#so its posted a week later and no one will notice

[lxcalmenace]

Some silly scenarios with bluelock boys

Based on this headcanon post

Characters included < Isagi, Bachira, Nagi, Rin, Sae and Kaiser > X gn!reader (separate)

tw: none?

⟡Isagi Yoichi - Gets into twitter discourse.

After what felt like months, it seemed that yours and Isagi's schedules had finally aligned. You entered his apartment and made your way to the living room to greet Isagi; just then you saw him sitting on the couch, a furrowed expression crossing his face and his phone in his hand. He was aggresively typing and scrolling on his phone that he failed to notice you taking a seat next to him.

"Oh shoot I didn't see you, sorry", he mutters as he shifts, allowing you to sit comfortably.

"Are you seriously arguing on twitter?," was all you said that made Isagi look away in embarrassment. Ofcourse he didn't want to admit it straight away but he was indeed losing the said argument.

"You know you don't have to prove anything to anyone right? And who even takes twitter seriously nowadays?"

You watched as Isagi let of a small huff before turning off his phone. Without a word, he pulled you in a gentle embrace as the rest of your evening blurred out into soft giggles and tender moments.

⟡Bachira Meguru - Very willing to eat inedible things.

You have been waiting to buy those food inspired scented candles for God knows too many days now; until finally, you managed to get your hands on one of them recently. It was a pancake inspired candle. It was so realistic that you could barely tell it was fake—if it weren’t for the wick sticking out of the top, you might have thought it was an actual pancake

As you opened the box, the mouthwatering, sugary smell of pancakes hit you, spreading throughout the room. This candle was too realistic and just like that, Bachira was willing to sink his teeth into the wax block.

"If it smells so good, it has to taste good too! Let me have just a bite please [name]," he whined. Bro dropped to his knees begging and pleading in exaggerated desperation- as if he would've perished due to hunger right then and there. You couldn't help but chuckle at this sight.

"Ok fine...A little bite won't hurt, but don't come complaining to me later," you sighed as you surrendered the candle to Bachira.

Disgust. Pure disgust washed over his face after he took the bite. He looked at you with teary eyes as he desperately tried to get rid of the nasty taste of the wax; which in response, you just shrugged in a 'I told you so' manner. After helping him wash his mouth and feeding him chocolates to counter the unpleasant flavor, you both finally settled down. Bachira swore that he wouldn't eat anything weird after this incident.

He tried eating cotton the next week.

⟡Nagi Seishiro - Uses two-in-one shampoo and conditioner.

Nagi was out shopping for some groceries while you were tagging alone for some snacks. It was a sunny day, you both entered the supermarket; Nagi took the basket as you made your way inside. He thinks shopping for basic necessities is a hassle and thus the reason for you tagging along to keep him company. You were free to get anything you wanted so you looked around the store, but nothing caught your eye. So you decided to go back, you spotted your tall boyfriend and made your way towards him. He was in the hygiene isle, eyeing down some shampoo bottles.

"Do you seriously use 2-in-1 shampoo? -" you ask, raising your eyebrow. Nagi looked at you with an unbothered expression as he shrugged, "Uh, yeah. Been using that since forever"

"Why are you asking me this, something wrong with it?" the tall male added while casually putting another bottle in the cart.

"Your hair is always so silky and soft; Its hard to believe that a simple 2-in-1 could give you those results. I mean, people spend a ton of money on haircare products, to achieve what you have, you know?" you replied.

"Then, thanks to my genes, I guess," he smirked as he turned around to look at you. You couldn't help but sigh and let out a chuckle. There was absolutely no point in arguing with Nagi- He always managed to win, even when he wasn't trying. You raised your hands as if you were surrendering, and then you both made your way further into the store.

Nagi is a simple guy, and slowly over time, you are starting to find comfort in his simplicity.

⟡Rin Itoshi - Plays roblox.

"Rin, dinner's ready, come down!" You yelled from the kitchen whilst serving the food on the table. A few unresponsive minutes passed, so you decided to fetch Rin yourself; thinking he might be in the shower or taking a nap. Making your way to the shared bedroom, you knocked on the door before poking your head through.

There he was, sitting on his gaming chair, with the lights out, playing..roblox..? You observed him for a couple of minutes, his face was illuminated by the screen, ever so unfazed; Rin was too immersed playing The Mimic that he failed to notice you slowly creeping up on him. The only time Rin was caught off guard was when you tapped his shoulder to get his attention. You swore you saw Rin's face go pale for a second as his eyes widen in surprise. "You play roblox?," you asked as you raised your brows in amusement.

He took off his headset and he nodded, "Is dinner ready?"

"It is"

"Alright"

You both stared at each other.

"Can we play Dress to impress later? Rin please-"

"NO."

Few moments later, the dark haired striker was seen playing Dress to impress, all the bright colors and outfits flashed on his screen display.

"You're doing incredibly well, who would've thought you had those designer skills in you Rinnie," you teased him

"Oh shut up...I just don't like losing, ok?" he scoffed but there was a small smile creeping on his lips.

You rolled your eyes playfully, knowing very well that he only agreed to play this if only you were ready to join him in his horror games. It was a win-win situation for both of you.

⟡Sae Itoshi - Had an emo phase

Your phone was buzzing for quite some time now so you finally decided to check who was texting you at this time of the night. Sae was on his way home from practice; Deciding to stay up and wait for him to get home, you layed down on the couch while keeping a random movie playing in the background. As you opened the chat, you couldn't help but burst into laughter- There were old pictures of Sae; eyes lined with eyeliner, hair was dyed dark and swooped to a side and he was wearing dark clothes. You saved all the pictures one by one as you swiped for more, that's when you heard the door open- signaling that Sae had returned home. Quickly turning off your phone, you were trying so hard to contain your laughter, but a giggle escaped your lips.

Sae muttered a small, "What are you up to [name]?" before raising an eyebrow at you. He knew that you had something cooking up due to the way you were smiling at him.

"Sae," you purred, "if hypothetically someone were to leak your embarrassing pictures, what would you do?" you grinned.

You watched as Sae's expressions went from neutral to that of pure horror.

"[Name] don't you dare-" he warned.

"I'm not saying that I have any embarrassing pictures of you tho," you replied, "It was a hypothetical question, unless," a smirk formed on your lips as you looked at Sae. "You never know what could happen next."

His eyes widen in disbelief, he knew that you had something against him. "Fine, I don't have the energy to do this. Tell me what do you want," he sighed, giving up. "But atleast show me these hypothetical pictures you have acquired, and where did you even get them from?"

You giggle as you showed him all of the pictures; to which he openly cringed hard. He was definitely not expecting this. It brought back so many of his memories before going to Spain. He sighed as he accepted his faith and made his way to the bedroom to freshen up. You typed a quick 'Thank you' and sent the chat.

"Rin reacted '👍' to your chat."

⟡Michael Kaiser - Sleeps in till noon

'12:27'

It was past noon. You had finished making breakfast, eating it, doing some chores around the house, watering the plants, having a small snack and watching a few episodes of your favorite show, and yet your boyfriend was still in your bed, sleeping peacefully. You would've chalked it up to him being tired, but he had gone to bed exceptionally early too. It was starting to concern you now. What if he was not feeling well? You made your way to the bedroom and entered it silently. There he was, soft breathing and sleeping peacefully. You sat down beside him and gently touched his forehead to check if he was sick. Everything was fine. You decided to run your fingers through his messy bed hair, untangling any small knots. Michael slowly started to stir and the first thing he did was kiss your hand, which made your lips morph into a small smile.

"Good morning, mein Schatz," He mumbled groggily, "What time is it?" he asked while rubbing his eyes. He let out a yawn as he sat up your bed

"Its good afternoon now, wake up Micha," you continue to run your fingers through his blonde locks as he embraced you, still feeling sleepy.

You pat his head, "C'mon have your lunch, you must be hungry."

"Are you on the menu?" he muttered against your shoulder.

". . ."

"Then no, I dont want to eat"

"Michael no-"

Not proofread so ignore any mistakes and ty for reading !!

[hdawg1995]

i am the only person in the dragonfable fandom upset we have Tomix's animations now and i don't like it but i don't want to shit on everyone's fun but man am I grumpy Tomix no longer has unique animations while zhoom and artix still do after their classes got reworked.

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

genuine question but is there any fandom where a character is well written by the majority. im thinking about fandom culture and the spread of frustration when people dont write characters well but. honestly in all the fandoms ive been in there's only like, a Select number of authors who i trust to write Well, let alone write Well AND In Character. character analysis and writing and getting inside characters' heads are all separate skills (all of which are trained by roleplaying fyi can CONFIRM playing pretend with your friends is good for you). there's been more than once where I've disagreed with an interpretation that others agreed with, and then I turned out wrong. or i turned out right. like it doesnt matter WHO is right it just matters that differences in character analysis exist, so even if you DO write well AND write in character, your in character is still going to be someone else's out of character

there's this sort of. vibe. that to play in the sandbox you Need to be able to make a castle, and if you can't make a castle then you shouldn't bother, and it completely dismisses the idea that youre in that sandbox to PLAY in the first place. there's this Weight of disappointing someone if you can't build something that they like, but that forgets that you aren't there to build them a castle. like, be KIND. if you disagree with someone then please make an effort to do so kindly. i dont give a shit about fandom discourse but there is a reason kids get removed from sandboxes if they keep throwing sand in people's eyes. but if they don't like your misshapen sand pile, then youre not obligated to change it. even if you yourself end up hating that same sand pile later- youre not building a legacy. youre playing. and sometimes the result of that play is out of character drivel. theres a reason there are so many authors and so few who i like to consistently read and thats because everyone is Fucking Around in their hobby space. hash tag brag or whatever but i can build castles. ive built several that im v proud of. ive also dug holes in the sand for fun and then tripped on them when trying to get up. I often dug a hole and then got up and fucking- whoops, its a castle now, and i didn't realize i'd made something to be proud of until after the fact. the whole time while creating shit i was Convinced it was bullshit that didn't make sense. and then other times i was Convinced it was bullshit and then i was Right and i can look back and go. huh. ew. but it doesn't matter what the end result was, because i had fun playing in the sandbox

this wasn't meant to turn into a ramble but i have Feelings about bad art and art that's badly perceived and how public perception can screw with your head and how making art youre proud of is fucking. it's so difficult!!! it's hard!! it's really fun, which is why i try to make it, but i promise you it is Okay to not tryhard creativity. even if you CAN, it's okay not to do it all the time. or ever, even. fuck around find out have fun etc

[iwanttobepersephone]

Sometimes I'll reblog a post and be like "Oh! This is very relatable, but I experience this in a slightly different way than you do!" And I explain the way I experience it and I'm like "haha they're so cool =]" and the like a month later a realize nobody thought I was talking about how cool it is that everybody experiences things differently but that they thought I was trying to say my experience was better and I die inside

[leafiion]

btwww when the chapters come out they might be a little inconsistent in writing style to chapter one. mostly because chapter two (now 2/3) have been in the works since the beginning of the year before posting chapter one and its been my biggest writing roadblock.

After I’ve worked on a few more chapters I’ll probably go back and edit them fully start to finish to see if they’re as bad as I think, but it’s been months and my perception is a little warped by now.

[nightsky-edits]

Sorry for being slow on the pq edits also, i broke my glasses and i couldnt see my screen for like a week :( just got some new ones in so i should be able to tackle them later this week :D

[youremyonlyhope]

I really should know better than to watch dumb romcoms while I'm 90% sure I'm ovulating.

This time it was Netflix's Love in the Villa trying to make me cry.

[remapped-soul]

.i guess whatching daily dose of sunshine is really fun

[vaguenotions]

Oh, yes, I just love your unannounced sleepover where you both come back from the bar after carefully avoiding telling me that's where you were going, and also neglecting to tell me when you'd be home! I definitely do not want to knock you on your ass and take a bat to your dome! That would be rude and unnecessary :)

Oh yes, please do start talking about shit amongst yourselves and make me feel isolated and othered in ny own room! These moments are what I live for, of course. Naturally. Who would ever have any issues with this arrangement at all?

[shinobicyrus]

I've seen a lot of posts about Batman using his Bruce Wayne alter ego for the good of Gotham: job programs for felons released from prison, orphanages, charities, high wages for his employees, ethical business practices...the legendary post where Bruce Wayne goes to Wal-Mart.

Thus far I've never personally seen anybody really dig into the persona of Bruce Wayne the Billionaire Playboy. A handsome, rich, powerful man who always is seen at fancy galas, art openings, charity dinners, and wild parties with at least one beautiful woman on his arm.

We know Bruce Wayne is the mask, and its Batman who has a...complex love life, depending on the iteration we're talking about. Talia, Catwoman, sometimes Wonder Woman.

Bruce Wayne's dates, on the other hand, are all "normal" people. Maybe they're an aspiring actress, a supermodel, a prima ballerina, the occasional reporter...and every time there's that bit of nervousness at the start.

Sure everyone knows Bruce Wayne. Everyone knows the story with him. Sometimes his wilder parties make the news, but there's never really been anything nasty reported about him. Never...allegations. But he's a billionaire. He's one of the most powerful people in the whole city, nevermind the country. If he did have some skeletons in his closet. Well. Men with power have a way of making those kinds of stories go away, don't they?

As time goes on the Date's fears dissipate pretty quickly. Bruce Wayne is nothing but polite, kind, and at times charmingly awkward in an 'raised by his butler in a mansion' kind of way with his dates. Some of them can tell he's holding back, of course. Maybe the more perceptive Dates notice he's smarter than he lets on - playing the himbo or hamming up the "know-nothing rich boy" act to the cameras or some of his wealthy peers.

He also listens, is the thing. He's always listening to what they're saying, is interested in hearing about their careers, their hobbies, their lives. Really listens, too. Might refer to something a Date said weeks later off-hand. Buy out the whole museum for a private dinner date with a famous painting from an obscure artist they like, or a private performance with another's favorite band.

He has anecdotes and funny stories for days that somehow says very little about his personal life. The Dates know he has kids (it's practically a running gag in the news that Bruce Wayne has adopted yet another orphan) and maybe she might spot one of them at the mansion, but Bruce seems very keen to shelter them from any intense spotlight and scrutiny, and they all seem happy if a bit weird like him.

Eventually, there's drifting. He's a very busy man, with a very busy schedule. On more than on occasion his nice old butler will call and extend apologies that Mr. Wayne will not be able to make it this evening. Sometimes it's virtually impossible to get a hold of him over the phone. After a while they stop trying. None of them feel quite surprised by that. In the end, it just doesn't work. Sure, he's a little distant and doesn't make himself emotionally available...but he's not a bad person.

Especially when the so-called "exes" of Bruce Wayne start networking. Gotham isn't a small city, but the social circles Bruce Wayne travels in aren't as big. They don't quite gossip or complain about him. More like...who else would get it?

(I touched his side once and he winced...like he'd been hurt real bad there. He laughed and said it was tackle polo. How does that even-?)

(Somehow, after two dates, he saw right through me and listened while I told him what that casting director tried to do. He nodded, gave me the contact details of a law firm, and said not to worry about the legal fees.)

(I don't know for sure it was him, but it can't be a coincidence that my building got bought out from under my shitty landlord and we were all able to buy our apartments under market value.)

(He got my brother in the best rehab program in the city after his relapse. It probably saved his life. We'd stopped dating months ago, I still don't know how he found out.)

(He gave me a card with a phone number and told me that if I was ever in trouble to call it. Said one of his cars would come to pick me up, any time, any place, no questions asked. The one time I did have to use it after a bad party, it was Alfred.)

I think any tabloid reporter digging around for salacious stories or dirt about Bruce Wayne's love life would be completely and politely stonewalled when they try asking his former Dates. Even when money is offered. Every single one of them.

[koushirouizumi]

{D i g i m o n} Adventure 02: The Beginning ~ Official Images {"The Beginning' stills were added to the official DM_Partners account + site!}

+ Hikari at the childhood education center + Iori actively using the P.C {to S e a r c h up i n f o}.... + Daisuke + V-mon {seen as well from previous preview[s]}

#The Beginning Spoilers #TheBeginningSpoilers #Digimon Adventure 02: The Beginning Spoilers #DigimonSpoilers

{Do Not Remove C a p t i o n} (Please A S K to U s e / S h a r e!)

[wander-wren]

you know for a long time i wasnt sure i really had rsd, because obviously i have adhd and it’s A Problem, but “bad with criticism” didn’t seem to be one of my major issues. i actually have a lot of trouble relating to #relatable #actuallyadhd type posts, just because i wouldn’t describe my feelings in the conventional way. actually this happens with other things, too.

and then i sit down months or years later and go “oh, shit, i do have [symptom], i just didn’t realize that’s what they meant.”

anyway, i am deeply, intensely concerned with using the exact right terms for everything all of the time, and i remember every time that someone has made a joke or the like out of me getting it wrong.

most recently i made the assumption that something worked in a different way than it did, in passing during a wider conversation, and the guy (college staff, not a prof) i was talking to said “yeah, that’s how [thing] works” with the slightest laugh, you know, a very normal innocuous comment on my story. i don’t think he even realized that i’d gotten it wrong. but i did. immediately.

and immediately, even though i’d been getting on well with this man before that moment, the conversation was soured for me. because i was stupid, i got something wrong, and he pointed it out, and he wasn’t laughing at me, of course, but also he was.

also, this happened in march and i’m still thinking about it. so.

i also once, maybe two years ago, caused a silly family car game to turn into a fight that last thirty minutes because i refused to guess…i think it was which artist was singing the song on the radio, except the radio was playing something not my forte. my guess ended up being right, i think, but i refused to actually say it because i knew my family would make fun of me if i got it wrong (pretentious music people), but i also couldn’t explain that without being picked at for overreacting, so i mostly just refused to speak and it became a whole thing.

so yeah no i might have some rejection sensitive dysphoria. a little criticism problem.

[also now that i’m here i am deeply afraid i’m using words wrong again, so if i am, can we all just agree to ignore it and pretend i didn’t.]

[pearwaldorf]

I hate that you can't see a tweet thread anymore if you're not logged into Twitter (as a gesture of disrespect I refuse to call it by its rebranded name). Here is a copypasta of a thread from Dan Olson, a Canadian documentary filmmaker, expanding upon camera quality, the guilt trips Somerton used to goose his Patreon subscriptions, and how the best tools will never make up for lack of dedication or patience. I have added clarifications in [[double brackets]] where I feel it is necessary.

START OF THREAD

Okay, so, back in April I snapped at James in reply to a tweet that was linking to this video (which James has since delisted but not deleted) and I want to talk about the full context of that but I don't want to make a video, put your beatdown memes away. [[The video has since been deleted. I can see the title of the video is "Maybe the end (not an April Fool's Day thing".]]

The first bit of context is that I initially got keyed into James to fact-check his claims about indie filmmaking in Canada. As a filmmaker the entire Telos venture was immediately obvious as a juvenile fantasy dreamed up by someone with no idea how to make a movie.

Just wild claims about their plans that weren't worth debunking because they bordered Not Even Wrong. But in watching one of these pitch videos I noticed that he had a $4000 current-gen camera in the background as a prop, and that seemed both pretentious and weird.

You don't use your best camera as a prop, you use your second best camera as a prop. So being an obsessive weirdo I needed to know, and I watched his BTS stuff until I spotted his main rig, a $6000 camera with about $1000 in accessories.

Now, these in isolation are unremarkable because his Patreon at the time was bringing in ~$8000 per month, his channel was a full on Business business, and so investing in some professional equipment of that level is maybe a bit indulgent but justifiable.

What was weird is that he doesn't shoot multi-cam, doesn't shoot outdoors, doesn't shoot on location, and in a studio the two cameras kinda really step on each others' toes. Basically if you already have one and don't need a B cam there's no reason to get the other.

Again, on its own, this says nothing, it's just indicative of poor financial decisions, maybe impulsive purchasing, Gear Acquisition Syndrome. Biblical sins, but not crimes.

Paired with the constantly inflating fantasy scope of the Telos films it was clearly an expression of a very, very common bad filmmaker habit of "if I just get the right gear then my movie will basically make itself" Buying stuff because it feels like progress.

At the end of February he tweets "I want to start shooting anamorphic" and then three weeks later in March he posts the worst, out of focus, under-exposed "I just got a new lens!" video I've ever seen, showing off his trash-covered bedroom.

Based on what's available for his cameras and the lead time, that's enough time to get a Laowa Nanomorph or Sirui Saturn from B&H but not enough time to get a Great Joy from the UK or a Vazen from China. And with the flaring blah blah blah, $1300 lens.

Again, [gear acquisition syndrome] is not a crime and these lenses are budget options. Bit of a pointless impulse purchase since he only used it for the Showgirls video. But this is what he was doing just a few weeks before that above video came out: effortlessly impulse purchasing lenses.

James has (had?) a habit of regularly, aggressively driving viewers to Patreon by claiming that videos were getting demonetized. While tacky, it is something a lot of queer YouTubers have dealt with, so there's precedent there. But people were noticing he did it a lot.

Mid-March he humble brags about needing to work so hard to make 6 videos in April because he has over-booked sponsorships.

Then March 29th James posts this whole incel screed on Twitter about how sex work should be "subsidized as a mental health service."

[two image descriptions.

1. "For the majority of people sex (and human contact) can be imperative to a healthy state of mind. A kind and talented sex worker can make someone feel wanted for the first time in their life. I know sex workers who have pulled people back from suicide just by being there for them." 2. "Not only should (sex work) be legal, but it should be subsidized as a mental health service."]

He spends several days getting absolutely *roasted* for this, just dragged across the pavement and read for filth, and doubles down in the replies the whole way.

So this is the context immediately surrounding James waking up on Friday, and posts the above video and the below tweet.

[image description: "We just got the lowest Patreon payout we've gotten in well over a year. Like, a "maybe we need to rethink things" kind of amount... NOT an April Fools Day thing btw. But I don't know if we'll be making videos much longer."]

Now, this unfolds in kinda two directions. The first is that I'm convinced he was just lying about this income shock in the first place.

There's a million theoretical edge cases about what maybe happened and if maybe he just misunderstood the data or saw a glitch and panicked, maybe one of those happened, I don't believe it, I think he just lied because he was salty about getting dragged and felt owed a win.

A big tell to me is that he doesn't blame Patreon. He says he doesn't know what happened, but let's be real, Patreon screws up all the time, they're the first people anyone blames if anything confusing happens, just as a reflex action, even if it's completely not their fault.

The only reason to not blame Patreon is if you already know that it's not their fault and that any investigation on their part might reveal embarrassing details.

Instead he indirectly blames his viewers for not watching enough, not sharing enough, and not turning on auto-renew.

So regardless of the unknowable truth, this segues into the second, far more offensive direction of the messaging itself. "I don't know if we'll be making videos much longer." "Maybe the end" He explicitly framed this as an immediate existential threat to his channel.

In the video he is vague about everything, leaves a ton of hazy room for plausible deniability on how long the channel can keep going, but the messaging is "I need more patrons right this minute or my YouTube channel is over."

He repeatedly evokes all the "fun stuff" they had planned that would never see the light of day if this didn't turn around right away.

And his audience received this message loud and clear. Tons of people making far, far, far less than him left very heartfelt messages about digging a little deeper to subscribe or up their pledge or unsubscribe from other channels to move their pledge to his.

1200 new patrons in one day.

Since I simply don't believe the income shock was real in the first place that would put his post-"Maybe the end" Patreon income at around $10,000 per month. US. Add YouTube income, he's spent the last seven months making around $18,000 per month.

I have seen creators scale back their capabilities to the bone purely to keep making videos for the love of just, like, making stuff even as their funding evaporated and they needed to go back to a desk job to cover their bills.

You'd have to be so outstandingly reckless with your finances as a channel that a one month spook leads immediately to "channel over, sorry about all the fun stuff we won't get to do with you, our patrons, specifically because you, our patrons, aren't giving us enough money"

And not a spook where you then spend a couple weeks crunching numbers. Oh no. A shock so violent where less than two hours later you're weeping on camera about the channel being over.

Three weeks later he brought a brand new Sony FX6v for $8000 CAD to add to his pile of cinema cameras despite the fact that he was, but scant moments earlier, in such a precarious position that a single bad month would kill his channel.

He stole your money, and for that I'm profoundly sad and angry. That's why I snapped at him in April. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the full context then, and I'm sorry if that anger upset you.

END OF THREAD

[kierahn]

Stripper y/n being drained by bottom yandere and getting fucked by dom yandere basically a threesome

UNEXPECTED CLIENT. [ yandere ! ceo x m ! reader x bodyguard ]

summary : yandere ceo brings an unexpected guest with him, claiming that his father had insisted on bringing his bodyguard with him everywhere. you didn’t mind, you could use an extra buck or two.

expected content : threesome with reader being in the middle ✧; overstimulation ✧; willing stripper reader ✧; voyeurism

masterlist !

✩ i've been gone for 3 months (again wkwk sorry) i'm trying to get back into writing though, but i can't promise daily fics. it might take me a week or two to post new fics. requests are open, but selective :] don't be shy to ramble about your ideas. happy reading ! ✩ cero's one of my rare gentle yanderes, except for the fact that he tries to buy you out from time to time kekw. love this man. ✩ also, thank you to @dilvei for beta reading for me ! helped my muddled brain to get through this fic fr <3 they also write scrumptious fics, make sure to check out their blog !

➷  it was something that started out as a mere curiosity turned into an insatiable longing that persistently drew him back to the same place every single night. after a long and tiring day in his secluded office, cero sought solace in a place bustling with neon lights and busy bodies grinding against each other. 

➷ however, the allure of colorful and decorative drinks wasn’t what made him return each night. it was the sensation of your soft lips brushing against his and your body pressing against him closely that dissolved all his problems. your time together became his nightly routine as much as it became yours.

➷ adorned in a black robe made of fine silk that stopped above your knees–one of cero’s extravagant gifts–you settled on the king sized bed, meticulously prepared by the club for its most discerning clients, awaiting the ceo who was unusually running late.

➷ cero soon arrived a few minutes past your appointed meeting time. you quickly rose to greet him as usual, but to your surprise, he wasn’t alone. a towering figure trailed behind him, pausing by the door.

cero saunters over to where you stood, slowly taking off his blazer that had started to weigh heavily on his shoulders after wearing it for the entire day. he blocks your vision of the man that stood attentively by the door, making you divert your attention away from the man to the ceo in front of you. cero wraps an arm around your waist to catch your attention.

"the color suits you well," he comments as soon as he notices his gift worn by you. a smile adorns his lips as he stares you down with hungry eyes that you could feel his gaze slowly undressing you. you return his smile with a sultry one, trying to ignore the eyes that burned a hole through you.

your hands instinctively work to undo his tie slowly as you speak, your curiosity getting the best of you. "who's the unfamiliar face ?" you question quietly, hoping that the conversation does not reach the man's ears.

you hear cero sigh deeply, visibly annoyed. you could imagine him rolling his eyes by the tone of his voice. "a bodyguard," he starts as he leans down to capture your lips in his, hands trailing down your waist to trace its shape. he pulls away after a moment to resume talking. "someone had recently tried to make a move against the company, so father insisted that i bring him along wherever i go or don't leave home at all."

a low hum escapes your lips, listening to his short rant as your hands work on his buttons. you gently slip his dress shirt off, your lips pressing themselves against his shoulder blade as you toss his top aside for him to find later.

it isn't long before he finds himself buried deep inside you, ordering you to hold your legs apart as you’re forcibly faced towards the unsuspecting bodyguard. cero’s fingers knead at your swollen buds, teeth sinking on your exposed shoulders to leave marks.

you start to feel conscious as your eyes land on the man by the door who was forced to watch the entire thing. you were starting to think that cero purposely made you face his bodyguard to try and throw him off. if that was the case, it wasn't working.

"your bodyguard's hard," your raspy voice catches the ceo's attention, his eyes trailing down to confirm your statement. there was indeed an obvious tent forming on the bodyguard's slacks, restrained by the tight fabric. you inwardly snicker when you notice the male attempting to slightly shift sideward to hide his embarrassment.

"wouldn’t you be a bad employer if you left him in that state ?" you prod at the ceo, your words hinting your intent. as much as you favored cero, you didn't mind pulling in another client. it would only mean more income for you, and his bodyguard wasn't too bad looking either, so there was no reason to leave him out of the fun.

cero doesn't seem too pleased with your suggestion, a deep frown now etched onto his lips.

"are you suggesting that he joins in ?" cero questions, his tone failing to hide his disapproval. his fingers pinch and twist at your pink buds, leaving you shuddering and twitching in his embrace. blood instantly rushed up your cock when cero’s tip successfully prod at all the right spots that made you melt against him.

you try to muster up words despite barely being able to form a coherent sentence. cero eventually understood that this was something you wanted, and as much as he hated the thought of having someone else lay their hands on you, he could never turn down a request from you.

"elliott." defeated, cero calls for his bodyguard. in an instant, the bodyguard's attention is on the ceo, a startled expression on his face. cero gestures for him to move closer, and compliant to his employer's commands, elliot hurriedly brings himself over. his large stature led you to think that he'd be more snappy and alert, but his movements were unexpectedly awkward and stiff.

elliot's gaze briefly met yours, your vision blurred with all the tears that cascaded down your cheeks; half-lidded eyes filled with pleasure. his gaze is suddenly ripped away when a hand roughly grabs at his cheeks, forcing his attention away from your form to meet cero's stern gaze.

"you stare too much." cero’s forehead creases, not bothering to hide his displeased expression. he released his grip on elliot. "strip."

"pardon ?" elliot's expression is replaced with one of disbelief, his mouth slightly agape upon hearing the order. however, one look from the ceo was enough to make him start stripping himself of his clothing, knowing his job, and possibly his life, was on the line.

your eyes watch with interest as the male strips himself bare before you, and as expected, he had a good build that was totally up your alley. compared to cero, elliot was a lot bigger; both in body size and–

a hand harshly drapes itself over your eyes and forces your head back, shrouding your vision in complete darkness. you can both hear and feel cero's hot breath caressing your skin, making you stiffen as the realization of your mistake dawns over you. “i don’t appreciate the way you’re eyeing my employee, y/n.” the ceo’s lips brush against your sensitive earlobe, the sharp edge in his tone causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“I didn’t expect you to be the jealous type,” you poke fun at him in a lighthearted manner. you hear cero scoff at your words before he slams himself inside of you once more, making you jolt in surprise. your limited vision heightens your senses, making everything you feel twice as pleasurable (or painful) compared to having your eyesight. 

cero pauses abruptly, his cock still buried deep within you, as he feels your whole form tremble against him. your grip around your own legs falters slightly. you could feel each vein on cero’s throbbing erection, making you conscious of his every movement. “keep your legs up, we’re just getting started.”

your thoughts are a mess, your inability to see beginning to slightly overwhelm you. the hand that temporarily took away your sight was replaced by a thin layer of fabric, an order carried out by cero to elliot who had used his own tie to wrap around your eyes. before you could register anything with your muddled thoughts, a warm and wet sensation wraps around your hardened cock, catching you off guard.

“what–” you cut yourself off with an unexpected whimper escaping your lips when cero suddenly starts to move his hips once more. the action causes you to arch your back slightly, your lips gaped open as wanton moans involuntarily escape them.

in addition to cero’s rapid thrusts that tore at your insides with his size, the lips that wrapped themselves around your erection began to move at a fixed pace.

your fingers instinctively pull at elliott’s brown locks, your breathing ragged as you try to process each sensation their movement brought you; the fingers kneading your nipples, the lips around your member, the teeth leaving marks on your neck, and the dick ramming against your ass. it was all too much for you to handle all at once.

you bite back a moan when you feel yourself getting closer and closer to climax, until you can't hold it back anymore and end up releasing your load down elliot’s throat. your limp member twitches inside elliott’s mouth as he pulls away to detach himself from your cock, licking the remaining remnants of your cum that trickled down his chin.

cero’s thrusts grow more desperate when he feels your walls tighten around him, as if he’s trying to remind you that he was still there. purple bruises and red bite marks litterboth your shoulders, cero having done a number on you. you can feel each mark sting painfully as your sweat glazes over them.

you jolt at the sudden pain on your thigh. elliott buries his teeth on your inner right thigh, his eyes gazing up at your lewd expression. to his surprise, the sensation makes blood rush up your cock once again, and your cheeks flare up in embarrassment.

“what a slut,” cero groans out as his eyes land on your hardened member. the ceo removes his hand from your sore nipples to tug at elliot’s locks, pushing the guard back down on your cock. a gargled sound reaches your ears as elliott struggles to catch his breath from the sudden intrusion in his mouth. “that’s it. this was what you wanted, right ?”

having just recently finished, your cock is in an extremely sensitive state, twitching inside elliott’s mouth. you whimper, the sensation bringing a slight tinge of pain. too much of something is not a good thing after all, and right now you feel overstimulated.

your whole body trembles, a string of curses leaving your mouth as you try to plead for cero to stop moving for a moment. your pleas fall on deaf ears as they focus on chasing their own release. elliot’s hand wraps around his own neglected member, his hands following the pace of his own bobbing head.

it isn’t long before you feel the warmth of cero’s release painting your insides white with his seed. in sync with your second climax, elliot groans against your member as he stains the satin sheets, your overflowing cum trickling down his chin.

you lean tiredly against cero who gives a few more sloppy thrusts before eventually pulling out of you. he gently nuzzles his face on your bruised shoulder, listening intently to your ragged breath as his hand works carefully in untying the fabrics's knot.

“you did well tonight, good boy.”

elliot's tie slides down against your skin as you were met with a blinding light, your vision blurred by your own tears.

your hair stuck to your skin due to excessive sweat, but was soon brushed aside by the ceo who leaned down to plant his lips gently upon your forehead.

needless to say, you received the extra bucks you wanted by the end of the night.

[skbeaumont]

Just a Graze | Joel x Reader oneshot

One-shot Joel/Reader. Previously posted in two parts but thought I'd make a masterpost for this one.

Summary: Joel comes back injured, and while you patch him up the tension that's been building for several months threatens to break.

Tags/warnings: dirty talk, explicit content, language, injury detail (not explicit), MDNI, sexual tension, PIV, oral (F receiving), FILTH

Word Count: 4.3k

Joel’s bleeding when he gets back. The screen door clatters shut behind him, wire shuddering against the wood, and you look up from the table. His face is set, a solid frown painted across his features – nothing unusual – but there’s a downward turn to his mouth that you recognise as a pained expression. He steps in and leans against the counter, one hand on the warped wood, the other pressed against his shoulder. Blood seeps through his fingers, clotting around his knuckles, staining his jacket red.

“I’m okay,” he says as you spring up from your place at the dusty kitchen table, “it’s just a graze.”

“Bullet?” You ask, ignoring his attempts to wave off your concern.

“Barbed wire,” he says, letting you lead him further into the cabin, toward the misshapen couch, “stupid mistake, I didn’t see it.”

The shotgun clatters onto the floor at his feet as he collapses onto the couch with a groan. He doesn’t protest as you pull his fist away from the wound, your hand warm against his wind-chilled fingers. The cut isn’t deep, but the wire has torn through his jacket and shirt down to the flesh of his shoulder, leaving a jagged cut that’s oozing blood.

“You must be getting old,” you say, standing to search through your pack for the first aid kit, “your eyes are going as well as your ears.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with my eyes. Or my ears.”

“Sorry?”

“I said, there-” he notices your grin, the glint of mischief in your eye. He sighs heavily. “You’re a damn pain in my ass.”

You huff out a laugh and pull a kitchen chair across to sit opposite him. You open the first aid kit – which is really no more than a small washbag stuffed with a bottle of Lysol and a handful of bandages – on your lap, pull out the disinfectant and start unscrewing the cap. “Can you take your jacket off?” You ask, and he nods, starts unzipping it and pulling it off of his uninjured arm. He winces a little as he peels it past his bad shoulder, shakes it down his arm and lays it over his lap, frowning at the gash in the fabric.

“I can patch that up when we get back to Jackson.” You say.

“Ain’t going back ‘til we’ve something to bring back.” He replies, and now it’s your turn to sigh.

“We’ve got two deer and a whole family of rabbits, Joel. There’s nothing else out here for us to get.”

“We both saw that clinic complex, and I ain’t arguing with you about this again. Winter’s well on its way, and we need as much medicine as we can get to make it through. I almost got in today – would have, if I hadn’t got caught on that damned barbed wire. We’ll both go back tomorrow.”

He fixes you with a hard stare, one that makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, though whether it’s through fear or something else, you’re not sure. You’ve been partnering up for a couple of months now, going out on hunts and supply runs, growing slowly closer over long hikes and cold nights camping out under the stars.

At first, he intimidated you. He was cold, harsh; a solid bulk of a man who never smiled and rarely spoke, except to tell you to keep your voice down or stop walking so loudly. But then, gradually, he’d started loosening up around you. A few weeks ago he’d cracked a smile at a joke you’d made – something stupid about a bird in a tree, the kind of joke your dad used to make when you were a kid – and then that smile had grown into a deep chuckle a couple of days later, and then a conversation, whispered and illusive, under a starry sky last week.

This latest trip outside Jackson had been the most enjoyable yet, conversation flowing easily between you, and you were starting to suspect that the strange swooping feeling in your stomach that arose each time he looked at you, or bumped against you as you walked had a lot less to do with how intimidating he could be, and a lot more to do with him.

Now, locking eyes with him over the opened bottle of Lysol, his eyes dark and with an argument boiling up between you, that feeling blossoms into something hot and delicious, stirring a fire in your belly that makes you bold.

“From where I’m sat,” you say, tipping the bottle of Lysol so that the disinfection pours out onto a clean swab, “you don’t seem to have much choice about what we’re doing next. You’re hurt, and I need to patch you up, so stop arguing and take your shirt off.”

He opens his mouth to argue but shuts it again, eyes flicking up to your face. A hint of red creeps up his neck, settling high on his cheeks, tinging them scarlet in the low light of the cabin. You keep glaring at him. He lets out a long breath through his nose and moves to unbutton his shirt. The shirt is old, vintage, even – probably older than you – with mismatched buttons and a crumpled, frayed look. It comes apart easily, Joel’s fingers working down the buttons nimbly until he reaches the bottom. He pauses there, looks up at your face. You look away, because heat is creeping up your own neck now, hot and unbridled, as he pushes the shirt off of his shoulders and lets it fall open onto the couch behind him.

After his dark eyes, the most notable thing about Joel is his stature. He’s tall, and broad enough to fill any room he’s in. You’ve seen him lift grown men like they weigh nothing, watched him pick up a dead deer and throw it over one shoulder without so much as a stumble. Last month you went out on horseback to scope a potential hunting ground, and, sitting behind him in the saddle, you couldn’t see anything past the triangular bulk of his shoulders, your hands clasped easily around his waist. So, yeah, you know he’s strong, could tell anyone that the man is built. But when you look at him in the half-light with his shirt off, uncovered by layers of leather or plaid, the sight still sends blood rushing to your face.

His shoulders are broad, curving into thick biceps that tense as he raises a hand to scratch, self-consciously, at the back of his neck. There are small scars littering his chest, running down in narrow white slices to his belly, which is softer than the rest of him, sloping and scattered with coarse hair that continues below the buckle of his belt. You want to press your face into it, kiss the contours of his bellybutton and the plains of his chest, up to the juncture of his throat, which bobs as he swallows, eyes shifting to catch yours.

“You gonna patch me up or just stare?” He asks, and there’s something teasing in his voice, something that causes heat and slick to pool in between your thighs. “I- you’ve got a lot of scars.” You say, stupidly, tipping more Lysol onto the cloth you’re holding.

“Had a lot of run-ins with barbed wire.” He replies, the words turning to a hiss when you press the wet cloth to the cut on his shoulder.

“Should be more careful.”

“Now where would the fun be in that, darlin’?”

Oh, that’s new. You’ve heard him call Ellie pet names before, laughed when she rolls her eyes and shirks away from his affections, all fifteen years old and too cool to be coddled. But he’s never called you anything but your name – never so much as shortened it to a nickname like almost everyone else does. You flick your gaze from his wound to his face. His eyes are dark, expression unreadable, but the intensity of his gaze makes you look away, cheeks reddening. You pull the cloth away from his arm and start wrapping a clean bandage around his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he says, after a pause. “I forget, sometimes. Recently.”

“Forget what?”

“That you’re young enough to be my-” He cuts himself off here, “that you’re a hell of a lot younger’n I am.”

This makes you laugh out loud, a huff of breath exhaled. You’re still opposite each other, him on the sofa, knees spread wide, you in the kitchen chair. If you inched forward only slightly your own legs would be between his.

“Old days I’d have been old enough to drink and drive, and more than old enough to flirt, Joel.”

“That what you want? You want me to flirt with you?” His voice is low, almost a whisper.

You shrug and hold his gaze. “I think it’s what you want too. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I can’t see you.”

You have. He thinks he’s being discrete, but you’ve seen how his eyes linger on your legs, how he can’t help but drop his gaze to your chest when you wear something low cut. A few weeks ago you’d seen him adjust himself in his jeans when you stripped down to your underwear to bathe in a stream you’d come across after two days out searching for supplies.

“And how’s that?” He asks. You have to hold yourself back from leaning forward and kissing the worried crease of his mouth.

“Like you’re a man dying of thirst and I’m an oasis.”

He scoffs at that. “Shoulda been a writer, sweetheart.”

“And how does this story end?”

“Ends with you walking away from me like you should’ve months ago. This,” he flicks a finger at himself and then you, “ain’t happening.”

“Why not? You want it, I want it. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Problem is,” he slides his arms off the sofa, reaching back to pull his shirt back up over his shoulders, “you think you know what you want, but you don’t.” He starts buttoning the shirt, fixing you with a stern look. “Trust me.”

He tries to stand but you put your hands on his knees, holding him in place.

“No way,” You say, your heart thumping in your chest, “you don’t get to decide what I do or don’t want.”

“What do you want? You want me to fuck you? Want me to spread your pretty little legs out across this couch and make you come on my tongue?”

Yes. God, yes.

“What if I do? What if that’s exactly what I want you to do?” You slide your hands further up his legs, holding him down on the couch. If he wanted to, he could push you off easily, but he doesn’t. When your fingertips reach the tops of his thighs he slides his hands over your wrists and pins them where they are, stopping you moving any higher.

“Find someone your own age, sweetheart. Someone whose knees don’t creak when the stand up. Someone who can make you happy.” And then he’s standing up, moving your hands off of him with ease, stepping around you in the kitchen chair to stride to the other side of the room, the tension collapsing in on itself as he tells you to get some sleep, that there’s more work to do tomorrow.

*****

The next morning brings rain. It hammers against the walls of the cabin and drips in through the leaky roof. Joel stands at the window, one hand on his hip, silently looking out at the downpour.

“Tell me you’re not considering going out in this?” You say, moving up behind him to peer out at the lashing rain.

“Might ease up later.” He says, turning to face you. “There’s enough to do in here to keep us occupied, anyway.”

“Guns?” You ask.

“Guns.” He agrees.

Joel’s fanatical about keeping the guns clean and working. It makes sense, you suppose. You don’t know much about his past, about how he and Ellie ended up in Jackson, but what you’ve heard, the snippets Ellie’s confided in you over quiet conversations, makes for grim listening. To Joel, those guns mean the difference between life and death.

And so you both sit at the kitchen table, meticulously cleaning Joel’s shotgun and your pistol, passing cloths and gun oil between you. You make casual conversation as you go, neither of you touching on the events of the previous evening. After he dismissed you last night you’d gone straight to bed, tucked yourself into the dusty single bed in the bedroom while Joel took the couch. Your dreams had been hazy and pleasant, and you’d woken up flushed.

You’re sliding the magazine back into your pistol when Joel jumps and swears, pulling his hand back from where he’s trapped his finger in the loading mechanism of the shotgun. A tiny bead of blood wells up and spills over his fingertip and he sighs heavily. You reach out and take his hand in yours to examine the cut. It's tiny - you've seen paper-cuts do more damage - but Joel's frowning like he's in pain.

“You’ve gotta stop being so clumsy.” You say.

“I’m not clumsy.” He replies, letting you turn his hand in yours, watching you watch his thick fingers, take in the breadth of his knuckles.

“No?”

“No. It’s-”

You're not sure what makes you do it - maybe it's frustration still boiling over from yesterday, maybe it's the way Joel looks at you as you clasp his large hand in your own smaller one -  but before he can finish speaking you pull his arm across the table and wrap your lips around his finger. You snake your tongue over the pad of the digit and the noise he makes then - a breathy, broken groan - sends fire surging through you, heat coiling between your thighs.

“Distraction.” He finishes.

When you pull your mouth away and place a wet kiss to the palm of his hand, he slides his fingers across your jaw and up into the mess of your hair. His hand is hot against your scalp, curving around the back of your neck, leading you forward so that he can fit his mouth against yours across the table.

Pleasure flutters out from the pull of his fingers in your hair, and his lips are soft and dry until he opens his mouth to you, guiding your tongue into his mouth, pressing his into yours. It’s slow at first. Tentative, as though he’s waiting for you to push him away. But you’ve never wanted anything more, and when you moan against his lips he stands, bracketing your face with both hands to pull you up from your own chair.

It’s a messy walk backwards from the table. You bump against the broken coffee table, pull away from his mouth to curse and rub your shin, but then he’s falling back onto the couch, pulling you down into his lap so that your thighs are bracketing his legs.

You pause like that, looking at each other, both breathless and dazed, lips bruised.

“This what you want?” He asks again, placing his hand at your jaw gently. His fingers are thick, hand so large that his thumb rests at your temple and while his index finger sits under your chin.

“I want you, Joel. Please.”

When he kisses you again, it’s hungry and animalistic. All pretence of hesitation is gone. He presses his mouth to your throat, lets his teeth scrape the delicate skin below your ear.

“This is still a bad idea.” He says, voice breaking when you roll your hips against his. ”Shit.”

“Please, Joel.” Your voice sounds tiny, shrill to your own ears, desperate and pathetic, but Joel bites at the juncture of your neck and it doesn’t matter, nothing matters except the feel of his hands on your hips, guiding you against him, pulling your clothed cunt against where he’s impossibly hard in his jeans.

“I’m gonna take this off.” He says, pulling at your shirt, tugging it up over your head. “And this.” He runs a hand over your covered tit, pinches your nipple beneath the thin fabric of your bra, rolls it between his finger and thumb while his other hand slides up your back and unclasps it. It falls between you, forgotten immediately.

“Fuck, darlin’, look at you.” He says, running the knuckle of his index finger over the swell of your chest, down along your ribs and across one hip. He lets his hand fall away, brings it back up to the side of your face, pulls your lips back to his and drags your bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth.

Pain and pleasure blossom through you, make you scrabble at the buttons of his shirt, fingers shaking as you try and get them undone. He helps, slides the shirt off of his back, careful where his shoulder is still sore. He balls it up and casts it across the room, then grips your hips and lifts you, turning you onto your back on the sofa, pressing himself between your open thighs. The change in angle presses the seam of your jeans against your clit, a jolt of pleasure rocking through you.

“You ever done this before?” He asks, hovering over you, dipping down to press a chaste kiss against your collarbone.

“I ain’t that innocent, Joel.” You reply, gasping when he pulls your nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth. “Have you?”

This earns you a deep chuckle, a hushed whisper against the back of your neck, “I’ve been doing this since before you were born, baby.”

And, fuck, that shouldn’t turn you on so much but it does. It has your hips lifting up, seeking out friction. Joel notices and slides down your body, dropping onto his knees on the floor. He runs one hand up the inside of your thigh, presses his thumb expertly against your covered clit.

“I’m gonna take these off now, and then you’re gonna come on my tongue. That sound okay?”

You nod, voice lost as he undoes the button on your jeans and pulls them down in one motion, pushing them away in the direction of his discarded shirt.

“Look how wet you are for me already.” He glides two fingers over the front of your soaked underwear, up to the waistband to hook them off.

And then he leans forward, presses light kisses up your thighs until he reaches your cunt. He pauses, blows a cool strip of air against you that has you trying to close your legs, but his hands are there, pinning them open for him. When he seals his lips over your clit and drags his tongue over it you thread your fingers through his hair, pull at the black-grey strands. You squeeze your eyes shut but he pulls away, chastises you gently.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” His voice is like molten chocolate, rich and dark, pulling you back so that you gaze down at him.

He swipes his tongue over your slit, gathers the slick that’s pooling there. He’s like a man possessed, eyes dark, hair standing up on end from where you’ve run your hands through it, cursing and moaning as he slides his tongue over your clit, starting up a firm and consistent rhythm that has you bucking against him. His hands are gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, his forearms corded with muscle, biceps flexing up to those impossibly broad shoulders.

“You gonna come on my tongue?” He asks, hardly breaking away from you to grunt out the question.

“Yes, Joel, fuck, please.” You can’t seem to form a coherent sentence, can hardly force yourself to keep your eyes on him where he kneels between your thighs like you’re an altar and he’s a lonely priest begging for repentance. It’s this thought – the idea of him worshipping you, tongue lapping over your clit, his eyes blazing with lust – that tips you over the edge. Your cunt clenches around nothing, body wracked with pleasure as you come, hard, on his tongue. He grins into your cunt as he feels you come apart against him, continues pressing sloppy, wet kisses to your pussy as you come down from the high, limbs shaking. When you finally push him away, overly sensitive and buzzing with pleasure, he rocks back on his heels, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Your pleasure is painted across his face, his greying stubble wet with your slick.

He crawls back up onto the couch between your thighs, dips his head to kiss you. You taste yourself on his lip; on his tongue when he sweeps it against the back of your teeth, heady and sweet. He presses himself against you, drags the front of his jeans over your bare skin. The buckle of his belt catches against your bare stomach and you hiss into his mouth, reach down to unbuckle it. It comes off easily, falls to the floor with a dull thud, and then you slip your fingers through the buttons of his jeans, undo them quickly, desperate to get them off. He stands briefly, pushes them the rest of the way down his thick thighs and then kneels back between your legs. Immediately you slide your hand into the waistband of his briefs. He feels like velvet wrapped around steel, hot and delicious in your fist. He groans into your mouth as you palm him desperately, sliding delicate skin over the head of him, feathering the pad of your thumb against his slit. When you draw his cock out you break away from his needy mouth to look. He’s big: thick, curving slightly to the left, head already weeping precum.

“Fist feels so good wrapped around my cock, sweetheart.” He tells you, “You gonna let me fuck you?”

It’s the easiest yes you’ve ever given. He chuckles darkly at your needy reply, pushes his briefs the rest of the way off and wraps his own fist around his cock. He slides himself over your cunt, coating himself in your juices. Then he’s notching the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, sucking in a breath as he pushes in gently, slowly, stretching you out deliciously.

“Good girl,” He murmurs, easing himself deeper, feeling you flex and clench around him, “good fucking girl.”

He stills when he’s fully seated inside you, sucks at a spot under your jaw that makes you gasp with pleasure, runs one big palm up your body to paw at your breast, trying to collect himself, twitching inside you with the effort of staying still.

“Cunt’s so goddamn tight, baby.” His voice is broken, pitchy and breathy against your ear.

You run your hands over his back, feeling out the breadth of his shoulders, the thin scars that lace across them, his muscles bunching and flexing beneath your fingers when he finally – finally – starts to move inside you, rocking his hips into yours, dragging himself all the way out and then gliding back in. The head of his cock hits something inside you that sends white hot pleasure jolting through your belly. The cabin is silent now – the rain has stopped – the only sounds are your frantic breathing and low, breathy moans, and Joel’s whispered praises as he rocks against you.

Good girl, so fucking good for me, letting me fuck you like this, cunt so tight around me, could come just thinking about it.

It’s dirty and sloppy and fucking incredible. The power you’ve seen him exert on infected and drunkards and raiders suddenly coiled over you, his muscles pulling you taunt against him when he changes the angle, sits up, pulls you with him so that you’re riding him, his cock somehow buried deeper in your cunt, your thighs bracketing him. You can feel yourself growing closer to release again, pleasure notching up in your belly like fire spreading. Joel shifts slightly again, makes space for his hand to come between you, places his thumb against your clit and presses, draws out slow, gentle circles that match the pace of his thrusts.

“Need my thumb on you clit while my cock’s buried inside you, sweetheart? Gonna come again just like this, huh? Dirty fucking girl.”

His words are like fuel on the fire and within seconds you’re moaning and shaking, cunt clenching around him as you come, harder than before, on his cock. Joel fucks you through it, keeps the steady pressure on your clit.

“Gonna make me come in this tight little pussy,” He says, and you know you shouldn’t, know you should make him pull out, but he feels so good inside you that you grind down on him telling him yes, please, fist your hands into his hair to pull his mouth against yours. The kiss is desperate and messy, all teeth and tongue. He hisses into your mouth as you buck your hips and drive them down on him, and then he’s swearing, fingers digging hard into your hips.

"Jesus, you feel so fucking good, baby, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna- shit.” He pulses inside you, painting your cunt with his come, hot and wet inside you.

You continue rocking against each other, slowly, coming down from the high. When he slides out of you and shifts away the old sofa groans out in protest, springs creaking. It makes you laugh, breathless, racking laughter than drives away the sudden realisation of what you’ve just done, of how you’ve indelibly changed the way you look at each other, the relationship between you.

“That was… fucking hell, Joel, that was incredible.”

He’s looking at you sideways, his hair still a mess, stubble still coated with your slick. He’s naked and vulnerable and you think it might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. When he leans across to slot his lips against yours you grin against him, trying not to think about what happens next.

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

Wingwoman (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: You take your good friend/coworker, Spencer, out to the bar to find him a girl to hook up with. Things do not go as planned.

Word Count: 5107

Warnings: Romantic/sexual tension! Mentions of drinking / sex

A/N: Hi! I haven't written posted fanfic in like, 8 years, please be nice xD I would love to know your thoughts - if you have any requests or anything, I'm happy to oblige. ALSO -- I have only seen up to Season 7 of Criminal Minds because I'm a fckn loser. Anywayyyyy enjoy! Not my gif btw, all credit to the owner :)

———————————

It was kind of your fault, now that you were thinking back on it. 

Actually, it was definitely your fault, now that you were thinking back on it. 

It had been your suggestion to go out. It had been your idea to act as Spencer’s wingwoman, some last-ditch effort to try to get him out of your mind. He was your coworker, for Christ’s sake. And your best friend. And you’d thought about him desperately for eight of the nine months that you’d known him. 

Emily, Derek, and Penelope had all agreed to tag along, but as the work day went on, each of your coworkers had found some kind of excuse to opt-out. Derek’s niece wanted to Facetime. Penelope forgot Kevin’s birthday was next week and needed to go shopping for a present. Emily had a headache. 

Finding Spencer a romantic prospect on your own was certainly not the plan, but, stupidly, thoughtlessly, you’d decided to go along with it. You could do this. Just one night in a bar, chatting up women for the man you’d slowly been falling for the past eight months. As good of an idea as any, right? 

You and Spencer took an Uber to the bar the group frequented. Ski-ball and pool in one corner, a vintage jukebox and small space set aside as a makeshift dance floor in the other. But the best part - half-off drinks for federal agents. You’d never been one to abuse the badge before, but… 

Three Jack-and-Diet-Cokes later, your moral code had a bit of a crack in it. 

Spencer stood next to you - towered over you, actually, because that man was a fucking beanpole - and you felt his eyes on you as you scanned the crowd. “What about her?” you suggested, jerking your chin to the woman at a high-top table against the wall. She had her nose stuck in her phone and an untouched martini on the table in front of her. 

“She’s clearly waiting for someone,” Spencer pointed out, and you realized he was right just as the woman looked up from her phone and towards the door for the third time in the past minute. “I also don’t understand why you’re so dead set on finding someone to hog me up with.” 

You snorted into your drink. “Hog you up with?” you repeated, turning in your barstool so you faced him. Your knees brushed his thighs. 

“Yeah, is that not…” realization dawned on Spencer and he grimaced. “That’s not the phrase, is it?” 

“Hook,” you corrected, but not impatiently. You made a little hook with your index finger, like a pirate. A little giggle escaped you. “And I’m not dead set on it,” you argued. “I just didn’t want to be the only one leaving the bar with someone.” 

Your eyes flickered up to Spencer’s to gauge his reaction. He seemed surprised by this implication that you planned to leave with someone - someone who was not him. 

“Yeah? Who are you leaving with, matey?” Spencer countered, arching a brow and pointedly looking at your index finger, still in its hooked position. You dropped your hand. 

“It doesn’t matter right now,” you blushed furiously, desperately trying to drive the conversation back to his romantic conquests. Your thought process was that if you actually saw Spencer with someone else in any sort of romantic capacity - dancing, flirting, kissing - you’d finally hurt yourself enough with the sight for those stupid feelings for him to dissipate. “We’re looking for you.” 

Spencer merely hmm-ed in response, an indecisive non-answer, and you noticed he shook his head. Like he was annoyed, but trying not to show it. You swallowed the lump in your throat and polished off your drink before returning to examining the patrons in the bar. You nudged Spencer’s elbow with your own and your gaze landed on the group of three women giggling around one of the tables. “Any of them? The blonde is cute,” you pointed out. 

“Not really into blondes,” Spencer muttered, and you glanced back at him. You could have sworn his eyes were locked on your brunette hair. You opened your mouth to say something, but Spencer cut you off. “But, sure, if watching me strike out will amuse you, Y/N.” Before you could protest, Spencer set his glass down on the bar and started towards the trio of women at the table. 

You leaned down to sniff his glass, curious as to what he’d been drinking. Clear liquid. No smell. Was he… totally sober? 

You watched with narrowed, studious eyes as Spencer approached the women. You could only see the back of his head, but the three women’s faces were perfectly visible. They smiled, friendly, unassuming, and then something came out of Spencer’s mouth that changed their expressions. The blonde in the middle furrowed her brows, and the two women on either side cocked their heads slightly. Spencer’s hand tapped the table and he earned awkward smiles as a goodbye was bid, and when he turned around to head back towards the bar, he just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, like what are you gonna do? 

“What happened?” you asked as he returned to you. 

“I blew it,” Spencer said matter-of-factly. Too accepting of his defeat. Further supporting your theory that he’d gone over there and purposefully botched it. 

“Right,” you flagged down the bartender to order another drink. 

“You’re getting another one?” Spencer asked. 

You whirled your face to meet his and didn’t see judgment, but rather, concern. “Why does it matter?” you asked, no, dared. 

Spencer shook his head, defeatedly. “It doesn’t,” he grumbled. 

“What about that girl you were talking to earlier by the jukebox?” you asked, nudging his shin with your foot. “The grabby one. She seemed really into you.” 

Spencer visibly gritted his teeth. “I’m not interested.” 

“Are you interested in anyone in this bar tonight?” You asked. The words came too quickly for you to stop them. They were too real. Especially as Spencer’s frown hardened just slightly and you watched him look away from you. 

You took in a sharp inhale, the realization hitting you, the possibility that Spencer might actually feel the same way about you. And that you’d dragged him out here tonight to try and set him up with someone else. You were selfish and thoughtless and stupid. 

You hopped off the barstool, your feet wavering beneath you. “I’d better go home,” you said suddenly, grabbing your bag. You had to leave. You had to go home before you said something stupid, something irreversible. 

You stalked out of the bar and onto the brisk, late-autumn sidewalk. You’d forgotten your coat at the office and insisted you’d be fine. The chill smacked you in the face and you tucked your bag beneath your shoulder so you could cross your arms over your chest and hug yourself for any semblance of warmth. 

Thirty seconds hadn’t even passed before the door creaked and Spencer appeared at your side, throwing his coat wordlessly over your shoulders. “What did I do?” he asked. You looked up at him and saw his eyes - hurt, frustrated, confused. 

Your lips parted and there was a small shake of your head. “No,” you breathed. He furrowed his brows and you explained further. “You didn’t do anything.” 

“Then why the hell have you been so weird around me lately?” Spencer asked, scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. Like a temperamental first-grader. 

“Weird how?” You asked, trying to pretend like you had no idea what he was talking about. Like your stomach didn’t flip every morning when you saw him. 

“Like you’re… like you’re mad at me. Like you don’t want to be around me,” Spencer looked at the street ahead of the both of you rather than at you. “You always find an excuse to leave the room when it’s just the two of us. You pull Derek or Emily or Penelope into the conversation so you don’t have to interact with just me. You’re out here trying to find me someone to hook up with?” he phrased the last sentence as a question, shaking his head. Your heart lurched. He let out an incredulous laugh. “It’s either you’re trying to shrug me off as a friend entirely, or -” 

He stopped himself. His eyes were fixed on the streetlamp a few feet in front of you. They widened and you felt your heart pound as he slowly met your gaze. The realization hit him, the second half of his sentence lingering, heavy and palpable between the two of you. 

“Or,” you repeated, not phrasing it as a question. Your voice was soft as you said it, your tone anything but a question. 

“Or?” Spencer asked, and you could see his chest start to rise and fall more slowly. 

“Or,” you confirmed, taking in a sharp breath. 

Spencer’s throat bobbed as he looked at you, his gaze piercing and soft, studious and lazy, hungry and satiated all at once. “Oh.” 

Oh. 

“How long?” he asked, turning his feet towards you. 

Your face went red and you lifted your chin, refusing to make yourself feel ashamed of it anymore. There wasn’t any point, not when he knew now. “Since March,” you admitted. Your voice was squeaky. 

“March?” Spencer repeated, incredulous. It was early October now. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled, shrugging his jacket off your shoulders and bunching it up by the middle. You handed it to him. “You don’t have to say anything,” you said. Your body felt like it was on fire. “You don’t have to-”

“I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met.” 

You thought maybe you were hallucinating for a second. Your mouth fell open and despite your three drinks, you remembered clearly that Spencer had been drinking water. This was not some drunken confession, not for either of you, because the second he’d asked you why you had been so weird lately, you had instantly sobered up. “Oh,” was all you managed to choke out.

Oh. 

“Yeah, oh,” Spencer’s mouth twitched up into a smile. That playful, friendly, teasing little smile you’d learned to love on him. He stepped towards you. 

You let out this little half-garbled laugh. Spencer reached for your hand, and you let him. Your fingers spread, allowing his in the spaces between. You looked up at Spencer and little fires shot up your hand. How could merely holding hands feel so monumental? 

“What do we… what do we do now?” You asked, your mind in a haze, like a computer awaiting command. 

Spencer let his jacket fall to the concrete and used his other hand to slowly, almost hesitantly, cup your cheek. He looked down at you and your entire face reddened. “Well,” his voice was soft, crackling, like a fireplace, and he met your gaze with searching eyes. “I’d like to kiss you now, if that would be okay,” he said finally. Your lips turned up into an idiotic smile. 

“I think that would be okay,” you whispered. 

His hands were so soft, you realized. His grip on your hand loosened and he was now cupping your face on both sides. And every nerve in your cheeks was firing off signals - Spencer is touching my face, Spencer is touching my face. Like it was some forbidden thing. But then, as if in slow motion, he ducked his head down and his lips touched yours. Gently, at first, tentative and wobbly like a foal taking its first steps. Your hands rested on his torso - taut beneath that stupid little sweater vest. 

He pulled back after just a moment. It was really only five or six seconds at the most, but you were red-faced and breathless by the time your eyes fluttered open, into his. Spencer’s smile was now a full-blown grin, and your expression mirrored his. “Yeah?” He asked, the word carrying more meaning. You’re into this, right? 

“Yeah,” you exhaled as Spencer dropped his hands from your face, but your hands remained on his torso, not wanting to step away just yet. The syllable meant more coming from you, too. I’m really, very much, super into this. Please, for the love of god, kiss me again. 

Spencer arched a brow ever so slightly, and you nodded your head. 

Just like a dance, Spencer’s hands moved to your waist, and at the same time, you slid yours around his neck. He backed you up, completely disregarding his jacket on the sidewalk, until you were flush against the brick wall belonging to the bar. The brisk October breeze ruffled through his hair and yours, yet, suddenly, neither of you were terribly concerned about the weather. 

He kissed you again, and this time it wasn’t as timid. Slowly, at first, his lips pressed against yours, and then his tongue darted out. It teased your lips in silent invitation, and you opened them to grant him access. His hands were everywhere, your hips, your hair, your face. You had moved your own down to his torso again. He coaxed the tiniest little mewl out of your throat, a completely uncontrollable and inevitable noise. 

Spencer’s low, gravelly groan reverberated through your mouth. Your hands gripped the bottom half of his shirt, balling it up in tight, white-knuckled fists. An unmistakable hardness brushed against your thigh. You were perfectly content to stay right there, pinned against the exterior wall of a D.C. bar, but the sound of a car honking its horn peeled Spencer off of you. 

His face was flushed and you released his shirt from your grasp. He let out a small grunt, stepping away from you to grab his jacket off the ground, wrinkling it haphazardly in his hand, holding it strategically over his middle. 

Oh, he liked you a lot. 

“You okay, Spence?” You asked all-knowingly, cocking your head to the side, leaning against the wall, lifting a foot to plant against it. 

Spencer shot a set of narrowed eyes at you, as if noting your smirk and storing it for later. “Yeah, I’m great,” he said, obviously struggling a little bit. His eyes quickly left yours and looked everywhere but at you. 

You didn’t want to embarrass him too much. So you just crossed your arms over your chest and looked at the sidewalk. But the smirk on your face wasn’t going away quite so easily. You considered briefly trying to talk to him about baseball or something to try and help him out, but you decided pointing it out would just humiliate him. Plus, it was a nice little ego boost, knowing you could get him like that with just a simple touch. 

He took a second, but he finally cleared his throat and met your gaze. You sucked your front teeth with your tongue and then bit your lip. “Want me to call an Uber?” You asked. 

Spencer just nodded, and you pushed yourself off the wall, stepping over to join him, digging your phone out of your pocket to order the car. “You okay?” You asked him again after submitting the request on your phone. Spencer’s face was still flushed, but he just nodded and reached for your hand. “Careful,” you warned, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him. “Don’t want you having an-“

“Shut up,” Spencer cut you off, and you snickered. 

——————————————————

You had never been in Spencer’s apartment before. It was unmistakably his, with stacks upon stacks of books in lieu of furniture. 

There was a sofa in his living room, along with a coffee table, a couple of lamps, and a television on a stand. The remaining space, besides a few spots here and there and a clear path with which to maneuver the room, was filled with books. 

You had never seen so many books in someone’s possession before. And sure, you were an avid reader yourself. But nothing like this. Your heart fluttered at the sight, not only because books simply just made you happy, but because it was an incredibly endearing detail about Spencer. Your Spencer. 

He shut and locked the door after you stepped inside, looking around with a childlike, awestruck grin. The TV had a thin layer of dust over the screen - he clearly didn’t use it often. And as you trailed a finger along the top of the nearest stack of books, you felt a pair of eyes watching your every move. 

You and Spencer had both been quiet in the Uber ride here. He had simply held your hand, swiping his thumb across the back of your palm every few seconds. You would occasionally meet his gaze, but then quickly, bashfully, look away, like the two of you were teenagers. 

It was so strange to think of what he had said to you - I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met. How had you not figured it out before now? 

You supposed you had been hiding your true feelings as well, so he was allowed to, too. 

There wasn’t any point in wishing to change the past, you reminded yourself. All you should be focusing on is right now. 

And right now, the street lamps peeked in through Spencer’s living room window, glinting off of his endless brown eyes and making them look like he had the moon in his irises. 

“So,” you said softly, not nearly as wicked as you had been when you were teasing him on the street by the bar. “This is where you live.” 

“Uh-huh,” Spencer bobbed his head, that awkward, straight-line smile crossing his face.

“Lot of books,” you pointed out. 

“Yep.” 

You arched a brow, a teasing smile crossing your face once again. “What’s with the monosyllabic conversation?” 

Spencer clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. “It’s just… really difficult to just stand here and not touch you,” he admitted, a sheepish smile crossing his face. 

You grinned. “You can touch me,” your voice dropped an octave, without you even really thinking about it. 

Spencer licked a canine with the tip of his tongue. God, that tongue. You remembered how he’d teased you less than an hour ago outside of the bar. “Maybe I will,” he shrugged, and you rolled your eyes. 

“You can’t really play it cool, right now, Spencer. Not when I just gave you a-“

“Please stop talking,” Spencer laughed, crossing the room and cupping your cheeks in his hands all in the same movement. You snickered and he kissed you and anything you might have been wanting to make fun of him for was forgotten about. 

You pressed your hands against his chest - holy pectorals, Batman - and craned your neck up so you could reach him. Spencer slid his own hands down your arms and to your hips, and you looped your arms around his neck. One palm flattened against the back of his head, holding him in place, fingers curling around pieces of his soft hair. 

Your heart was hammering away, and there was this aching, hot feeling that was pooling in your core and you all of a sudden felt hungry. Starving for Spencer, for every piece of him, for fully and finally crossing that line from friend to lover. An insatiable hunger for nearly every moment since you’d known him.

Finally you broke away from him, simply because oxygen was a necessity, and he rested his forehead against yours. Your eyes were still closed and your fingers ground into his scalp. “Look at me,” he requested, his voice low. 

Your eyes opened obediently and one of Spencer Reid’s hands curled under your chin. His face moved away from yours but his gaze was locked on yours, a pinpoint, a Northern Star. 

And when Spencer spoke again, your knees buckled. 

“I want you.”

Your mouth fell open, ever so slightly, and you nodded. “I want you, too,” you whispered. 

“Are you still…?” He asked, his eyes searching yours. You’d had three drinks earlier that evening, after all, but you’d polished the last one off nearly an hour ago. Maybe not fully sober, but sober enough to know what you wanted. 

“I’m fine,” you assured him. 

Spencer inclined his head to the side. “You’re sure? Can you pass a sobriety test?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him before you realized he was being sarcastic. You stepped back from him, shrugging off his hands, and extended your arms, touching your nose with your left hand, then your right. Spencer just laughed, and reached out for you, tugging you back to him. “Okay,” he chuckled, planting a kiss on your neck. You let him. “You’re fine, then?”

“I’m fine,” you agreed, shrugging him out of his sweater vest, and then reaching for the buttons on his shirt underneath. 

Spencer kissed your neck as you fumbled with the buttons - how were buttons suddenly impossible to undo? Your head craned back just slightly on instinct, wanting - needing - to allow Spencer more access. Your dexterity had become abysmal at this point, and Spencer’s lips were kissing your neck, down your throat, teasing at your collarbone. “Spencer,” you managed to groan out, a wave of annoyance present in your tone. 

“What?” he asked, pulling back, concern filling his face. 

You realized you had actually worried him. “Oh, no, no,” you waved it away, and he visibly relaxed. “I’m just really frustrated, because… because your shirt,” you stammered, and Spencer’s mouth twitched up into a smirk. 

“My shirt,” he stated. 

“That one, right here,” You laughed softly, curling your fingers around the buttons. You managed to wiggle one free, then another. Spencer leaned forward to continue kissing your neck, but you held a hand up to stop him. “Hang on,” you murmured, working through another button, and one more. “I’m concentrating.” 

“You’re sticking your tongue out,” Spencer snickered. Your eyes met his and your cheeks flushed.

“I’m concentrating!” Your voice rose slightly in self-defense. Spencer’s hands went to your hips. 

“It’s adorable,” he told you. “You make the same face at work. When you’re in the middle of filling out a form or trying to open a new bottle of coffee creamer without spilling it,” Spencer rubbed circles in your hips and your fingers stopped working again. 

“You noticed that kind of stuff?” You asked softly, looking up at him with doe eyes.

Spencer just nodded. “All the time.” 

I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met.

You inhaled sharply, finally undoing the last button.The skin beneath the shirt was pale, smooth, and perfect. And when he slid his arms through the sleeves and the shirt fell to the ground, you bit your lip, unable to help it. 

“Y/N?” 

You met Spencer’s gaze and let out this awkward little laugh. Embarrassing, really, if you hadn’t been in the company of your best friend. “You okay?” he asked, and you felt a little giddy as you nodded, moving your hands to his neck and standing on your toes to kiss him again. 

You didn’t know which direction the bedroom was in, so you just took a guess, pushing him back towards one of the doors. He kept his hands on your hips and his lips pressed against yours as he guided you, walking backwards, to the right door. You entered the bedroom and could not possibly be bothered to look around right now, not when Spencer was guiding you in a circle by merely touching your hips, not when the back of your knees hit what was unmistakably a mattress, not when you fell back against it. 

Your eyes were shut, unwilling to take in your surroundings as Spencer guided you onto your back. You toed off your shoes before lifting your legs, and Spencer hovered over you. Your lips were locked with his the entire time. And when you finally opened your eyes and you saw only Spencer, you grinned like a fool. 

Spencer’s fingers were like taking a shower. They were all over you - your hips, first, then your stomach, and you had to resist the urge to giggle because they tickled as he teased the bottom hem of your shirt up. You sat up slightly to get the blouse over your head and you watched him discard it onto the floor. And then his hands were over your chest, thumbs teasing under the wire of your bra, outlining the shapes of your breasts. 

Your breathing had gone heavy and staccato by this point, your body sinking into the mattress, shipwrecked as Spencer touched you. His eyes wandered over your and that little smile on his face was enough for you to know that he was immensely enjoying himself. 

“Can I…?” Spencer’s hands wandered down and gripped your pants as he looked into your eyes, a brow arched. 

You swallowed a lump in your throat and your blush appeared over your cheeks at the same time as his. “Yeah,” you whispered, and Spencer helped you wiggle out of your pants - black slacks, since you had gone straight from work to the bar. They were soon tossed to the floor, and you were only in your underwear and your bra. And Spencer’s brown eyes did not make you feel objectified or embarrassed, but safe. 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he told you, seriously, and your breath hitched in your throat. 

“You-”

“I’m not done,” Spencer cut you off, lifting a hand to run his thumb down your chin. “You’re so beautiful. And you’re so kind, and smart, and funny. And I’d really like to show you how much I care about you,” he looked into your eyes as a sort of request. 

“I’m not on birth control,” You breathed out in response, feeling your cheeks redden for even bringing it up. Way to damper the mood. Still, you wanted to be responsible. “Do you have a c-”

Spencer’s soft smile turned into a wicked grin and he shook his head. “We’re not going to need one,” he promised, and after looking into his eyes for a moment, you understood. 

________________________________________

Spencer had thoroughly worshiped you, until you quaked and cried out with absolutely no thought to how thin his apartment walls might be. Usually, you didn’t allow yourself to be the center of attention for too long, but Spencer had insisted, and, well, you couldn’t very well deny him what he wanted, right? 

Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your hair matted to the back of your neck, Spencer finally lay down beside you. Your breathing was just starting to come back to you as you turned on your side to face him. Spencer’s body mirrored yours, the tips of his fingers - those fingers - trailing up the side of your arm. “That was…” his voice was soft, gravelly, and he looked at you like you had anything to do with it. It was literally all him. “Incredible.” 

“Yeah,” you managed to breathe out, unable to really focus on anything besides the curve of Spencer’s lips, the way the apples of his cheeks appeared when he smiled like this. Spencer kissed your lips, unlike any way he had before. All the other kisses tonight had been hungry and excited, exploratory and new. This one was lazy and slow and you let his tongue dance across yours, and when he finally pulled away, your nose scrunched up in delight. 

Your eyes traveled from his lips, down his neck, his collarbone, then back up, taking him in. The glow of his skin, the tired yet exhilarated look in his eyes. So different now than at the beginning of the night, when he’d looked at you with that slightly annoyed expression as you had tried to set him up with other women. You recalled how he had gone off to that group of three women right before you’d abandoned the bar, how he had struck out on purpose just to satiate your nagging. “What’d you say to those women tonight?” You asked him curiously, furrowing your brows at him. 

Spencer, in turn, arched his brows at you. “Why?” 

“Because I’m curious,” you said as his fingers continued to trail, feather-light, up and down your arm. You traced your thumb along his jawline, stopping at his chin. “You were obviously blowing it on purpose.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I actually do have some game, despite what Morgan might say,” he said, his tone defensive. 

You snickered. “Sure you do, Spence. Took you, what, eight months, to get me in your bed?” 

Spencer shot a playful glare at you and pinched the skin on your arm. You squeaked in response and he just laughed. “I just asked them how they were doing tonight,” he said finally, and you knew just from the look on his face that he was lying. 

“You did not,” you pushed back. “Come on, Reid, spill it.” 

“Ok, fine,” Spencer heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, sitting up in the bed, his back against the headboard. You sat up, too, looking at him with concern. Why was he so embarrassed? “I told them… Jesus.” Spencer rubbed the space between his brows with his thumb and his forefinger. “I told them I was here with a coworker that I had a massive crush on, and that you were trying to set me up with someone else,” he began. 

You started to smile. 

Spencer continued. “I told them that I had absolutely no interest in going home with anyone tonight, and that I had been purposefully striking out all night long because I couldn’t stand the thought of even trying to look at someone the way I look at you.” 

Your smile grew and you moved to sit on your knees, inching closer to Spencer and throwing one leg over him, effectively straddling him against the mattress. “So I asked them,” Spencer continued, his lips turning slowly from an exasperated frown to a small smile. “I asked them if they could just look at me like I had said something stupid, and then I would leave them alone.” 

“Did they say anything to that?” You asked as Spencer’s hands found your hips, contouring to match the curves into the small of your back. 

Spencer’s voice got slightly lower, more serious, when he said, “The girl in the middle did. She said ‘that girl definitely has feelings for you, too’. And then they did what I asked, and I walked back over to you.” 

“She did not say that,” you rolled your eyes, just as Spencer kissed your lips. 

“I have an eidetic memory, Y/N,” he reminded you in a low whisper, as his lips lingered against yours. “Would I lie to you about that?”