#so i intend to mess with him lmao
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kagiura-akira ¡ 4 months ago
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well okay ofc I have to go ask abt debugging shirahama. one time when I was trying to 100% the mysme routes I was like “oh let me set up 707’s entry route so I can start at his branch and get the bad endings” and then I romanced him so hard in the initial days that it was literally impossible for me to get one of the bad ends
Lmaoo YES because I would LOVE TO TALK ABOUT DEBUGGING SHIRAHAMA. Also worth noting I COMPLETELY skipped through the suggested playthrough order the first time I played mysme and went straight for 707's happy ending 😂 last I was working on was Jaehee and I had just gotten her first bad ending (you skip off to be in love with Zen instead lmao) and that was 3 years ago SO I'm a little Rusty™ at the game descriptions, hence the need for refresher courses.
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The first thing he noticed was that the game wasted absolutely no time in throwing him right into his objective: collecting those colored little hearts and hourglasses—though he couldn't say he fully understood what the latter was for. When he'd asked the first time he incidentally got one, the system was silent.
“System, do you have a tutorial mode?”
...
“You could at least acknowledge me,” he grumbled. He tried for at least a good 10 minutes to get the thing to answer him until it dawned on him.
“The system will now respond to ‘Jesus.’"
It really wasn't kidding, was it? Suddenly he felt a strong urge to bash his face into the apartment's granite kitchen counters.
“J... Jesus,” he muttered reluctantly.
“Assistant menu open. Please choose from the following options:
1. Open story summary
2. Check hearts/hour glass balance
3. Open CG progress menu
4. Set character profile”
“Uh, ‘open story summary’ I guess.”
The story certainly was an odd premise, albeit novel for its time. The disembodied voice explained the death of the owner of the apartment and the gist of the whole “RFA” chat, with brief descriptions of its characters. It was kind enough to offer a suggested playthrough order, but he wasn't in a state of mind to start with the male love interests, so Jaehee it was. After fumbling around with the user settings to update his name (Kyouko, for the sake of making it less jarring) and picking a preset profile picture, it was well into the afternoon when he finally opened the app. The group was active—he must have counted at least ten existing chats from earlier in the day.
Shirahama had always been cool and casual when it came to DMs or texts. Despite his otaku nature, he wasn't as “chronically online” as some of his classmates, especially Miyano or Tashiro. His plan was to introduce himself to the chat slowly for a few days—get to know them better and such so his sudden presence didn't seem like he was looming over their chat too much. They were always chatting every few hours, so it would be weird if he was suddenly online all day every day. It was already weird enough that he was using a dead person's phone. His non-pressuring strategy usually worked well enough to win over most NPCs, so he kept his strategy to play it cool, and it got him moderately positive responses. Everything was working just fine.
That is, until Day 5.
After four full days of carefully inserting himself into this group of friends, with seven more to go until the end of the route, Shirahama found himself unexpectedly in the worst case scenario.
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hezuart ¡ 1 year ago
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Sorry to disturb you but
I still find hilarious that your LN au got an person so butthurt that they're still ranting about it even till this day
The audacity of you to not include THEIR favorite characters on YOUR OWN AU, completely unforgivable.
Jokes aside, take care and keep up your awesome works!
YEAH,,,,,,, yeah,,,,,,,, I'm - it's a big wow for sur,e ...
Something that bugs me is that, they were complaining that the fandom, outside of drawing Mono and Six, only ever draws Mono and Seven and like.... WHERE!!!SHOW ME!!! that's the entire point I made the comic! There was no art of Seven and Mono!!! They're characters who never meet, so no one ever really drew them together back then, at least, not so thoroughly to explore a dynamic with them. Granted Five / Raincoat girl isn't given the same treatment, but that's because she's from the inferior mobile game! And you couldn't get a read on her personality because there was a lack of cutscenes for her!
They're complaining about a fandom making content that isn't catered towards them, and that's just ridiculous!
Anyway, thank you!!! Almost done lining the backgrounds for the next part of the AU.
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beatcroc ¡ 2 years ago
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comic planning/roughs on the clock at work 👍 ok. this one's still a few posts out though
#god i really do just need to get a tablet or. something#some way to draw digitally on the go bc my laptop is um#at least 200% less portable than your typical old clunky laptop. its a whole ordeal#and as u can see tradish scribbles are barely usable#though i guess it would help if i ever remembered to grab something besides a shite pen at work lmao <-hates pen forever#mad bc i think this one is kind of mid+redundant for what i'd intended it to do bc of how some of the previous ones shifted#but i still gotta draw it bc one of the later ones uses it. buh#when i said these werent chronological or connected btw i lied#though only VERY VERY LOOSELY so. enough to bother *me* if i don't do them in order#but not enough that's really going to be noticeable to anyone else. they're each still intended 99% as standalone.#the arc is very minor but its there. for me. for anyone else it probably just amounts to a couple easter egg references/ consistencies#by the by the pizzaposts before this arent part of the series.#one small quickie thing and one i would...really like to get done sooner rather than later bc i need it out of my system#former's like 70% sketched im just waffling on execution#latter is uh...theres a lot there but it's harder to work on And harder tell how close to done it is.#unrelated its funny how i Always forget brick until i start putting anything down and then its like oh god yeah i can do bg Jokes with him#funny in the sense that one of my webcomic protag oc's is a...spatially similar deal as him [little kid with a big bear companion]#and i ALWAYS forget the bear when im scripting it. until i start messing with the layout and its like fuck theres a bear.#i have to do things with this now. fortunately thus far it hasn't been too hard to adapt#much rambling tonight goodbye. i haev to go block all these damn bots
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the-kipsabian ¡ 1 year ago
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favorite relatable sad man time
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tinystarbites ¡ 7 months ago
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accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader
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Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes
Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired
(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)
HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333
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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 ;)
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daryltwdixon ¡ 2 months ago
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 6.5
Summary: Tensions rise as the three of you try to find clarity in the aftermath of lines crossed and feelings laid bare. In the weeks that follow, you begin to wonder if something this messy could still become something that lasts.
|| smut MDNI 18+, some mentions of pregnancy, angst and feelings, some fluff, dirty talk, pinv, blowjobs, love triangle (?), no outbreak, jealousy, possessiveness, power play, joel talks you thru it of course, fair warning this isn’t exactly healthy, bad communication, don’t do this ok EDIT TO ADD: threesome, some dubious consent at first then reader fully consents. Tommy is an asshole || notes: eeeehhehe okay I love this one. its a long boy! I listened to you and didn’t delete any of it lmao I love this dynamic so much and it makes me so happy to know everyone is as filthy as I am // pic of Joel & Tommy is mine //
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“So, when you saw them, what went through your head, Tommy?” Dr. Servopoulos asked. The office was neat, almost unnervingly so. The walls were bare except for a few framed photos—serene lakes, white sailboats drifting across still water. A false sense of calm in a space built for unraveling things that weren’t calm at all. The air smelled faintly of old books and lavender, a weak attempt to soften the weight of conversations like this.
It had taken a lot to convince either of the men beside you to come today.
Bringing anyone into this mess was hard enough, but laying it bare for someone outside the three of you, having someone watch, analyze, pick apart what happened behind closed doors felt like something private was being dissected under a microscope.
Joel hated this. You knew he hated this. He was a man who carried his feelings in silence, whose apologies lived in things left unsaid. He didn't do this—didn’t sit in stiff chairs like this, in stuffy offices like this, didn't put words to things that made his throat tight. Yet, he still agreed to be here.
And Tommy—you knew this was hard for him too. Not just because of what had happened, but because sitting here, having someone else pick at the wounds, meant acknowledging that things weren’t okay. That they couldn’t just fix it themselves. That you had invited someone in to see the cracks that had formed over the past few months.
It made the walls feel closer, the chairs feel stiffer, the quiet feel too loud.
You watched Tommy as he sighed beside you, his fingers rubbing at his brow. His eyes flickered to the doctor before dropping to the floor. “I don’t even remember,” he muttered. “S’like I’ve blocked it all out.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I do remember the right hook I gave ‘im when Joel was tryna say somethin’ to me.” His voice darkened. “Ya know. When they were finally dressed.”
The last word dripped with bitterness.
You flinched. Your fingers curled together in your lap, knuckles pressing tight.
Joel shifted beside you, the slight movement drawing your attention. He sat stiff in his chair, his thumb rubbing absently at the bruised, purple swell on his cheek—the evidence of Tommy’s fury. He hadn’t said a single word since the session started.
You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to meet the doctor’s gaze. “Dr. Servopoulos—”
“Tess,” she offered smoothly.
“Tess,” you amended. “We never meant… this was never supposed to get this far. I just want him to know I never—” You turned to look Tommy in the eyes. “I never intended for this to happen.”
Tommy let out a rough scoff, shaking his head. His arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah, well, neither did I.”
A quiet beat.
Tess glanced at Joel then, waiting.
Joel felt the weight of her stare and finally looked up. His dark eyes met hers, unreadable.
Tess raised a brow. “Anything to add?”
His jaw ticked. “What d’you want me to say?”
“You tell me, Mr. Miller.” Tess mused, tapping her pen against her notepad. “What about how you ended up sleeping with your brother’s wife?”
Joel exhaled slowly through his nose. His knuckles flexed. “Didn’t start out that way.”
Tess hummed. “Right.” She flipped to a page of her notes. “So let’s lay this out. You—” she nodded at you, “wanted a baby. You—” she pointed at Tommy, “were willing to ask your own brother to be a sperm donor, which then turned into you—” she turned to Joel, “what, just doing your brother a favor? By sleeping with his wife?”
Joel’s fingers drummed against his knee. “I did say no at first. But yeah, somethin’ like that.”
Tommy mumbled under his breath, “Yeah. A real big favor.”
You swallowed.
Tess scribbled something down. “Okay,” she said, flipping her pen between her fingers. “So when you three agreed to try for a baby in this… hands-on way, you never foresaw the possibility of… complications?”
You shook your head, stomach twisting.
“Not once?”
“I didn’t think about it,” you admitted, voice small. “I thought we were just—we were focused on the baby.”
Tommy snorted, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah? Well, neither of you seemed focused on it when you were sneakin’ around.”
You flinched again.
Joel finally looked up at him, his expression dark. “We weren’t sneakin’.”
“Sure as hell felt like it,” Tommy shot back.
Tess sighed, leaning forward, her gaze flicking between the three of you. “Alright, let’s just call it what it is: things got complicated. Lines that were there for a reason got crossed. And the problem wasn’t you trying for a baby—it was everything that happened outside of that agreement.”
She gestured between you and Joel. “You broke the boundaries you set. Maybe you ignored it, maybe you thought you could handle it, but now you’re here. And not because the plan failed, but because you broke your own rules. You had sex outside of what you all agreed to.”
A brief pause. Her eyes scanned each of you, as if silently asking any of you to deny it, before she tilted her head.
“So let’s cut to it. Why are you here? What do each of you actually want?”
Tommy exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know, okay?” His voice cracked slightly. “I just—I ain’t ready to throw away my marriage, but I also ain’t stupid enough to pretend like nothin’ happened.”
Tess nodded, absorbing his words before turning to you. “And you?”
Your throat felt tight. “I—” Your hands fisted in your lap. “I don’t want to lose either of them.”
Tommy’s head snapped toward you.
Joel’s fingers twitched.
You swallowed, your voice steadier now. “My marriage with Tommy is important to me. He is important to me.” You turned toward your husband, eyes pleading. “But things are complicated. Because Joel is important too.” You hesitated, shifting your gaze to Joel’s hands, his knuckles tight and white where they pressed together. “I don’t want to just cut him out of this just because of one mistake.”
Tommy’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t interrupt. His fingers drummed against his knee, his gaze flickering between you and Joel like he was waiting for something.
Tess sat forward slightly, pen poised. “And Joel?”
Joel dragged a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose. “I don’t wanna make things worse than they already are,” he muttered, voice low, unreadable.
Tess hummed, unimpressed. “That’s not really an answer.”
His fingers tapped against his knee. “Ain’t got another one.”
You turned toward him, heart pounding. “Joel.”
His jaw flexed, his eyes staying downcast away from you.
You didn’t push right away, letting the silence stretch between you before trying again, voice softer this time. “What do you want?”
His throat worked, but he didn’t speak.
Tess glanced between you both. “It doesn’t have to be a speech, Joel. Just say what’s in your head.”
Joel breathed in a slow, heavy breath, rubbing the heel of his hand over his mouth. His fingers dragged across the stubble on his jaw. When he finally looked up, his eyes locked onto his brother. “I know what we agreed to,” he said, voice steady but low. “I know this was supposed to be your kid, that I was just…” He trailed off for a second, shaking his head, like the word didn’t sit right with him. “That I was just helpin’.”
The room felt very still. 
Joel shifted, his knuckles flexing against his knee. “But shit changed, Tommy.” His voice roughened. “I can’t just—" He exhaled sharply, shoulders tensing. “I won’t just step back like this don’t mean nothin’ to me.”
The weight of it settled between all of you. Tommy’s knee bounced, his hands gripping his own upper arms where they were crossed. His mouth pressed into a hard line, but he didn’t speak, didn’t argue.
Joel swallowed, gaze flicking downward for a second before lifting again. “I ain’t askin’ for—” He hesitated, his jaw flexing like the words were hard to force out. “I don’t even know what I’m askin’ for.” His eyes flickered to Tommy’s. “But I do know I ain’t gonna be left out to dry.”
“No one said you would be,” you tried to soothe, your hand reaching to rest on his forearm, shaking your head. His skin was rough, warm, solid beneath your touch.
Your eyes traced the worn lines of his face, the quiet tension in his jaw as he looked at his brother. He was handsome in a way that felt etched into him, shaped by time and hardship, by everything he’d carried.
And you knew—better than anyone—how much Tommy meant to him. That neither of them trusted anyone as much as they trusted each other. That this needed to be amended before anything else could carry on between the two of you. You took your hand away from his arm.
Tess let out a slow breath. “Okay,” she murmured, nodding slightly. “Thank you, Joel. I think everyone needed to hear that.”
Joel’s fingers flexed again, and this time, his gaze flicked toward you, studying you for the first time since you arrived. There was something there—a charge, a quiet pull that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had, and you were only noticing it now, now that everything had changed.
You let the silence stretch as you kept your eyes on his, trying to read between everything he wasn’t saying. That he wanted to be part of this, that he wasn’t going to give this up easily.
Then Tommy sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Alright,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Then we gotta figure out what the hell we’re actually doin’ here.”
Tess tapped her pen against her notepad. “Right. So let’s talk about our options.”
“Options?” Tommy echoed, his voice edged with skepticism.
Tess nodded, uncrossing her legs only to recross them the other way. She leaned forward slightly. “The way I see it, there are ways to make this work—even if none of them are simple.” She flipped to a fresh page in her notebook. “But make no mistake: it’s going to take work.”
Her pen tapped lightly against the paper as she continued. “Let’s start with the obvious: you can walk away from this entirely, go your separate ways—but none of you seem too eager to do that. Or, you and Tommy could stay together, work on the marriage, and Joel can remain in the background. Be some kind of father figure to this child and nothing more.”
She lifted a brow and looked directly at him. “But I’m not sure, with how far this has gotten, that that’s actually what you want.”
Joel didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked, tension shifting through his shoulders as his eyes dropped to the floor.
Then, quiet but certain, Joel said, “It’s not.”
Your chest tightened. The urge to reach for him surged again, stronger this time, but you didn’t move. You let him sit in the silence he’d chosen, even as it said more than anything else could.
Tess gave a small nod, like she’d expected that answer.
Joel didn’t elaborate. Didn’t look up. But the shift in the room was immediate. Whatever this had started as—it wasn’t just about the baby anymore.
Tess paused, giving the moment space before she spoke again.
“So the third option…How do we feel about the possibility of an open relationship?”
The silence that followed was thick, charged.
Tommy looked at you. You looked at him. Then at Joel. Joel stared at the floor, his jaw tight, expression unreadable.
Tess leaned her elbows on her knees, voice calm but direct. “I’ll be honest—I rarely see that work in situations like this. But it’s an option. If you’re willing to set clear, honest boundaries—and actually respect them.”
Tommy let out a breathy, humorless laugh, running a hand down his face again. “Boundaries. We’d need real ones this time. Ones that actually get followed.” His voice was edged, not cruel, but firm. “Not just shit we say and then ignore the second someone gets all… worked up.”
You tried not to let the flush creep onto your face as you kept your eyes on Tess as she went on.
“Now, let’s talk about Sarah.”
Joel immediately stiffened, his eyes shooting up to look at the doctor. Tommy did too.
“She doesn’t need to know about any of this,” Joel said, voice sharp.
“Not right now,” Tommy agreed. He turned to his brother, “But eventually, she’s gonna ask questions. And if we’re talkin’ about raising a baby together too, we can’t just not think about how this looks to her.”
Tess nodded, writing something down. “And if you don’t figure out what you actually are to each other, she’s gonna pick up on that long before you’re ready to have the conversation.” She flicked her gaze between all of you. “Kids are perceptive. The more unsure you are, the more confusing it’s gonna be for her.”
“When the time comes,” Joel said, measured, “I’ll tell her.” He glanced at Tommy, then at you. “Not before. Not unless she starts askin’.”
Tess watched him closely. “And if she does?”
Joel exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Then I’ll explain it to her. In a way that makes sense.” His eyes flickered between you and Tommy again. “She don’t need to know more than what’s right for her age.”
You let out a slow breath, nodding. “Alright.”
Tess closed her notebook. “Alright. It’s a start. But you’ve got work to do. This isn’t just about a baby anymore.” She looked directly at Tommy. “It’s about your marriage. About your relationships with each other.” Then her gaze flicked between you and Joel. “And whether or not you two can actually handle boundaries, or if this is just a slow crawl toward something blowing up in your faces.”
You swallowed. Joel’s hands clenched.
Tommy just sighed. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess we’ll find out.”
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The walk into the parking lot was a quiet one, with the buzzing of unsettled energy between the three of you. Once outside the door, you all seemed to turn to each other, waiting for someone to speak.
“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice soft. “Both of you. For coming to this. I know it was…” You couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Weird,” Joel offered, with a dry edge.
“Necessary,” Tommy muttered, crossing his arms.
You nodded, arms folding across your chest. “So…” you trailed off, unsure what came next. None of you were.
Tommy gave a short sigh and looked off toward the lot. “I’ll go grab the truck.” He didn’t wait for a response—just turned and walked, shoulders tight, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.
You and Joel stood in the stillness he left behind.
He glanced at you, then away, rocking slightly on his heels. “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to say right now.”
You huffed a quiet breath. “Yeah. Me neither.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, like something was caught just behind his teeth—but he didn’t speak.
And you didn’t reach for him, even though you wanted to. Even though your hand twitched like it might. To squeeze his, to graze his wrist, to pull him close and maybe even kiss him goodbye. But it was still too weird. Too soon.
So instead, when Tommy pulled up and the tires crunched on the pavement, you stepped forward and let your fingers brush lightly over Joel’s shoulder. Just for a second. Just enough to say something without having to speak.
The window on Tommy’s side rolled down, elbow braced on the edge. He was watching his brother with a resigned look in his eyes.
Joel met his eyes. They exchanged a short, silent nod. Nothing more.
You climbed into the passenger seat, heart thrumming. Joel stayed standing where you left him, hands in his pockets, watching as the truck pulled away.
And even though nothing had been said… it felt like something had shifted. Just enough to make it through the rest of the day.
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For mid-October, the sun sure was baking you in the bleachers. But it was the good kind of heat—cozy, not oppressive. The air smelled like dust and hay and horses. Behind you, the fair buzzed with life—kids screaming on the roller coasters, bells ringing as prizes were won, music from the concert stage floating over the field like static.
The Austin Fall Festival was in full swing.
Tommy sat beside you on the sun-warmed metal bench, one hand deep in a bag of kettle corn, the other resting easy on your knee. Down in the arena below your seats, another bull rider went airborne, thrown like a ragdoll into the dirt. The crowd let out a collective wince.
“Damn,” Tommy said, watching the guy scramble to his feet. “That’s gonna bruise.”
You snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Bruise? That man’s spine just folded in half.”
Tommy grinned, leaning in. “Bet I could do better.”
You raised a brow. “You can’t even get outta bed without your back crackin’ like fireworks.”
He laughed, mouth full of popcorn, then pressed a quick kiss to your lips—warm and familiar. “True. But I’d still look good tryin’.”
You smiled as you sipped your soda. The air smelled like caramel and something fried—probably the funnel cake stand you passed earlier. You sat close enough to the arena that you could hear the thud of hooves, the pop of the announcer’s mic, the wave of cheers and groans rolling through the stands behind you. It felt electric.
Sarah was up soon. Her first barrel race. She’d been buzzing about it for weeks.
You leaned into Tommy’s side, and he brought his arm up to wrap around your shoulders, giving you an affectionate squeeze.
This was good. A sense of normalcy again.
Then, a familiar face caught your eye making his way up the bleachers. Joel had a bag of cotton candy in one hand and was weaving through the crowd with ease up the stairs. He reached your row and slid in beside you, a small smile already on his face.
“Just left Sarah with her trainer,” he said, a little out of breath. “She’s up in the next few.”
Then he leaned in to greet you, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek meant to be just a casual familial ‘hello’. But still, his stubble scraped your skin just enough to leave a spark, and he smelled like horses and leather and that subtle cologne he always wore. It hit somewhere low in your stomach, but you didn’t let it show. 
He greeted Tommy with a nod, and popped a puff of cotton candy into his mouth.
You made a face. “Ugh. How can you eat that stuff?”
Joel grinned around the sugar, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s what makes me so sweet.”
You laughed, shaking your head and taking another sip of your soda. Tommy reached down for more popcorn, his arm brushing against your back as he dropped his hand from your shoulder, and Joel leaned forward to watch the next event being announced.
You sat between them, shoulders brushing, the sun warming your back, the crowd rising around you.
For a moment, it almost felt like things could settle. Like the three of you could fit into this new normal—comfortable, easy, like it was supposed to be this way all along. At least you hoped. 
The announcer’s voice crackled through the speakers, calling out Sarah’s name, and your heart gave a little skip.
“There she is,” Joel said, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees.
You leaned, too, eyes scanning the gate. Sure enough, Sarah was there behind the posts on her horse, nerves painted all over her posture even though she tried to play it cool. Even from here, you could just make out the furrow in her brow—the same quiet, determined look she got from her dad.
“She’s gonna kill it,” Tommy said beside you, resting his hand high on your thigh. He gave it a gentle squeeze, leaning into you as he said, “Ain’t no way she don’t win.”
You smiled, but it felt slightly delayed. Joel’s knee pressed against yours as he leaned close on your other side, eyes still locked on the arena.
“Hope she don’t cut that second barrel too close,” he muttered, mostly to himself, his voice low and rough. “She keeps doin’ that in practice. Gets excited and leans too early.”
“She’ll be fine,” you said, but you could hear the tension in your own voice. Joel’s hand had come to rest behind you on the bench, close to your lower back. Tommy’s fingers were still on your leg.
Sarah burst out of the gate, and the crowd roared. The three of you shot to your feet as her horse charged forward, hooves kicking up dust. She moved fast—tight, clean—rounding the first barrel like she’d done it a hundred times.
Joel was grinning ear to ear. “That’s my girl!”
His arm slid around your back, his other hand curled into a loose fist, pressed just beneath his mouth as if to contain the rush of emotion building in him. The hand at your back caught in the fabric of your blouse, fingers curling there, like he was tethering himself. Like he was bracing.
You tried to focus on Sarah, but all you could feel was the heat of his fingers, the way he clung to you, like your body was hyper aware of him.
You smiled, cheering, barely breathing, eyes fixed on her horse thundering toward the second turn. She hugged the barrel tight—too tight. A little wobble, a gasp from the crowd, but she corrected at the last second.
“She’s got it,” Tommy said beside you. His hand came to rest against the small of your back—right below where Joel’s hand was already bunched in your shirt. The two touches nearly met.
Neither of them moved.
Sarah charged toward the third barrel. Clean. Her final sprint down the home stretch brought the stands to their feet.
The three of you clapped, cheered, whooped, your heart racing, the electricity between the two men fizzing silently beside you. Tommy’s hand splayed wide across your backside. Joel barely moved, watching the timer screen flash across the display.
“That’s a good run,” he said, low and proud. His fingers loosened from your shirt, but he didn’t move his hand away.
“She’s gonna place,” Tommy agreed.
“She might win it,” you added, turning your head to look at them.
Both of them were already looking at you.
You smiled, flushed from the excitement—but something in the way they each looked at you made your skin feel hot for an entirely different reason.
Neither of them said anything, and for a second, the moment just… hung there. Their hands on you. The roar of the crowd fading into something muted.
Then the announcer called the next name, and the energy around you snapped back into motion.
Joel pulled his arm back to grab the cotton candy. Tommy slid his hand away like nothing had happened.
But your body remembered. And so did theirs.
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After catching up with Sarah after her event, she was still buzzing with adrenaline. Practically bouncing.
“Did you see how fast he took that last curve?!” she gasped, practically skipping between you and Joel. “I was freaking out when the second barrel started to tip—did you see that?! Were you guys watching?!”
Joel was all pride and smiles as he walked beside her, teasing and nodding along, soaking in every word. She rambled on about her trainer’s horses, how they’d competed at Rodeo Austin for real, how she couldn’t wait to do it again. Eventually, she managed to talk the three of you into a round at the BB gun booth.
All four of you took a stance—Sarah coached dramatically, and you, predictably, failed miserably your first try. Joel and Tommy moved to the next round, and you watched from the side with Sarah, both of you hollering in support.
“Hit it! Hit it!” Sarah screeched at her dad. You let out a whoop as Tommy nailed the bullseye again and again.
When the game runner handed him a giant teddy bear, Tommy swung it into your arms with a triumphant grin before kissing you full on the mouth, unbothered by the crowd.
You laughed against his lips, hugging the bear tight, bouncing a little despite yourself.
“Uncle Tommy!” Sarah groaned, tugging at his arm until he pulled back from the kiss, grinning at her wide-eyed look. “Win me one too! Please?”
Tommy’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Joel, clearly amused that he was the one winning today. Joel rolled his eyes, but you caught the tightness in his jaw, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long as he glanced at your oversized teddy hitched on your hip.
“Go on, then,” Joel said, nodding toward the booth. “I’m gonna grab another beer.”
“I’ll join you,” you added quickly, glancing toward Tommy. But Sarah was already dragging him away, his hands back on the BB gun, ready for round two.
You and Joel peeled off quietly, heading toward the food and drink stands.
“Sarah was beggin’ for a funnel cake earlier,” Joel said, hands in his pockets. “Okay if we stop by one of the stands?”
“Yeah, ’course,” you murmured, falling into step beside him.
The walk was quiet—not awkward, exactly, but the air between you had thickened. Every step felt like it carried the weight of something unsaid.
You hadn’t talked much since the therapy session. Not really. Not about anything that mattered. The three of you had agreed to give it space—to breathe, to not immediately push into definitions or rules or boundaries.
But space didn’t feel like clarity. It felt like walking on eggshells. Like waiting for someone else to speak first, only no one ever did.
You weren’t sure what this was supposed to look like now. The idea of exploring an open relationship had been thrown out into the room like a life raft, but no one had said if they were actually ready to grab onto it. Not Joel. Not Tommy. Not even you.
You made it all the way to the counter before either of you spoke again.
“Make that two funnel cakes, please,” you said, just as Joel ordered Sarah’s.
He raised an eyebrow.
“What?” you laughed, lifting a shoulder. “Can’t help the cravings.” You reached for your wallet. “I’ll get Sarah’s too.”
Joel stopped you, his hand catching your wrist as you moved to your back pocket.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered, already pulling out cash.
Then, quieter—low enough that the vendor wouldn’t hear, but just loud enough for you—he added, “Guess that sweet tooth runs in the genes.”
Your heart stumbled a beat. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t smirk, didn’t wink, but you could swear there was a twinkle in his eye when he turned back to you as you both stepped aside to wait for your order.
And just like that, the silence settled back in—only now it wasn’t neutral. It was charged.
When the funnel cakes came, you didn’t hesitate—tearing off a bite, still warm and soft, powdered sugar sticking to your lips.
You sighed in delight. “Oh my God.”
Joel was watching you when you looked up. That slight smirk on his face.
“What?” you asked, mouth full.
“You got a little somethin’,” he said, gesturing vaguely near his own mouth.
You licked your lips automatically, tongue sweeping the corner.
“Nope,” he murmured, chuckling. “Still there.”
Before you could try again, his hand reached out. Fingers warm and rough as they curled under your chin. His thumb dragged gently across your upper lip, brushing away the sugar with a slow swipe.
You froze—your breath caught somewhere in your throat as your eyes searched his face. The lights from the festival sparkled in his eyes, and behind him the sky had deepened into a wash of orange and violet.
Then his gaze dropped to your mouth, and he moved.
His lips brushed yours—soft, hesitant—like he wasn’t sure if this counted as crossing a line, or if the line had disappeared altogether. But he didn’t pull back right away. Instead, he paused there, the warmth of his breath ghosting against your mouth, and for a second neither of you moved. 
You stood still in that sliver of space where touch becomes choice, where you could pretend it hadn’t happened yet. But then his mouth pressed into yours fully, slowly, like he was tasting something he already knew. It wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t rushed. It was deliberate, drawn out and gentle. 
His hand stayed at your chin, his thumb pinching just barely as if to steady you, and your lips parted instinctively beneath his. You felt the sigh in his chest more than you heard it, like something deep inside him had let go the second your mouths met. 
Your hands stayed at your sides, fist clenched around the paper tray still holding your funnel cake, the other hugging the teddy bear to your side, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. It wasn’t a kiss born from adrenaline or jealousy—it wasn’t the kind of kiss that begged for permission. It simply was. 
When he pulled back, it wasn’t abrupt. It was slow, like he didn’t really want to stop, but knew he had to. His lips hovered a moment longer—just close enough that you could still feel the heat of him—and then he stepped back half a breath. You didn’t dare move. Couldn’t. You stood there staring at him, your lungs burning like you’d been holding your breath the entire time. Joel’s eyes dropped to your mouth again, and then, with a subtle flick of his tongue, he licked the last trace of powdered sugar from his bottom lip. The gesture was unthinking, automatic, but the sheer sight of it landed somewhere low and electric in your stomach, like a match being struck.
And then the world came rushing back in.
The noise of the fairgrounds—the buzz of voices, the bark of game operators, the soft whir of rides—returned all at once, like someone had turned the volume back up. You swallowed hard and looked away, trying to force air into your lungs, trying to stop the trembling in your fingers. Joel didn’t say anything. He just nodded once, almost to himself, and turned to start walking back toward the game booth. You followed beside him, the heat still high in your cheeks, your steps too careful, like if you moved too fast you might lose your balance.
You glanced up at him once, just to see if he was as composed as he acted, but the faint pink flush at the tips of his ears gave him away.
“Dad!”
Sarah’s voice snapped your head up. She was running toward you, a giant stuffed horse clutched in her arms, nearly half her size. She was beaming. “Can I go find Claire and Maddie again? They’re headed to the ferris wheel!”
Joel handed her the funnel cake without hesitation, “Yeah, go on, just stay where we can see you.”
“Thanks!” she chirped, already spinning away with her prize in tow, the funnel cake tipping dangerously as she ran off.
But your eyes weren’t on her.
They were on Tommy, just catching up to you—beer in one hand, the other stuffed in his front pocket, a smile on his face as he watched her go. When his eyes found yours, they flicked to Joel beside you, and something in his expression changed. Not angry, not suspicious… but aware. Like he was conscious of some shift between the two of you.
You tried to will the pink from your cheeks, steady the pulse in your throat as you stepped toward him and offered your funnel cake like nothing had happened.
“That kid had me goin’ three more rounds to get her that prize,” Tommy chuckled, clearly trying to break whatever tension had settled back between the three of you as he tore off a piece and popped it in his mouth.
Joel let out a quiet laugh, eyes following in the direction Sarah had run off. “Better go catch up with her before I lose ’er.”
Tommy nodded, then glanced at you. “Think we’ll call it a night after this. She’ll be wired for another hour and then crash hard.”
You smiled, grateful for the exit.
As Joel nodded and began to step away, Tommy called after him casually, “Hey—when you drop her off, mind swingin’ by the house? Think I left that box of tools in your truck bed last week.”
Joel glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah. Sure.” his eyes landed on you for the briefest moment, “See ya in a bit then,”
Tommy gave him a two-finger wave, then turned his attention back to you, the last bite of funnel cake pinched between his fingers, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you walked out of the fair.
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The drive home wasn’t long, but it felt like it stretched forever.
Tommy’s hand had been on your thigh from the moment he slid into the driver’s seat—steady at first, but now, it was creeping higher with every turn he made. His fingers flexed just at the top of your leg, the pad of his thumb brushing over your jeans in slow, distracting strokes.
“Tommy,” you said, a quiet breath more than a word.
“Yeah?” His voice was low, too casual for the way his fingers were moving now.
“You’re bein’ handsy.”
He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, smirking. “Yeah, well. You’re lettin’ me.”
This wasn’t like him.
Yes, Tommy was affectionate—always had been. Touching your lower back as you passed through a crowd, brushing his lips over your shoulder while you stood at the sink, nudging your knee under the table just to remind you he was there.
But his gestures had never been… naughty.
Never anything that lit a fuse under your skin like the way his hand was gripping your thigh now. Never anything that made your breath stutter in your chest just from the press of his fingers curling possessively around your skin.
He was usually more careful with you. Gentle.
Tommy was the kind of man who waited until you were both tucked under the covers, warm and safe, soft and sleepy, before climbing over you with a smile and a kiss to your neck. The kind of man who made you smile first, made sure the world had quieted before he pulled you under.
You turned your head, looking at him from the passenger seat. He was focused on the road, jaw tight, eyes hard on the curve of the pavement as he turned into the neighborhood. But there was a spark there, flashing hot and alive beneath his usual easy exterior.
Your gaze slid down as he shifted in his seat, and your eyes caught on the undeniable shape in his jeans.
Heat bloomed in your face. Your chest. Lower.
The tight bulge in his lap pulsed like a secret between you, and it made your thighs press together involuntarily. But it wasn’t just the fact that he was aroused—it was that he wasn’t hiding it. That he was feeling you up in the front seat of the truck, on your quiet neighborhood street, away from the safety of the four walls of your bedroom.
Tommy, who usually waited until the house was dark and the doors were locked. Who kissed you slowly, slid his hands under your shirt and whispered “you okay?” even after years of being together.
He just slid his hand between your legs and gripped your inner thigh like he’d been thinking about it all night.
It sent heat rolling through you, sharp and dizzying. Not just from the touch, but from the awareness of how out of place it was. How unlike him it was to let go like this, to need like this, especially outside the safety of home.
And God help you—you liked it.
You pressed your legs together, your breath catching in your throat, trying to remember how to sit still while every nerve in your body screamed at you to climb into his lap and ride him right there in the middle of the road.
He felt your squirming as he pulled into the driveway, the tires crunching softly over gravel. The second the truck shifted into park and the headlights clicked off, the cab was swallowed in quiet shadow, only the streetlamp catching the edge of his jaw.
He turned toward you, that smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth—the kind that made your stomach flip. His hand slid from your thigh to the top of your seat, arm stretched across the backrest, his gaze drinking you in from the other side of the bench.
“C’mere,” he said, low and smooth, nodding for you to slide over.
You bit your lip, heart thudding, and obeyed without a word—scooting across the cracked leather until your thigh brushed his.
His hand dropped from the headrest to cradle the back of your neck, warm and firm. The other left the steering wheel, finding your cheek, fingers spreading across your jaw like he needed to anchor you in place.
And then he kissed you.
Not the sweet, half-thought kisses he’d given you throughout the day. Not careful, not playful. This was deep. Needy. Starving. Like he’d been holding it back for too long and didn’t care anymore if it showed.
His mouth slanted over yours again and again, open and hot, tongue sweeping past your lips like it belonged there. The soft sounds he made—those low, growling hums that rumbled in his throat—sent heat surging through your core.
Your breath stuttered as his grip on your neck tightened, his other hand trailing slowly down from your face to trace along your body until it was back at your denim clad thighs. He gripped hard, his palm sliding up along the seam of your jeans, squeezing just enough to make you shift in your seat.
When he tugged gently at the base of your hair, just at the nape, a moan slipped from your throat before you could catch it.
You broke the kiss just long enough to gasp, “Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”
He huffed a breath against your skin, already moving to your neck, kissing a line down the column of your throat. His mouth was open, his tongue slow, dragging heat behind every press of his lips, and then—teeth. A soft bite that made your body jolt.
“Wanted to get my hands on you all day,” he muttered between kisses, voice muffled against your skin. “Lookin’ so pretty,”
You whimpered, nails curling into the fabric of his shirt as he worked lower, pushing your neckline aside with one hand just to mouth at the new skin he found there.
You were panting now, flushed all over, your thighs pressing together as he kissed, bit, sucked like he was trying to brand you.
“Tommy,” you breathed, completely undone, and when he looked back up at you—lips swollen, eyes dark—you barely recognized the hunger in his face.
“Get your ass inside,” he rasped. “Now.”
You climbed out the passenger door, giddy like a teenager all over again, your skin still tingling from his hands and mouth and voice. As you made your way up the walk, Tommy’s hand came down in a playful smack against your rear, making you squeal and laugh over your shoulder at him.
He didn’t smile—not fully. His eyes were too dark, too focused. But the edge of his mouth twitched like he was barely holding himself together.
By the time you reached the door, his chest was already at your back, his arms snaking around you, mouth grazing your ear. “You drive me crazy, baby… you know that?” he murmured, voice low and breath hot.
You fumbled the keys, giggling as he pressed closer. “You’re the one who couldn’t keep your hands to himself.”
“And you didn’t stop me,” he whispered, nuzzling your jaw. “Didn’t want to, did you?”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.
The door clicked open and the second you were inside, his hands were on you again—spinning you around, backing you up against the wall just inside the entry. His mouth crashed into yours, deeper this time, slower but no less desperate. His hands slid up your sides, over your waist, thumbs hooking into your belt loops to keep you flush against him.
He kissed you like he hadn’t touched you in weeks. Like he’d been starving for you.
By the time you pulled apart for air, you were both breathless and a little dizzy.
“Upstairs,” he murmured, voice ragged, his hands slipping down to grab yours, guiding you behind him.
At the top, he didn’t even pause—just pulled you straight into the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind you with one solid thud. And then his hands were back on your hips, his mouth on your throat, and whatever this was—it wasn’t slowing down anytime soon.
Your back hit the bedroom wall with a soft thump, and Tommy barely gave you time to catch your breath before his mouth was on you again, pressing into the curve of your neck, open and hot, his hands splayed across your hips like he couldn’t keep his hands still.
You gasped as he nipped at the base of your throat, your hands tangling in his shirt, gripping the fabric tight. He groaned softly against your skin, one hand sliding up under your top, rough fingers skimming over your ribs like he needed to feel all of you.
“Tommy—” you breathed, but it came out more like a sigh.
He pulled back just far enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling hard, eyes dark and locked onto yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
You shook your head before the words even formed. “Don’t.”
That was all he needed.
He tugged your shirt up, slow but sure, breaking contact just long enough to pull it over your head and toss it to the floor. His eyes dropped, sweeping over your bare skin like it physically pained him to look away. One of his hands slid behind you and unclasped your bra in a smooth motion, and let it slide from your shoulders. His hands were reverent, warm and wide as they came up to cup you, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and the groan that left him was raw, almost pained.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said, like a thought spoken out loud.
You reached for the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his stomach and chest. He helped you the rest of the way, yanking it over his head and tossing it behind him. His mouth was back on you before you could get a good look, lips trailing heat down your collarbone, your sternum, the swell of your breast. He kissed your flesh until you were arching into him, fingers tangling in his hair.
His hands moved to the button of your jeans next, and you gasped when he popped it open and dragged the zipper down, his knuckles grazing the skin just below your belly. You toed off your shoes, the soft thud of them hitting the carpet barely registering over the pounding in your ears. His hands slid to your waist, and he dropped to his knees, pulling your jeans down inch by inch, kissing the skin he uncovered like it was a map he already knew by heart.
By the time he got your jeans off, his mouth never left your skin, kissing along your hip bone, his breath hot and shaky. His hands slid up your thighs, slow and worshipful—until they weren’t. Until they were gripping.
His fingers dug into your flesh, pulling you closer as he moved up to kiss your stomach, chest, throat—claiming every inch like it was his and his alone. You were breathless by the time he kissed you again, and when he pushed you back onto the bed, you went willingly, your back sinking into the sheets, arms stretching above your head.
He hovered over you, eyes tracing every inch of your face. And then something flickered there. Something sharp.
“You let him touch you like this?” he asked, voice low but tight, as his hand moved between your legs, cupping you over your panties. The lace was already damp beneath his fingers, your arousal bleeding through the fabric. He dragged a finger along the center, slow and deliberate, and you felt the heat bloom deeper as the pressure built.
Your breath caught. “Tommy—”
“Just tell me,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, then your throat. “Did he touch you like this?” He pressed the heel of his palm in, slow but firm, dragging a moan from your lips even as your brows pulled together.
“Stop,” you breathed, trying to push up on your elbows. “It doesn’t matter.”
But he shook his head, his hand sliding your underwear down your thighs, slow and rough all at once. “It does to me.”
He kissed you again—deeper this time, almost bruising until his hands guided you to roll over, his touch less gentle now, more insistent. He pulled your hips up until you were on your knees, chest pressed into the bed, your face turned toward the pillows. You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt him—hot and hard, the blunt weight of his cock pressing against you.
You arched back into it instinctively, needing him to forget everything else, to just feel this—feel you.
“You’re mine,” he breathed, pushing into you with one steady thrust that made you gasp, your fingers curling into the comforter. “Always been mine.”
You moaned, eyes shutting tightly as he moved inside you—rougher now, his rhythm firm, controlled, but not cruel. Just desperate. Like he had something to prove.
Every sound that left him was strained, thick with emotion—his hands spreading across your hips, his thumb trailing up your spine like he needed to feel every piece of you to believe this was real.
The sound of your moans and Tommy’s grunts filled the air, the sheets rubbing against your skin beneath you, it was almost loud enough to drown out the front door opening.
But then you heard his voice.
“Tommy?”
Your eyes flew open, breath catching in your throat. That was Joel’s voice coming from downstairs. Your mind scrambled to remember why the hell he was here. And then you remembered Tommy’s request. Some stupid tool box he needed.
Tommy stilled for half a second—just long enough for your heart to lurch—before he started moving again, slower this time, deeper. Like he was doubling down.
You grunted, biting your lip to swallow the moan that threatened to give you away. Your hand scrambled for the edge of the sheets, something to grip, something to hold you to earth.
Your blood ran hot and cold all at once.
Joel’s voice came again—closer. “You home?”
“We’re up here,” Tommy called back, voice completely steady.
No.
Your entire body tensed under him, your head whipping to the side, eyes locked on the closed bedroom door.
“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed, panicked, but he only dropped more of his weight onto you, one hand pressing flat between your shoulder blades, the other tightening around your hip. You were locked in place beneath him, your breath coming fast.
“Shh, shh, shh,” Tommy cooed, his voice sweet but mocking as his hips kept moving, slow and steady and deep. “Ain’t gonna stop now.”
There was a creak on the stairs.
Your heart slammed into your throat.
“Tommy,” you hissed again, but it came out half-broken, your voice catching in your chest.
And then—
The door swung open.
“Jesus—” Joel flinched hard, turning away with a grunt and lifting a hand to cover his eyes. “What the hell, man!?”
Tommy didn’t stop.
His grip on you tightened, his thrusts slowing just a hair—but only to lean down, breath hot against your ear as he rasped, “That what you wanted, huh? Him seein’ you like this?”
You whimpered, caught between mortification and a heat that made your knees weak.
“Tommy—please—” you gasped, struggling half-heartedly beneath him.
But he was gone.
“Think you can just fuck my wife whenever you want?” Tommy growled, looking over at Joel now, chest heaving, voice thick with rage and something else—something darker. “Think you do it better?”
Joel turned slightly, eyes caught somewhere between fury and disbelief. “You’ve lost your goddamn mind—”
“Have I?” Tommy snapped, his voice low and dangerous as he fucked into you harder now, like he was trying to prove something with every movement. “’Cause she’s drippin’ all over my cock right now. You seein’ this?”
You let out a broken sound, face buried in the mattress. You wanted to crawl out of your skin—and yet the way Tommy was holding you, the filthy things coming out of his mouth, the heat between the three of you…
It was too much.
Joel’s mouth opened like he was about to say something else—but he didn’t.
He stared.
He stayed.
And your heart nearly exploded as Tommy chuckled low in his throat, thrusting deep and slow again like he wanted Joel to see it.
“That’s right,” Tommy said, never looking away. “Go on. Watch. See what it looks like when a man takes care of what’s his.”
“Call this takin’ care?” Joel said, voice low, sharp with something mean and taunting beneath the surface.
Your eyes flicked up, wide, and found his—and the heat there made your breath catch.
“Tell me, little brother,” Joel drawled, “you ever felt her come all over that dick of yours?”
Tommy’s movements faltered. Just for a second.
You felt it—his grip loosening slightly on your hips, his breath catching.
Your heart was in your throat, beating so hard it hurt.
Joel stepped forward, slow, measured. His eyes dragged over your body—not like it was new to him, but like he knew every inch of it already. Like he could trace it blind, by memory alone.
“Didn’t think so,” he murmured.
Then his gaze locked with yours.
“Should we show him, sweetheart?” he asked, and your stomach dropped clean through the mattress. “Show him what he’s been missin’?”
Your mouth parted, no sound coming out.
Joel tilted his head, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Think my pissy little brother needs some pointers?”
Tommy let out a rough breath behind you, a mix between a growl and a scoff, his hand sliding up your spine possessively.
“She’s my goddamn wife,” he snapped, but his voice wasn’t steady anymore.
Joel’s gaze flickered up, darkening, “Then fuckin’ act like it.”
The silence was deafening—so thick you could hear your own pulse in your ears.
Tommy’s hands flexed on your hips again. And then he thrust—hard. Deep. A sound ripped out of you that wasn’t quiet at all.
And Joel’s expression changed. Softer. Almost smug. Almost… proud.
“She sure makes the prettiest sounds, don’t she?” he said, and he approached the bed. Your skin felt like it was on fire as Tommy stilled completely, but he was still hard inside you to your surprise.
“Turn her over,” Joel said steadily.
Tommy’s head snapped toward him. “Get the hell out.”
“You invited me in here, little brother.” Joel’s tone was exasperatingly calm. 
You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Both men. In the room with you while you were naked and taking your husband’s cock.
Your heart pounded against your ribs, wild and uneven, like it was trying to warn you. Or maybe it was just overwhelmed.
You didn’t know where to look. Joel, standing there with that infuriating calm like this was just another Tuesday. Tommy, still inside you, bristling with fury, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead as he tried to process what was happening.
And you—trapped in the middle, hips pinned beneath the man you married, body still burning for the one you hadn’t stopped thinking about since that first night.
You should’ve felt humiliated. You did. But your skin still tingled everywhere Joel’s eyes touched.
Tommy was quick to snap at his brother, “And now I want you out.”
Joel didn’t flinch. “And what do you want, sweetheart?” he asked, gaze cutting to you, his head tilted slightly as his eyes took in the flushed features of your face.
You exhaled slowly, your lungs feeling like they’d deflated. Your mouth was dry, but you licked your lips anyway, then turned your face to look back at Tommy, biting down gently on the inside of your cheek.
Tommy’s face twisted in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”
“Just…” you breathed, heart pounding in your throat, “let’s just see. It could be fun.” You swallowed. “We haven’t made any rules yet.”
Tommy looked between the two of you—his jaw tight, his eyes wide, stunned. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face before he finally pulled out of you, breath ragged. “Alright. Turn over.”
You moved quickly, your skin flushed and glowing, body still trembling as you flipped onto your back. The sheets were warm under you, your thighs still slick, still open.
Behind you, you heard the unmistakable rustle of clothes—the metal clink of a belt, the soft drag of a zipper—and then Joel was there.
The heat of him hit you first. He was so warm, and as he stepped to the side of the bed, the mattress dipped slightly with his weight.
“This is so fuckin’ weird,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head as he moved to kneel between your legs again.
You sat up a little, cupping his face, dragging your hand down the center of his chest, his stomach. “I love you,” you whispered, searching his eyes. “If you don’t want this, we stop. Say the word.”
Tommy stared down at you for a long second. His lips pressed together, pulled inward like he was thinking too hard. His eyes flicked to Joel, then back to you.
He sighed, jaw clenching. “Just this once. And if it doesn’t work—”
“Never again,” you finished softly, nodding.
Only then did you glance up at Joel.
He nodded once, slow and assured, his hand already moving to the bulge in his briefs. Your eyes followed—broad chest, tan skin, strong forearms—and you couldn’t help yourself. You leaned back, just slightly, hand drifting up to cup him through the fabric. Joel exhaled, low and rough, eyes fluttering shut as your palm rubbed against him.
“Show him,” you said softly.
His eyes opened again, sharper now, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.
“Not sure he deserves it after all that attitude,” Joel muttered, voice teasing but laced with heat.
“Joel—” you warned.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes—but his voice was dark now, thicker. “But then it’s my turn.”
You watched him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, pushing them down with one slow motion that revealed all of him—hard, heavy, already flushed. Your breath caught at the sight, heat flooding through you like a second pulse.
He fisted himself gently, watching you, waiting.
Above you, Tommy shifted. You turned to look at him and his mouth was drawn tight, eyes hard with conflict. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he moved closer, settling between your legs again, hands sliding up your thighs.
You stared up at him, unsure if he’d really go through with it. But then he lined himself up, his cock dragging through your folds, and you gasped at the contact.
He sighed low, almost like relief, as he sank into you with one long, slow push. The weight of him settling into your hips, the feeling of him filling you again—it made your head fall back, your mouth falling open.
The tension in the room turned molten.
Tommy’s hands slid to your thighs, gripping tight like he needed something to hold on to. His eyes flicked up to Joel, who was still settled at your side, close enough now that you could feel his presence, warm and electric.
You barely registered Joel moving until you felt his hand close around your wrist. Firm. Certain. He guided your hand to his cock—thick and hot and heavy—and curled your fingers around him like he was placing something sacred into your palm.
Your breath hitched, but you didn’t hesitate.
You wrapped your lips around the head, soft and swollen and already leaking, and sucked—slow, reverent, like you’d been dreaming of this since the last time. And you had been.
Joel hissed through his teeth, his hand threading through your hair as you hollowed your cheeks and pulled him deeper. “Good girl,” he muttered. Your entire body clenched at the praise.
Tommy groaned above you, building up his thrusts, erratic and messy as you pulsed around him.
“Slow down,” Joel said, calm, instructive. “Long, even strokes. Deep.”
Tommy cursed under his breath but obeyed, grinding into you with a slower, heavier rhythm that made your whole body arch forward, your mouth taking Joel deeper.
“Good,” Joel murmured. “Now thumb her clit.”
You whimpered around his cock, the sound thick and broken. Tommy’s thumb slid over your swollen clit in soft, careful circles, and your whole body clenched around him.
“She’s grippin’ the hell outta me,” Tommy breathed. “Fuck.”
Joel’s voice was right above you now, rough but steady. “Spit on it.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Spit on her clit. She likes it messier.”
You moaned, mouth full of Joel, your thighs twitching.
Tommy grunted again, but when you felt the warm wet hit of spit on your skin, you moaned loudly, hips bucking. His thumb slid through the slickness building there, the glide smoother, filthier, perfect.
“That’s it,” Joel growled. “Keep her right there. Thumb her just like that. Don’t stop. Her throat is squeezin’ me so good when you do that.”
You couldn’t breathe. Your body was clenching up, something coiling in your spine and hips as he kept up the pace. Joel’s cock dragged across your tongue, thick and pulsing, while Tommy thrust into you—slower now, more precise, but still not quite enough.
You loved Tommy’s rhythm—the care in it, the way he was doing everything to get you there, the way he wanted to get you there. But your orgasm wasn’t building the same way. It was harder to catch, harder to ride. Joel’s cock had a weight, a stretch that reached something deeper in you—something that made your body respond instantly. With Tommy, it took more. He was only slightly smaller, narrower, not lacking, just… different.
Still good. Still yours. But different.
“She’s close,” Joel said, voice ragged now, eyes locked on your face. “I can feel it.”
Tommy groaned, cock twitching inside you as you clenched down hard. “Jesus, she’s—fuck, she’s so tight.”
“You wanna come for Tommy, sweet girl?” Joel asked, still beside you on bed, one hand fisted in your hair where it spilled across the bedspread, thumb brushing softly over your cheek.
Your eyes fluttered open to meet his—and in the same breath, Joel guided his cock back between your lips, sliding into your mouth with a slow, deliberate push that made your throat stretch and burn in the best way.
You gagged softly, the movement rippling through your body. Tommy moaned at the sudden convulsion of your walls around him, his one hand gripping your hip so hard it would leave bruises. The other kept circling your clit with his thumb, your eyes warring between rolling back and trying to focus on Joel. 
“Fuck—she just—goddamn,” Tommy breathed, his hips faltering for half a second before finding that rhythm again. Deep, slow strokes that had your whole body arching beneath him.
Joel pulled back with a wet pop, a string of spit and precum connecting your lips to the flushed tip of his cock. You were gasping for breath, whimpering and moaning as he leaned down close, hovering just over your face, thumb wiping at your mouth like it was his.
You were hovering now, your spine tingling with the build up. So close. But not there yet. Your body wanted more.
And Joel knew.
Of course he knew.
“Tommy’s got you so full, huh?” Joel murmured, voice like gravel soaked in honey in your ear, low enough that only you could hear. “Still not enough to make you come, greedy girl?”
His breath brushed the shell of your ear, and your whole body twitched.
You couldn’t answer—not with words. But your eyes found his, wide and pleading, glassy with need. You looked up at him from where your head rested on the sheets, Joel crouched beside you now, shadowing over your face like he could read everything you couldn’t say aloud.
And he could. He always could.
Your chest rose with a broken breath as your mouth parted—no sound, just air. One of his hands stayed tangled in your hair, grounding you. The other drifted down, palm dragging with reverence over your chest, and when it reached your breast, his touch went still.
He watched you as if testing the waters. The second your back arched into his palm, just a little, the faintest tremble of pleading… he smirked.
“There she is,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your nipple slowly and deliberately before twisting and palming, kneading your flesh. Your thighs jerked and your eyes fluttered closed, breath stalling in your throat.
Joel leaned in, voice like silk soaked in heat.
“Gonna have to beg him for it,” he murmured, this time loud enough for his brother to hear, dragging his thumb over you again as your back arched once more. “Go on. Show him how sweet you sound when you’re right at the edge.”
He kissed your temple, lips warm and just barely there before sitting up again.
“Show him what you gave me.”
Your breath was a broken thing, chest heaving, your legs locked around Tommy’s waist as his cock filled you over and over again, his thumb grinding against your clit with every thrust. You could barely speak—but you tried.
“Please,” you whispered, blinking up at Tommy. “Please don’t stop.”
His eyes were wide, blown out, sweat dripping from his brow, “Fuck,” he muttered. “Say it again.”
“Please, Tommy,” you gasped, fingers gripping his arms. “Please let me come—need it—need it so bad.”
Joel’s hand moved from your hair to stroke slowly over his cock at the edge of the bed, gaze flicking between your face and Tommy’s. “There it is,” he murmured. “You hear that? That’s yours, little brother. Make her fuckin’ come on your cock.”
Tommy’s rhythm picked up, driving into you with slow, hard strokes that hit deep, his thumb never stopping the delicious circles over your clit just like Joel had told him.
Your head fell back. Your thighs shook. Your whole body started to come apart.
As your jaw fell open, Joel took your mouth again—his cock thick and slick as it pressed past your lips, filling your mouth with one steady thrust. You welcomed it greedily, your moan muffled and broken, your tongue flattening beneath the weight of him.
Your back arched off the bed, body seizing with pleasure as your orgasm hit like a tidal wave—white-hot, all-consuming. Joel’s hand was back in your hair, holding you down, guiding your mouth as your throat fluttered around him, his cock pressing deeper with every pulse. The other squeezed and twisted your breast as you rode your high.
Tommy groaned loudly above you, his voice rough, desperate, like he’d just been torn open.
“Holy fucking shit,” he gasped, and his hips jerked once, twice—then stilled.
You felt it. The heat of him spilling into you, thick and heavy, your cunt already so wet and wrecked it only made you twitch harder around him. His breath stuttered out in harsh bursts, body shuddering as he emptied himself deep inside you.
“That’s it,” Joel growled. “That’s a good girl, baby.”
He fucked your mouth with slow, controlled strokes—gentle now, reverent—before finally pulling out, letting you fall back against the bed with a gasp, your chest heaving as your climax still rippled through your body.
Your vision blurred at the edges, nerves lit up like static. You barely felt Tommy at first—his hands adjusting on your hips, his breathing shaky.
Then, after a long, weighted pause, Tommy slowly eased back, slipping out of you with a wet drag that made your entire body jolt. You gasped softly at the loss, walls still fluttering from your orgasm, sensitive and aching.
The room went quiet again, thick and buzzing under the surface. You could hear Tommy’s breathing above you, could feel the shift in his body as he sat back on his heels, one hand sliding down your thigh as if to steady himself. He moved slowly to sit against the headboard, breathing heavily.
Your pulse thrummed at your neck, loud in your ears. You turned your head toward him, your skin flushed, lips swollen, heart racing. Tommy’s eyes found yours—dark, uncertain, something different behind them. Not anger or sadness, but something new and raw.
“Tommy,” you whispered, voice low, hoarse. You swallowed. “Can he…?”
You hesitated, heat prickling across your cheeks. You weren’t even sure what words you were looking for. You just knew what you needed.
“Can Joel… please?”
Tommy’s eyes scanned your face, then dropped to where your thighs were still parted, to the slick between them, to the tremble in your breath. He took a slow inhale, like he was weighing the cost of the question. Then he nodded. “Go on then. Show me what’s worth all this trouble.” You could swear there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a faint crinkle at the edge of his eyes. Not quite a smile. Maybe a dare.
Joel was already moving.
His hands found your body—confident, warm, rough as ever—as he pulled you up onto your knees and flushed your back against his chest. His arms wrapped around you easily, like they belonged there. Like he knew this body like the back of his hand.
You inhaled sharply at the feel of him behind you—solid muscle, the heavy press of his cock nudging against your lower back. He leaned in, mouth brushing your ear. His voice was low, rich, and dripping with something that made your skin tighten.
“Hope you’re payin’ attention, little brother,” Joel murmured, his grip tightening on your waist. “Gonna show you just how sweet she sounds when she gets what she needs.”
You watched Tommy’s jaw clench, and you muttered a short warning to Joel, “Stop,” 
Joel ignored you and his hand slipped down between your legs, fingers gliding through the mess Tommy left behind, gathering it in his fingers and spreading it through your puffy center, making your thighs shake.
“Jesus,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Still so wet.”
He let his fingers trail back up to your hip, palm splaying across your stomach as he held you there—against him, for him, like he was staking his claim right in front of Tommy.
Then he shifted. You felt the blunt head of his cock press against your entrance, thick and already slick from your mouth. Your breath caught.
“Hold on to me,” Joel murmured. His other hand slid up, cupping one of your breasts, his mouth brushing just behind your ear as your arms held tightly to his splayed over your torso.
And then he pushed in—slow, deep, deliberate.
Your body seized the moment he started to push in. The stretch was immediate—thicker, deeper, unforgiving. Your legs trembled, a broken moan slipping from your throat before you could stop it. It felt like your body forgot how to breathe, how to think—every nerve lit up as he filled you, inch by inch, until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.
Pressure bloomed deep in your core, sharp and aching, and still he kept going, his cock dragging against every hypersensitive spot until your thighs were shaking, your nails biting into his arm.
You gasped—"Joel!" sharp and high—and your head fell back against his shoulder like you couldn’t hold it up anymore. Your mouth parted, but no words came out. Just sound. Just a helpless, wrecked whimper that made Joel groan behind you.
Joel gritted his teeth, voice strained through a groan. “Fuck. Always so tight for me, baby. Takin’ me so good. Feels like he barely even touched you."
“Fuck off,” Tommy snapped from somewhere below you, voice rough, and you didn’t need to look to know he was watching—his breath hitched, uneven.
Joel noticed, too.
“My little brother’s gettin’ all worked up again,” he rasped, his cock sliding deeper, arms tightening around you. “Look at him, baby. Watchin’ you take my cock like this.”
You lifted your head just enough to find Tommy’s face—jaw locked, hand slowly fisting his already hardening cock as he sat back against the headboard, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.
Joel’s hand slid back between your legs, fingers circling your clit with unrelenting precision as he fucked you slow and deep.
“Talk to her, Tommy,” Joel said roughly.
Tommy shook his head, jaw clenched. “I—I don’t—”
“C’mon,” Joel grunted, thrusting into you harder, making you cry out. “You don’t want me talkin’ all this shit? Huh? Even if it makes her this wet—” his fingers slid lower, gathering slick, “—thinkin’ of us fightin’ over this sweet, perfect pussy?”
He fucked up into you hard as he growled, and it made you gasp in pleasure.
“Then talk, dammit.”
Tommy’s breath stuttered. You looked at him—desperate and open, mouth parted. You watched his throat bob as he tried to swallow whatever pride or hesitation was left.
Then, finally, his voice came low, rough, uncertain.
“You like this, baby?” he rasped, the words strange in his mouth but soaked in truth as he leaned forward, looking up at you. “Like me watchin’ while he fucks you?”
You moaned, the sound unholy and obscene as your body twitched. You tried to nod while Joel’s cock dragged deep again, slow and relentless, the stretch still too much, still perfect. 
“Oh, she fuckin’ loves it,” Joel growled in your ear. His palm slid up your chest, fingers curling over the other breast as he kept your back flush to him. “That look on her face? All fucked-out and needy.”
Tommy let out a shuddering breath. His eyes never left yours.
“Look at you,” he said, a little bolder now. “You’re so pretty like this. Letting us ruin you.”
Your breath hitched. Your thighs were shaking again, a whimper escaping as Joel’s fingers found your clit once more, slick and swollen. He rubbed you just right—tight, insistent circles that made your eyes roll back.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Joel grunted. “You close again, baby? I can feel it. You’re squeezin’ me so tight.”
Tommy leaned forward, looking up at you as he reached for your trembling legs, rubbing your skin and kneading it in his hands as his cock twitched in his hand, “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for us. Show us how much you love bein’ ours.”
That did it.
Your body clenched hard, a cry ripping from your throat as the orgasm slammed into you—fierce, fast, and overwhelming. You trembled violently, hips jerking, mouth open but wordless as you came again, harder this time, unraveling between them.
You were still shaking when your body started to shift—Joel's cock still buried deep, grinding against your overstimulated walls with every slow, hungry thrust. You reached forward, chest dropping toward the bed, bracing yourself on your hands as you whimpered through the aftershocks.
But you weren’t done. Not even close.
“Tommy,” you gasped, voice hoarse and half-broken. “Let me—please, let me touch you. Wanna make you come again.”
You reached for him blindly, your hand finding his thigh as he knelt close, cock hard again in his grip.
He looked stunned, blinking at you like he couldn’t believe it. “Jesus, baby,” he muttered, and he looked up at Joel, “How the hell are you still goin’ after that? The way she gripped me when--”
Joel gave a low, breathless laugh behind you, his thrusts never faltering. “Not my first time, remember?”
He leaned forward over your back, his voice rough and possessive in your ear.
“She gets like this,” Joel said, fucking into you harder now, making your arms tremble. “Once you open her up, she just needs. Can’t help herself, can you, baby?”
You moaned, loud and desperate, your hand finally wrapping around Tommy’s cock again, bringing it into your mouth.
Your husband groaned, hips twitching toward your touch. “Fuckin’ insatiable,” he breathed. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”
Joel grinned, lips brushing your shoulder before pulling back to straighten, gripping your hips. “She’s gonna milk us dry.”
You moaned at the filthy words, too far gone to be embarrassed, too full to care. You rocked between them, wrecked and desperate—Joel’s cock dragging deep inside you with each powerful thrust, your mouth stretched wide around Tommy’s length, tongue flattened along the underside.
Every time Joel thrusted forward, it shoved you farther onto Tommy’s cock. Your throat clenched, gagging slightly, and both men groaned—low and guttural at the dual sensation of your body constricting around them.
Your eyes watered, spit pooling at the corners of your lips as you tried to breathe around it, the slick sounds obscene in the best way.
Tommy’s hand came to your cheek, his thumb stroking gently along your jaw as he looked down at you. His face was tight with restraint, flushed and glassy-eyed, jaw twitching, “Look so pretty with a cock in her mouth, doesn’t she?”
Joel grunted behind you, slamming deep, making your body jolt forward. “Sure does,” he growled. “Takin’ us both so good, baby. Just like that.”
You whimpered, the only sound you could manage, body fluttering with overstimulation, throat spasming around Tommy’s cock as he hissed through his teeth.
Joel’s grip tightened, his thrusts getting faster, more desperate, and you could feel the wave starting to build again—relentless, all-consuming. You didn’t know how much more your body could take.
“Come on, baby,” Tommy groaned. “Fuck—your mouth feels so good, sweetheart. Just like that. Don’t stop.”
Joel leaned in, his voice thick with heat. “You gonna come again with your mouth full, baby? Think you can come for both of us this time?”
Your whole body responded—tightening instinctively, like those words alone triggered something deep inside. Joel’s hand slid beneath you, and you flinched with a soft gasp as his fingers found your clit again—soaked, swollen, aching from how close you already were.
It was too much. Too good. You couldn’t take it, and yet your body begged for more.
The touch was too light at first—then perfect. Circling. Pressing. Your spine arched, your thighs trembled, and your moan vibrated around Tommy’s cock, still heavy and hot on your tongue.
You could barely register where one of them ended and the other began—just pressure and stretch and friction and heat. Joel’s thrusts stayed deep and punishing, perfectly timed with the slow drag of his fingers.
Suddenly your whole body locked, muscles spasming as another orgasm tore through you—sharp and blinding, your vision whiting out as you clenched hard around Joel’s cock, milking him through every brutal thrust.
You moaned around Tommy’s length, the sound desperate and guttural, and that was all it took for either of them.
Joel cursed behind you—low, rough, wrecked. He thrust once, twice more, then buried himself as deep as he could go, spilling inside you with a broken growl. His hands were shaking where they gripped your hips, holding you there like he couldn’t let go.
The hot pulse of him filled you completely, thick and heavy, and the sensation only dragged your orgasm out longer, your legs trembling violently beneath you.
Tommy let out a choked moan above you, his hips stuttering as your throat fluttered around him. His hand cupped your cheek, and with one more shaky breath, he came—spilling into your mouth with a soft, desperate, “Fuck, baby.”
You took it all, swallowing around him as gently as you could, the muscles of your throat still spasming from Joel’s final, deep thrusts.
Then—finally—everything slowed.
Tommy pulled back with a groan, slumping onto the bed beside you with a heavy exhale, one arm flung over his face as he tried to catch his breath. Joel eased out of you from behind, and you whimpered at the emptiness, already missing the stretch of him, the weight. Your body felt boneless, dazed and trembling, as you rolled to your side and melted into the mattress beside Tommy.
Joel didn’t stay far. Within seconds, he collapsed on your other side with a low, satisfied grunt, still half-wrapped in heat and sweat. His arm slid beneath your head, pulling you gently against his chest until you were tucked in close, skin to skin, your cheek resting just below his collarbone.
You were fully tangled between them now—Joel’s leg brushing yours, Tommy’s chest warm against your back, his hand finding your thigh and resting there like a grounding weight.
The heat of three bodies lingered in the air—sticky and quiet and strangely comforting.
Tommy’s hand found your stomach and gave it a slow rub, and when you looked over at him—he was watching you, not angry, not brooding. Just… tired. And stunned.
You let out a laugh. A small, breathless one, but real.
Then another.
Your face tucked against Joel’s arm, shoulders shaking with laughter, and Joel chuckled too—low and lazy, like he couldn’t even muster the energy to be smug, “Troublemaker.”
Tommy let out a breathless huff, still holding you tight, and nuzzled into the curve of your neck. “I’m not sure I survived that,” he murmured, and then he started laughing too—open, surprised, stunned, “Feel like I blacked out halfway through,”
You turned your head toward him, smiling wide, and kissed the side of his mouth. “You were perfect.”
The three of you fell into an easy silence, wrapped up in sweat and warmth and the quiet hum of something unspoken—something new.
“Shit,” Joel muttered, his chest shaking from a chuckle, “Think we’re gonna need a bigger bed.”
And for the first time in a long time, the three of you were laughing together.
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poguehearted77 ¡ 5 months ago
Text
Portugal Nights
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Pairing: Actress! Reader x Drew Starkey
Portugal Nights-> The day was tense. Rehearsals were much more heated than the lines intended and the thin rubber band of restraint holding you both apart was bound to snap, and it finally does.
This belongs to my OBX Season 5: Payback For Maybank Series
These can be read in any order!
smut: lots of making out (they've both needed this forever lol), oral sex (f! and m! receiving) , heavy petting, hickeys, shower sex, hand holding, protected sex and unprotected :( , drew is so pussy whipped omg, just passionate sex tbh, sex everywhere?? lmao.
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"Action!"
Rafe paces back and forth in the abandoned dungeon-like room with his hands on his head, plotting desperately. You're surrounded by nothing but eroding walls, stained with foreign substances. There's dried blood on the floor that adds slight resistance with every lift of his heel.
You fume silently every time you look at the tall blonde who can't seem to stand still. You reflect on how he got you both in this mess in the first place and your eyes roll reflexively.
Earlier today, a little before dawn you and the pogues had just docked in Portugal, wasting no time to try to find Finch's fortress so you could find Groff, but you were being followed.
You noticed it first around sunset but kept it to yourself not wanting to distract the pogues from the objective of the mission in case you were wrong.
You'd all set up camp a little outside the city, not wanting to catch the attention of any civilians. However, you didn't rest. Not when you knew trackers tend to get a little careless as the sun slips below the horizon. Relying on the shadows of darkness to conceal their footprints and hide their silhouettes.
"I'm gonna scope the area a bit," You said, flipping your signature steel weapon up in the air and catching it coolly as you entered the darkness of the shrubs and out of sight. "I'm goin' after her." Rafe declares, already trailing behind you as Sarah calls for him but it falls on deaf, determined ears.
He's trekking closely behind you, so you stop walking and convey your message without even turning to face him. "Another step closer Rafe and I swear to god they'll have to dislodge steel from places you can't even name." He doesn't back down, nor does he step closer.
"I don't trust you." He says, and you scoff. "I don't care, Rafe," You finally turn, "Why don't you do us both a favour and go back to the others, yeah? I got this." For a moment he goes silent, almost like he didn't know what to say.
"No comeback? No insult?-" You start, always looking for a fair fight with him.
"Shut up." Rafe snaps back, stepping closer to you and your arms crossed while you plant your feet firmly where they are, refusing to let anything about the rich boy intimidate you.
"Looks like I finally got under your skin-" It's all a blur when he suddenly cups a hand over your mouth to silence you, "Will you shut the fuck up?" His words are delivered in a harsh whisper as his eyes scan your surroundings suspiciously.
At that moment, there was no Piper and Rafe. It's you and Drew. He met yours with a wild gaze, something unhinged about the way he was looking at you. Not as sincere and admirable as the longing stares from across the room that you're used to--no, this was something much more perilous.
"You hear that?" He whispers, softer this time. There's another rustle in the bushes around you. Shit.
With your backs turned and the area being so dark, the opposers use the darkness to their advantage and strike you both in the back of the head, knocking you out cold.
Which brings you to where you are now.
"For the love of god, will you stop the back and forth? You're driving me insane." You exclaim from where you rest against the contaminated walls.
"Listen," He now stalks to you slowly, like a predator approaching its prey. "I'm a proactive type of person. I'm not just gonna sit on my ass all day and let Finch come back and kill us!"
"Us? This didn't have to involve you! Maybe if you'd just taken that stick out of your ass for once and stayed with the group you could've saved yourself the trouble." Kicking yourself off the wall, you shout as loud as you can but he doesn't flinch.
Rafe's chest heaves rapidly, trying to calm himself down. "Well we're here now, and If I'm ever gonna make it back home, I have to get out of here alive."
You stand still, silent. Analyzing his features and expression, but your silence makes him uncomfortable and it etched across his face,
"Who is she?" The question is simple, and straightforward, yet far too complicated for Rafe to understand.
"What?" He questions.
Over the last few days you'd spent near the pogues, you'd gotten to know most of them quite well. All except Rafe that is.
"Your dad is dead, your little sister and your money are under your stepmother's possession. What do you have to go back to? Who is drawing you back?" He gulps, his defences crumbling evidently as his shoulders slumped.
For once, he didn't fight you on it.
Sofia. That's the name he shares with you and a little about their recent argument.
"Jus' don't tell anyone, alright? I don't need the others knowing more than they should." You shrug, "I have no reason to tell them about your cute wittle wove story." You couldn't stop yourself from teasing him.
Rafe charges towards you in anger with a glint of jest. You try to run backwards, away from him but your shoe is bound to the floor credit to the various adhesives meant to replicate stains and puddles.
By the time Drew realizes you aren't moving, it's too late and his body is already colliding with yours. Tangling together and sending you both tumbling to the ground with Drew between your legs and his head buried in the side of your neck.
You can hear the blood pumping in your ears. Drew's body completely covering yours on set in front of the crew should have you rolling out from underneath him and returning to reality, but no. There you lay, daring to glance into the piercing blue eyes that were already staring at you.
You take into account the notes of his cologne as they intermingle with the detergent of his clothes. The combination clouds your judgement and sends you reeling into a headspace you've been avoiding for the last three months.
You're in deep. Too deep.
"Cut!" Drew gets up like a kid caught red-handed before offering you a helping hand that you take graciously meanwhile the other guides you at the waist so lightly you'd barely notice it was there had your body not been burning at a thousand degrees.
Something is off. Usually, the two of you would be in knots of laughter after something like this, instead only the crew had giggles to go around but you both stood still. Unmoving, eyes locked on each other, looking within.
Could he see you? You wonder, does he know what you're thinking?
You swallow hard, your lips parting to say something, but no words come out. Instead, your gaze flickers to his mouth, and you catch him doing the same thing, just for a split second before he looks away. His jaw tightens as he shoves his hands into his pockets, stepping back, but the tension doesn’t break.
--
The day progresses into a warm summer night as the cast and crew gather at a charming Portuguese restaurant perched high in the city's hills. Lanterns nestled among lush potted plants cast a warm glow, while fairy lights drape elegantly from flowers cascading down from the ceiling, creating a dreamlike ambiance.
The long table overlooks the rolling hills below, their silhouettes dotted with the golden lights of the nearby city. Beyond, the navy-toned ocean stretches out, its gentle waves shimmering under the moonlight, completing the serene view.
The laughter is bubbly as the champagne flows between the tables. The cast looked amazing tonight, everyone had put on their best outfits for a fun night out with their castmates.
While Madelyn and Carlacia posed for a selfie together, Chase helped himself to the last bread roll left in the baskets the waiters had left earlier.
"Did you--" Drew titls the basket towards him so he can analyze the full damage of Chase's consumption. They both laugh, realizing the basket is completely void. "Maybe if we weren't waiting on JD and Y/n, we could get some real food going around."
The sole mention of your name has Drew on edge. He's recently lost the ability to control his own reactions around you as his body surrenders to the very mention of your name.
"Speak of the devil," Chase says as you and JD enter the restaurant side by side, a little embarrassed. "Fashionably late, as always." Madelyn remarks and you giggle.
"I'm sorry guys! I couldn't find my shoes and I extorted Jonathan for his kindness, so don't get mad at him." Your voice is sweet as you make your way around the table. Drew felt as though there were noise-cancelling headphones blocking out any surround sound.
His eyes fulfill their god-given purpose and stay glued to your frame--a very well-dressed frame might he add. You look stunning. He notices that you styled your hair differently. He's unsure if it's personal preference or a maintenance concern, but you rarely wore your natural curls out.
You're always opting to straighten them or put them up, but he thinks it amplifies your allure tenfold. Maybe he's just biased. That must be the case when he realizes he hasn't taken a breath since you walked in.
You situate yourself in the last empty seat between Madelyn and Chase, directly in front of Drew. Oh, this should be fun.
He clears his throat behind a closed fist, glancing up at you by chance and catching your gaze by luck. He does a double take and straightens up. "You look, just--" The words fade on him and he prays the ground would burst open at the seams and swallow him.
"Thank you, so do you." You return the half-finished compliment. However, it's for the best you don't say much about how Drew looks tonight. You're not sure you'd be able to conclude the sentence without the words 'edible', or 'sex on legs'.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the table, JD leans forward to whisper to Madison. "Remember that bet we made for Drew and Y/n, you predicted they'd get together within three months, and guess what? It'll be three months at midnight."
Madison giggles with a playful roll of her eyes. "What? Do you have this on your calendar or something?" JD does in fact proceed to show her his calendar with a marked date that says "Pay Day." Her eyes squint at him, "You are so ridiculous do you know that? I'm not backing down. The night is still young." She grins, and JD just shakes his head at the girl in clear denial.
The night flows on, filled with warmth and familiar laughter circulating the tables as everyone enjoys their conversations. You glanced down into your lap while Chase recounted a funny moment from earlier today on set.
You're anxiously considering if you should succumb to your sinful nature of greed and steal another glance at the breathtaking man sitting across the table.
You shouldn’t glance up—you know you shouldn’t—but you do anyway, and there he is, already watching you. The corner of his mouth curls into the faintest, most maddening smirk like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
You hate to admit it but it intimidates you. The weight of his gaze sends an electric chill down your spine, prompting you to shift in your seat. Drew reaches for a sip of water from the crystal glass on the table while you shift in place.
You cross your legs and your left heel accidentally brushes the inside of Drew's leg and he chokes. He quickly shields it behind a cough and you look like a deer caught in headlights as his ice-blue orbs are piercing through you.
Your foot hasn't moved, but you decided not to provoke him any further and retract it back within your bounds. Your heart is racing and suddenly you're the one reaching for a glass of water to satiate your thirst, but you both know it's an impossible task since there's only one remedy and he's sitting right in front of you.
-
By midnight the cast made it back to their rooms, ready to unwind from a long day and eventful night meanwhile you're stuck. Your mind is bouncing between the walls that seem to get closer the more you pace back and forth.
You've been at it for the last 5 minutes since you made it back to your room. Any normal person would be putting the night behind them and getting ready for bed--but no.
You're not normal. You're obsessed.
Pathetically hooked on the idea of a man who's just 3 doors down the hall--completely oblivious to the trainwreck Drew was making of himself because of you.
You're chewing at your fingernails, contemplating just knocking on his door. Is that crazy? What if it's all in your head?
The latter possibility didn't weigh enough to hold you back from any impulsive decisions as you're stepping over to his door with your heels still on and all it takes is one deep breath before you're raising your hand to knock but it swings open before it makes contact.
Drew looks like he hadn't taken a seat since he got back either. He looks restless, frazzled, and maybe even frustrated. His chest halts on the incline as he holds his breath, startled to see exactly who he'd been looking for standing right in front of him.
His eyes rake over your figure frantically as if trying to decipher if you're truly standing in front of him.
"Hi," You breathe out, your head angled up to admire his perfect features while he stares down at you.
"Hey," His voice is soft, struggling to mask the undertone of sheer need.
Your mouth gapes, hesitating to say something but you decide to let your body speak for itself. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck and tug him down so your lips crash against his.
The dam finally bursts and Drew's hands fly to wrap around your waist and pull you inside, swiftly closing the door behind you before he has you pinned up against it. His lips worked desperately along the expanse of your neck, trying to be mindful about his marks but he couldn't help himself. He's wanted this for so long-- Needed you for so long.
"Drew-" You gasp as he sucked particularly hard just below your ear, it sends you reeling and your eyes roll back with the little bit of your sanity that remains. "Hm?" He hums into the sweet scent of your skin, the same scent that's taunted him for months.
"Never mind." You dismiss yourself and resume the heated kisses that were paired with your desperate hands. You hastily unbuttoned his shirt while he unzipped the back of your dress, all while never breaking the kiss.
It's intense. Your hands ghost over the definition of his abs and he tenses a little as he curses under his breath. Every ounce of contact you made with his body, lit his skin on fire.
Your dress puddles around your ankles once it meets the floor and Drew wastes no time before he's slowly sinking to his knees, your head shakes repeatedly but no words escape.
You're not even sure why you're denying it, your body wasn't functioning correctly--but could you blame it? You had thee Drew Starkey on his knees for you, and he was about to put his mouth to good great use.
Your point is proved once he had your panties on the floor and one leg hooked over his shoulder. His tongue lapped over your folds, languidly at first, as if to test the passion-infested waters.
"Drew--please." That's all it takes. One airy breath from you and he's consuming you from the core. His nose brushes against your clit every so often as his warm, wet tongue slides over your cunt with an unnatural hunger.
Your hands reach out to hold on to something, anything, but you're left to scratch at the door desperately as he works you to till you're tight-roping across the edge. Drew's just as turned on as you are, the rock-solid boner he's sporting beneath his dress pants a true testament to it.
His focus finally shifts to the pearl of your pussy, and you almost wish he'd never moved to it. X would never recover if they knew Drew Starkey ate pussy with his life.
Your legs are beginning to shake and it's a telltale sign that within seconds his name will be the only word falling from your lips. Once it finally hits you, the world crumbles and you feel like an angel falling from heaven. His mouth had pulled you down into the depths of hell, right into his arms and you couldn't be happier.
You make this clear when you pull him up to meet your gaze, he towers over you but you distract yourself from the effect it has on you by taking his thumb and wiping your slick off his swollen pink lips and sucking it off, wrapping your tongue around his thumb until he snaps.
Within the same second, he moves his hands to grab at the sides of your face, kissing you deeply. It's nothing but tongue and there's spit rolling over your bottom lip by the time you're both pulling back, chests heaving, lungs filled with each other's air, but it still wasn't enough.
He's holding onto you like he can never let you go. "You've got no idea how long I've needed this, needed you." He says and it makes your heart stutter in its rhythm. "Oh please," You dismiss him but his left hand stays on your waist while the other gently cups your cheek.
His eyes scan to search for yours in the dimly lit room, the only source of light stemming from the lone lamp beside the bed. "I like you, Y/n. It wasn't a secret. How could it be? I can't help myself around you." His words put a cheesy grin on your face.
"I like you, Drew. Always have. Big fan of your work, by the way." You giggle, referring to the almost degrading acts he'd just committed between your legs, but it evokes a breathy chuckle from him.
"Yeah?" He teases, stepping towards you and you take one step back, but he surprises you and scoops you up into his arms. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he leads you to the bed, tossing you onto your back and he crawls between your legs.
There's one last soft glance between the two of you. No more yearning, no more stealing glances from across the room. Finally, you're in his arms and you fit more perfectly than he could've imagined.
"What?" You say blankly, wondering what had him warped inside his own mind for so long. A smile stretches across his lips, "Nothin', just happy to be here." It's corny, but you laugh anyway. Moaning into the sweet kiss he dropped down to your lips, holding himself up with those big strong arms of his.
The rest is a blur of strong hands and intoxicating kisses that are used to distract you from the sweet burn that engulfed your body into flames as he rolled his hips into yours, letting his cock push into you for the first time.
The gasps you both let out are innocent, shocked and full of bliss from the moment he bottoms out. "Just l-let me know if you want me to slow down at any time, okay?" The sentiment comes out through clenched teeth as he refrains from any sudden movements.
The heat of your velvet walls convulsing around him is driving him to a point beyond insanity. "Oh god, start moving--please," you whine and Drew's body shudders.
"Fuck, don't beg. I'll give you anything you want, baby." He seals his promise with an accelerated pace, his cock driving in and out of you at a steady rhythm that had you arching into him, eyes screwed shut and unable to meet his gaze."
"Hey, hey, look at me." He deepens his thrusts and it makes the requirements of his words that much harder to meet. Struggling, your eyes flutter open but you shy away under his piercing gaze.
He looked too good for a man fucking your brains out. The way his jaw worked, locked in place from concentrations. His body was coated in a thin sheet of sweat that made him glisten under the rays of the lamp.
"God, you look perfect. So gorgeous." He flatters you and it heightens your high tenfold. Your hands reach out to grab onto the sheets of his bed but he offers you his hand instead. Giving it an assuring squeeze as you tumble into a vortex of euphoria. "I'm-" Interrupted by your own orgasm you short-circuit and the sight of you unravelling underneath him is enough to make him cum.
"Y/n-- shit!" He groans, hips stuttering rapidly until he blows his load and holds his place over you. The room goes quiet, filled with nothing but the consistent attempts for you to catch your breath. When you're ready, he pulls out slowly, tying off the condom and tossing it out.
"I'm gonna head to the shower," It falls from your lips suggestively but Drew waits for you to make your intentions clear. He licks his lips as he watches you strut your way to the bathroom, stopping once you're in the frame.
There's a charming grin you flash him from over your shoulder, "You coming or what?"
He was in fact coming. Twice, in the shower, you made sure the first time you repaid the favour with your mouth that was too talented for him to handle. His palm held your hair tight in a makeshift ponytail, holding onto the glass for his life before he fucked you up against it.
Sensically, there were no condoms available in the shower and you both recognized the risk you'd be taking but anything was worth the risk if it involved you. Besides, you both swore this would be the first and last time you fuck raw.
What a lie.
The minute you felt the unfiltered length of his cock slip into you, you knew it was a done deal. This was going to be a very big problem for both of you in the near future. He's your new addiction and you'll never quit.
The following morning the cast was expected to meet each other downstairs at 11 am for brunch, but here you are, tangled up under Drew's sheets at 1 in the afternoon after waking up only 20 minutes earlier. Your excessive sexcapades from the night before had worn you both out.
The blankets are covering your bodies as Drew slides between your folds with leisure, taking his time and fucking you open intimately. "You think they noticed we're missing?" Drew breathes out and your arms go to wrap around his neck as you answer. "Definitely. I'm not sure, but I think Madison was betting on this."
"Give her whatever she's owed. She wins, and god I'm so glad."
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Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza, @wearemadeofstardust0, @cadhlabear, @thepopcultureaddict, @citr0us, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account, @madi44444,@willowpains, @riaras-everthroner, @iteuosav, @rafeycameronsgf, @moonlitunicorn, @thepopcultureaddict, @livinobx, @rafeycameronsgf.
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ihavea-natural-curiosity ¡ 5 months ago
Text
Viktors Disabilities, a Speculative Analysis
Ever since i first watched Arcane i have wanted to know (and i mean this in the nicest way possible,) what was wrong with Viktor. His disability was never explained beyond “he was born with a malformed leg”.
And so, i was left alone in the house with my thoughts today so i took it upon myself to figure it out, (and talk about his medical issues so i can ignore my own lmao) and i am releasing my thoughts upon yall!
(disclaimer: yes i am aware that this arcane is a fantasy world that is not our world and the disorders/illnesses and treatments will not be the same but the issues he has have to be based off of something (especially with how detailed this show is and how many references are made throughout.) this is not me trying to say that he definitively has any of these conditions, i’m just comparing them to conditions that exist today and suggesting what Viktors disabilities may have been based off of.)
(disclaimer pt 2.: i have not played League of Legends, i do not intend to play League of Legends, i have only watched Arcane and i am only talking about Arcane and Arcane lore and what i have been able to figure out from watching Arcane and spinning it around in my brain like it’s in a microwave.)
Now, i think i’ll just start from the beginning, and go in order of development.
1. Viktors Leg
According to the wiki (and about every other site that talks about Viktor) he is said to have been “born with a malformed leg”, and said pretty much nothing else. Now, when Viktor is an adult, his leg appears to be very not-malformed, so, let’s start at the flashback.
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Now, even in the flashback Viktors leg looks normal. It’s pointing forward, and looks totally fine. But as the clip goes on, and he gets up and starts moving, the problem becomes apparent. Here’s a clip:
Yall have probably already noticed what i’m talking about with this clip, but i want to illustrate it more because the clip moves so fast:
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As Vikto moves faster, his foot shifts inwards! It shifts inwards pretty severely (i mean, he full on trips on it), and the only time in this entire clip where it is doing so. And that is because the other times he is around someone else. I think he is purposefully pointing his foot forward and in turn walking on the wrong part of his foot (balance issues), and more than likely causing himself pain 1. to appear less ‘crippled’ and more “normal” to other people, and 2. because clearly, his foot is pointing inwards to a degree that is impairing his ability to walk.
Now to me, (and i’m not a doctor so if any actual doctors want to call me on incorrect information please do so!) this looks like Femoral Anteversion, or a twisting of the femur that points the knees inward (it’s typically found in both legs but it can happen with just one)
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Now this isn’t necessarily a terrible thing, ~10% of children are affected with Femoral Anteversion (or “pigeon toes”), and most of the time it resolves itself, unless it is super severe, at which point it requires surgery to fix it. Which, of course, Viktor did not have access to.
Now, his leg does appear to be normal as an adult, but the femoral anteversion thought is still plausible. There are 3 reasons i can think of for this one.
1. He got to Piltover and after a little bit Heimerdinger noticed how messed up his leg was and Viktor got the surgery to correct it as much as possible (it’s implied that Viktor was in Piltover for years, based on how he acts and the fact that he’s Heimerdingers assistant) (this thought doesn’t seem very plausible to me, i don’t remember seeing any surgery scars on his leg in the hexcore scene, but it is a possibility.)
2. He’s simply just still correcting his leg. The reason we wouldn’t see him mess up like we did in the flashback is that he’s about 24-25 in act one, and i’d say that 14-15 years is probably enough to get used to doing that sort of thing.
3. (Honestly this one seems to be the most plausible to me) His leg has (partially) corrected itself. Most children whose femoral anteversion fixed itself had normal gaits by age 8-10, but that’s an average age and those typically aren’t perfectly accurate to everyone (i have. very personal experience with that.) and it makes the most sense to me that his leg has mostly/partially corrected itself and he’s just also continuing to self-correct to avoid appearing any more disabled than he already does (he shows quite a bit of internalized ableism throughout the season, and his line about people not listening to him because he’s “just a poor cripple from the undercity” really drives it home for me, honestly.)
2. Viktors Deterioration
When we first truly see Viktor in act 1, he seems lively, and unless he’s actively walking, he’s not using his cane, not really (he hangs his cane on his arm to read a book with both hands (really great rep btw, we do in fact do that!), he leans it against a desk to pace in front of a chalkboard with Jayce, he puts it down somewhere to go help Jayce with the experiment, etc.).
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I mean, look at his stance, he’s not really leaning on his cane for support, more likely he’s using it for balance, and as an assist to his bad leg, rather than an attempted replacement like we saw in the flashback.
But in act 2? Hoooo boy
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Look at that, beyond just looking 10x sicker, look at his posture, his shoulders specifically. He is actively leaning on his crutch (because he needs a crutch now, the cane wasn’t enough), using it like a replacement. Now, over the course of the ~7 year time skip, Viktors condition has deteriorated enough that he 1. needs the braces 2. needs a crutch 3. can no longer even get up without his crutch, let alone take a single step!
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i mean, even when he’s sitting down, he’s holding onto it, leaning on it. The way he uses his crutch, how skinny he’s gotten, how much more tired he seems, all of these things say some sort of newfound muscle weakness, but why?
And the braces. Let’s start with the leg brace, since it’s right there. How it’s built around the actual leg and knee looks a whole lot like a much cooler unloader knee brace, or a knee brace that redistributes weight away from the weakened knee. I have to wear one of those when my knee gets really bad in the winter, when it starts buckling randomly and just.. not working. Which makes sense for the muscle atrophy/weakness theory i have, because that leg was already weak to begin with, and his knee would have been all kinds of fucked up if he did spend basically his whole life misaligning it like i’m thinking he did. (and to support that theory even further, the way that the brace goes over his foot as well reminds me of the braces some children wear to attempt to correct their ‘pigeon toes’ (which have been proven not to work, btw)
Now, the back brace. I’m gonna be honest, this part took me the longest, it truly confused me.
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When you look at it, it just looks like a thoracic back brace, with some extra support on the hips (once again, pointing to muscle weakness)
But the thing that really confused me?
The screws in his back.
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It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out what procedure this was referencing (Percutaneous Pedicle Screw Fixation (i’m like really sure that the screws aren’t showing in the real life surgery but the fact that they are makes sense with Arcanes style)), and an even more embarrassing amount of time to realize that the golden screws in his brace weren’t connected to him. (i am. very tired.)
But essentially, a Percutaneous Pedicle Screw Fixation is a less invasive spinal fusion procedure. Now a spinal fusion can be done for many, many reasons, but only one really fit.
Support, because of muscle weakness.
Every single thing that got added on to Viktor could be explained by muscle weakness, but there’s never any explained reason why he was so weak all of a sudden. His terminal illness is cited as a reason but that didn’t really make sense to me, all of these procedures, all of these mobility aids made perfectly to his measurements would’ve had to have been caused by something with a much slower onset than the illness would have given him.
And after literal hours of scouring, i have a theory.
Post-Polio Syndrome.
The timeline makes sense, Viktor would have most likely gotten sick before the flashback, when he was a child (a lot of children who get Polio fight it off without even knowing they have it). Viktor is estimated to be about 32 in act 2, and the average time between the initial Polio infection and Post-Polio Syndrome onset is about 20-40 years (inconsistent numbers).
Now some of the symptoms we have no way of knowing if they affect Viktor or not, but the main ones that caught my eye were muscle atrophy, chronic fatigue, and, you guessed it, muscle weakness.
Given where Viktor lived as a child, and how heavily polluted it was (remember that Viktor was in the undercity over 10 years before we saw it in act 1 with Vi and Powders childhood), it’s not too far of a stretch to say that he could have contracted an illness very similar to Polio as a child, and only really be feeling the affects of it now.
3. The Illness
I have 2 main theories for Viktors illness, the first one seems to be the most popular among the fandom: Tuberculosis.
If you’re unaware, Tuberculosis (TB) is a sickness that mainly affects the lungs, with the main symptom being coughing up blood. Now this is a really good theory imo, it fits pretty well, with some of the other symptoms being muscle atrophy, fatigue, malaise (general feeling of discomfort/unease with no discernible reason), loss of appetite, and severe unintentional weight loss. all of this sounds like our guy, no?
TB can take weeks to be symptomatic, so we probably just caught Viktor at the worst time ever lol with this theory.
My other theory is actually one my friend suggested to me, and that theory is COPD.
Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD) is a progressive disease that is basically a terrible combination of chronic bronchitis and asthma that can be caused by exposure to pollution (Viktor grew up in the Undercity before Cassandra’s vent system, i mean the river he was playing on had an oil slick on it, i think it’s safe to say he was exposed to some pretty severe pollution as a child.)
This theory makes a lot of sense to me, because it’s said in the show that his illness was probably caused by the air where he grew up, which this would have been, while TB would not. (not 15-20 years later, at least) COPD, once it reaches stage 4 is very severe, any flare up of symptoms could be life threatening at that stage, and the symptoms? Fatigue, shortness of breath, coughing, weight loss, and less frequently, coughing blood.
Anyway, i guess that concludes my analysis/comparison? I’m gonna repeat that i’m not definitively saying that ‘he has this condition and this is why!’, i’m just analyzing and speculating on what different parts of his disability is based on in real life. So, let’s just all be nice, yeah? (also PLEASE feel free to use this as a reference point for modern aus and stuff!!)
i do genuinely think that Viktors disease progression and his deterioration is one of the best examples of chronic illness that i have seen in media, in my experience (both with my own issues and what i’ve seen in other people) and Viktor himself is one of the BEST representations of what it’s like to be young and disabled and the internalized ableism that comes with it (if anyone wants to hear about that i will happily yap your ear off about it!
Anyway, for real this time. Yap session over.
[edit: if you like this you should look in the reblogs there’s a couple of really good in-depth deep dives from others that build on this!!]
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snailpebbles ¡ 4 months ago
Note
your fic about Chishiya was so good I feel like you captured his character perfectly 😩 will you write more about him? I can barely find any good writings about him and yours is truly so perfect 😔💓
Patchwork Love
pairing: Chishiya Shuntaro x gn!reader
summary: after being injured in a game, Chishiya drags you off and is somehow more silent than usual. What's his problem?
tags: friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, they're both so stupid
warnings: descriptions of injuries including blood, non-sexual unwanted touch, emotional constipation, Chishiya cries lmao
a/n: hope you enjoy :) my writing is rusty lol but I love this trope
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
Everything was going fine at first; you were on your own in a level three spades game, lightwork! It was a construction zone with many metal rails and walkways, and multiple wide pipes at the very top. The objective was simple - get to the top before the time runs out. At first it was that simple, that is until the freezing cold water began to pour in randomized sections. A game of strength and luck it seems. There were others from the Beach with you, so of course you figured you'd just team up and make sure no one slips. Wrong! To save their own asses just as the four of you were getting towards the top, they used your body as an easier to grip ladder. Not only did you feel violated, you also felt icy cold fear mixing with white hot rage. What the fuck? You pulled those three up so many times at the risk of drowning and for what?
The water pours down on you as they cheer from the top with just two minutes left, freezing and blinding you as you struggle to actually breathe. Two hands on one thin bar that's already trembling under your suspended weight. Fuck. Everything felt like a blur as you hauled your leg over another bar, using all your strength to not drown from the water rushing across you and to pull yourself onto the walkway. For a moment it seems like something had snapped, your leg overstretched and arms overexerted. You aren't built for this! Your life before consisted of studying and absolutely destroying kids on x-box! As you lay on the metal grating, water having ceased with a heaving chest, Chishiyas face flashes in your mind. Well fuck - you're realizing you like him at the worst possible time. With that motivation in mind alongside the need to deck those three in the balls, you force your aching body up the rest of those rails with ten seconds left on the clock.
The three boys are obviously shocked to see you alive and rush off, once again leaving you behind with no transportation back. Lovely.
You aren't quite sure how you managed to get back to Beach but by the time you do, the sun is beginning to rise. Damn, what if they vacated your room? The morning air is chilly and you know you have some sort of hypothermia if your chilled fingertips are anything to go by, not to mention the way your head is beginning to swim - pun intended.
As your torn up, shaking form stumbles through the gates past a few surprised militants and even more surprised party-goers, Kuina barrels towards you. She looks both put together and a mess, her eyes red rimmed and seeming to water - pun intended - as her warm hands cup your ice cold cheeks. She chokes up at this realization and ushers you inside, muttering something about Ann being a little busy with some project as she leads you two to a familiar door.
Chishiyas face, as calm as ever, cracks when Kuina barges in. He's up in an instant and wasting no time as apparently one look at you is enough to know what you need - or maybe he just knows you. A blanket is around your shoulders before you can blink and now you're on his bed, unfortunately not in the context you'd wish for now. Kuina runs off after Chishiya instructs her to get a whole load of things, but you honestly have no idea what because you're too busy staring at him. Chishiyas face is contorted in a way you've never seen before or at least haven't been the recipient of. His eyes are focused in solely on you, his brows furrowed and typical smirk gone in favor of a grimace. Most notable are his hands resting heavy on your shoulders as if you'd shrug the warm blanket off. Those hands you now realize match those in your dreams are surprisingly warm and unsurprisingly steady - Chishiya was a little less smart than you thought if he didn't know by now that you knew of his profession. The idea of him in a doctors coat distracts you as he gets up from where he was crouched in front of you, reappearing with bandages and disinfectant.
"So..how'd your game go?" You break the awkward silence and feel your cheeks warm at how scratchy your voice is. Must've been the borderline constant drowning. His sharp gaze makes you almost flinch with the weight in it, your own eyes dropping back to your lap. Of course he doesn't respond, only making some vaguely disapproving noises as those eyes scan your wounds. His silence begins to piss you off, that rage from earlier being misdirected at him. Seriously, you almost died in a frankly horrific way and this is all he has to give?
"I can patch myself up. I'm not helpless." The tension rises, twisting uncomfortably in your gut as Chishiya stays in place while you glare at him. With a huff as he refuses to speak, you get up on weak legs. This seems to snap him out of it as he grabs your hips - and just at the right time. Your legs give way as the exhaustion hits all at once to only fuel that anger, a frustrated sound coming from you as Chishiya tuts disapprovingly again.
"Stay still. You're hurt and too tired to move." His voice is rough and annoyingly calm. Is he allergic to worrying? You obey though as he unravels the bandages and uncaps the disinfectant, steeling yourself for the following pain.
The blond has the grace to look at least a little apologetic at every wince and soft cry your battered form gives, even letting you hold onto either his shoulders or jacket. The cuts, scraps, bruises, and blood staining your body worry him even if he doesn't show it. Images begin flashing in his mind of internal bleeding, broken ribs, torn muscles-
"Are you..crying?" Your soft voice breaks the less tense silence, your own tears having dried up some time ago. Chishiya pales as he becomes aware of the liquid dripping down his cheeks and hastily wipes them away, refusing to meet your gaze or lift his head.
"No." He replies shortly, heart picking up its pace as he realizes he has to patch your torn hands. You follow his gaze and readily hold both hands out, skin raw and bleeding still. He winces internally at the sight of your beautiful hands so heavily marred.
Warmth spreads through you as he takes your hand in his non-dominant one to carefully disinfect it, whispering apologies as you hold back cries of pain. Somehow you aren't too shocked by this display of care, an inner part of you having sensed something was different by the lingering looks and the way he is always there. Chishiya wraps your hand with a gentleness you weren't sure he possessed, repeating the process with your other hand until every wound is patched up. Not a word was properly shared, your eyes rarely met, and you didn't comment again on the occasional slip of tears you caught.
"Go change in the bathroom." He mutters after passing you actual clothes, aka his own sweatpants and a t shirt. Once you step back out of the bathroom - definitely not after taking a moment to admire yourself in his clothes - Chishiya does just what you definitely didn't. The admiration is well hidden yet you catch it in the way he turns his head slightly to the left and steps back, as if you're a danger.
"These are really comfy, thanks." An appreciative smile brightens your face and threatens to blind him, so he sits down where you were moments earlier. You take a seat beside him and try to hide your steadily growing flustered state when that damn white jacket is placed around your shoulders. He says nothing so neither do you, the silence now companionable even as sparks burn its edges.
"What happened." It's not a question and you know that, just as you know what happened isn't your fault. The tears, anger and irrational shame, prick your eyes anyways. He doesn't comment, he only takes your pinkie with his.
After a deep inhale and calming exhale, you speak. "It was an easy spades game and I teamed up with three guys from here, but towards the end they just.." You choke up momentarily, but with the way his hand moves to rub your forearm, you know you'll get it out.
"They knocked me down so I was hanging and used me like a fucked up bridge- their hands were everywhere and I know it was for survival only but it was so..so dehumanizing." The words come out softer and softer until you aren't even sure Chishiya can hear, but he does. He only ever listens for you. His face is as calm as ever as you cry, arm light as it wraps around your shoulder to bring you into the only safe haven you have in this fucked up place.
Time passes, you aren't sure how much but you are sure you've dozed off, yet Chishiya hasn't moved once. He holds you close and his fingers still rub circles on your shoulder, mindful of a bruise there as he's memorized your injuries. There's some snacks and another blanket on the small dresser, presumably brought by Kuina.
Chishiya knows you've slipped into that numb state, so he doesn't mind helping you eat some crackers and drink that tea you're so obsessed with. He doesn't mind keeping you right there, right where he can protect you and you can rest; where you can heal yourself. What he does mind is you deciding to break out of this numbness by pestering him.
"You cried." You whisper, poking his chest lightly as his arms tenses around you. For a moment you fear you may have misjudged the air and his actions, envy flooding - pun unintended - through you at the idea that maybe all his patients get such treatment. His answer calms your thoughts.
"Yes, you could say I was..worried. Don't do that again." His warm breath brushes across the top of your head and a faint smile tugs at your lips from the slight roughness to his typically smooth voice. Your head props up on his chest so you can see him and he can't resist looking down at you. His eyebrow raises in a silent question that has you grin, that familiar smirk returning.
"If it gets me this treatment.."
"No."
"Worth a shot."
"..You don't need to be hurt to get my attention." The one-sided banters comes to a halt as your eyes widen, staring at his ever calm face like he hand painted the stars for you. If he could, he would.
With a slight grunt you manage to sit up a little better, worry flickering over Chishiyas face at your show of pain. Damn you could get used to this. Words aren't his thing so what better communication than action? Even with bandages, your hands ever so carefully cup his jaw, moving slowly incase he doesn't want this.
Chishiya really fucking wants this. With the way you're being so gentle, so considerate, when others in his life haven't almost keels him over. But you're injured, mentally and physically, so slow and steady will win this race. The kiss is soft and unhurried, as if there isn't an invisible timer looming over your heads. Time is irrelevant when he whispers your name oh so quietly and his hand oh so carefully caresses your matching tear stained cheek. With every touch, every shared breath, the previous hands are washed away for now. They'll haunt you at night but Chishiya will be there to wipe them away, whether that be with affection or simply being there as you get a snack to soothe your brain.
You know why he cried, why he looked so worried, why it's his clothes you're wearing, and why Kuina said Ann was busy when you actually passed by her lounging in the hall. He loves and he cares, the same as you. It only took almost losing you to realize it.
As you separate slowly and lay down, drawn together as if magnets, you drift off. Chishiya waits patiently as your breath evens out before slipping away.
It's the next morning when you wake up alone in the cold bed, insecure heartbreak seeping in until Chishiya quietly walks into the room, not hesitating with the gentle squeeze to your shoulder and kiss to your head. No words are exchanged when you settle in the chair next to him by his desk, watching him build who knows what as you munch away on those snacks. His ankle his hooked with yours and that is all that matters - you can ignore the split knuckles and prideful hint to his face because he's yours, and you're his.
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angelbarelywritesslashers ¡ 1 year ago
Text
♡ mine | tommy hewitt x reader
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♡ fandoms; texas chainsaw massacre remake/ the beginning
♡ characters; thomas hewitt
♡ reader; AFAB body description, second person POV
♡ cw; graphic sexual content, implied voyeurism, breeding kink, light daddy kink (just calling him daddy? wasn’t sure what to tag that )
♡notes; i feel the need to apologize for this one lmao. i didn’t intend for this to see the light of day but i felt we needed more smut around here and this was already sittin in my personal folder
i don’t know that I’ve ever posted detailed smut anywhere before? so lmk how i did, i still haven’t even asked to get my friend to beta read so I’m sure There’s Issues.
•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•
“Oh fuck, baby,” You sighed softly, letting your head roll to the side as you ground on Thomas’ thigh - the mountain of a man pushing his leg up with a huff. Luda-Mae, Monty, and Hoyt had taken a rare trip to their cousins’ place upstate, and left Thomas and yourself in a…sticky situation.
It had already become a war of attrition with you living there, each of you testing the other’s boundaries as you tried desperately not to cross the line. Thomas was allegedly a good, Bible-following boy- and you a shy little virgin . But god, something about Thomas just made you crazy. You needed him- and you’d gotten so shameless that you’d let him do just about anything to you.
That’s what landed you there, trying to entice Thomas and only ending up a squeaky mess as you rode his thigh. He was steadfast for a man years pent up- seeming to find great pleasure in making you unravel without cracking himself. Of course, you had no idea of the hours he spent fucking into his own hand as he imagined you around him, stealing your panties from the laundry bin and palming himself to the sight of you splayed out sunbathing in the yard. Even now you seemed too hazy to notice his cock straining against his trousers, or his fingers dug into the couch to prevent himself from touching your body. The way he trembled as he felt you making a mess on him, the only thing between your slick cunt and his leg your already soaked lacy panties…
His laser focus was broken by something entirely unexpected. You whimpered and hid your face against his chest, mumbling “Daddy- please—“
He wasn’t sure if it was the phrase,the tone, or both that finally broke his resolve- but either way he pinned you against the floral sofa forcefully, snarling like an animal.
“T-tommy- what- I’m sorry—?” You squeaked, seeming utterly confused. Did you even know what you’d said to him?
He growled and quickly signed ‘Again’. You blinked, perplexed look quickly replaced with embarrassment. You whined and tried to hide your face but he snarled again and made you look at him. ‘Again. Now.’
“…daddy. Please. Please I need you. Please—“ You begged, panting weakly as you writhed uncomfortably and unsated.
He rutted against you quickly, moving and kissing your neck sloppily. “Mine,” He rasped quietly, a rare sound even for his partner “Mine. Mine. Mine.”
“Oh my god Tommy- please- I need you to give it to me- I wanna feel you inside-“
He made quick work of his belt, pushing your dress up carelessly and making just as quick a job out of ripping your undies clean apart.
You yelped but replaced the complaint with a blissed out, shuddering whine as he finally rubbed against your bare pussy. “Oh fuck…please- put it in-“
He grunted and pushed your legs back, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours as you felt his weight pressed against you. Even in this moment, he tried his damndest to be gentle, looking your face over for the slightest bit of fear or apprehension. “Tommy, please. Fuck me.” You whimpered out softly.
He pushed in carefully , having to stop only halfway in as you squeezed around him. He was huge, long and girthy and a painful stretch even with you relaxed. He gave a grunt and nuzzled you, hips twitching as he reached between you. Clumsily, roughly, he found your clit and slowly rubbed, purring in approval as you mewled out his name.
He was able to jerk his hips and finally bottomed out with a low groan, face buried in your neck. He held still, taking a ragged breath to try to regain control- but you didn’t want control. You needed him to lose it completely.
“Daddy, please. I want you to fuck a baby into me,” You murmured, letting a desperate whine leak into your voice. It was a bit of a long shot- but he was so possessive. Why wouldn’t he want to breed you?
Thomas’ eyes darkened at the thought and he gave a low noise you could barely classify as he pulled nearly all the way out and snapped his hips, setting a brutal pace.
“Oh god-“ You yelped, bracing yourself on his huge arms as he pounded into you, the entire couch creaking and slamming into the wall at the force. You lost any coherence you had as he again teased your clit, mind blank. You got exactly what you wanted, and it was too much in the best way possible.
You came first- you didn’t know if it was because of his stamina or because even in a frenzy he still needed you to feel just as good. You were almost crying as he continued, overwhelmed and overstimulated - and wrapping your legs around his waist to make sure he didn’t stop for a moment. “Baby please- inside- I want you to finish inside-“ You mewled out in your haze- but damn if you didn’t mean it.
That was all it took, unsurprisingly, for him to thrust one last time and fill you with a snarl. He peppered your face in soft kisses, giving a heaving sigh as he relaxed. You tried to move but he growled, keeping himself firmly inside of you. You blushed a bit as you saw his intense expression “You ah…you really liked when I asked you to knock me up, huh?”
He nodded, huffing at you.
“…you know we have all night to try again, yeah?”
He grunted and finally relented, pulling out and smirking at the sight of his seed dripping down your thighs.
“Tommy baby? I love you.” You sighed sleepily
He looked up quickly and seemed shocked. Man of few words that he ways- and never having dreamed he’d need to learn the sign, he took your hand and pressed it against his chest. Right above the heart. In your mind, there was no better way he could have said it; he loved you too.
3K notes ¡ View notes
melercies ¡ 3 months ago
Text
pairing(s): nam-gyu x reader, thanos x reader (separate)
warning(s): dubious consent, (guys, literally it's just) smut; oral fixation (receiving + giving) & fingering [minors dni], (fem anatomy, but gender-neutral), overstimulation, orgasm denial, degradation, dirty talk, power play, rough handling, choking/gagging, lowercase intended use and my best interpretation of the two characters. <3
author's note: i had to sit there for a good hour to think and just write LMAO PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED/MESSED UP ANYTHING. likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated. i just want feedback. <//3
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when it comes to giving oral for nam-gyu, he doesn't do things to please people—he does things for his own gratification. if he’s going down on someone, it’s because he wants to, not because he feels like he should. he doesn’t care about making the experience soft or romantic; he’s crude, rough, and enjoys seeing you squirm under his control.
when he pins you down, his fingers leave marks—his rings biting into your thighs as he spreads them apart, the cold metal contrasting against the heat of his touch. he likes seeing the indents they leave behind, a reminder of how thoroughly he’s going to ruin you.
he's aggressive. his pace is unforgiving from the start—he doesn’t waste time teasing unless he’s feeling particularly cruel. he’d rather get you messy and desperate as fast as possible, just to hear the sounds you make when you can’t hold back.
if he does feel particularly cruel, his fingers ghost over your inner thighs, barely skimming where you want him most. he watches with amusement as their breathing stutters, dragging his fingertips in slow, deliberate circles until you start begging.
you don’t get time to adjust. you don’t get a moment to breathe before he’s already working you up, dragging you towards the edge at a brutal, reckless speed.
his rings are cold against your skin, contrasting with the heat of his mouth, his fingers— and he doesn’t care if it’s too much, if your thighs twitch helplessly against his shoulders.
in fact? he likes it, it satisfies him to see you like this. to see how he could easily reduce you into such a state.
your body can barely keep up, writhing under him, squirming, panting— and that’s exactly what he wants.
he pulls back for just a second, only enough to lock eyes with you, his chin glistening with slick, his fingers still buried deep in you.
“messy already?” his tone is mocking, darkly amused, but he doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he pulls his fingers out for a split second.
before his fingers slam back in, fast and rough, scissoring you open while his mouth latches back on, sucking hard, tongue flicking fast.
you cry out, body jerking, but he holds you down, forcing you to take it. "stay still."
expect zero tenderness. if he drags his tongue slowly, it’s not to be sensual—it’s to watch you twitch and whimper, just so he can pull back and smirk at you when you start begging. he gets off on knowing he’s the one reducing you to a wreck, and he’s not above mocking you for it.
he likes it messy. sloppy, wet, and borderline overwhelming. he enjoys seeing you come undone, saliva and arousal coating his lips, your thighs shaking under his grip. it feeds his ego—he’ll wipe his mouth with the back of his hand afterward, looking smug as hell.
control is a huge factor for him. nam-gyu isn’t the type to let you take charge—he'll literally fight for his life for it, even when he’s the one on his knees. he’ll pin your hips down to keep them from moving or tease you until you're pleading, just to remind you that he decides when you can get what you want.
if you try to guide him—tangling your fingers in his hair, pushing him deeper—he’ll purposefully slow down or pull away entirely. “getting greedy, huh?” his tone is amused, but there’s a warning in his eyes. he wants you to beg, not demand.
if you're close, he slows down—smirking against your skin as he pulls back just enough to make you whine pathetically. “what? you were right there?” his voice is mocking, but his fingers don’t stop, keeping you on the edge without letting you tip over.
when he finally does let you finish, it’s never gentle. his mouth and fingers work in sync, his fingers pressing hard against your most sensitive spots as he devours you. he’ll keep his mouth on you even after you finish and feel sensitive, which pushes you past your limits, he only wants to hear you gasp and stammer. he enjoys overstimulation, making you whine and writhe from how overwhelming it is.
he leans back, grinning like a bastard, dragging his fingers over his lips to taste them before wiping them on your inner thigh—a filthy, possessive mark left behind. “messy, huh? look at you.”
he doesn't do this to be sweet—he does it to own you, to leave you trembling and ruined so you don’t forget who’s in control.
when nam-gyu is the one receiving...he's rough, impatient, and demanding when it comes to being on the receiving end. he doesn't just sit back and let you take your sweet time—he expects you to handle him the way he wants.
the first thing he does? he rests his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him before he lets you start. the metal of his rings is cool against your skin, his thumb swiping over your lips before pressing in slightly, forcing you to open up for him.
he's not the type to just sit still and enjoy it. he thrives on power, and even when you're the one on your knees, he finds ways to assert dominance—gripping your hair, muttering crude praise, thrusting his hips forward just to watch you struggle to keep up.
he loves it when you choke on him. he won’t stop, either—if you gag, he’ll just chuckle, “too much for you?” before pushing deeper before it hits the back of your throat, enjoying the sight of you trying to take it.
he gets off on the control, but also on the raw desperation—he wants you to want and feel it just as much as he does. if you’re hesitant or shy, he’ll make you work for his approval, guiding you until you learn how to take him the way he likes.
he leans back, spreading his legs lazily, arrogantly, completely unbothered. one arm draped over the couch, the other resting against your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip, pressing against your tongue—just enough to feel the heat of your mouth.
“you nervous?” his voice is mocking, laced with amusement, but there’s a challenge in his gaze—daring you to prove him wrong.
if you hesitate? if you take too long?
he exhales sharply, shaking his head. disappointed.
“guess you don’t want it that bad.”
and then he pulls away. completely.
that’s what gets you desperate, isn’t it? the way he edges you emotionally, keeps you craving his approval, keeps you chasing after what he refuses to give?
but the second you give in—the second you grab at his thighs, lean in, take him into your mouth like you need it?
his expression shifts.
the teasing vanishes.
his jaw tightens, his fingers snap back into your hair, gripping tight, forcing you to take him deeper. his breath stutters out, sharp and ragged, his hips twitching as he groans through his teeth.
“fuck—” his head tilts back, his grip tightening just a little more, watching the way you struggle, watching the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, watching the way your lips stretch around him.
and once you’ve finally learned?
once you give in, let go, take him the way he likes?
that’s when he fucks your throat in earnest, forcing you to keep up, forcing you to take everything he gives.
because nam-gyu will only reward you when you prove you deserve it.
if you're being too slow, he takes over. his grip tightens, guiding your pace with short, sharp thrusts, his rings digging into your scalp as he fucks your mouth exactly the way he wants. he doesn’t care if it’s overwhelming—he gets off on watching them struggle.
he loves using his fingers to make things even messier. if you’re already drooling? he brings a thumb to your chin, spreading the saliva across your lips, watching with a smirk as you take him even deeper. “look at you,” he murmurs, voice dark. “sloppy thing, aren’t you?”
nam-gyu talks—a lot. his mouth is filthy, and he’s not shy about making comments that are meant to degrade and tease. “c’mon, you can do better than that.” “that’s it, don’t stop now—fuck, you look good like this.”
he’s not gentle when he’s close—his thrusts get sharper, his grip tighter. he doesn’t warn you before finishing, either. he expects you to take it, and if you struggle with it, he only finds it more amusing.
if you pull away too soon or try to pull away, he’ll grab your chin, tilting their face up to make you look at him. “did I say you were done? swallow it.” his tone is low and taunting and his gaze is trained onto you, daring you to try and defy him. a command, not a request.
thanos giving oral...he already is a wildcard—his unpredictability makes everything intense. one moment, he’s slow and teasing, dragging things out just to get a reaction; the next, he’s relentless, pushing you to your limit without hesitation.
he enjoys watching—he wants to see every reaction, from the way you trembles to the way your breathing hitches when he finally gives you what you want. it’s like a game to him, figuring out what makes you fall apart the fastest.
unlike nam-gyu, thanos doesn’t always go straight for the kill. he enjoys taking his time, licking, nipping, savoring—because to him, this is just as much about control as it is about pleasure. he'll slow down just to smirk against your skin, whispering filthy things that reaches towards your ears before diving back in—his fingers spreading you open, making you feel every stroke of his tongue.
he loves teasing. hovering his mouth over where you need him most, exhaling warm breaths against sensitive skin, barely touching you until you’re begging. he wants you to feel desperate for it, trembling under his touch before he finally gives in and gives you exactly what you want.
but once he does get serious? he doesn’t stop. his pace is brutal, relentless—he’ll grip your thighs to keep you from pulling away, tongue flicking, sucking, working you over while his fingers sink deep, curling slow and deliberate. he uses his thumb to press against sensitive spots, teasing in sync with his mouth until you’re sobbing from the intensity and continuous stimulation going through you. it makes you feel like there's nowhere to escape.
occassionally, if he sees you gripping the sheets, he pulls them away, intertwining your fingers with his own—a false sense of intimacy before he overwhelms them completely.
your fingers clench the sheets, gripping desperately, something—anything—to ground yourself as he works you over, tongue flicking with calculated precision. the overwhelming pleasure leaves your body tense, trembling, on the verge of breaking.
and then?
he notices.
before you can react, his hands are on yours, prying your fingers away from the fabric, lacing them together with his own. his grip is warm, firm, intimate—deceptively sweet. his thumbs stroke the backs of your hands, soothing, almost tender, like he’s offering comfort.
it’s a lie.
because the second your body relaxes—just for a moment, just enough to be fooled?
he ruins you.
his tongue flicks faster, lips sealing around you as he sucks hard, dragging another wrecked sound from your throat. your back arches violently, but you can’t pull away—he’s got you locked in, hands entwined, holding you down.
it’s cruel. so, so cruel.
he watches you the entire time.
his half-lidded gaze locks onto yours, drinking in every broken expression, every helpless sob that spills past your lips. and when your fingers tighten around his—not out of intimacy, but desperation?
he just smirks against you.
“that’s it,” he murmurs between deep, torturous strokes of his tongue. “hold on tight.”
overstimulation is his favorite game. even after you finishes, he'll keep going, his fingers stay buried inside, moving slower as he licks up every last drop, keeping you trapped under him, driving you past your limit. he enjoys the way you whimper, the way your body tenses from how overwhelming it is, and the expressions that you make just for him only. only him.
he'll be cocky as hell afterward, too. giving you a show as he licks his fingers clean in front of you before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning down at your wrecked figure like he just won something. “what’s wrong? thought you could handle me. didn't think you'd break so fast.”
thanos doesn't just aim to please—he aims to make you lose your mind.
thanos was already dangerous when he's the one being taken cared of—because unlike nam-gyu, who thrives on control, thanos enjoys unpredictability. his reactions shift on a dime, making it impossible to predict what he’s going to do next.
some nights, he lets you take your time—leaning back, watching you with dark amusement, running a lazy hand through your hair as you work and set your own pace, watching through half-lidded eyes. other nights? he’s ruthless, gripping your jaw or pulling your hair, fucking your mouth like he owns it. he snaps his hips snap forward, making you choke.
you're choking? gagging? struggling to breath? he finds it hot as hell. if you start to falter, he just grins. "c'mon, don't tell me you're already tapping out."
thanos leans back against the couch, one arm slung over the backrest, the other hand resting in your hair. his fingers are light at first, barely guiding, barely pressing.
at first, you think he's going to let you do as you please. but the second you slow down?
his grip tightens.
the lazy amusement in his expression shifts—something sharper, more demanding, as his fingers suddenly tangle into your hair and pull.
“not slacking on me, are you?”
his hips push forward just slightly, his other hand tilting your chin up—forcing you to look at him.
and the moment you start moving again?
he grins.
“good. knew you could take it.”
if you're hesitant, he gets rougher. his fingers press against the back of your head, forcing you down just a little further, making you take more than you're used to. "don't be shy now."
his thumb strokes the corner of your lips, wiping away the saliva that drips down your chin, smirking at the mess. he loves seeing you in such a messy state, being so desperate as you try to keep up with the way he moves.
but if you're experienced? he's a mess—growling, cursing under his breath, losing himself in the sensation. he loves it when you swallow around him, when you get sloppy and desperate just to get him off faster.
when he's close? his grip tightens, his voice dropping into something low and commanding. "you're gonna take it all, yeah? being so good for me."
when he finishes, he’s unpredictable—sometimes, he pulls them up for a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tasting himself on their tongue. other times? he just tilts their chin up, smirking down at them with that wicked gleam in his eyes, like he’s already planning what’s next.
thanos doesn't just enjoy oral—he owns the experience. whether he’s giving or receiving, he makes sure it’s intense, overwhelming, and impossible to forget.
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gladiatorcunt ¡ 1 year ago
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summary: leto atreides x afab concubine!reader
cw: daddy kink, pregnancy, power imbalance, dark fic coded, implication that the other concubines “disappeared”, overstimulation, body worship, i would do anything to be in reader’s position here i’m being so real, not included but got reader pregnant in the full nelson position, the smut is in a flashback, mention of the reader having hip dips, mention of leto with others but he realizes you’re the one after lmao, probably dune world/lore inaccuracies, reader’s a member of the duke’s breeding program, mention of choking, intended age gap but you can read it as otherwise
wc: 1k+
block & move on if uncomfortable !!!
do not repost, translate, or give ai my work
kinktober masterlist
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“It’s to wake up, my love.”
Your eyes flutter open to see Duke Leto Atreides standing over your bed, one of his hands brushing back some of your hair away from your face. He smiles warmly when you tiredly meet his gaze, and holds out an open palm. You take it and let him help you sit up, though that’s as far as he’s willing to let you go. Leto hovers his hands over your baby bump, borderline paranoid about you doing anything that could jeopardize the health of the baby.
“I thought my appointment with the doctor wasn’t until next week, my lord…” You yawn, resting your hands on your belly as you fight off sleep. Being heavily pregnant was no easy task, and most days it feels like you have as much energy as a corpse.
“It is, I simply wanted to see you.” Leto answers, petting your hair and curling one arm around your lower back to support it. “When we’re alone, get rid of the ‘my lord’, what we have is more than the results of an obligation.”
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You sigh, leaning into his touch as you consider his words. Months ago, you were just another member of the Duke’s harem. One of many meant to produce heirs until your body shriveled up. Your family was noteworthy but not noble enough to stay afloat, you heard that the Duke was looking for breeders and you left without looking back. Though you will admit that Leto Atreides is not the worst man you could’ve taken inside you. He was gentle and the way he kissed you suggested that he felt more than just gratitude.
You pretended to not mind the sounds and stories you heard from the other concubines in the beginning. You knew perfectly well what you were signing up for, the feelings came from nowhere, you swear.
Leto’s mannerisms during sex were impossibly adoring and intimate, and he would tell you were special every time in the midst of the afterglow. You stopped hearing heart dropping noises and nauseating stories, and the day after you found out you were pregnant you heard nothing at all. The Duke took longer than usual to meet with you that night.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Leto calls out, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you get ready for bed.
You finish tying the strings of your nightgown and turn around to face him. There are strange little flecks of red in the wrinkles on his face, but they could be a trick of the light so you brush the curiosity off.
“I am always waiting for you, my lord.” You repeat the same thing you say everyday, noting the way the corners of his smile flatten in displeasure.
He cups your face and walks the both of you backwards towards the bed, shooting his hands out to keep himself from crushing you when you inevitably fall on it.
Time passes by in a blur, every moment filled with cries of “Daddy” and overzealous movement from him that punches the breath of your lungs. He’s not incredibly rough, just passionate enough to have tears dot your lashes and his thumb buried in your mouth. Every kiss is a hot swirling mess of saliva and tongues colliding that gets you so wet, you really believe it could kill you.
“Mm, your tongue feels amazing, clumsily chasing after mine.” Leto grunts at some point, rutting and slamming his balls against your ass with no rhyme or reason. “The tightest cunt i’ve ever had, fuck-“
You hum around his thumb, suckling on it like he’s your god and his thick fingers in your mouth are your only reason to live. He grinds his teeth together when you make eye contact, and you struggle to keep it up as you hollow out your cheeks around his coarse digits.
“Wanna make you proud, Daddy, gonna be so good for you.” The words are muffled past the point of comprehension, but your eyes allow him to get the gist.
If you were not already pregnant, the flood of fresh cum in your pussy would’ve done the trick. You clench around your lord’s fat cock and let yourself break, squirting all over yourself.
When you come to, Leto’s busying himself with latching onto your tits like a leech and bullying your battered pussy.
“These are already so sensitive, aren’t they? And to think that I made them that way…” Leto trails off, licking a broad stripe over your nipple and pinching your clit.
You jolt and throw your head back, “Yes, Daddy, you did.”
He groans at the frequently used name, pinching your clit harder and digging his fingers in deeper. You’ve had more orgasms than you ever thought possible in the last hour alone, but your lord was insatiable like this. His head is too high in the clouds with visions of his future family to calm down.
Your legs shake but he takes his hand away from your clit and smooths his palm over your thigh to steady you.
“It’s alright, you know i won’t be too rough honey, you can take it. You’ve already taken my seed beautifully, growing my son in your womb.”
You know there’s no chance of stopping until Leto’s sure that he’s kissed and lavished every inch of your delectable body in Daddy’s attention. He gives each of your buds a ‘Goodbye for now’ kiss and wipes down the dips in your hips with his tongue, soothing the love bites and caressing the necklace of bruises around your neck he left when he lost control.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The bed sinks with Leto’s added weight, and your cheeks warm as you come back to the present. You look down at your joined hands to see a box clenched tightly in his free one. Like he’s scared of dropping it. You gaze up at him questioningly and he smiles once again before softly kissing the skin between your eyes.
Next thing you know, Duke Leto Atreides is kneeling before you and opening the box to reveal a large ring. It’s magnificently crafted and all the details align with your taste perfectly.
“Will you marry me?”
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tenpintsof-sundrop ¡ 1 year ago
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Hii !! From the smut prompts (stop rolling your eyes, I know Im predicatable!) could I request "Accidentally Sending Nudes", "Sexting" and... a secret third thing (the choice is yours, go hogwild) for Jason x Fat Fem Reader? I'm leaning more towards sub!reader but shes def a little shit about it :3
Thank you in advance if you write it !! 🌼
See, this is why it pays to send in a request with me, because even if I don't answer it right away, I keep requests in my inbox for months and come back to them later!!! (This is from December 2023)
(Also this request is just plain fun) (because Star knows exactly what buttons to push to get me lmao)
DC Titans Requests - OPEN
How would Jason react to you accidentally sending him a nude?
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(Jason Todd x Fem!Thick!Reader)
Warnings: set specifically in the Titans!verse - set during season 3/mentions of season 3 plot points; spoilers for major plot points of Titans (including character deaths on the show); this is kind of enemies to lovers? (enemies to fwb, I guess); the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; the reader is described as being fat/plus sized; passing mentions of Gar x reader (I couldn't help myself); dubious consent - because of the nature of the trope, Jason sees the reader naked without her explicit consent, and he decides to keep the picture without her consent - but it does spark a consensual sexual relationship between them; passing mention of using nudes for blackmail (that does not happen); this isn't really proofread; (generally, I consider this post to be a fucking mess because it was written in Tumblr but I was still trying to have fun with it lmao.)
...
Jason is minding his own business when it happens.
(For once in life, he is fully, completely, minding his own business.)
He's back in Gotham and he hasn't seen you in months - and if asked, he would say that he hasn't thought about you. He doesn't have time to think about you because he's been too busy with this therapy bullshit, training, trying to get back his title of Robin. Trying to get back in the cape. (And trying to get back in Bruce's good graces.)
But that's not exactly true. He's thought about you a lot.
(Most of those times have been with his hand around his cock, but again - he won't admit that.)
There is an occasional time that you cross his mind and it's because he's wondering genuinely how you're doing - wondering if you're well, how your training is going, wondering if you're doing okay under the Dickhead's reign. But he can't ever pluck up the courage to text you and simply ask. Because that would be admitting that he cares, and that would make him look like a weak little prick.
And that's why he's so damn surprised when you text him first.
He hasn't heard from you since he left the Tower (well, since he stormed away from Donna's funeral in what you called a 'toddler fit' - something that ended in a rather vicious text argument between the two of you). In fact, the last thing in the text history between the two of you is you calling him a 'giant, petty, whiny baby who can't deal with his own emotions'.
(You had no clue what had happened between him and Rose, so that did inform a lot of your opinion on the matter.) (And that was probably the reason why Rose still had all of her teeth after you had seen her at the funeral.)
But all of that was aside from the point.
The point being - Jason found himself smiling when your contact name popped up on his phone.
He has you in his phone as 'Pretty Girl' - along with a contact picture of you sticking your tongue out at him in response to having his phone shoved in your face with the knowledge that he was taking a picture of you. (That tongue always makes him think certain things, so even though you intended for it to be some rude thing to ruin the picture, it makes it so much better for him.)
(1) new photo
That instantly catches Jason's attention.
Perhaps you were sending him a picture just to flip him off, or sending him a picture of a dumpster to ask him if it reminded him of home - a common joke you used to make when he still lived at the Tower.
Jason grabbed his phone and opened the message, expecting another tired joke, and-
Holy fuck.
The last thing he was expecting - your naked body. Your gorgeous naked body.
(He likely would have expected a nuclear blast or for the Joker to clean up his act and actually become a decent, sane citizen before he expected this to happen.)
Jason brought his phone closer to his face, making the picture full screen in order to examine it better - he needed to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating, or that this wasn't some weird dream. But fuck, he definitely wouldn't be able to dream up this.
You were so perfect - so fucking perfect in a way that was so very real.
The picture was a fucking stunning side profile of your body - rolling curves, lacy underwear that could clearly barely contain your impressive hips with sweet little stretch marks jutting out from the fabric (jagged little marks across the softness of your skin that made Jason want to act up) - soft fat for him to grab onto, and the perfect teardrop shape of your breast, now bared to his eye in a way that he had only dreamt of before. Something that he had stared at through the oversized tee shirts you wore to bed without a bra, just wondering what you looked like underneath.
And fuck, this was so much better than anything he could have dreamt up.
Jason's cock began to harden almost instantly, and laying in bed, he reached over to his nightstand for some lube, ready to milk that picture for all it was worth, when-
His phone buzzed again.
Pretty Girl: 'Delete that.'
Jason hadn't even considered that you had sent it to him by mistake. He had been far too busy enjoying to even consider the intention or the psychology behind it.
So, he took his hand off the waistband of his sweats and texted back the first thing that came to mind.
'No.'
(He didn't hear your annoyed growl on the other end, frustrated at his downright typical Jason behaviour.)
'It's not my fault you made a dumbass mistake. Besides, it's the least I get after all the nagging from you.'
Then, something else came to mind as the bubbles popped up, meaning you were busy formulating a reply - an annoyed one, no doubt.
'Who did you mean to send it to anyway? Who are you fucking whose name starts with J that's not me?'
(You hesitated.)
Pretty Girl: 'I didn't type in J.'
'???'
Pretty Girl: 'I typed in G. And it turns out the first contact that popped up was Giant Baby. That's you.'
Jason felt annoyed and insulted on all levels. The fact that you were going to Tiger Boy for dick instead of him, and the fact that you had used such a mocking contact name for him. But when he realised that such a pathetic string of events had caused him to accidentally see you naked, he couldn't be too upset.
'I'm still keeping the picture 😈'
Pretty Girl: 'You're such an asshole' Pretty Girl: ... Pretty Girl: 'You owe me one'
'Fine, I'll owe you one'
Jason shrugged it off, thinking he had won, until -
Pretty Girl: 'No, you owe me a cock.'
This made Jason's stomach jump. You couldn't possibly mean-?
Pretty Girl: ... Pretty Girl: 'You owe me a picture of your dick. You know - an eye for an eye type stuff.'
Jason wanted to ask questions - what did you plan to do with the picture? Should he shave his balls first? Did you want more than one?
But his cock got even harder at you asking for a picture, at you demanding to see his cock, and he couldn't properly think - he couldn't even reason that you might later blackmail him with the picture.
No, instead, he found himself ripping down his pants and turning on the bedside lamp for good lighting, pumping himself up to peak rigid hardness and grasping the base of his cock in hand. And then, without hesitation, he snapped a picture for you. He made sure to get his abs in the photo - a collection of his best assets, with his pants pulled down to mid-thigh, showing off his tight stomach, the deep V leading down to his dick, and his thick seven inch cock in hand surrounded by some well-kept dark pubic hair.
(He was proud of it - and that ego was one of the things that annoyed you most about him.)
He sent it without hesitation and then you began typing several times and stopped once again. Jason's stomach churned with nerves until -
Pretty Girl: 'Fuck you' Pretty Girl: 'I thought it would be smaller'
Jason had no clue how to respond to that, and he was busy racking his brain for some clever reply, when -
Oh. Oh fuck.
(1) new photo
You had sent him another picture. And this time it was definitely on purpose.
It was a view between the plump, beautiful thickness of your thighs - your hand was inside the pretty lace of those panties, and your fingers were visible working on your clit while your needy hole dripped wetness onto the fabric.
So you had liked what you had seen.
Pretty Girl: 'What would you do if you were here right now?'
Jason's brain short-circuited then. He thought of so many things - eating your pussy until you screamed, flipping you onto your stomach and fucking you until you begged him to stop, gripping onto those gorgeous thighs, pinning them to your chest and pounding into your cunt until you finally surrendered and said that you had liked him all along, fucking your smart little mouth to finally shut you up-
Pretty Girl: 'Come on, Jay. Don't disappoint me.'
Oh, he won't.
(Another thing Jason won't admit - he came back to the Tower just for you.)
...
DC Titans Masterlist
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lovebyhyun ¡ 1 month ago
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the rush
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genre : fluff, han jisung x reader
synopsis : when your best friend is finally ready to give his feelings for you a name.
warnings : jisung is shy, reader is unaware of jisung’s feelings, slightest mention of masturbation if you squint
a/n : can someone send me a request so i can check if they even work pls? lmao
masterlist
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Jisung has always noticed that odd warmth unveiling uncomfortably in his stomach everytime he caught himself staring at you for a bit longer than intended.
He felt every single one of his heartstrings snapping when you flashed him a smile. Even the quickest and the smallest one made his heart skip beats and pump so fast, he almost felt it in his throat.
His feelings drove him crazy, yet he couldn’t shake the thought of you off his mind. All the late nights he spent thinking about you, picturing your face, doing things he wouldn’t admit to doing. Sometimes he felt a little insane with how often you filled his mind.
But deep inside, Jisung knew that he would be the best boyfriend that you could ever dream of. So sweet and loving, so caring and genuine.
He wasn’t in love. It was just a thought.
So he acted normal whenever he was around you. You two were absolutely nothing more than friends. Casual. Yet there was an undeniable amount of despair coating him whenever you’d mention another boy.
Whether it was you talking about yourself going on a date soon, you crying over how your ex cheated on you or you mentioning a male celebrity crush, it made his heart ache.
Han always tried to explain it as “being tired of being single” or “being jealous about how many people y/n is able to pull”. He tried so intensely to believe it, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t help but feel that little spark growing bigger at the very bottom of his heart.
Now his eyes still heavy from sleep and limbs still making a mess with the tangled sheets, he opens his phone right after waking up to check for any important news.
And he saw it.
“im coming over tonight. you better have snacks at yours, love ya<3”
A sweet message from you that made his heart do a tiny backflip. Without realizing it, a small grin started engraving itself onto his face. It was normal for friends to be excited to see each other, right?
A few hours and a few back and forth texts with you later, Jisung prepared a cozy setting for the two of you for tonight. Nothing too crazy, just a few blankets, pillows and lots of snacks.
He remembered every single detail about what makes a movie night the perfect night for you, and he always made the expectations come true. It was the only right thing to do for your best friend of so many years. At least that’s what helped him sleep at night
And you came. Looking like an absolute goddess even in your most comfortable clothes, with no makeup on and a messy hairstyle.
Just with a single glance, he noticed every single detail about your appearance.
How singular strands of your hair framed your face perfectly, your hair tie doing nothing to stop them from getting in your eyes.
How your lashes looked extra long today, even though they had no mascara on. You probably curled them right before leaving.
How your sweater had the slightest stain, barely even noticeable. So of course he saw it. He noticed everything. But he told himself that he was just a very observant person.
He welcomed you in as usual, and you made yourself comfortable on the couch as Jisung put on your favourite show.
Grabbing a pint of ice cream and a spoon, you shot your friend a glance and you simply said
“Thanks for trying. It’s rare to find a friend like you these days.”
Han just looked at you and stopped. What was happening to him? Why was he reacting like this?
“You deserve it.” He tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, still he wasn’t sure if it was working.
Even after he finished talking, he didn’t look away. How could he? You were so effortlessly beautiful. You look back at him with a confused look and the tip of his ears went immediately red as he turned to the TV with the speed of light.
Not thinking much of it, you did the same and went back to your ice cream.
Jisung couldn’t quite focus on the characters moving on the screen and the sounds echoing across the room anymore.
Thoughts where rushing through his mind. What was that feeling untying in his chest each time you’d spare him a glance? Was it something more than a friendship he wanted with you?
Breaking him out of his trance, your giggle suddenly filled the room as a funny moment came on the show. And that was it for him.
It was all the confirmation he needed.
Han Jisung loved you.
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gilverrwrites ¡ 10 months ago
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Something cute and smutty with either Tim Drake or Roy ?
AND: What about a one bed trope for Tim pls??
Dream a little dream of me
Tim Drake/Reader, ≈1.8K AN: I don't know if theres such a phrases as 'porn first, questions later' but thats what this is lmao. I'm glad theres an audience for Tim, cause as much as I love the other Robins (wink wink Dick), as a bisexual 90s kid, Tim really is my Robin, ya know? CWs: Somnophilia (but not really), dry humping, intercrural sex/thigh job, hand job, Petnames: Baby, sweetheart Tropes: One bed, friends to lovers, porn with feelings. GN!Reader
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Sleeping beside you is neither new nor unusual for Tim. You’d been close friends for years, he’d crashed in your bed after many a patrol, you’d had film or study nights at the manor which always ended with you hogging his bed sheets, and in more recent years you’d huddled together on the cramped mattress he called a bed in the lower deck of his boat on multiple occasions. It had always been so natural and innocent, so why was this hotel bed any different? Well, because his budding, inappropriate crush on you had grown in the time since you’d last shared a comforter; Tim had been having not-so-innocent dreams about you.
Dreams where he got to touch, tease, and taste every inch of your exposed skin until you’re a babbling, pleading mess. Dreams where he silenced your breathy cries and begs by telling you to “be good baby”, spreading your legs, and running the tip of his cock along your entrance. Where you look at him with those big, dreamy eyes of yours right up until it’s too much, until he’s bottomed out inside of you and you can’t help but throw your head back, calling out his name as you dig your nails into his back.
“That feels... so… good.” The sound of your voice calls out to him, but your dream self is in no position to be speaking so coherently.
Wait, dream?
His mind is fuzzy as he wakes, still heavy with sleep, part of his brain tries desperately to clutch onto the fleeting imagery in his head until he realises two very important things;  
1. Your body is pressed against his. You’re turned away from him, but he can still feel your warmth, the pressure of your back to his chest, your ass to his… crotch. 2. His ‘crotch’ is rock hard.
Despite all instinct telling him to immediately pull away, he waits. Concerned his sudden movement might cause you to stir, he slows himself. Forcing his body to hold back so he can remove himself in increments. Just a little bit, and then a bit more, and more? He swears he’s doing it, swears he’s at least half a foot away from where he’d been upon waking, but you’re still pushing against him, still rolling your hips.
“Tim~”
It’s at this moment Tim has a third, pivotal realisation.
3. You’re grinding on him.
The sound of Tim’s low voice whispering your name against the shell of your ear slowly coaxs you awake. Every warm breath against your skin sends a rush of heat to your already aching sex. You’d been having such a peaceful, steamy dream in which your best friend, and secret crush; Tim had been tenderly rocking his cock into you from behind. As you take in the hotel room and the hotness of Tim’s body spooning into you, you can’t tell if you’re awake or still dreaming.
“Can you feel that?” His hushed voice pierces the quietness of the room and you’re not sure what he’s talking about until he surges forward, further pressing the hardness of his clothes cock into the curve of your ass.
“Yes.” You murmur, only intending to answer his question but your sleeply lust-ridden psyche keeps talking. “Don’t stop, I like it.”
“Yeah?” He’s so grateful you’re not looking at him in that moment, otherwise, you’d see the undeniable redness currently rushing to his cheeks. Even in the dark of the night, he’s sure it’s glowing through. “I think we’ve been humping each other in our sleep.”
“I’m sorry.” The fear of his rejection is immediately thrown out when you feel his lips on your pulse point, but you have to ask anyway. “Do you want to stop?”
“No, no, god no.” He trails soft kisses along the side of your neck, each one growing sloppier until he finds and fixates on your jaw for far too short a time. “You have no idea how many times I’ve fantasised about this. About you. I want you so bad.”
“I want you too, Tim.” A million and one thoughts run through his head in that moment. How much time had the two of you wasted skirting around the subject? What does this mean for your future and your friendship? The only thing he doesn’t think of as he absent-mindedly ruts against you is the one you ask. “Do you have any protection?”
“I have my Red Robin suit in my case.” It’s a dumb joke he can’t help but make, you laugh anyway and he thinks he might love you for it.
“No, but that’s okay. We can make this work.” You hear the snap of your waistband hitting your hip before you feel it. Tim had playfully pulled it taught before letting go to pull down his boxers. Getting the point, you take his cue, shimmying out of your own underwear just in time for Tim to reattach himself to your back and press his open mouth to your shoulder. “Spread your legs baby.”
As you do, Tim slides his cock between them. You wish you’d turned the light on so you could get a better look, but no force on earth could pry you away from him now. Understanding his plan, you don’t wait to be told to close your legs again, engulfing his length with the soft skin of your inner thighs and slowly beginning to rock your hips.
Tim reached over your body, grazing his deft fingers around your waist and across your stomach. A whine escapes your lips as he dips lower to rub along the length of your arousal, his cock twitches between your legs. Knowing it's so close makes you feel empty, makes you ache to feel him deep inside you, makes the tension in your core coil even more.
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re dripping.” He can hear the wonderment in his own voice as he glides his thumb around you. In response you clench your thighs even harder around his cock, making him groan into your neck.
It isn’t long before your grinding hard and fast around his dick, gripping his arm as you get lost in the moment. The combined sensations feels so good, and you can’t get enough.
Neither can Tim. He could never have dreamed that the reality would feel so good. He’s in awe of the way your body moves, of the pornographic noises you’re making for him. He can barely focus. He wants to hold on longer, wants to bask in your warmth and scent for as long as possible but your merciless rhythm and the feel of your thighs around his throbbing cock has him chasing his climax way too soon.
“Are you close?” He sputters. You answer with a string of incomprehensible whimpers and a weak nod. He isn’t even in you, and you’re already drunk on your best friend. You’d be ashamed if you had the capacity to care in that moment. “Come with me?”
It’s a question, not a command. This is a partnership, he wants you to feel connected, not controlled and that has your toes curling.
Simultaneously your thrusting becomes strained, and more erratic as his pumping grows faster, and sloppier, both of you getting lost in your highs but still determined to ride out the other, filling the room with deep, ragged breaths until you’re shuddering in his arms, savouring every last remnants of pleasure. The way his strong hands cup your body has you feeling safe in your post-orgasm euphoria.
It isn’t until you feel the moisture of your combined cum seeping into the fabric below you that you remember there’s a world outside of you and him. You sit up simultaneously, Tim reaches for the bedside lamp and is stunned by the sight of your sweat-sheened skin and heavy eyes when he turns back. Completely unaware that you’re thinking the same thing about his flushed cheeks and fluffy bedhead.
You gesture to the puddle you’re currently half-sat in and joke; “The hotel cleaners are going to hate us.”
Before you can exit the bed, Tim is on his feet and rushing to the ensuite. He returns a moment later with a roll of tissues and a damp cloth. You’ve rolled over, face down on his side of the bed in an attempt not to spread the fluids even more and he gets to work wiping the cum from your leg in slow, circular motions. It shouldn’t take this long, you both know it, he’s just enjoying the moment.
“That was really…” You’d wanted to fill the silence, but now you’re not sure how to finish, you don’t want to scare him away with your excitement, but you want him to know how good he made you feel. “Really wow.”
“Really wow.” He repeats with a teasing snicker, dodging when you reach out to playfully smack his shoulder. “What? What? It was wow.”
He’s teasing. With a 147 IQ, he knows a better word than wow, but he’s choosing to repeat yours, tone and all. It’s not like he hasn’t messed with you before, and you’ve always been able to dish it back, but now feels different. Now is different.
“So, I take it we’re not just friends anymore?” You ask as he climbs over you to work on the wet patch. Eventually, he finds a position kneeling at the bottom of the bed, and you roll over once more, now seated and positioned to watch him.
“Um, no.” He coughs, not to clear his throat but to prolong his time to think of an answer. Your gaze is making him nervous. He doesn’t know what you want him to say, doesn’t want to come on too strong and ruin your friendship, but he also doesn’t want to seem too lax, to make you think he’s just using you or that he’s not interested in something more than friendship. “Friends definitely don’t do that.”
“So, what are we?” You push, not missing the way his adams-apple bobs as he swallows back his nerves.
“I don’t know.” His chest immediately grows tight at the hurt look that spreads across your face. Fuck it, now or never. “But whatever we are, I’m yours.”
Your expression doesn’t immediately change, and he worries he’s misread your reaction. Assumed that you want him the way he wants you.
“If you want me that is.” He continues, trying to save face.
“Of course, I want you, Tim.” He hadn’t realised how tense the conversation was making him until he heard those magic words. In seconds you’re face to face with him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him close to offer your body as comfort. You’ve always been able to read and react to him so well, like you were programmed for him. “You can be mine, if I can be yours.”
Then he feels your lips pucker against his hairline, and despite having climaxed between your legs only minutes earlier, he’s suddenly more nervous than he’s ever been. Gently, you drag your lips down his face, leaving kisses along his brow line, his cheekbones, and his jowls until you're inches from his own lips.
Your eyes dart back and forth between his own eyes and his mouth, he licks his lips in preparation for yours and then you’re on him, lips locked, tangled in each other’s arms.
There’s a drying stain waiting to be cleaned, and a long day ahead of you both tomorrow, but right now none of that matters.
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cheeseceli ¡ 1 year ago
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Boyfriend San
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Pairing: Choi San × Gn!reader
Genre: fluff, headcanons
Request: just really really achingly sickeningly fluffy husband or boyfriend san fluff please? Yk with sleep cuddles and lots of kisses, the whole nine yards
Warnings: mention of food, not proofread, a lot of skinship, lowercase intended
A/n: I realised that you probably meant like a drabble 💀 I can write a fic later if you want to, but I hope you like the headcanons as well!
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‌extremely clingy
‌you will NOT get out of the hold of this man
‌especially when it's morning
‌i really hope you're not a morning person because he will not let you out of the bed
will hug you like his life depends on it and cage you in bed
‌talking about sleeping!
‌he always tries his best to sleep only after you
‌and will give you a goodnight kiss all the time
‌if you guys are apart and can't be sleeping together, he'll make sure to always call you or at least send you a goodnight text
‌it doesn't matter if he's on the other side of the world
‌he wants you to sleep every day knowing that you are loved
‌back hugs all the time
‌put his chin in your shoulder
‌holds your waist, hands on your thigh, holding hands when walking
‌you're physically attached to him the moment you said yes to dating him
‌holds your chin up so he can kiss you 😄
‌i'm going insane
‌or holds your waist so he can always bring you closer and closer
‌his soul would be merged with yours if that was possible
‌always gives you his jacket !!!
‌i'm a strong believer that you will never feel cold if San is by your side
‌he offers his jacket/sweater in late night walks when the breeze gets colder
‌or covers your lap with it when you sit down at a restaurant
‌good luck kisses when he's about to go on stage
‌loves the food you make
‌you can be the worst cook to ever exist, he couldn't care less
‌he always loves your dishes because it tastes like home
‌such a flirt 😭
‌doesn't rest until you want to bury your head underground
‌he loves to tease you fr
‌sends you 649274 photos per day
‌it's not even the pretty ones, it's just a bunch of blurred pics with a lot of funny faces lmao
‌and he has a lot of pictures like this of you as well
‌you can try to pose and look pretty as much as you want, the photo will still come out a mess
‌but even then he treasures it so much :(
‌has a (decent) pic of you in his wallet as well
‌looks like he'd bite you out of the blue just because 💀
‌always laughes the most when he's with you
‌soft eyes whenever looking at you
‌dating him is chaotic in the best way possible, but it also makes you the happiest and safest
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Dividers by @enchanthings
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