks, right?” He asks, trying to hide the smirk on his lips at Tommy’s dazed expression. 

He bounces on his feet and does his first attempt at a high kick. As soon as Buck’s foot meets the floor, strong arms wrap around his waist from behind, his smile wide at the warm sensation of his boyfriend’s body wrapped around his back. 

“You are a menace, baby,” Tommy growls, his lips on the side of his neck finally making his shiver. Buck laughs, his hands running up and down Tommy’s arms. “You know that?”

“I-I don’t know what you mean, Tom,” He fakes an innocent tone, causing Tommy’s arms to tighten around him. He nestles into the warm body almost imperceptibly. “I’m trying to learn.”

Tommy hums, tracing the vein in Buck’s neck with open-mouthed kisses. Buck’s hands grip his forearms tighter, his head falling back on the older man’s shoulder. Tommy kisses along Buck’s jawline, one of his hands roaming up Buck’s chest inside his shirt, his hips subtly grinding against the cleft of his ass. He feels himself melt in his hold, matching his boyfriend’s arousal and drawn-out hums vibrating against his back as Tommy focuses on that spot below his ear.

“Y-You got distracted,” Buck breathes out, a soft smirk on his lips when he feels Tommy laugh against the skin where his neck meets his shoulder. “We didn’t, hmm, we didn’t think of that possibility.”

“I think,” Tommy whispers and Buck turns his head towards him, welcoming the soft press of the older man’s lips on his. “That means we both win.” 

They kiss through their wide grins as Buck turns to wrap his arms around Tommy’s neck. He relishes the way their bodies fit perfectly against one another, the way he feels Tommy’s hands find that spot on his waist that seemed made for them. 

“I think you’re right.” 

Buck’s back meets the wall of the garage, Tommy’s hand cradling his head protectively. He feels himself melt even further in his hold. His leg runs up Tommy’s thigh, his boyfriend’s hand behind his knee easing it up perfectly until their hips are at the right angle for them to swallow each other’s moans at the contact. Perfect.

Their clothes are scattered along the garage floor, moans echoing through the closed space, hot touches on scorching skin. As they lay in a heap on the foam mat, breathing heavily and hands never having left each other’s hold, Buck thinks how lucky he is to have met Tommy. How lucky he is to have called him after their failed date. He thinks that Tommy is right.

They both win.

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

Thinking about running into Iida at the community gym and you two are the only ones in there.

He throws words around like "written warning", "curfew" and "class representative responsibilities".

If only he knew you were staking the place out, waiting for him to be the last one working out.

Just hoping he'd give your bare ass a little reprimanding.

Taglist ::: @arlerts-angel @darkstarlight82 @millennialmagicalgirl

[specialinterestshows]

Last chapter of my 3-part Finn Balor x jealous!Damian Priest fic, based on an anonymous request. Next fic I post will be a continuation of Absolute Smokeshow!

Warnings for this section: Biting, dirty talk, hickies

-

My M.O. (Missed Opportunity) (Part 3/3): Hell (In A Cell) And Back

"I did, because I do," Damian wasn't used to feeling so exposed and his face was getting warmer, but now wasn't the time to back out, "Te amo."

To his surprise, Finn started blushing and immediately asked, "For how long?"

“Truth is, I've been into you since you stomped on my chest during Hell in a Cell," Damian chuckled at the memory, "At first I thought that’s why my heart was racing" - he had a wistful expression on his face as he continued - "You kept impressing me during that match. Y cuando uniste a nuestro grupo... I was beyond happy. It wasn’t like the color in the world was dull before, pero cuando entraste en mi vida…”

“It was like everything was brighter, more vivid,” Finn said, catching Damian off-guard, “Just like it was for me when I first started talking to you."

Damian sat in a stunned silence for a moment. Somehow he hadn't fully prepared himself for his feelings to be reciprocated and everything felt a bit surreal.

"You never said anything," Damian finally spoke - not yet looking up or giving into the happiness that threatened to swell in his chest.

"I wasn't sure you were interested in men, to be honest," Finn laughed at himself, "I usually have a good gauge on that sort of thing, but it all goes out the window when I'm interested in someone; I get too wrapped up wondering if I'm just seeing what I want to see" - he gently placed his hand on Damian's, making Damian look up - "Happy to see that's not the case here."

The soft affection in the way Finn was grinning at him broke through Damian's instinct to close himself off, and he smiled back.

Damian closed his hand around Finn’s and looked deep into his eyes before asking, "Can I call you mine?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Finn replied, letting go of Damian’s hand to pull him in by his face for a kiss. The moment Finn’s lips touched his own was better than any other victory Damian had experienced. Finn pulled away to look at Damian lovingly, pale blue eyes glinting in the low light, before kissing him again. Smiling into the kiss, Damian felt Finn’s beard rubbing up against his own stubble and it ignited something in him.

Gripping the back of Finn's head with one hand, he bit Finn's lip, making him moan.

"Eres todo mio, lindo," Damian pulled away to growl in his ear, "Solo mio. Say it."

"I'm all yours, Papi," Finn breathed, blushing when he heard himself, "Only yours."

"Papi, huh?" Damian chuckled, watching Finn adjust the bulge in his pants before Damian's hand moved to gently wrap around Finn's throat, "What else are you into, cariño?"

Damian rubbed his free hand on the outside of Finn's pants and gave his throat a gentle squeeze, laughing when he felt it make Finn harder.

“In the parking lot?" Finn managed to ask between moans and gasps as Damian continued to play with him, "What are we, teenagers?”

"You really want to walk in on Rhea using Dom for "stress relief"?" Damian asked, gripping Finn's hair and kissing down his neck.

"Dunno - could be hot," Finn admitted, letting out a moan and squirming when Damian sunk his teeth into Finn's shoulder and started sucking.

"Dirty boy," Damian smirked as soon as his mouth was free, moving his hand to cradle Finn’s face, "Tell Papi what else you’re into.”

“How much time have you got?” Finn joked.

“For you, mi amor?” Damian answered, tracing Finn’s lips with his thumb, “Todo el tiempo en el mundo.”

[end part three of three]

[gayphob1a]

November 6th, Getting High

It’s a hard day every year. The anniversary effect, Joyce tells him. It’s been six years since the day Will went missing and set off the chain of events that changed Steve’s life forever. He wasn’t even there for that part of it, but getting to know Will, adopting him into his little troup of kids, and watching him fall silent on this day every year sets them all on edge. But this year feels different.

The anxiety is still there, and Steve thinks it always will be, but this time there are no tingles on the back of necks, no chill in the air that alights every sense into fight or fight mode (Steve is almost certain he has no flight or freeze reactions anymore). Plus, now he has Robin, and Eddie, and to the shock and awe of everyone involved, Jonathan and Nancy too. So this year, they get to celebrate.

Steve spends all day in the kitchen making Will’s favorite foods. Mac and cheese with a baked top of breadcrumbs, rotisserie chicken because Will loves the drumsticks, green bean casserole, which Steve isn’t a fan of personally, but it reminds Will of the dish Joyce makes on thanksgiving from cans they get at the foodbank, and he wants to spoil them with a version using fresh ingredients from the farmers market. There’s even a cake cooling on the counter and homemade cream cheese frosting, which Steve has had to swat Eddie’s sneaky fingers out of at least three times now. Eddie sits on the kitchen counter the whole time, keeping Steve company with a fondness in his expression that softens Steve to letting him lick the beaters he used to whip up the frosting. He’s a mess, and Steve loves him.

When evening rolls around, their apartment fills with the whole party. Even Argyle made the trip back to Hawkins to celebrate. He brings a bag of Cali weed with him, stronger shit than they can get out here, and Steve is completely fucked when it hits his bloodstream and looks at Eddie because Argyle’s weed always has a way of putting him in horny bitch mode, and Eddie with smoke streaming from his nostrils, giggling about how it makes him look like a dragon doesn’t help.

When the kids are full of food and piled up in front of the TV to watch Never Ending Story and mock Dustin mercilessly, Steve drags Eddie into their bedroom, unable to keep his hands off of him for another minute.

“Steve. Steve, oh my god.” Eddie pants as their hips roll together in a clumsy rhythm. “If you keep doing that you’re going to lose, baby boy.”

“Don’t care,” Steve pants into Eddie’s skin, intoxicated by the weed and the scent of his cheap cologne. “Just want you. Eddie… god I can’t believe I agreed to this being the word. Let me nut?”

“Fuck, okay.” And Steve can tell Eddie is just as desperate as he is after almost a week without making him cum. Eddie reaches a hand between them, cupping his hand around Steve’s cock to give him more friction to grind against, relishing in the wanton moans it draws out of him. Steve never thought the sounds of children screaming from his living room while he’s trying to get off would be a good thing, but well, he’s not exactly being quiet, and he’s dreading a lull in their shrieks that will inevitably get him caught.

He keeps moving his hips, his hands gripping at every inch of Eddie’s skin, squeezing his hip bones and digging his nails into the exposed skin of his shoulders. They keep the apartment hot just so Steve can see his boyfriend in those slutty tank tops he cuts down to his navel. And yeah, they’ve been playing, but not finishing for a full week is sending Steve teetering towards the edge faster than he expected. When Eddie’s hand flexes around him, he nearly cries, nearly cums on the spot.

But then there’s a knock at the door.

“Steve? Eddie? Are you guys okay in there?”

Will. Shit. Steve comes crashing back down to Earth in an instant. The worry in his voice is clear, and Steve is filled with guilt for worrying the kid today of all days. He reaches down and stills Eddie’s palm, giving it a squeeze in apology before opening the door a crack and leaning out to see the kid… smirking?

“We’re fine. Are you okay?” Steve adjusts himself behind the door and smacks Eddie’s shoulder for laughing silently.

“I’m fine. Eddie told me to check up on you guys when you snuck off. Do you guys… need anything?”

“No,” Steve says, shooting Eddie a glare that would make him drop dead if looks could kill. “No, we don’t need anything. We’ll be out in a minute, okay?”

“Okay.” Will says, slinking away with a look on his face that is far too knowledgeable about their escapades.

Steve closes the door quietly behind him and rounds on Eddie. “You enlisted a CHILD to keep me from coming?”

Eddie shrugs. “Sorry baby, I didn’t know you were going to actually back out. I couldn’t let you lose this early on.”

“You know I hate you, right?”

“Aw, that’s not true. You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I’m proud of you for telling me what you need, Stevie, and if you really want it we can end this later tonight after everyone leaves.”

There’s no debate, Steve wants it, but competition has pumped through him like ice in his veins since his very first basketball game. And, okay, maybe Eddie had a point about the build up, the anticipation, because so far the play has been like nothing he’s ever experienced before and as much as he’d love to paint Eddie’s chest in thick stripes of warm cum and play with it like a finger painting, he wants to see how this month ends more.

“No! I-I mean, it’s okay. I want to keep going, really.” Steve sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, and goes into the ensuite to calm himself down. There’s no way he would be able to walk away from Eddie’s evil smirk and he promised the kid they were done.

For now, at least.

@steddievember

[sulky-valkyrie]

Andres/fenris/nathaniel prompt: grey warden sandwich which Nate starts with “Hey, Fenris, did you know that Anders finds tattoos on elves absolutely irresistible?”

Hullo my beloved, and happy Friday welllll past your bedtime 💜 that's a direct continuation of this. for @dadrunkwriting

When Fenris asked him to stay, Nate was hesitant, but that worried defiance on Anders’ face as he approached them made it an easy decision.  Fenris was right: he couldn’t just leave him again.  Not that he really did the leaving seven years ago so much as watch Anders do it.

I’m not the man I was, Nate.  

Maker, what had happened to him after that day in the forest?  How was he so different, yet exactly the same?  You wouldn’t like this one as much anyway.  It was clear Anders believed it too.  Believed whatever he’d been through had made him unloveable.  

“What Andraste’s oversized bloomers are you doing?” Anders demanded as he closed in on them.  “Not telling him about all the dumb shit I did in Vigil’s Keep, are you?”

“Haven’t had the time.”  Now, before I lose my nerve.  Anders had pushed him away before, but it had been with regret, not rejection.  A fear of hurting Fenris.  And now Fenris had invited him to their home and their bed.  Anders’ bed, at least.  Nate stood quickly, dragging Fenris up behind him, and looped an arm around Anders’ waist as he cupped his jaw.  “But I’ll make it later.”

Anders’ eyes bounced from Nate to Fenris with a mixture of shock and confusion, and Nate could feel his heart racing under his skin.  “I don’t - what?”

Fenris’ arm joined his against Anders’ back, and a breath ghosted across Nate’s knuckles as he kissed the side of Anders’ chin.  “If you wish it, he’ll be returning home with us.”

“I -” Anders started shaking, so much that Nate worried he might fall over.  Or pass out.  Cracks of blue appeared, then Justice was there instead, looking at Fenris curiously.  “Why?”

The sudden reappearance of the spirit while Nate’s arms were around him was unsettling, but Fenris barely reacted.  As if this was a normal thing.  Perhaps it was.  “No justice is served in denying him this.”  Fenris stroked the spirit’s face with his thumb.  “He’s lost enough.  And too many times over.”

Justice swayed toward Fenris, eye’s fluttering like his touch was pure bliss, then rested his head on his shoulder for a moment.  “He would like that.”  Then he twisted slightly to fix Nate with a piercing gaze.  “You will not hurt him again.”

What could Nate say to that?  ‘Don’t host any more spirits and it won’t be an issue?’  He swallowed and shook his head.  “I never meant -”

“Nathaniel.”  Justice’s voice was low.  Not quite a threat, but a promise.  “I have safeguarded him from much, and at great cost.  You will swear not to hurt him or you will leave now.”

He couldn’t bear to walk away.  Not with Anders so close.  “I swear.  I won’t be able to stay, but I won’t - it won’t be like last time.”

The light faded, and Nate was holding a mostly-mortal man again.  Anders blinked and squinted, then reached up to touch his face.  “Justice confirmed this isn’t the Fade.”  His voice had that same edge to it that it did when he’d asked the Commander why he hadn’t just handed him over to Rylock all those years ago.  Like he didn’t believe his good fortune, either that he deserved it or that it was happening at all.

“It’s not,” Nate said quietly, resisting the urge to pull him out of Fenris’ arms and into his own.  “I’m here.”

“We both are,” Fenris murmured.  

They didn’t all share a tent that night: Anders slept in Fenris’ arms, if his spooning sleep habits hadn’t changed, and Nate tossed and turned in a bedroll outside.  He was glad for it: Fenris may have suggested the whole thing, but Anders was obviously worried, and Nate didn’t want to sow any more chaos in his life that he already had.  And the tents they had were too small for three grown men, anyway.

Breakfast was a quick casual affair.  Anders made tea, Hawke passed out a few chunks of bread, and Isabela and Fenris put away the tents.  The air had a strange tension to it; nothing bad, but expectant.  Hawke eyed Nate suspiciously, and leaned down to whisper something in Anders’ ear.  He shook his head, and patted their shoulder.

Hawke didn’t look entirely satisfied, but shrugged, kissed his cheek, then grabbed their bag and headed out with Bela.  “Be good, boys!”

Fenris snorted softly as he pulled his pack over his shoulder and helped him up.  “Did you tell them?”

Anders leaned against him with a fond exasperated sigh.  “You know how Bela is - probably was peeking out the tent flap all last night.”

Their easy chatter made Nate’s heart hurt.  Who was he to get in the middle of that?  An ex-lover who’d functionally left him for dead.  I should go.  Now, before I hurt him again.  He’d promised Justice he wouldn’t, but what did that mean?  Certainly, he’d never intentionally do anything to him, but he’d never meant to hurt him before either.    

“Nate?”  Anders' voice was right next to him, and concerned.  Fenris was scattering the remainder of the fire, giving them some illusion of privacy, but Nate had no doubt he was listening.  Anders chewed at his lip.  “You don’t - I mean, if this all is just some kind of fucked up apology, I don’t want it.  There’s - you did the best you could.”

What could he say to that?  “Justice doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Justice is still irritated that Sigrun stole his dagger.”  He smiled shakily.  “How is she?”

Gone with Velanna, looking for her sister.  “I haven’t heard from her in a while.”  He took a deep breath and nodded toward Fenris.  “You love him?”  

He swallowed and looked away.  “We’ve been through . . . a lot together.”  

Too serious a question to get a serious answer.  Nate tried another tactic.  “You like him,” he teased softly, taking the same tone that Sigrun has always used to get him out of his head when he was compulsively reorganizing the infirmary.

It worked.  The looming storm clouds of worry scattered and suddenly Anders, the real Anders, the man he’d loved for years was back, standing next to him and elbowing him playfully.  “Who told?”

“So you’re not staring at him like you’re thinking about licking him like a frozen dessert?”  he asked dryly. 

“Who wouldn’t?”  Anders shrugged and grinned.  “And you’re staring too, so put up or shut up.”  

He had a point.  Several.  Fenris was extremely attractive, and moved with a leonine grace and control that Nate couldn’t help but admire.  And those marks, whatever they were, simply accentuated his beauty and made him almost otherworldly.  

In fact . . .

Nate raised his voice.  “Hey, Fenris, did you know that Anders finds tattoos on elves absolutely irresistible?”

Anders went white then pink as Fenris turned around.  “Does he now?”  His gaze swept up them both, And it wasn’t just Anders who shivered.  “He’s never mentioned it before.”

“D-didn’t want to give Merrill the wrong idea,” Anders stuttered, elbowing him in the gut and starting to babble in the delightfully flustered way Nate had always found so charming.  

“No, these are much better simple decorations.”  He cocked his head at Nate.  “What do you propose?”

“What do you have time for?”  He reached up to press a thumb against Anders’ lips.  

Anders sucked on it greedily as he pawed at Nate’s belt, then whined as Fenris was suddenly behind him, grabbing his wrists and tugging them behind his back.  “I have all the time in the world,” Fenris murmured, “But I’d like to hear your proposal first.  Indoors.  By a fire.  And with him already naked and begging.”  

[itiswormtimebaby]

Here’s what I’m thinking about: Bug’s self esteem and Bucky’s thoughts on her body

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Bug (+Brother’s best friend Bucky, plus sized fem reader)  CW: Struggles with physical self esteem (younger Bug), talks about comparing bodies and societal beauty standards, past fat phobia and bullying, language, references to sex, oral sex and fooling around, switches from 3rd person to 2nd person POV at the sex part. 

By the time we meet Bug as an adult we aren’t going to see a lot of physical self-esteem issues, in fact she carries herself with a lot of confidence. She wears whatever the fuck she wants, styles her hair and makeup however she wants, and carries the mindset of “I don’t owe it to anyone to be pretty or palatable.” This is because in her 20s she’s really started to unpack how much bullshit comes with a. existing as a woman in society and b. existing as a plus size woman in society. So if she doesn’t want to shave her legs she’s not going to, but you bet your ass she’ll still be in shorts if it’s hot, humans have body hair get the fuck over it. 

I’d say this turning point for her really came around the time that Bucky got arrested for kicking the shit out of her ex (as referenced here). It had been devastating at the time, and even though Bucky swore up and down he’d happily do it again consequences be damned, she realized someone she cared about who clearly cared way more about her than said shit head ex was being inconvenienced for something at the end of the day didn’t really matter all that much. Like who was her ex to even say that? And why would she care about some loser’s opinion? 

That was not the case when they were growing up, however. If we were to purely just focus on younger Bug we’d see a lot more insecurity born from her experiences with bullies and the fact that the token actresses chosen to play the “fat friend” in movies and TV were still significantly smaller than her. It also didn’t help that Bucky’s on again off again girlfriend throughout high school was tiny so she’d look at her as the gold standard for what Bucky must want and spend tearful nights comparing her thigh size to her, her waist size, etc. 

That, that attention to Bucky’s “type,” comes into play later on because as discussed , Bucky ends up sleeping around a lot. Which ends up revealing that Bug is in fact not the exception- we’re not going to see that trope of “would you date a plus size girl?” “Of course, it’s what’s inside that counts.” Bucky isn’t looking past Bug’s appearance to date her.  Because yes of course what’s inside matters but Bucky wasn’t sleeping around based on personality, and his choice of partners revealed that he has an appreciation for all different bodies. So does he find Bug beautiful on the inside? Absolutely. Does he also just find her incredibly fucking hot? Full send. And if he suddenly finds himself sleeping with more people that bare a resemblance to her leading up to him realizing his feelings surely that’s just a coincidence...

Speaking of sex; Bucky will dick you down six ways to Sunday and talk about how incredibly sexy your body is the entire time, how receptive it is, how welcoming. Bucky already found you desirable but that desire only increases in intensity the more he spends getting to know you and your body. He wants your plush thighs wrapped around his head, wants the full weight of you on him as you sit on his dick, wants to lick every single stretch mark, bite and mark the dimpled skin of your ass, press wet open mouthed kisses to the ample swell of your stomach, he wants to worship you. 

TLDR:

Bug is the type to say “If I’m too heavy to lift you better work out.”

and Bucky is the type to be in the gym because he needs to drag you down the bed, throw you across the room, fuck you up against the wall...

[briarberrythornedhart]

Aperture

A 1413 word Meet Cute from Eddie’s POV

His uncle had asked for one favor this weekend - just the one - to fix an awning on the trailer. It had fallen down during a bad storm over the summer and Eddie had sorta half-noticed but kept putting it off and putting it off and you know how it is...

He knew that awning and a ratty vinyl deck chair made Uncle Wayne’s favorite place to drink a beer and smoke and relax and see some actual goddam sunlight once and a while despite the vampire shift he worked.

He also knew Uncle Wayne shouldn’t be climbing up on any ladders and trying to fix things that Eddie could easily help with.

Anyway - it was Sunday afternoon and that meant he had to take care of it now or he would let his Uncle down and that would feel shitty.

The weekend was slipping away like weekends do.

Eddie got out the tool chest and he moved one of the sturdier chairs underneath the awning supports so he could look up and see where the problem lay. It wasn’t a complicated mechanism- a yard of dirty white vinyl attached by aluminum railing and held up on two sides by rusty poles. Ah! The grommet had torn out from one corner. This problem called for duct tape.

The air was heavy today with promised rain later - and the birds were quieter than usual. Everything was quieter than usual. The sound of Eddie tearing a strip of tape with his teeth carried far in the stillness of Forest hills park.

As Eddie stretched upwards to reattach the vinyl with his newly improvised duct tape fake grommet, he suddenly felt as though he was being watched. He scanned the trailer park from his chair-perch and saw the newest addition to the neighborhood staring (up) at him.

Eddie knew fuck-all about her except that she lived in a small silver airstream all by herself and had nice legs, usually shown off in some be-devilingly short sundress. Today it was cut-offs and just a tank top despite the crisp wind.

She was near his van. Her head cocked to the side and her thumb receiving a bite from between pretty lips.

He was used to being stared at at school but not here.

Eddie snapped out, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” before he could stop his mouth.

He was generally used to staring being a prelude to aggression. Detention, jock-posturing, someone calling the cops - anything along those lines.

“Sensible suggestion.” She agreed, nodding, “I’ll go get my camera, if you take off your shirt.” She pursed her lips in a little amused grin.

Eddie blinked in surprise. He was unusually at a loss for a clever retort.

She walked a few steps closer. “Film would be better - you in motion - you know? If only I had a super-8 hand-held or something...” She sighed this, and held up her hands - fingers forming a square so she was putting him in the frame.

Eddie got carefully down from the chair and shoved his hands down in his jean pockets, leaning towards her. “You want to film me? Does it look like I’m about to do something idiotic or slapstick?”

She walked around him, eying him up and down. “No - I’m just saying the camera would love you.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Eddie accused, he licked his upper lip and crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t you have anything better to do of a Sunday afternoon?”

“I’m not. I do not. But I bet it would be nice to... fuck....” Her eyes met his and her cheeks were redder than before, he saw her swallow, and she whispered. “... with you.”

She started to walk away.

“Wait.” Eddie jogged after her. “You can’t just... I mean you can, clearly - but why would you just say something like that and then walk off??”

She turned towards him but kept walking... backwards, “Maybe I am going to get my camera.” Then turned back towards her home.

Eddie stumbled in his stride, stopped to consider if she would come back- then followed her closer. “Hey... I didn’t say I would take my shirt off.”

“Won’t you?” She was wistful, she leaned towards him and brushed her shoulder against his.

“It’s kinda chilly today, I don’t know if you noticed?” Eddie looked pointedly at her clothes. Small, tight, summer weather clothes.

“Want something warm to drink? Warm you all up?” She asked, her tone all honeyed. They were almost at her door.

“Sure??”

She let him in and Eddie was immediately hit by a great smell. Apples and cinnamon. “Want cider or hot cocoa?” She asked.

“I’ll have what you’re having” Eddie was quick to say - because those are both delicious and he didn’t want to be greedy and say can I have some of both eventually(not together) - which was his initial thought.

The small cooktop had a pot on it, she lit the burner beneath it and the cinnamon smell intensified.

And Eddie looked around the interior of her home curious about everything. It was all fall leaf colors from the deep yellow shag carpet to the dark red curtains. He could see her bed - a nest of fluffy pillows and rumpled sheets and blankets. He considered taking a running jump into it to see what would happen.

She used a dipper to fill a big mug with the hot cider. “Do you want a splash of cinnamon whiskey in this?”

“Absolutely.” Eddie put her book back and took the mug, he sat on the long bench couch across from her kitchenette, He took an immediate swig and slightly burned his tongue. “Thank you. S’delicious.”

“Soooo... May I take your picture?” She asked and then sipped her own drink.

“I guess so? If you really want to? Weirdo.” He taunted.

She smiled over her mug. “Stand up.”

Eddie did so - getting into the center of the trailer. He watched her lift the couch seat - under was some storage space out of which she pulled a polaroid instamatic. She turned and aimed it up at him from a crouching position. She snapped a picture and then moved behind him, Eddie looked at her over his shoulder. “Are you done?”

“Are you?” She challenged.

Eddie started to take off his Hellfire Club shirt.

“Slower?” She asked. He could see her biting her smiling lips under the camera until she snapped another picture and placed the photo in the pile with the other one.

“You sure I don’t look...stupid?” Eddie asked - he was trying to take off his shirt slower but once it was up around his neck he just pulled it off and balled it up - wondering where to put it -feeling even more self-conscious. Eddies go to move for pictures is to pull a funny face. Including school picture day to his Uncle and the photographers combined chagrin. Eddie doesn’t do serious picture posing. Or whatever this is.

“You look hot.”

Eddie looked down. Shit - his underwear was showing. He tugged up on his jean waist to hide the pale blue cotton of underwear that needed a wash probably.

“I love your tattoos.”

Eddie looked down at his arms and made fists - flexed his forearms. Hear the camera click again. “Yeah? You don’t think they’re super scary or … trashy?”

“Nope.” She backed away from him towards her bed. “Throw your shirt at me. Overhand. Or curveball.” *snap* another picture of Eddie joined the others. And then another.

Eddie laughed “I have no idea how to throw a curveball for real. Like... is it sideways??” He chucked the shirt at her and she snapped another pic of him when the shirt landed at her feet. He picked one of the photos up and looked at his face. In the picture his brows were knit and his hands were on his shirt hem. “Did you want pictures of me looking very confused?”

“Am I confusing you terribly?” She asked. Pouting comically at him.

Eddie shrugged. He rubbed his arm over his bat tattoos. “I’m just wondering what you’re gonna do with all these pictures of me.”

“Oh - they’ll go in my bedside drawer.” She was sitting on her bed now - cross-legged. She beckoned to him.

Snap - and - snap - and another - snap. She documented Eddie approaching her. His nervousness was falling away. She was clearly into him. This was going somewhere.

He undid his belt - slowly. Half waiting for her to put the breaks on. But she didn’t.

She took more pictures and laid them beside her.

Eddie hesitated, touching the silver button of his jeans. “Is the camera gonna keep being... between us?”

She shook her head ‘no’, tossed her camera to the side, and tugged him by his belt loop into the bed.

[sparkles-and-trash]

That Adam and Eric plot from sex education where they have a miscommunication and both except to be the bottom is such a dabihawks thing my god I have to write it someday

[ozwriterchick]

Tag list: @cjand10 @angstysebfan @psychictazzy76 @lovely-geek @samanthaneedsanap @kentokaze @iheartsebastianstanstuff @yourmumsluke @void-imaginations

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

I want to smear strawberries all over his body and get them off with my mouth and teeth. Then get him off with whatever part of me he chooses.

[itiswormtimebaby]

Here’s what I’m thinking about; The biker boys and their…kick stands?

CW: Dick discussion below the cut, references to sex (m/f)

Biker!Ari is large. Not, “just force it in, I love the burn” large. “If you don’t stretch me out on at least four fingers it ain’t fucking happening” large. The head of his cock is best friends with your cervix because not only is the man girthy, he’s long too. Ari wants you to feel him as deep as possible every single time, and for days afterwards. At some point you’d think he’d ask himself why it’s so important to him that he stay on the mind of a woman he only claims as a fuck buddy but self reflection isn’t his strong suit.

Biker!Bucky is around six and a half inches long, making his the shortest of the boys. That said, he is incredibly girthy, offering a sinful and fulfilling stretch every time. He has one very prominent vein that runs from root to tip and no curve to speak of. Bucky takes immense pleasure in fucking you open on his fingers in preparation for him, but will also bottom out in one go if a rough fuck is what you need. Loves seeing your lipstick smeared around the base of his cock.

Biker!Steve is the least girthy but is rather long at around eight inches. He’s also got the nicest mushroom tip you’ve ever seen and it flushes such a pretty pink when he’s aroused. Curves to the left and the man knows his fucking (pun intended) angles, he wants to hit your g-spot at every thrust. Will lay his cock across your lower stomach to see just how far in he will reach. Deep throat him as you play with his balls and he’ll see stars (and stripes).

[llamamamarisen92]

All of His Fury and Rage

Setting: Defending the portal at Last Light Inn as Halsin retrieve's Thaniel.

Warning: violence, smut adjacent, angst, really intense fluff(?)

Basically Johim is at a bit of a breaking point.

Karlach x Named Dark Urge

Just a short little blip to stir the writing juices.

Creatures came at them from the shadows as Halsin retrieved Thaniel. All of Johim's rage. The despair. Struggling to puzzle out his identity. This retched urge. Everything inside him grew into a deadly frenzy as he flew across the battle ground. Roaring as he sliced through as many creatures as possible.

The others in their strategic places as he rushed head long with Minthara in tow. The beauty of their fury painted crimson across the ground. Tears sprang forth and all of his composure was lost. Letting all of his wild instincts finally rise to the surface. This wasn't their calm charismatic leader. Not the unhurried, salacious man who arrogantly approached his foes as one does to swat a fly.

They were watching a tiger unleashed after being starved for far to long. They had seen small moments of his temper, but nothing to this extent. The battle was over and he stood above a dead Githyanki warrior. Bringing his blade down over and over. Karlach walked over and placed her hand on his shoulder to steady him. He whirled around and nearly took her head off. But as he stared at her, eyes glazed with murderous rage she leaned in and cupped his face in her hands. Kissing him deeply. Providing him a path back to them. He dropped his sword and wrapped his arms around her. Drawing her roughly against his body, letting her feel all of his hot blooded hunger. He tripped her so that she was on the ground beneath him.

"The rest of you have three seconds to find somewhere else to be lest I take more heads tonight." Gravel lacing his rich velvety voice.

"You heard our mighty general." He didn't wait for their response. Driven by the full force of his passion as he kissed Karlach slinging her leg onto his shoulder.

The rest of them were long gone and he didn't hesitate as he claimed her over and over deep into the night.

Johim's demeanor changed. All he wanted to do was strip Ketheric of his flesh. The rest of the group kept a careful eye on him. There were no jokes. No casual comments. Just Johim staring intensely into the fire each night as he imagined all the ways he would have Ketheric crying out for mercy by the end of all this. Sanity holding on by a thread.

Side Note: I CAN'T wait to write out a snippet with the full fury of my angst as He and Karlach show up at Gortash's coronation. Because in my world they were lovers before Orin took him out.

[brattyspence]

revisiting this because fingers in mouth fics r apparently my obsession >>>>>>

fixation

in which you love spencer reid's hands so much you could... well, you could practically eat them. or at least let him put his fingers in your mouth.

18+ (fluff, suggestive) warnings/tags: finger sucking...lol....., established relationship, ummmm d/s adjacent dynamics, like softdom spencer but there's no sex, pet names, teasing a/n: this was inspired by @gublersg1rl who said 2 nights ago she would suck spencer's fingers as he was reading a book. my beautiful angel with so many great ideas in her beautiful head. anyway this will not be my magnum opus in terms of quality but its just a fun short little thing I hope u like :D

Spencer is reading. 

He got home forty five minutes ago, and he’d hugged you and he’d kissed you—and they were good hugs and kisses, but as you sit curled on the opposite end of the couch from him, watching him read, it doesn’t feel like enough. Three days isn’t the longest he’s been gone, but you missed him like he was gone longer. And now, he’s not truly ignoring you—but he’s not giving you enough attention. It’s unintentional, but it’s making you feel all kinds of needy and overly-affectionate anyway. 

Especially when he’s so gorgeous. Ankle crossed over knee, lithe fingers skimming over the page to keep track of his place. Those hands are truly distracting. It’s unlike you to be struck by such wildly inappropriate thoughts so out of context, but here you are, having been without him for days, practically feverish on the couch as you imagine all the things they could do. All the things they have done. The way they've traced down your bare spine, up your side, so lovingly in the middle of the night... how they've touched you elsewhere...

And... that's enough.

Despite the whole committed relationship thing, you still feel a bit scandalized picturing him like that. And you know from experience these thoughts will only get worse if you stay over here, staring at him, wanting him, so you crawl across the couch and under his arm, settling your head in his lap and looking up at him expectantly. He chuckles—a quiet, dry thing, that says he’s only partially surprised by your behavior. 

“Well hello,” Spencer says, taking one hand off the book to settle on your leg. 

“Hi.”

For a moment he just studies you, affection seeping into his eyes along with the humor already there. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm.”

His brow darts up. 

“With what, baby?”

Baby. Your whole body tingles. He only calls you that when he’s feeling especially soft toward you and your whims. In turn you soften, and you both become rather mushy. 

Unfortunately your brain is not excluded from melting, and you look up at him helplessly. 

“Um…”

Spencer’s hand falls from your knee, taking an unnecessary but appreciated route down your thigh and up your stomach before settling on your cheek. He brushes away a few baby hairs before two knuckles begin drawing soft lines from the corner of your mouth up toward your ear and back again, and your stomach becomes a hail of butterflies. He’s got this soft smile on his face and you love him so much and he’s so sweet and perfect, you could just—

You’re not thinking very clearly when you tilt your head, angling your chin up until you catch his fingers against your lips. His eyes remain on yours as he traces the shape of your mouth with those same two knuckles—until you’re slowly parting, obstructing his path and offering a very different kind of invitation. Spencer’s eyes narrow fractionally and you watch the way his focus changes, the way he only tests the waters at first, letting the tips of his fingers trace the length of your bottom lip, before barely tugging down just enough to feel the soft warmth of the border of it. They skate over the ridge of your teeth and find the tip of your tongue, at which point you can’t help from closing your lips around his fingers, eyes fluttering contentedly as you draw them deeper into your mouth. His brows draw together, and those pretty pink lips part soundlessly like you’re the eighth wonder of the world in a way that has your thighs clenching. You hear the book shut and fall carelessly to the side table. He doesn’t even bother saving his place—too busy bringing that newly freed hand to your hair and combing gently against your scalp. 

It’s strangely calming to have him like this—he’s undeniably with you, undeniably close, against your lips and tongue. All your worries about his distance dissolve and you feel incredibly comforted. With his other hand, his thumb begins stroking a line from the bridge of your nose up your forehead, and you could pass out. 

“Comfy?” He asks after a long moment, slowly withdrawing his fingers from the heat of your mouth. You pout. 

“I was.”

Spencer hums, eyes soft on you. “I don’t think I should be nurturing your oral fixation, angel.”

“You didn’t like it?” You challenge, turning your head inward to nose at his stomach. He  cups your cheek with damp fingers and pointedly turns your head outward again. If he wasn’t so blushy and flustered and cute you might’ve cared more about the feeling of your own spit on your skin. 

“Don’t make it about me.”

You allow a minute to pass in silence. 

Fine.

“I liked it,” you say shyly. 

Spencer’s response is deeply fond as he smiles down at you. “Did you?”

Like he couldn’t tell. 

“Mhm. You should let me do it all the time.”

His smile flickers wider the way it does when he’s about to tease you. 

“I don’t know if you deserve it. I don’t know if you can be good all the time.”

You make a face. “Shut up.”

“Is that what we say when we want something?” Before he can pull his hand away, you nip at his fingers. He laughs. “You’re off to a terrible start. I think you need to work on your manners. Not bite the hand that… goes in your mouth.”

“Is that the saying?”

“I’m pretty sure,” he nods sarcastically, helping you up until you’re sitting across his lap. He lovingly tucks hair behind your ear, eyes warm as they flit across your face up close. “You know, that was incredibly unhygienic. So much bacteria it boggles the mind.”

“Yeah? That kinda turns me on.”

Spencer leans in to kiss you sweetly, choosing your mouth over his worry about bacterial transmission. “You are so psychologically concerning,” he whispers against your lips. You sling your arms around his neck. 

“Because of the bacteria thing or the oral fixation thing?”

His hands settle on your hips. “Both, lovely. For so many reasons.”

It’s only another tease, but you pull back anyway so he can see the full force of your pout. “Don’t say that. It’s mean.”

“I was kidding! It was a joke. I was joking.”

“It was mean.”

“Okay,” Spencer begins, patient and happy to untangle this ridiculous snag if that’s what it takes to make you content again, “Freud’s psychosexual stages of development are contentious at best. I’m not worried about your oral fixation because I don’t really believe in such a thing. I was just teasing you, but I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“So you’ll let me do it again?”

Spencer pulls you back into another kiss. 

“You’re kind of insatiable, you know that?” 

When you don’t answer, only wait for him to respond, he sighs goodnaturedly. 

“You know you can have any part of me whenever you want it.”

You give him a winning smile and kiss his cheek in reward. 

“You’re so nice, Spence.”

“I thought I was mean.” 

“Now you’re nice.”

“Because you got what you wanted?” You nod enthusiastically. He seems not quite as thrilled, though perhaps distantly amused by his own helplessness when it comes to you. “Yeah, I feel like that happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

But it clearly doesn’t bother him that much. He’s still smiling when you kiss him again.