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tinystarbites · 3 months ago

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accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired

(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)

HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333

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Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.

“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“

“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.

“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”

Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?

“Therapy sessions?”

You just- ignore him.

“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“

Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.

He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“

You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.

“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.

Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.

“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-

You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.

“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”

You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.

“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.

“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.

Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.

“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.

You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.

“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”

“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.

You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“

“You.”

You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-

You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.

“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”

And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.

“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.

“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.

“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.

“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”

Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.

It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-

“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”

Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.

Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.

Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.

It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.

Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.

“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.

“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”

Youryouryouryouryour-

Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.

“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”

It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.

“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?

You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.

“Sure. Whatever.”

And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.

You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.

“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.

Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.

“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?

There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.

You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”

Oh.

You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.

Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.

It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –

A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.

He never knew he needed this so much.

“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.

Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.

“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“

Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-

Why?

Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?

There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?

“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-

Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?

“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.

“Spencer.”

The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.

He loves it.

“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.

Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.

You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.

He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-

“You like me?”

You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.

“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.

“You- You want me?”

Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.

…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?

“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”

Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-

“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.

He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?

“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-

“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”

Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.

“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.

Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.

Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-

It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.

A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.

“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.

“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”

And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)

You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.

You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-

It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.

“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.

He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”

ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”

“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”

And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.

“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.

Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”

At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.

You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”

And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.

“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“

“Hey, hey hey whoa. Spencer, darling. Penguin. Look at me, please?”

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-

Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-

“Baby, please.”

Spencer sobs.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.

“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.

Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.

“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”

Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?

“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”

He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.

He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.

Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.

“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.

He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”

You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-

And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-

He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-

“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.

You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.

He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.

You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –

“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“

You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”

Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”

He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.

“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.

“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”

You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”

“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.

“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.

Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-

“Please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“More?”

“More what?”

Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.

“More touch?”

Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.

You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”

He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.

“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.

“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-

“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-

“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”

You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”

The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-

It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.

You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.

The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.

Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.

But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.

Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.

“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.

“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.

You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.

You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.

You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.

You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.

When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.

“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.

“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.

You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”

That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.

“Words, angel.”

“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”

You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”

He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.

There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.

You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.

Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.

When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”

“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.

It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.

Probably the first reason.

He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.

Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-

“Take it off?”

You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”

Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.

Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.

Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.

He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-

“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.

You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.

Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.

“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”

Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.

Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.

Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.

Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.

Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-

fuckfuckfuckufuckfkcufuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkc-

You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-

“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”

It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-

He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.

“What do you say, sweetheart?”

There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.

“Yes, I want. Please.”

You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”

Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.

“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.

“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).

There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”

Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”

You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"

Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-

“Yes. That.”

“But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.

“Rossi? Rossi?”

“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”

Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.

He adores you with every fibre of his being.

“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”

And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”

You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.

Ah well. It was still worth it.

“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.

But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.

“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.

“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.

“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”

Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-

He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.

With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.

He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-

“You ready, baby?”

He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“

“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.

It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.

You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”

He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.

“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.

“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.

You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.

That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.

“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”

He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-

“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”

The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.

“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”

Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-

You give a particularly hard thrust and-

Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.

He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.

“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.

“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-

“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.

You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”

“Killing me with sex?”

“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”

He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.

“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”

Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.

“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”

He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.

Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-

“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”

He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-

“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.

“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”

Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”

You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”

Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?

“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.

You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”

“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.

There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.

Bonus

“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”

Spencer chokes on his coffee.

“What?”

“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”

Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.

“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”

Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.

“Shut up, Morgan.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @wasitforrevenge @wannabewolf @tommorecommendedfics @winterhi09 @theoraekenslover @chaewondrful @okeyhoezayy @busy-buzzing @laurakirsten0502 @redros3y @trashxqueen @kitty-kei @so-long-daisymay @hayleythecannibal @jsnsnsnszjzj @reeidsluv @kayane28 @moonysreid @desperately-seeking-serotonin @munsonslunchbox @tul1p-mimi @anuttellaa @pinkgomie @elizabethmidnight2017 @evrmorets @cyanidebitsg @bangchansdog @pinterestwhore145 @some-one-yiu-dont-kno @emma-e-a

i hope these work lmao, also let me know if you wanna be on my eternal tag list for any future Spencer fic ;)

#tinywrites #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader fanfic #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #tinywrites:accidents #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #criminal minds x reader

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kiyomitakada · 2 months ago

Text

i know its a classic. possibly cliche already. but i do wonder about Tumblr In The Death Note Universe probably more than i should

2 notes

💅 toxicbff Follow

if i see one more post attributing kira's powers to ~supernatural powers~ instead of the obvious fact that the cia is doing a coup I'm going to start giving You the heart attacks

💅 toxicbff

of course i saw the news how does that not prove my point further

the idea that all the police around the world could be mobilized by one single person is ridiculous (just look at this list of how many civilian militia there are globally)

heart attack victims don't seize the way "lind l tailor" did

i don't know how to tell you that You Can't Kill People Just By Knowing Their Name And Face because this is Real Life and not the newest grimdark marvel villain

people need to stop being scared of the ~bogeyman in the closet~ and wake up to the fact that usamerica is trying to take over the goddamned world

💅 toxicbff

im going to kill you all and nuke this website

#sayonara you weeaboo shits

2,925 notes

👾 lets-go-geeks Follow

DO TRUMP NEXT

🕵🏾‍♀️ penny-penelope Follow

LIKES TO CHARGE REBLOGS TO CAST

16,375 notes

❤️‍🔥 lovesickened Follow

i know its stupid but im so fucking scared for my brother i heard that seven people died this week at the prison he's in and iinjust dont kenow what to do ihate him for ehat he did to mom but i never wanted him to die

#vent tw #delete later

0 notes

🏎 fastandyurious Follow

if i get a single more comment about why i don't tag "genderbend" on my kiratective fics i'm going to blow up the entire building. we don't know EITHER of their genders. why don't YOU tag your mediocre yaoi genderbend instead

🔆 sparkling-world Follow

…OP, you realize the news reports all consistently use "he," right?

🏎 fastandyurious

of course i do???? just because you see something on the news doesn't mean you have to believe it?????? they don't have any information on kira yet but i'm supposed to believe the fbi knows their gender already??????? also kira is literally a fucking girl's name my classmate in elementary school was called kira

🔆 sparkling-world

Kira comes from the Japanese romanization for "killer," it isn't gendered whatsoever.

Also, evidence shows the majority of serial killers are male, so I'd argue that the statistics favor the fujoshis here.

🏎 fastandyurious

well evidence shows that female serial killers are just more fun to write about and I'd argue that you're ignoring my fucking POINT which is that we DON'T KNOW KIRA'S GENDER and if people don't want to read lesbian kiratective they can FUCK OFF MY BLOG

🥚 i-offer-eggman Follow

I offer you an Eggman in these trying times.

🔮 I-stands-for-le-gay Follow

@lashitpostcalligrapher yo can i get "the statistics favor the fujoshis" on my tombstone

#fandom: kira rpf #ship: kiral #never heard it called kiratective before… #also uh. prayer circle for op's classmate lmaoooo

2,107 notes

💃🏻 modelingmadness Follow

BOYCOTT EIGHTEEN MAGAZINE

THEY ALLOW KIRA-SUPPORTING MODELS AND ARE COMPLICIT IN THIS MASSACRE

SOURCES HERE AND HERE (TRIGGER WARNING: KIRA DISCUSSION)

PUSH BACK AGAINST HEART ATTACKS

🧚🏽‍♂️ harubaru Follow

golly gee ^_^ suddenly i feel like taking to the high seas in a way that the eighteen company cant get profit from. oh no ! who left this link here

🐦‍⬛ kuro--misa Follow

thanks for the link but jesus fucking christ man what happened to free speech. misa-misa's parents were killed by a burglar who kira punished. did you all expect her to just sit there, look pretty, and say nothing about it?

you people only like models when they're nice pictures for you to consume. you only like them two-dimensional and smiling and hot. the second a woman actually speaks her mind she's thrown to the wolves

💃🏻 modelingmadness

DID YOU NOT SEE MY BANNER YOU PIECE OF SHIT

#BLOCKED

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🐦‍⬛ kuro--misa Follow

lol. lmao even

#they blocked me but whatever #official eighteen site just said misamisa wont be in the next issue #(eighteen sucks but i kind of want to use it more out of spite now) #so much for apologism huh? #god. i feel sick. #hasn't she been through enough.

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🥷🏻 kira-imagines Follow

Imagine you're going home after a long day. Suddenly there's a sound. "Huh? Whose there" you ask, dropping your keys on the floor. Then you feel it. A knife pressing in your neck.

"Don't move kitten" Kira purrs behind you. "You're all mine now…"

#kiraxreader #kiraxoc #kira #kira rpf #kira investigation #kira fucker #kira fudger #kira lover #kira haters dont touch #kira haters please touch #kira supporters please touch #l

5,733 notes

asahi-the-student-deactivated201

Hello, everyone! My little sister told me about this microblogging platform (I admit, I'm a Twitter refugee) and that many of you are discussing the Kira investigation on here. I'm really interested in hearing what your thoughts are!

💋 sunny-sayu Follow

let the record show he lasted like. a day

#i think it was the imagines that did him in #bro is so sensitive :p

15 notes

kiyomitakada

the world could be beautiful

[ @deathnotetober day 14: trigger ]

#death note #light yagami #sayu yagami #misa amane #lawlight #by uh. technicality.#does 'trigger warning' fit the prompt i hope it does…#also there are two (2) rickrolls in this post #the other links are all to actual fun stuff :3 #good luck #deathnotetober #edit: fixed the FUCKIGN reblog dividers GOD DAMN IT #unreality #caps #edit 2: fixed the reblog dividers again theyre transparent now #…………wow i really just. spent four hours on this huh.#maybe i am experiencing slight mania #only slight #death note tumblr

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pedrospatch · 2 years ago

Text

not a thing

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

part ii

summary: You and Joel had a private moment while Ellie was asleep. Or so you’d thought she was asleep.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. implied smut, but no actual smut. grumpy Joel, Ellie is a little shit.

Word Count: 1.5k

a/n: nervous to write for TLOU but still giving it a shot! poor Ellie for being subjected to what i am about to subject her to lol. Edit: holy shit, i did not expect this to get much attention. thank you all sm for reading, liking and reblogging!

It had been an incredibly stupid thing to do.

So, so, so fucking stupid.

You knew that.

And Joel knew that.

You two were supposed to have been standing watch.

Not to mention, there had been a teenaged girl sleeping close by, just mere fucking yards away from the two of you had been—

Jesus Christ.

Dammit, you and Joel fucking knew better than to be this goddamn stupid.

Careless.

But neither of you could help yourselves.

It had been several weeks—actually, it had been several months since you two had been able to steal a private moment for yourselves. That moment would have been missed had you not somehow woken up in the middle of the night, only to find Joel wide awake, his rifle in hand as he stood watch while you and Ellie had slept. You’d offered to take his place for a few hours so he could get some rest too, but instead, a few minutes and many, many desperate, feverish kisses later, the two of you found yourselves on the other side of Bill’s old white and blue Chevrolet pickup truck, Joel’s jeans unzipped and your own jeans pulled down around your knees along with your underwear. He’d had you bent over, but still standing at a point where you could peek over the bed of the truck so that you could somehow keep a watchful eye out in between the moments of mind-numbing pleasure—both for any signs of potential danger and also for Ellie, who was passed out, curled up into a little ball in her sleeping bag and completely unaware of what her two reluctant protectors were doing behind the vehicle right next to her.

Your bottom lip was busted, bruised from biting down on it so hard.

The deal had been no noise, not even a single whimper, although you couldn’t remember how well either of you had stuck to that rule in the heat of the moment. It had been a quick fuck, just enough to give you and Joel some much needed relief from all of those pent up stresses and frustrations you two were carrying on your shoulders since Ellie had entered your lives just the week before. And just like back in the Boston QZ, Joel said nothing to you once it was over and done with.

It never hurt your feelings. It was just how things were.

It was some sort of twisted, fucked up unspoken pact the two of you had.

Joel Miller fucked you, and then he just pretended like nothing ever happened, not until the next time he found himself buried inside of you.

It’s not like you expected Joel to return your feelings.

Hell, you weren’t even sure the man knew how to feel anything but anger, bitterness, and violence.

Afterwards, Joel took you up on your offer to keep watch and slept for a couple of hours until sunrise came and had you both moving, packing up the truck and getting ready to continue the long drive ahead to Wyoming.

“She’s been oddly quiet,” Joel mumbled to you as he packed up the remnants of the small campsite into the bed of the pickup truck. “Go check on her.”

Obediently, you nodded and dropped the sleeping bag in your hands before turning away and walking over to where Ellie was sitting cross legged on the ground, her fingers mindlessly fiddling with a small, broken tree branch on the ground. “Hey,” you offered her a small smile. “It’s almost time to get going. You doing alright over here?”

She looked up at you and gave you a small nod. “Yeah. Just cold as fuck since we can’t have a fucking fire going,” she said, tossing a tiny glare over in Joel’s direction. “But other than that? I’m just fucking peachy.”

You chuckled and shrugged out of your worn out, brown windbreaker jacket. You draped it over Ellie’s shoulders before taking a seat beside her on the ground. She may have been a thorn in Joel’s side—then again, who wasn’t a thorn in Joel Miller’s side—but you’d warmed up to her fairly quickly. A lot quicker than your partner, anyway. He was still a work in progress.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Ellie nodded, clutching your jacket close. “Kinda,” she shrugged her small shoulders. “The ground was really hard and uncomfortable. I woke up a couple of times throughout the night and had trouble falling back asleep.”

Your smile faded ever so slightly. “Oh? You did?”

Noticing the sudden change in your demeanor, a small smirk crossed the girl’s face. “I knew you and McGrumps over there were a thing.”

You nearly choked on your own saliva as you nervously sputtered out, “W-What the hell are you talking about?”

Ellie raised an eyebrow at you, shooting you a knowing look as her smirk widened.

Oh for fuck’s sake. Ellie had caught you and Joel while you two were—fucking?

Mortified did not even come close to cutting it.

“Oh god,” You muttered, your face on fire.

“I really hope you two are being smart and using protection,” she added teasingly. “What’s that saying? Wrap it before you tap it?”

“Ellie!” You hissed, glancing over your shoulder. Joel went about his business and it was times like these where you were actually thankful that his hearing wasn’t what it used to be. You turned back to her and quickly started trying to explain yourself. “Ellie, I don’t know what you think you saw but—”

“Oh, it was too dark to see anything. I heard you guys.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Back behind the truck.” She paused, thoroughly enjoying every single moment of complete and utter discomfort she was causing you. “You know, if that’s gonna keep happening, I’m really gonna need you guys to find me a Walkman with some headphones. Noise cancelling headphones, please and thank you.”

You dropped your head into your hands and anxiously rubbed your face with your palms. “Fuck. I’m really sorry, Ellie,” Was all that you could say.

What else could you say?

Sorry you had to hear me getting fucked by my partner while you were laying just feet away in your sleeping bag?

“Sorry for what? For not being able to keep it in your pants?” Ellie giggled, slapping your knee with her hand in an attempt to get you to lighten up. “I get it. Nature. Hormones. Biology and shit.”

You lifted your face from your hands. “Joel can’t know,” You warned her. “Or he won’t be able to look you or me in the eye ever again.”

Ellie groaned in exaggeration, throwing her head back. “Aw, come on! I really wanted to see him squirm.”

“Me squirming should be fucking enough you little shit,” You laughed, shoving her playfully with your elbow. Once both of your giggles had subsided, in a more serious tone, you told her, “And for the record, we are not a thing.”

Ellie stared at you in disbelief. “Get out of here, you lying sack of shit! You totally are!”

“I know it’s hard to understand. But just because two people—” You trailed off, trying to choose your words carefully. It was more often than not that you had to remind yourself that despite what Ellie had been through and all she had seen, she was still fourteen. A fucking child.

“Bump uglies?” she suggested, wiggling her eyebrows.

You sighed. “Jesus Christ, please don’t ever fucking say that out loud again.” You paused briefly, running a hand through your hair. “But yes. Just because two people do what he and I were doing, that doesn’t mean anything. For a lot of people, it can be quite meaningless actually. It does not mean they are a thing. Me and Joel? Not a thing. Understood?”

Ellie blinked. “That’s probably the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve ever heard. Even before last night, I knew you two were a thing. Whether either of you admit it or not. I can tell.”

You knew better than to play into what she was saying, but the sheer curiosity got the better of you.

What had Ellie noticed about you and Joel?

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged, bringing her knees up to her chest. “I dunno. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you. He’s a guy who doesn’t seem to give a shit about too many things or too many people. But I know he does give a shit about you. He cares about you. Even if he might have a shitty ass way of showing it.”

You glanced back over at Joel and then back at Ellie, confused.

“And you can deny it all you want. But if there’s one thing that stone cold asshole cares about, it’s definitely you,” Ellie stated firmly.

Your mouth fell open slightly, unsure what to say to her.

“What the hell are you two yappin’ about over there?” Joel called, looking over his shoulder.

“Nothing!” Ellie practically sang, causing him to roll his eyes and turn his attention back to his task.

“Well then, get off your asses and let’s get a fuckin’ move on. Ain’t got time to waste.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us imagine #joel miller imagine #perdo pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou imagine #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction

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wynnyfryd · 6 months ago

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 65

part 1 | part 64 | ao3

cw: angst, weed

Eddie reaches out then stops, hand hovering just above Steve’s knee, something like panic in the tremor of his wrist. “Steve, for real, man, please let me—”

“No, you for real, man.” Seriously? Man? As if there aren't so many more important things to discuss right now. Steve squeezes his eyes shut and pinches his nose, the voice of an old swim coach ringing in his ear. Game time, Harrington, c’mon, where’s your head?

“Look,” Steve sighs, fingers clenching around his shin. “We can talk about... this," he gestures between the two of them, "later. Let’s just— Important stuff only for right now, okay?”

Eddie’s breath shakes when he answers. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

“Good.”

This is somehow worse than silence.

Steve shakes his head, tries to focus through the fog of awkward energy. Important things. Important.

Like, how about ‘what were you doing with a pretty girl in my fucking trailer?’ for starters, or maybe—

Oh, fuck.

Steve looks sharply at Eddie. “Why were you asking if I was real?”

Eddie stares back in silence, eyes huge, bottom lip trembling as Steve presses into his space; drops his voice, brings a hand up to wrap around Eddie’s arm — just above his elbow, soft leather and warm muscle shivering under the touch. God. Please. Not him, too. “Eddie. Did you— did you see something? Are you…?”

“No,” Eddie shudders. “No, sorry, just, uh—” He shakes his head with a grimace, a shrill sound spilling out, some frantic braying thing that might have counted as a laugh if his face wasn’t doing that. “Pretty goddamn sure I’m just losing my mind after seeing the— the fucking—”

His palm floats up to the ceiling in a wobbly zig-zag, looseleaf drifting to the classroom carpet in reverse, then he clenches his fist and lets it explode open with a ‘boom,’ the sound effect ruined by another strangled laugh. “Oh, my god,” he giggles. Humorless, horrified, nervous system overwhelm. His entire arm is shaking. “Oh, shit, oh, Jesus Christ, Steve, Chrissy’s—”

“Hey.” Steve tightens his grip on Eddie’s arm; waits for Eddie to take a breath, gasping and wet. “We can’t think about it, alright?”

Eddie’s voice cracks miserably. “That’s not fucking fair to her.”

“I know.” Steve loosens his hold; smooths his palm over the leather sleeve; wonders who he’s really trying to soothe. “I know. But we can’t— if what you and Dustin said is true, if it’s really some— some monster that hurt Chrissy, that’s trying to hurt us? We can’t grieve yet, okay? We can’t give him an opening to attack. We need a game plan.”

Eddie exhales like he’s trying to mimic an owl. “Okay,” he nods eventually, slapping his thighs as he stands up. “Okay. Game plan. Yeah. Shit. Games and sports and plans and…”

He trails off, mouth moving around mumbled gibberish as he wiggles his fingers and drums on himself, hands slipping up his torso, tongue over his top lip. He pats his front pocket. “Oh, hell yeah, baby.” Whirling to face Steve, he slips his forefinger and thumb into the narrow pouch and pulls out the Altoids tin where he keeps his pre-roll stash. “How’s this for a game plan?”

—

part 66

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic

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emmcfrxst · 6 months ago

Note

Im new to writing, and you're literally my favorite, I love the way you write and describe Arthur perfectly ❤️

But what if Arthur caught us masterbating to him 🫣 like, it's a quiet night, just got back from a particularly rough outing and decided to get visit us for a chat! But we're caught red-handed 😳

I literally can't get him out of my head. I'm obsessed 😩

anon i’m sending u SO many smooches i’m honored to be ur favorite <33333 if u ever post ur writing don’t be afraid to tag me i’d love to read it <33333

i think he’d short circuit. he’d stand fully frozen with his hand still holding onto the lapel of your tent, eyes zeroing on the way your fingers glisten with just how wet you are, until his brain catches up with his eyes and he realizes that someone else could see, shut the damn lapels you absolute fool and finally he springs into action, hurriedly closing the tent and attempting to control his breathing before turning back to face you, eyes focused on a spot above your head because he’s convinced himself that it would be rude of him to do otherwise despite the fact that you were literally moaning his goddamn name— he clears his throat and shuffles his feet because he’s still not sure if he’s heard you wrong or if the person of his literal dreams really is masturbating to him of all people, until you moan his name again, softly, pleadingly, teary eyes meeting his and jesus christ you’re still touching yourself, extending your free hand out to him, looking like you came straight out of one of his fantasies and he can’t help but walk closer on shaky legs, letting his knees hit the ground once he’s made his way between your legs, feeling your fingers tangle in his hair as he presses his face against the inner part of your thighs, inhaling deeply and shakily before starting to kiss his way to your soaked fingers, pushing them away to replace them with his tongue

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 smut #red dead redemption 2 imagine #red dead redemption 2 smut #anonymous #answered

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gravehags · 8 months ago

Text

unholy, unholy, unholy

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: the ministry being the catholic church's evil twin, manipulation, masturbation, confession, copia lowkey being a desperate little sex freak my beloved

Words: 5,153

Summary: You really walked right into this, you tell yourself. You can't even be mad at Copia for suggesting it.

a/n: can't believe the last thing i wrote for these losers was at christmas...damn. anyway you know how i like my non-chronological shit so this takes place somewhere in between take me apart and satan baby. i'm not done making these two dance around their feelings just yet.

divider by @gothdaddyissues!

“Jesus fucking Christ Almighty.”

You slam your office door shut with your hip and Cardinal Copia turns to look at you from his seat.

“Need help?”

With a grunt and a shake of your head you walk past him and set the bag of food down on your desk, heaving a deep sigh.

“Had to go on a fucking scavenger hunt because the goddamn DoorDash driver left the bag with a maintenance worker, who gave it to one of Terzo’s ghouls, who left it in a stairwell for some reason…don’t ask me how I managed to find it because fuck if I know.”

Dramatically you flop into your desk chair and give your lunch companion a look as he begins to sort out your meals with a smile.

“You know you eh…take the Lord’s name in vain quite a bit for someone who wasn’t raised in religion.”

When he passes your container of Pad see ew to you, you grin.

“Ehhh you know, the perils of being raised in a predominantly Christian society. It’s funny, the first time I said ‘Jesus Christ’ I was maybe…I don’t know nine? Ten? And my mom tersely told me ‘don’t say that’ to which I replied ‘why not?’ I don’t think she knew how to answer that question in a way that would make me care, you know? I had gone all my little life not giving a shit about Jesus, why would I now?”

Copia chuckles and cracks open his own takeaway box.

“Ah cara, you continue to stray further and further from God’s light every day. Thank Sathanas for that, hmm?”

With a smile, you clink your soda can against his and dig into your meal.

“You ever think about how fascinating your religion is, Copia?”

You prop your feet up on your desk as Copia delicately picks noodles out of his box with chopsticks.

“Eh, how do you mean?”

“Like…you’re a Satanic cardinal. You’ve sworn your life to uphold the tenets of Satanism. You…we live at a massive complex dedicated to Satan. One of many complexes throughout the world, apparently. And yet, barely anyone knows of the Ministry’s existence. It’s wild, really.”

He makes a thoughtful noise as he chews on a particularly crunchy piece of bok choy.

“Ah, well,” he begins, setting his chopsticks down and reaching for the soda resting on the desk, “we’re trying to change that. In…subtle ways.”

“Mmm, the Ghost project.”

“Sì, the idea is we use Papa to spread our message through music - something that is accessible to many people.”

“With the hopes that you and your evil brethren can dominate the globe?” you say, scrunching your nose playfully and giving him a big wink.

“Something like that,” he smiles wryly.

“Well I’ve listened to some of the project’s music and I gotta say…big fan. I think your sinister subliminal messaging is working on me.”

“Oh?” he asks, setting down his food in order to cross his legs and give you a curious stare. “Tell me more, cara. Do I have a future sister of sin on my hands?”

You close your eyes and laugh, missing the hungry way the Cardinal watches the line of your throat as your head tilts back.

“Maybe…let’s just say I’m intrigued. How could I not be when I’m surrounded by it all the time?”

He nods, resting a gloved hand on his knee and straightening his cassock.

“Perhaps…”

You fix him with a look you know will make him lose his train of thought for a moment. Positively wicked.

“Perhaps…?”

“Perhaps,” he clears his throat, eyes darting away from yours, “you would like to attend one of our services?”

You nod gamely.

“Is a super cool and hip youth pastor going to tell me about the ways the Devil cares about me unconditionally?”

He rolls his eyes and fixes you with an unamused stare.

“Very funny, dolcezza. Would you prefer that I have you sit with Papa Nihil while he explains the history of the Emeritus bloodline?”

You balk. The wizened Papa had a distinct dislike of you for some odd reason. You often wonder how he manages to give you such dirty looks through his cloudy eyes. You didn’t particularly care, however, as you saw the way he constantly brushed off and mistreated Copia during staff meetings. Nihil irked you to no end, no matter how much Sister Imperator liked him.

“Alright, fine, sorry. I only jest to get a rise out of you, I know how important your religion is to you. And hey, anything that has the drama and aesthetics of the Catholic Church without all the guilt and trauma has my full attention. Please don’t be mad.”

He grunts but you see the way his mustache twitches as he fights back a smile. You flutter your eyelashes a little and in a moment of boldness, take your lower lip between your teeth. The way his mismatched eyes dart to your mouth and his jaw hangs open makes you giddy.

“I’m–,” his voice comes out as a hoarse rasp, “I forgive you, cara.”

“Thank you for absolving me of my sins, Your Eminence.”

He has to know you’re doing this on purpose at this point. You’re not sure what has gotten into you today but something about the way he stares at you now makes you want to grab him by his pellegrina and haul him over your desk for a sloppy kiss. There’s a heavy tension between the two of you, not for the first time, as if all one of you needs to do is take a step forward and all hell would break loose.

“So, you want me to go to a service? What like black mass? Unholy baptism? Virgin sacrifice?”

The spell is broken and briefly your swagger flickers, wondering if you’ve crossed a line.

“Eh, maybe someday but your statement about sin made me think…perhaps confession would be more suited to you?”

Now your jaw falls open and you can feel your cheeks light up as he watches you with a smirk toying at the corners of his mouth. The tables have turned and now you’re the one left speechless.

“O-oh?” you ask, voice a little higher than normal, “so if Catholic confession is about getting your sins forgiven, then Satanic confession is…having your sins…celebrated?”

“Corretto,” he says with a generous nod, “we’ll go through each one in ah…intimate detail.”

“We?” you squeak out, stomach dropping severely, “I hadn’t realized that you would be presiding.”

“Oh sì,” he says, the smirk on his face positively devilish, “although if you’d prefer someone else…”

“No,” you say just a little too quickly, your heart pounding, “I…I don’t know how much sinning I really get up to. I’ll probably bore you to tears.”

“You might be surprised, dolcezza,” Christ the nickname sounds devious on his lips right now, “What is it they say? ‘Still waters run deep’?”

Your laugh comes out just a little too loud and unnatural and you kick yourself.

“Ha…right. We…we should probably get back to this cataloging or Sister Imperator is going to publicly execute me.”

The rest of the afternoon proceeds normally, with the two of you diligently organizing the abbey’s collection of illuminated manuscripts. When you finally part, he gives you the date, time, and directions to the chapel where the confession booth is located.

“Cara,” he murmurs as you begin to walk away, “you don’t have to do this.”

You give him a half-smile and shake your head.

“I think it will be good for me,” you say, hands behind your back as you rock onto your heels, “and besides, how could I say no to spending an evening with you?”

You make sure not to turn away until you see the full breadth of his dazed expression and by the time your back is to him and you’re walking away, there’s a loopy grin on your face. It’s not til you turn the corner and reach the staircase to your quarters the full realization of what you’ve agreed to dawns upon you.

Oh fuck.

You don’t see Copia the next two days between his duties and your own and for that you’re extremely thankful. The date of your confession has arrived and you’re equal parts nauseated and exhilarated. Having never gone to confession of any sort before, you’re not entirely sure what to expect. You’re not ignorant - you’ve seen confession scenes in the media and have heard from friends raised in Catholicism - but what little you do know doesn’t assuage your anxiety. This was Satanic confession. A whole different beast. Your mind conjures images of blood rituals and sacrifices and being on your knees before Copia…his gloved hand tilting your chin upwards to look at him…

Christ Almighty, get your shit together.

You desperately try to, as you sternly told yourself, get your shit together but your mind is clouded the rest of your workday with positively sinful scenes of the two of you. You’re particularly fond of the one where he’s got you in his office, your skirt hiked up over your hips as you bend over his desk and he pushes himself inside you from behind. The thought of his voice in your head, calling you his sweet little nicknames as he fucks into you, makes you practically drip. The final two hours in your office are torture before you’re able to skitter back to your rooms. You’re not meeting with Copia for another few hours and you need to do something about the ache between your thighs. Impatiently, you fumble for the buttons on your blouse with one hand while pushing your skirt off with another. You must look a sight, ripping your bra off and flinging it somewhere on the floor, but all you can think about now is getting to your bed. You almost trip twice in the journey to your room, blindly stumbling over and flinging yourself on the mattress. What has gotten into you? You’ve been horny before, about Copia sure, but this? The way you’re practically whining when your hands meet your bare breasts? You feel positively feral.

“Copia,” you breathe, fingers pinching at your nipples. You imagine his hands on you, the way the leather would warm as he strokes your soft skin.

Dolcezza.

Fuck, you can hear it perfectly and it makes you sigh, one of your hands slowly sliding down your body to cup the heat of you. You’re sopping and time feels like it slows as you spread yourself open and slide two fingers against your engorged clit. All of your frantic rushing from earlier ceases as you twitch under your own touch, his name on your lips. You’re so sensitive right now it barely takes anything to bring you over the edge, but, you think as your orgasm wanes, it’s not quite enough. Taking a slow exhale in you slip your fingers lower and tease at your entrance. The digits glide in easily enough with the abundance of slick coming from you and languorously you begin to pump them in and out. Your eyes slide shut and you imagine it’s his dexterous fingers instead, curling inside you so you can feel every stitch and groove of his glove.

Cara mia, he’d murmur into your ear, so wet for me. So sweet for your Cardinal, eh? You honor me.

The whimpers crawling out of your mouth are getting more frequent and higher in pitch - you know you’re close. You bring your palm flat against yourself to push on your clit as your hips continue to make little circles, driving your fingers deeper in. Your hand is aching but it doesn’t stop you from pulling another orgasm out of yourself, chanting his name. Tears pool in your eyes and slide down your temples as you sob aloud and all of a sudden it’s too much. Your body spasms on the duvet, breath coming in harsh pants as you attempt to slow the thundering of your heart. It’s not the first time you’ve touched yourself to the thought of him, by any means, but something feels…different. More charged. You’re exhausted, bone tired as you try to organize your feelings. Reaching a hand up to rub your face you turn over and look at the clock.

5:32 PM

Your eyelids are heavy but you manage to lean over the side of your bed and locate your phone to set an alarm. Some sleep would do you good. Clear your head.

You don’t dream.

—------

Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo.

Copia paces back and forth in the small, dimly lit (romantically lit, some would say) chapel. The last sibling of the evening just left and now all that remains is…you. He barely heard what the siblings were telling him this evening, so anxious was he and caught up in the thought of you soon being in their position. More than once his vision went blurry as he imagined you a breath away, separated only by the decorative wooden screen.

He was so eager for you to walk through that door, now he’s not sure. With a heavy sigh through his nose he looks down at his watch.

6:58 PM

You’re always punctual and he counts on tonight being no different. Resigned to his fate, he shuffles over to the confession booth and opens the door, slotting himself inside. Shit, his ass hurts from the hard bench, why in fuck’s name had they not added a cushion to this side like there was on the other? He’s grumbling to himself in Italian when he hears the chapel door squeak open and firmly shut. Your soft footsteps approach - you must be wearing your sneakers and not your boots for the distinct clacking sound he usually hears from you has vanished. He sucks in a breath when he hears you open your side of the booth and quietly shut it. There’s a silence between the two of you so profound that when you finally speak he jumps.

“Hey. You’re in there right?”

He makes a loud, vague noise and sees your shoulders drop through the screen. He can’t get a read on your expression but the anxiety in the air has softened with your posture.

“Good evening,” he begins, a little stiffly. “Eh, welcome.”

You breathe out heavy through your nose.

“Copia, is this a good idea?”

He pauses and looks down to pull at a loose thread on his cuff.

“Are…are you nervous, cara?”

You let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh.

“Yeah, I’m fucking nervous! I’ve never even been to a regular confession let alone…this.”

“Well, we begin with the ceremonial bloodletting and–”

“Oh fuck off,” you grouse, flicking the screen that separates you. You fall silent after a moment.

“Cara, are you truly that anxious? Because we don’t have to do any–”

“I’m fine, Copia. Really. I don’t know why I'm so worked up. Fear of the unknown, I suppose,” you clear your throat and hears you crack your neck.

“Bene. Shall I go over the process with you? And remember this is a celebration. No shaming. No guilt. No wrong answers.”

You take a deep breath in and he sees you nod.

“I will start with the blessing and then we will go through the seven cardinal sins one by one. You may describe yours as briefly or lengthy as you like and we will venerate them. Once we have finished, I will close with a blessing. Then we will part. Nothing to be nervous about, eh? Are you ready?”

“Yes, please.”

“Very good,” he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. “In nomine Padre, et Filio, et lo Spiritus Malum…we welcome this most sacred sinner into your embrace that she may revel in her transgressions against God.”

When he addresses you by name, he sees you jump.

“Let us begin with the Original Sin - pride.”

“Okay. Yeah. Pride.” There’s a few seconds of silence before he hears you softly curse. “Sorry, I should have made a list or something.”

“Take your time,” he says with a smile, simply content to be in your presence, “I have nowhere to be, cara. I am right here, ready when you are.”

He can see your eyelashes flutter as you look down and your cheeks bunch in a soft smile. Although mostly obscured, the sight still makes his heart soar. After a minute or so of silence you speak.

“Oh! Okay, uh pride. Well I was going to tell you about this anyway but…you know that little write-up I did of Satanic art in the time of the Counter-Reformation?”

“Naturalmente, it was superb.”

“Thank you. Well I thought it was too so I submitted it to a journal for publishing…and they accepted it.”

He can practically hear your grin and it makes him beam in return.

“Cara mia! Congratulazioni! You deserve nothing less! Although I hope you do not consider it a sin to rightfully celebrate an occasion such as this?”

You sigh.

“Ah, I don’t know. I may have bragged a bit too much to other people in the field. Felt a little too self-satisfied about it. So I think that would count, right?”

He scoffs.

“To Papa Frankie, maybe. To us it is a well-deserved acknowledgement of your hard work and something you have every right to be proud of. Dolcezza, even if you hesitate to celebrate yourself, know that I always will do so for you. Published in a journal, well done cara.”

He may not be able to see it in the low light of the confessional but he can picture your flushed cheeks perfectly in his mind.

“Anything else you would like to say on the matter?”

“No, that’s it.”

“Are you ready for the next?”

“Yes,” you say, with greater confidence, “let’s continue.”

“Onto the next. Envy.”

“Ah,” you seem to deflate a little and his brows knit together, “well about that. This…wow this is embarrassing.”

“No such thing as embarrassing at this moment. It’s a safe space, remember?”

“Right,” you huff, “okay well here it goes then. I see the sisters of sin every day walking around the corridors, working in the library, in the dining hall and…I envy them. I envy their bold confidence in their appearance and their sexuality.”

He’s silent for a moment, weighing whether or not he should say what he’s thinking. But you deserve to hear this.

“Confidence is not only represented by eh, wearing short skirts and high heels. I see you exude it every day when you’re bossing me around, no?”

You bark out a laugh and it lightens his heart.

“Truth be told,” he sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I’m not the best person to be taking advice on confidence from. But I know how to recognize it and I see it in you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur so softly he thinks he might have made it up, “can we move on?”

“Si,” he says before clearing his throat, “next one is wrath.”

He hears you suck in a breath through your teeth.

“Oh, I’ve got a good one for this. Well…not good. It wasn’t my best moment. But it definitely fits the bill.”

He makes a noise prompting you to continue.

“You know that new painting that Sister Imperator got at auction? The one of Lilith and Faust? It arrived last week and she asked me to oversee its unboxing. I told all the siblings working with me that once the box was open the painting was to be handled with archival gloves. I had to step out of the room for a second to talk to the head librarian and when I came back…not a glove to be found and the painting was halfway out of its crate. Copia I…I lost my shit. You know me I-I don’t get mad. But the fact that they had disregarded my instruction and got their bare fingers on that canvas, then acted ignorant about the whole thing…Christ, Copia I saw red. I don’t even remember half of what I yelled at them. I had to walk out before I did something I would regret. God, I already regretted raising my voice. I didn’t report them to Sister Imperator but she found out somehow…maybe the librarian? I don’t know what their punishment was but I haven’t seen them since. Copia, it was awful. I was awful.”

“With good reason,” he replies promptly, “they should have respected your authority as a professional in the field and by not doing so not only did they potentially damage Ministry property, but they also embarrassed themselves. Idioti. Though I would have liked to have seen you all riled up.” A confession of his own - Sathanas would he have loved to see you flying at them like a demon, your claws sharp and your words sharper. The thought sends a shiver of arousal down his spine and he takes a moment to gather himself before speaking again.

“Is that all you wish to say?”

“Yes. Can we please move on?”

“Very well. Next is sloth.”

You’re silent for a moment and his heart sinks, hoping you’re not dwelling too much on your last confession. He opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.

“Sloth, yeah. I, uh,” you let out a giggle and he’s relieved to hear it, “none of these can get me in trouble with Sister Imperator, right?”

“No,” he says slowly, a grin curling his lips, “this is just between us.”

“Okay good. Do you remember a couple weeks back when I texted you that I wasn’t coming in because I was having a migraine?”

“Sì…”

“I was lying,” the words blurt out of you in a rush but you sound almost gleeful about it, “I was so fucking tired and so cozy in bed and it was raining outside…I just couldn’t do it. Stayed under the covers all day watching Ghost Adventures.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he playfully chides, and he can see your shoulders shake with laughter, “Signorina I am stunned. Horrified, even–”

“Oh it’s not that bad.”

“Horrified…that you didn’t tell me so I could join you. I love those ghost hunting shows.”

Your laugh makes him smile in return, “Next time we’ll play hooky together, I promise.”

He sighs deeply. “Please. I could use it.”

“I know,” you murmur, “no one in this abbey works as hard as you do.”

“Grazie, tesoro. I appreciate your kindness.”

You make a warm noise of affirmation before speaking, “What’s next?”

“Gluttony.”

“Oh Christ,” you cringe, head falling forward, “Maybe…about a month ago? Primo came by my rooms and handed me a Tupperware container of brownies. Told me to eat one per sitting with a sweet old man smile on his face. I’m not an idiot, I heard what he grows in the abbey gardens but my God the stink that came off of these things. I knew I was about to get my shit rocked. So I ate my designated brownie and just puttered around, cleaning up the kitchen. All of a sudden, I’m flat on the floor in front of my fan having an out of body experience. I don’t know how long I was lying there for but by the time I hauled myself up I was so hungry I thought I was losing it. Went through a box of cereal, a sleeve of Ritz crackers, and the next thing I knew I was in the papas’ kitchen making a bag of popcorn. Don’t remember getting there and don’t remember coming back up to my rooms but the next morning I was tucked in bed. So weird.”

He chuckles nervously as if he wasn’t the one to find you wandering the kitchens stoned out of your gourd and put you there.

“Ha yes…weird. That’s…that’s all you remember?”

“Mmhmm. Talk about the devil’s lettuce. Was pissed I didn’t have any cereal the next morning, though.”

“Let’s move onto the next, hmm?” He’s a little louder than necessary but you don’t question his suspicious behavior.

“Yeah sure. Hit me.”

“Eh, greed.”

“Hmm,” you ponder and he hears the back of your head thunk against the wood of the booth. “Damn, this is a hard one.”

“It usually is, funnily enough. You can always skip it, if you like.”

“No, no, no,” you say, leaning forward, “I’m trying to get the full set, let me cook.”

That actually makes him laugh out loud. How he adores you so.

“Greed, greed, greed,” you mutter to yourself, “Ah…greed would include covetousness, yeah?”

“Mmm, is there something or perhaps…someone you have been coveting?”

It’s a leading question and he knows this as he hears your breath quicken. It’s at this point in his fantasies where you confess your adoration for him, where he flees the confines of his side of the booth to fall to his knees before you and worship you as Sathanas intended. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he tastes the bitter tang of his paints which distracts him for a moment when he hears you say–

“Yes. There is someone.”

The silence is deafening between the two of you and his heart thuds against his ribcage, desperate for you reach over and tear it from his chest. He flexes his hands, the leather squeaking as the both of you sit with the words.

“O-oh?” he finally manages to stutter. He can see your eyes are shut and hears you loudly swallow.

“I, um,” you begin, “yeah. There is someone I’ve wanted for…a long time. I…I think he–I mean they–might reciprocate but…”

Tell her, you fool.

“Can we do the next one, actually?” your voice is so painfully soft and his stomach drops. She is doing you a kindness, his brain cruelly provides, by not telling you of who she truly wants. A sibling, perhaps. Or perhaps…one of your fratelli. The thought pains him so he nearly doubles over on himself as if being punched in the gut. Pride, envy, wrath, sloth, gluttony, greed.

Lust.

He’s startled by the sound of his own voice and you are too judging from the way you twitch. From his obscured view you look positively horrified, as if you had forgotten about this one.

“I haven’t been with anyone,” you blurt out, sounding both panicked and deeply embarrassed. He hardly recognizes his own voice as he responds with uncharacteristic calmness.

“Lustful acts…do not always have to involve another person.”

Now why the fuck would he say that? He can see your eyes widen and even in the dim light of the confessional he registers the violent blush on your cheeks.

“Oh I…oh.”

You raise a hand up to rub aggressively at your face, breathing deep.

“In that case, yes,” you finally say and his gut clenches, “I have indulged in the sin of lust.”

“A-about the person you covet?” He’s pushing it but he can’t help himself, can’t help the hope that simmers in his belly and makes his pants tighten.

“Mmm…mhmm,” you respond and you open your mouth to speak but hesitate. When you finally do, there’s a new tone to your voice - something low. Sensual.

“It’s…good. Fuck it’s good. When I think about them I-I go a little insane. I want them so fucking badly and it’s so easy to think about them and what they could do to me. What I would let them do to me.”

His fist flies to his mouth to stifle the whine that threatens to escape from him and his cock throbs underneath his cassock. He can feel your eyes on him, see your lips parted and it makes him lightheaded. Focus. Focus. Go over there and fuck her against this goddamned confessional. Focus.

“Sathanas bless you, tesoro,” he finally ekes out, his voice hoarse, “in celebrating your body a-and your desire you have made Him proud. Well done.”

A beat passes until you clear your throat. He thinks if he doesn’t tend to his dick soon he’s going to pass out.

“That’s all of them then, right? Got the full set?”

“Mmhmm. You can go if you like.”

“Didn’t you say there’s another blessing at the end?”

Satan damn your ability to vex him when he needs relief…and you…the most.

“Eh, yes. In nomine Padre, et Filio, e-et lo Spiritus Malum,” Cazzo what was the rest of it? “Ah…Sathanas bless this most sacred sinner for reveling in her transgressions against God. Nema.”

“Cool, well uh. Goodnight Copia. This has been…enlightening.”

“It certainly has,” he mutters under his breath, fingers itching to adjust his bulge. He’s not sure if you heard him or not because in an instant you’ve opened the booth and skittered down the nave to the door. He doesn’t breathe again until he hears you firmly shut it behind you and within seconds he’s fumbling for the hem of his cassock. He knows the likelihood that you were talking about him is slim but simply entertaining the thought that it could be has him unzipping his pants with vicious determination. When his cock finally, blessedly meets leather he could cry with relief. He knows he’s dribbling pre on himself but he doesn’t care - all that matters is the way you sounded confessing your lustful actions to him and how it drives his fist back and forth. Oh, how sweet you were. Tempting even when you weren’t trying to be. How he would revel in ruining you. The thought makes him double over, his unoccupied hand pressed against the wall of the booth in an attempt to stabilize himself. When he thinks of you eagerly spreading yourself open for him a broken moan escapes his lips, hips rutting upwards into his grip. What sweet little noises you would make - right there, Copia, please, that’s it - your body eager to yield to his touch.

“Dolcezza,” he grits out, “ragazza perfetta mia. S-so good–ah–for y-your Cardinal.”

His hand is a blur as it rockets along his shaft and he grunts into the silent chapel. He thinks of you looking up at him with that heart-shatteringly kind look on your face, your lips in a soft smile and he cries out, his seed painting his grucifix in desperate spurts. His mind is fuzzy but his hand doesn’t slow, determined to wrench every last drop out of himself until his head falls back and hits the wood of the booth. Groggily, he puts himself away and lowers his cassock before stumbling out of the confessional. His spend drips onto the stone floor but it matters little - surely it’s not the first that floor has seen. All of a sudden he’s exhausted - feeling every second of his five decades - as he blows out candle after candle. When his task is complete he trudges to the door and rests his forehead on the wood for a moment.

He thinks of your smile once more.

#cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

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dsireland86 · 2 months ago

Text

Mark Me

Tag list: @philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @theanarchymuse95 @thisbicc @lma1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @fadingintothegrey @an0mallly @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @mrsnoahsebastian @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey

Skin smacking together echoed through the dimly lit hallway. Her panting, followed by needy, lustful moans, filled the bedroom, locking themselves within the walls of their home.

It was a moment of pure lust and fulfillment, having nothing to do with love and comfort, even though Matt worshiped the ground she walked on. Tonight, she was the brutal brunt of all his pent-up sexual frustration from weeks of being on tour without her.

“All I thought about was fucking your brains out while I was locked up on that fucking tour bus for weeks,” Matt growled through clenched teeth as he pounded into her pussy like a wild, hungry animal.

She screamed for him, raking her nails down his back over and over, digging her fingertips into the muscles of his shoulder blades while she willing laid on her back and allowed Matt to violate her hard and fast, just to get his sexual fulfillment.

“Fuck, you're always so fucking tight for me baby,” he panted, diving into her neck and sucking on it.

“Harder, Matt,” she moaned, clawing his back again, making him hiss in pain.

“God, your pussy feels so good, taking my cock like this. You don't know how many nights I got myself off just thinking about it.”

Matt grunted, thrusting harder into her, turning her cries into screams, as she begged him to let her cum. But, Matt was feeling mean tonight. It wasn't about her. It was about him. It was about fucking her filthy until he penetrated every single part of her.

Flipping her over on her stomach and forcing her up on her knees, Matt yanked her by the hair, and smacked her ass leaving a red hand print behind, reminding her who she belonged to.

“Your pussy is mine, baby,” he told her, thrusting so hard into her he bottomed out, causing her to feel the head of his cock in her lower abdomen.

“Fuck! Matt!” “Shit! I felt that.” He did it again and Y/N cried out, moaning his name. “God you're going to make cum if you keep sounding like that.”

Pressing down on her lower back and smacking her ass again, Matt continued fucking her hard until the familiar pressure began to build. “Every inch of your beautiful, fuckable body belongs to me; your ass, your tits, your mouth, all of it!” “Matty,” she whimpered, choking back sobs and clawing at the bed sheets. “Whose slut are you? Tell me,” he demanded, feeling his thrusts getting sloppy. “Yours, Matty!” she whined. “Good girl.”

He reached around and found her clit, circling it fast and hard hoping it would make him cum faster. But he needed more. Moving his hand lower, he found the place where they connected, the base of his cock soaked in their combined arousal.

“Jesus, your pussy dripping!” He pulled out of her, exchanging his cock for his fingers. His other hand closed around her neck, choking her lightly as he fucked her with his fingers. “Matt, I'm almost there,” she whimpered through choked sobs. “I want to come, please.” “Tell me who your sweet ass cunt belongs to, and maybe I’ll let you.” “You, Matt,” she choked, “it belongs to only you, baby.” “You’re goddamn right it does, beautiful.”

Slipping his fingers out of her pussy and thrusting them into her mouth, Matt hummed in approval when she sucked her juices off of them. It seemed to be the catalyst for him.

His cock twitched hard inside her as he smacked her ass for a third time, and she screamed his name as he slammed back into her, pounding her pussy relentlessly. His balls tightened proof that he was close.

“Fuck, Y/N!” His fingers dug deep into her hips, bruising them. “Fuck! God!” “Matt, I’m about to cum, baby,” she moaned. “Me too, I wanna cum inside you.” He grabbed her hair again and yanked her head back, hard, releasing his seed inside her just as her walls tightened around his cock and she came at the same time. Together they rode each other’s high for a moment before crashing. Matt pulled out of her and watched from behind as his cum dripped from her stretched, overstimulated pussy right before she collapsed.

Noticing the red marks his left behind on her ass, Matt felt a pang of guilt for being so rough on her. He leaned down and gently kissed them, pausing the moment he heard her whimper.

“I'm sorry, beautiful. I was too brutal and rough on you. I just fucking missed you so much.” He kissed her shoulder before brushing her hair out of her face.

“I love you, Matt,” she muttered, eyes fully closed. “And it's okay. I missed you too. So much.” He smiled, pulling the blanket over her, and kissed her cheek.

Shuffling into the bathroom, the deep, uncomfortable pain on his back became more noticeable. Looking into the mirror, Matt gasped at the blood red nail marks all down his back. The long scratches started at his shoulder blades and ran all the way down to right above his ass, running across the top, right at the bottom of his neck.

“Motherfucker,” Matt cursed, straining his neck so he could see his entire back. “It’s your own fault, Dierkes. You know you went way too far with her tonight,” he scolded himself.

But the fact of the matter was this; the reason for the deep nail marks all over his back was a sign of a job well done. He fucked her well. He made her feel good and accomplished his responsibility in making sure his woman was pleasured and loved the way she deserved. The marks were her sign of ownership of him, and he would proudly wear them.

Slipping into bed next to her, Matt pulled her in closer to him and nestled his face into her back, the scent of her hair engulfing his nostrils as he fell asleep.

The morning sun poured through the curtains, dragging Y/N out of a deep sleep. She was sore between her legs and was sure walking properly would prove to be a challenge. Her shoulder hurt, possibly from a bite mark and her scalp held faint traces of being pulled too hard.

But the visions of last night that danced behind her eyes made her pussy tingle and she clenched her legs together tightly, hoping to feel any trace of Matt left behind.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

Matt walked out of the bathroom, freshly showered. His damp hair hung loosely around his shoulders, as droplets of water dripped onto his skin. The scent of his body wash was strong, awakening Y/N’s senses and making her more alert this time of the morning than she normally would be.

Matt looked delicious, and she suddenly found herself wanting him inside her no matter how sore she was. Sitting up, she realized she was still naked beneath the sheets and quickly pulled the sheet up to cover herself.

“Really? Playing the modest card this early in the morning,” Matt teased, raising an eyebrow at her. She grinned, letting the sheet go.

It fell, revealing her naked breasts to his alluring eyes.

Matt groaned, unable to control himself. He went to her and pulled the blankets back as she undid the towel that hung tightly to his hips, allowing it to fall to the floor.

Y/N licked her lips at the sight. His tip was swollen and pink and already leaking precum. It was maddening for her not to have him in her mouth.

Nudging him back, she got down on her knees and instantly took Matt's cock completely into her mouth, sliding all the way down to its base until the tip hit the back of her throat.

“Jesus, baby,” Matt groaned, looking down and watching her pretty little mouth fuck him. The way her tongue slid up and down his shaft hit a nerve, turning him into a moaning, panting mess.

“Fuck. Fuck baby, right there, just like that. Yeah. Oh God!”

Matt's head fell back and he stared straight up at the ceiling, giving in completely to the way her mouth and lips ran over his cock soaking it with her saliva and massaging and sucking it unmercifully.

He looked back down, tangling his fingers in her hair before spreading his legs more, holding her head as she continued fucking him at the perfect tempo.

“Is this payback for last night? Because I was too rough on you?”

Y/N didn't answer, just locked her hands around his thighs, fingertips pressing hard into his skin. More of her spit tricked down her chin, dripping to the floor.

“Doesn’t matter if it is or not. I'm addicted to the way you're mouth fucks me, damn,” Matt muttered, running his hand down the side of her face.

“Oh God, right there, just like that! Don't stop, baby don't fucking stop,” Matt moaned, thrusting into her mouth over and over. She gaged a few times and clenched her hands around his thighs tighter, but didn't let up on what her mouth was busy doing.

Matt's legs began to shake violently, an explicit sign that his end was near.

The moment she nipped the head, circling the tiny hole in the center with the tip of her tongue, it sent Matt over the edge in the most aggressive yet fulfilling way possible.

“Goddammit, motherfucker,” he yelled, shooting his cum into the back of her throat. He tightly held her in place, forcing her to swallow all of it, thrusting a few more times just to milk the last little bit.

When he let her go, Y/N collapsed already spent and out of breath. Matt sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for his heart rate to slow and his legs to stop shaking.

“I think I might need another shower after that. Shit.” “Mmm, you liked that, huh?” Y/N smirked, climbing onto his lap. “Oh yeah, I liked that. It's been a while since you fucked me that good.”

They kissed, a slow meaningful kiss, giving Matt shivers at the taste of himself on her tongue. She laid her hands on his shoulders, and ran them down his back, feeling the welts just as Matt seethed in pain.

“What happened?” she asked, peering over his shoulder. “You happened,” Matt chuckled even though he was being serious. “Holy shit, Matt!” she exclaimed, climbing off him to and around to look at his back. “I did that! Oh my, I'm so freaking,” Matt grabbed face and kissed her hard, stealing all the breath in her lungs. “No.” “But,” Matt kissed her again. “No.”

Y/N blinked a few times before looking back at the nail marks on her boyfriend's back. “I didn't mean to hurt you.” Matt lifted her head up, grinning at her sweet face. “No worse than I hurt you. I was too hard on you last night.” Y/N's face softened at Matt's words. “Maybe, but you didn’t leave any marks on me.”

“Are you kidding? Baby, I bit you,” Matt corrected her, pointing at her shoulder, which did explain the discomfort. “Not to mention your ass still has a handprint or two. I was too rough. I crossed a line. I’m the one who should be sorry, and I am. I just missed you so fucking bad, but that’s still not a good reason.”

“So does this make us even then?” she asked, peering up at him through her long eyelashes as she sat up on her knees and moved over towards him, capturing his lips with hers.

“Mmm, yeah, I guess it does,” Matt agreed, falling back into the bed with her.”

“Hey thanks for inviting us over for breakfast Y/N, it was really nice of you.” Noah gave her a quick kiss on her cheek as he grabbed another piece of bacon. “You’re welcome. It was really Matt’s idea. I just made the food.” “This is a lot of food!” Folio chimed in, grabbing two more pancakes. “Yeah, well you’re growing boys what can I say,” she shrugged, laughing.

Noah and Folio laughed too, just as Matt entered the kitchen, shirtless and giving Y/N a kiss on the cheek and telling her something that made her laugh. That's when Noah caught sight of Matt’s back, immediately noticing the red scratches.

“Holy fuck, Matt! What the hell happened to your back?” “What?” “What? The red scratches? What happened?” Matt just stared at him for a moment, unmoving. “Are you really that dumb, Noah?” “Huh, what do you mean?” Noah looked from Matt to Y/N whose cheeks are a bright red, and that’s when realized what was happening “Oh, shit! My bad,” he chuckled, bringing his fist to his mouth.

“Y/N, made those marks on you, Matt?” Folio’s eyes widened in surprise. “What the fuck did you do to her?” Y/N groaned in embarrassment, wondering why the hell Matt didn’t wear a shirt. “Use your imagination, Folio," Matt answered, grabbing Y/N’s hand and pulling her closer to him.” He whispered something in her ear, making her giggle again. “Are going to show the entire world what I did to you last night.”

“I will if I can. Marking me means you own me and I want everyone to know you own me.”

“You can be so disgustingly sweet sometimes, you know that,” she laughed, taking her plate of food she finished making. “Shh, don’t tell anybody. No one is supposed to know I’m sweet,” Matt joked, winking at her.

But it wasn’t a secret. Matt was the sweetest to her and she loved him, madly.

#matt dierkes fanfiction #matt dierkes #bad omens band #bad omens cult #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction

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rogue-durin-16 · 20 days ago

Text

HEAD-TO-HEAD (part I/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language

A/N: okay I'm like three parts into this and it's gonna have the same vibe as this other fanfic (I've been wanting to flesh it out for a while), so if you're not into multiparts and prefer a similar, shorter version, go check that one out. Also, let me know if you'd like to be tagged in this one. That said, enjoy <3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

SLAM!

"Jesus!" Malarkey jolted on his bed, the cards Toye, Skip and him had been tossing on the mattress springing for an instant.

Maybe I had shut the barracks' door a bit too harsh.

"Tryna take it off the hinges?" Toye's tease was accompanied by a quirk of his brow and an unamused stare.

"Sorry." I grumbled with a wry face and not much feeling, making my way to my bed. "You seen Roe? Nixon's looking for him."

"I think he's on patrol duty in about an hour— what was that about?" Malark sat up straighter, setting his cards aside.

Before I could dismiss him whilst going through my belongings, Skip jumped into the conversation, feigning concentration in the game. "This is probably about Liebgott." A mischievous grin lit up his face when I looked over my shoulder to glare at him.

"Why would it be about Liebgott?" I hissed, turning to grab the book I was looking for.

Skip raised his eyes from the cards to give me a knowing stare. "Is it not?"

"So what if it is?" The three men shared a half amused, half stale glance and turned to me, the card game forgotten.

"What'd he do now?" Toye's question carried the exhaustion of a man who had listened to the same complaints too many times in the span of a few months.

"He just— ugh!" I threw my hands at the air, throwing my bag back under my bed with too much strength.

"Did he even have time to annoy you this much?" Skip was particularly enjoying this, unlike our two friends.

"Weren't you organizing supplies?"

"Yeah, Don. I was." I retraced my steps, not reaching the door just yet and instead making a stop by the boys' side. "But he was there. For fuck's sake— he's always there." I muttered the last part through my teeth, that anger I had barely gotten rid of growing exponentially at the mere thought of him. "Do you have any idea of how insufferable he is?"

Malarkey and Toye shared unspoken words momentarily before the redhead looked back up at me. "You could say we have some."

"He's not that annoying." Skip's oblivious comment earned him a slap from Don. "What?"

"He's not that annoying to you."

"Here we go." Toye groaned, fully shifting his body to me, knowing this wasn't going to be a short conversation.

"You have no idea of how much of a pain in the ass he can be." I began, already wound up by the not so willing interaction I was forced to have with Liebgott moments ago. "And you know why you don't know?"

"Surprise me." Skip was entertaining me. We all noticed, but I was yet to turn down an opportunity to rant about my own personal torment.

"Because it's not big stuff, it's— it's the endless little things. Like right now, you know what he did?" I didn't even wait for Skip's mock-serious cue. "I'm there, trying to organize the goddamn supplies and he just waltzes in with a shit ass comment about how I'm 'a bit too precise'." I accompanied the last part with a mocking tone and air quotation marks. "Who says that?! It's like he always has to get his two cents in, and I know he does it to bother me— don't give me that look." I warned Don, hitting his shoulder with the book in my hand.

"I didn't say anything!" He complained, trying and failing to hide the amused grin on his face.

"You know you're giving him what he wants, right?" Skip pointed out, taking the cigarette tucked behind his ear to his lips.

"What?"

"C'mon it's Liebgott. He wants to get a rise out of you." He shrugged, lighting up the smoke and taking a drag out of it. "And you're letting him."

"You think she doesn't know that?" Toye scoffed, giving me a side glance which I reciprocated.

"Oh, shut up." I rolled my eyes, plopping down on the bunk besides them. "I'm not gonna... What? Shut up and take it?"

"Have you tried that yet?" Skip asked with a raised brow.

"I'm not gonna try that." I stated, baffled at his suggestion. "That's what he wants. He wants me to go speechless, I just know. It's so obvious, with that damn attitude and the sarcasm and the way he'll just get me going until I run out of things to say— Don, I swear to God."

"I. Didn't. Say. Anything." He followed each of his words with a pause.

"You're looking at me like I'm nuts!"

"He's looking at you like you're stupid." Toye deadpanned taking the cigarette Skip offered him. " 'Cause you're fuckin' stupid, Y/n."

"I'm not stupid, I'm fed up." I hissed back at my friend. "Everyday, Toye, everyday for what? five months?" I stood up again. "He and his stupid jabs that are almost funny— like he's expecting me to, I don't know, laugh at them?"

"So you find him funny?"

"Don't put those words in my mouth." I warned Skip. "I said almost."

"Right."

There was a beat of silence from which I decided to move on, going back to the main topic. "It's not only that. It's the way he has to be right about everything, too. Like- first of all, he's not right about anything. Ever. Second of all—"

"Oh, and you are?" Skip cut me off, a taunting tinge in his question.

"Yeah, when it comes to him, I am." There was an unhealthy pride in my words, and by the look on Skip's face, that's exactly what he wanted. "And even if I wasn't, do you think I'd give him the satisfaction of—"

"Okay, this is ridiculous." He cut me off again, motioning at me whilst looking at our friends. "You noticed, right?"

"Hmm, I don't know Skip. We only had this conversation about a million times." Malark retorted.

"You're not annoyed by whatever Liebgott's doing." Muck spoke as if he had reached some kind of revelation. "You're annoyed because you two have the same playbook."

"I don't have—"

"Yeah, you do." Toye took a drag out of his recently lit Lucky Strike without sparing me a single glance.

"I don't. He's cocky and loud and argumentative and competitive—"

"And you're not." Skip could barely hold back his laugh, his eyes examining the two men's faces.

"I'm... Efficient."

Toye snorted. "That's what we're calling it now?"

"I'm calling it how it is."

"Face it. You're cut from the same cloth and it annoys the fuck out of you." Skip reached for the cards, silently agreeing with Toye and Malarkey that it was best to start over, and began to shuffle them.

"The same cloth my ass. He's an infuriating motherfucker." Don shook his head with a soft chuckle, taking the cards his best friend handed him. "I can't just— I have enough to worry about as it is, and he's out here making me argue over shit I don't even know if it's worth arguing over, just because— I don't know. It's not like he gives me time to think it through anyway."

"So you're also mad because he's quick. Or" Skip raised his pointer finger as if to sush me before I could argue back. "quick enough to keep up with you?"

It was the second time in the span of a couple of hours that I found myself at a loss of words— something I clearly wasn't a fan of.

"Okay, fuck this." I put a full stop on the conversation, muttering a mildly irritated goodbye to the boys before taking the barracks door and heading to the now empty mess hall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

JOE'S P. O. V.

"I seriously don't get why you like her." I heard a dramatic sigh coming from the adjacent toilet.

"We're gonna do this again?"

What a way to finish such a magnificent day— latrine duty with Luz and Penkala.

"We're gonna do this until I get why you think she's worth anyone's time." I retorted at the Portuguese jokester, moving on to another toilet.

"Because she's as tough as they come." George sounded a bit too tired of listening to me for someone whose personality was based on going on and on about the same topic for hours. "Back me up, Penk."

"She's real smart." Penkala jumped in with a shrug, mopping the far corner of the bathroom. "And quick with words."

"Yeah, she keeps up with pretty much everything."

"Oh, c'mon." I scoffed, sitting back on my heels. "She's just a glorified pretty face."

"You know it's the third time you called her pretty in" Luz checked his watch with an arched brow. "an hour?" I rolled my eyes at his tease, poorly masked as an observation.

"That's all she is. She shouldn't even be here." I cursed under my breath when Penkala accidentally hit me with the mop. "The fuck was that for?"

"You're being a dick." He deadpanned absentmindedly.

"And it's getting old." Luz said, passing behind me to clean a different toilet. "Just admit you're ticked 'cause you found someone who can give you a run for your money." Penkala's quiet laugh put a shit eating grin on George's face. "and it's a girl."

"Yeah, sure, a run for my money. She's all talk, always with her little comebacks. Miss always-gotta-have-the-last-word." My voice was a bitter mock. "Stubborn little bitch."

"Hey!" Luz's palm smacked the back of my neck, making my head snap in his direction with a warning glare. "You're not gonna land her with that shit, y'know?"

"What makes you think I wanna land her?"

Penkala left the mop aside and crouched to help Luz pick up the cloths we had used to clean everything. "You haven't shut up about her since we came in."

"Yeah," Luz breathed out an exhausted groan when both him and Penkala raised to their feet. "you're starting to sound a little obsessed. If it's always like this," George lend me a hand to pull me up, which I gladly took. "I feel sorry for Tab."

"You're so damn funny." I clapped back, sarcasm dripping from my tongue as George pulled me up. "Should start a comedy show."

"So I've been told." We hadn't even left the latrine and Luz was already pulling out his pack of cigarettes. "C'mon Penky," he called for our friend, placing a cigarette on his lips before offering me one from the pack. "we're waitin' on you."

He did the same with Penkala once he joined us to leave for the barracks. I was attempting to light the smoke Luz had given us with my worn out lighter when she walked out of the mess hall.

Luz cursed under his breath, doing a half turn when he noticed Y/n strolling past us like we weren't there.

"A bit late to be wandering around, don't you think?" I called out with the cigarette still in my mouth, loud enough for her to catch it clear as day.

"A bit late to be fucking annoying, don't you think?" Her spat matched my volume, barely throwing a glance over her shoulder without slowing down as she passed by.

"Jesus Christ... Good night, Y/n!" The wind brought us a faint 'Night, Luz!' before we lost her in the camp's pitch black night.

"She's unbelievable." I muttered under my breath, tilting my head down for Penkala to light my cigarette with his own lighter.

Luz shook his head with disappointment. "You're unbelievable."

Yeah, right. Me.

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