#this is the most self indulgent thing I've ever written
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Dreams for a Dozen Cats - Dreamling (AO3
Rating: G | Status: Complete | Chapters 1/1 | Words: 2K
Tags: Tooth-rotting fluff, Getting Together, Meowpheus
For @dreamlingbingo: Square D4: Creature: Feline and for Dreamling Week 2023 presented by @mr-sadman (Day 1: Meowpheus)
Summary:
Of all the unusual things Hob Gadling has come across in his long immortal life, he thinks perhaps one of the strangest things is finding Dream of Endless holding council with a colony of stray cats just outside The New Inn.
#dreamling#dream x hob#dreamling week 2023#seiya writes dreamling#sandman fanfic#meowpheus#seiya writes#this is the most self indulgent thing I've ever written#Starting Dreamling Week off the right way!
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The sweet, lovely poly 141 boys and their Spanish-speaking latine partner.
This was meant to be a quick little thing, but boy did this get away from me lmao. This is the fluffiest shit I've ever indulged in and I love it. Big thank you to @mikichko for inspiring and helping with this!!!
cw: poly 141, gn!reader, latine reader, mexican slang, hint of d/s dynamics in Johnny's word count: 2.1K
Price, god love the man, is the one who seems to stumble the most. It's almost comical, considering the fact that Spanish and Arabic are so similar due to their histories. But there's a big difference between the Spanish he's learned to recognize and what you throw at him on the daily. He truly thinks it's because of his age, window of acquisition and all that. John does not expect to be able to speak fluently with you, but he does at least want to understand you. What he really wants, though, is to make you feel more fully at home with him, and he is forever grateful that you feel comfortable and safe enough with them to embrace all parts of your identity.
"Hola, amor mío. How was your day?" you greet him from the couch, eyeing him from tip to toe and almost whistling at seeing him in uniform. "Sigues rechulo, mi güerito, so I assume all went well?"
John swings down to kiss you, gripping the back of your neck to prolongue the kiss, trying to soak in as much of the affection as he can while also disguising the fact that he still doesn't fully recognize what came after.
"Yours was good too, I trust?"
"Yeah, but my brother called. El güey still con sus pinches mamadas and asking for my help. Aguas, in case he shows up this week."
"I... will keep an eye out, dove."
"Call me si les arma pedo and I'm not around."
He just nods sagely and squishes up against you on the couch, letting your warmth seep into his tired bones.
Later that evening, he rounds up the boys while you're in the shower and pulls out a small notebook where he's written things out phonetically. John may not have all the knowledge he needs, but he sure as hell is good at getting it.
"'Güey,' that's the brother's nickname?"
"No, that's like 'man/guy.' But it's also an insult. But not always," Johnny supplies.
"Fuck me, okay. 'Rechulo' is... I got nothing for that one."
"The 're' is for heavy emphasis, 'chulo' is 'cute/handsome/pretty.' 'Re' can go on practically any adjective," Simon steps in.
"'Aguas' and 'pedo' CANNOT be what they are, right?"
Kyle takes his hand and chuckles, "No, sweetheart. The first is like a warning, the second a fight or scene or scandal. In this context."
John's shoulders finally relax and he lets out a heavy sigh, putting the final touches on his notes of the day.
"Thank you, boys, for your patience and your kindness. And your secrecy," John huffs a little laughter and gives them his sweetest smile, the one where you can see the dimples poking out through the beard.
They all reach over to gently caress him, taking turns kissing the parts of him they can reach.
"Thank you, John, for trying so hard."
~
Beautiful, wonderful Kyle, the delight of a man that he is, is the one giving it as good as he gets. He's the one crooning in your ear, showering you with the most decadent terms of endearment, knowing full well they make your knees much weaker in Spanish. He'll use the advantage every single chance he has, don't doubt that for a second. But truly, it's the soft seclusion of those moments that he cherishes most, when you're looking up at him with big bright eyes, knowing you fully trust him to take care of you.
You're grumbling away as you wash dishes after dinner when Kyle comes up behind you, arms making the way slowly around your waist, chin dropping onto your shoulder.
"Oh, tesoro mío, look at you working away, working so hard for us."
You refuse to look at him and give a fussy pout. He knows it's your least favorite of the house duties. So much so that you're always willing to do almost anything as long as you don't have to touch wet food.
"It looks like you've done enough, cariño. Come join us in bed."
"No. None of you wanted to trade with me so se aguantan," you try to wiggle and bump his head away from yours.
"Come on, cosa hermosa, we need you with us to settle for the night," he pulls your hands from the water, drying them and turning you towards him.
You immediately bury your face into his chest. Can't look him in the eye, he'll win you over the moment you do.
"So they send in the smooth talker, huh?"
Kyle laughs, clear and bright, and he wraps you back up in his arms, gently cradling your head until you give in and look up at him.
"Or," he says, making you both rock gently, "I'm trying to sneak in a little solo time."
Your body melts against his as the words sink in, big eyes blinking softly up at him, "Besito?"
"As many as you want, mi vida. Until you grow bored of me," and you're letting out a sweet sigh as those soft lips meet yours.
His hands move to bring your body closer to his, to milk this quiet moment for as much contact as possible, to sear it all into his memory.
"You two are awfully quiet out there," Simon calls from the bedroom and it makes you break apart with a little jump.
You hear frantic rustling that has to be Johnny, "Hold on, what happened to doing the dishes!"
A chuckle escapes the two of you, sparkling eyes meeting in the low light from the stove hood. The sound of John huffing to get comfortable floats in from the bedroom.
"Just a minute more, hermosura," he mutters against your hair. "Wanna stay here a bit longer."
"Really liking all those pet names, aren't you?"
Kyle laughs again and gives you a squeeze, "Mean every single one of them."
And you happily linger, not pointing out that you've noticed an endearing pattern of Kyle wrapping up nights in the kitchen with you in his arms and a faint love song echoing down the hall for you two to sway to.
~
Beloved, darling Simon, he hides his own understanding of the language. He understands it nearly perfectly, with just the tiniest margin of error, nothing too big to bring attention to it. Overall, he's able to catch almost everything you mumble. It's not to be sneaky or anything like that, Simon would never do anything to compromise your privacy. It's more that he doesn't quite see the need to verbalize it. To him it's nothing special, no need to make a spectacle. Instead, he lets it seep into his actions, ever the acts of service lover that he is.
You're spread out on the couch, on the phone with your mother, complaining, "Como chingan los del trabajo. Me pidieron un reporte para el viernes y ahora me reclaman que todavía no se los he dado y apenas es miércoles."
There was a tension in your shoulders when you came home from work, he didn't miss that. Caught you jolting to a stop mid-stretch. And as the call goes on longer, Simon picks up on more.
"No he tenido chance de lavar ropa, ni una putisima pijama... Traigo un pinche antojo de mole, pero es un chingo de trabajo y ahorita no le puedo dedicar el tiempo..."
He quietly moves to gather the boys as you continue ranting and pace around the room. You're too caught up in your call to see them forming a massive huddle and their nodding at Simon right as the break and throw their joined hands in the air.
By the time you're off the phone, it's dark out and you notice the house is quieter than usual. You move to look for the boys (they can't have left without telling you, right?) when Simon pops out from the hall, crooked smile you love so much adorning his face, and he simply takes your hand to pull you into the bathroom. A hot bath greets you, some honeyed bath bomb already dissolving in the water and your laptop set up on a bucket besides the bath, your comfort show already pulled up and ready to play. Simon then points to your softest pajamas washed and set out on the counter for you.
"And you'll help me with my lotion too?"
He kisses your forehead, "When do I not?"
"The boys?"
"Setting up dinner. Kyle and I are making your favorite."
You whip around to face him, eyes wide and excited, "With fresh tortillas?"
With a low, affirmative hum Simon pulls you in closer and just holds you. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to. But he lends you his strength, which is all he can really hope for. The steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms around you help release the tightness in your body. Letting out your own little hum, you give him a squeeze and he squeezes back harder, crushing you in the way he knows you find comforting. There's a soft devotion in his tenderness with you, an unshakable support in every single thing you do.
"So you gonna undress me too, or...?"
A peal of laughter escapes you as he playfully swats at your butt, "Undress yourself. I've got cooking to do."
A day without hearing your laughter is a day poorly spent to Simon.
He's almost to the door when you pull him back into you, hands tugging on his shirt to bring him down to your height. His own laughter rumbles in his chest as you cover his face in loud kisses, and he stays locked in place. He will for as long as you need him to, never mind his back. If it's gonna go out eventually, he'd rather it go out from his time spent like this.
~
Johnny, bless the boy, is desperate to hear it, to have you address him directly. You speak plenty around the house, on phone calls with friends, talking back at the tv (some shows have been put on temporary bans, or at the very least you're not supposed to watch them alone), at the lovely crooked cat yall adopted. You shower them with pet names with every breath you take. And he loves it all! Loves that you so willingly share so much of yourself with them. But Johnny boy is dying for something specific- "Love, why don't you call me papi?"
When he voices it, it's a complete surprise. Simon and Kyle both laugh so hard so suddenly that they find themselves choking on their own spit. Price himself is caught so off-guard that he fully looks up from the dinner he's prepping in the kitchen, raw chicken slipping out of his hands and plopping back into the flour bowl. You at first laugh it off lightly, thinking it was one of his cutesy jokes he makes to get a giggle out of everyone. That would have made the most sense, honestly. But when he looks away, big blue eyes shining with the softest hint of embarrassment, it sinks in.
You shift in your seat a fraction, "Johnny, I don't even call any of you that in English. You know it's not exactly the same thing, right?"
"I know but the little old lady from the corner shop calls me "papi" and so does the older man who brings the water and other people too and it's always so affectionate and so I thought..."
He spares a glance at you, hoping he hasn't completely overstepped.
"Where did this come from?"
"Ale let it slip last time we grabbed coffee and the joy on Rudy's face was so blinding that I thought maybe we should try it."
"Honey--"
"Please, just once."
"But I--"
"It doesn't have to be a title! It can be soft and casual, no expectations."
"You don't--"
"I promise I'll be good for it."
Oh.
Your gaze meets the other boys' and you all take a good look at your Johnny. At some point during his pleading he brought himself down to kneel in front of you. His broad shoulders are slumped forward in submission, his hands clenched together so tightly his fingertips are completely white. Price nods at you, the other two eagerly nodding along as well.
Leaning forward, you grab him by the jaw, gently bringing his head to rest against your thigh.
Running your fingers through his hair, you utter out a low, "Sweet little thing like you just wants to be good, don't you papi?"
Johnny's eyes glaze over slightly, a shy, dazed smile growing on his face. There's not an ounce of hesitation in him as he nuzzles his face into your thigh, just sweet elation. Pleased grumbles escape the others, making Johnny's smile grow bigger.
You make sure to add it into your regular circulation.
#poly 141#poly 141 x reader#poly 141 x latine reader#cod x reader#simon ghost riley#kyle gaz garrick#johnny soap mactavish#captain john price#ghost x reader#gaz x reader#soap x reader#price x reader#i cannot emphasize the poly of this enough#this is truly some of the most self indulgent shit i've ever written and i've never been happier lmao#honestly this is just precious moments with each of them#i'm definitely going to be writing more 141 x latine reader#prepare to be fucking sick of me#frfr tho this is the first long thing i've written in years and ngl it feels good to be doing it again#also yeah i tend to sprinkle in commas like they're condiments
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register now for access to passes, on sale this friday at 11am PT. May awaits with arms outstretched. 🫶 $49.99 down payment plans available. www.justlikeheavenfest.com
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kindergarten teacher!reader x john price imagine 🖍️🧨❤️🩹
You first meet John when he comes to pick up his niece and nephew with his sister-in-law.
According to Lucy, his brother’s wife, he’s a government worker who is constantly traveling for work, and the kids missed their super cool uncle dearly. You’d heard many stories from the kids themselves, but this Uncle John remained sort of an enigma to you, like an imaginary friend.
Nothing could have prepared you for the real Uncle John.
He stands at a good head (and maybe half) taller than you, dressed in a casual navy shirt and utilitarian cargo trousers, a baseball cap embroidered with the British flag atop his head. Thick facial hair covers most of his lower face, but it doesn't do much to hide the bright smile he gets as soon as he lays eyes on the kids. The ease with which he picks up his niece and nephew, Olivia and Oliver, nearly leaves you breathless – not to mention, the sight of his thick, fuzzy arms flexing and unflexing as he tosses a kid over each shoulder, eliciting delighted squeals from them both.
(In some decrepit corner in your mind, you wonder if he could do the same to you. Probably.)
As you're chatting with her and updating her about her kids’ day, Lucy motions him over so she can introduce you to each other. “This is my husband's brother, John!”
“Hello there, lass.”
The smooth, brassy tones of his voice wash over you like a tidal wave that you’d happily drown in. You introduce yourself as the kids’ kindergarten teacher, and he gives you a good-natured smile as his niece and nephew start climbing all over him like a tree. “I hope they haven't been causing you much trouble,” he chuckles, a twinkle in his eye.
You try your best to swallow the dryness in your mouth. “Of course not! It’s a joy to watch them learn and grow everyday,” you reply sheepishly, clearing your throat as you avert your gaze.
You're too busy internally cursing yourself for not looking a bit more put together; there's dirt and sand all over the bottom half of your overalls, paint splatters going all the way up your arms and maybe even on your face, and your hair is matted and frizzy. Self-consciously scuffing the soles of your sneakers against the floor as you try and fail to get the sand off of it, you miss the way his gaze rakes over you from head to toe, the corner of his mouth curling in interest.
It's at that exact moment that Lucy plucks her kids off of John and hands them each their backpack to carry themselves. You deflate a little, knowing that that's their cue to leave.
However, you instantly perk back up again when John turns to you, his arms now empty, and extends a hand for you to shake. “‘Twas a pleasure meeting you, lass. Hope to see you around more often, yeah?”
Your heart catches in your throat as you reach out to shake his hand. When he grabs you in a firm, warm grip, you feel his calloused fingerpads brush over the back of your hand, and you have to suppress a shiver from running down your back.
“It was nice meeting you too, John.” You offer him a shy smile, praying that your cheeks don't look as warm as they feel.
You distantly wonder if you were imagining his touch lingering just a tad too long before he finally lets go.
As he turns around to leave with his family, you're quickly whisked away by the other kids demanding your attention. Consequently, you don't notice the way his eyes stay on you even as he walks out the gates, nor do you notice the way his sister-in-law waggles her eyebrows at him suggestively as soon as they're out of earshot.
You don't have high hopes of seeing him after that, of course. Maybe it's just the fact that you've been single for several years since your first serious relationship ended – yes, you convince yourself, that's why you can't stop thinking about him all night. That's why you still feel the weight of his hand in yours, the brush of his fingers on your skin tickling like a phantom touch. That's why the sound of his voice echoes in your mind like a broken record, and that's why you keep thinking back to the way his eyes crinkled when he looked fondly at his niece and nephew.
But you can't deny the way your chest squeezes when, the next day at kindy, he comes by to pick up the kids again – this time, alone.
bonus (an alternative pov):
There's a very short, concise list of the things Price lives for. Since the birth of his brother’s daughter, she’s been undoubtedly added to the top of that list. Then followed the birth of his nephew as well, who obviously followed suit and quickly became a serious contender for the number one spot.
He makes it a point to visit his brother’s family every single time he gets time off without fail. The kids grow up absolutely adoring their super cool, super strong uncle who always comes back from his business trips with funny stories to share. (Their favourite activity to do with him is hanging off his arm, almost using it like a monkey bar.)
So, when he’s finally granted leave after nearly a year of bouncing all over the world and eliminating several apocalypse-level threats, the first thing he does is call his brother and fly back straight to them.
He lands while the kids are at kindergarten, so when Lucy offers to bring him along to pick them up, he jumps at the chance. (He made sure to take a very thorough shower before hopping on the flight here, not wanting a single speck of dirt from foreign lands or speck of blood on him. Even so, before he leaves with Lucy, he takes extra care to wash his hands and scrub underneath his fingernails again. Just in case.)
It goes without question that he's absolutely over the moon to see Olivia and Oliver – the sight of them running to him, screaming his name in joy is nearly enough to make him melt. He sweeps them up in his arms, holding onto them like a lifeline.
Occupied with the kids for a few minutes, he glances up to see where Lucy has gone. Then, he sees you.
You're chatting with Lucy, your smile bright and your eyes brighter. There's wildflowers tucked into every pocket on your overalls and rainbows of paint on your arms, as well as a smudge of yellow on the side of your cheek. The soft afternoon sunlight hits your hair at just the right angle that it highlights the stray strands of hair on your head, making you look like you're wearing a halo.
For a moment, all the bustle and noise around him winds down into a fuzzy, white silence. You're the prettiest thing he's ever laid eyes on.
#... this is one of the most self indulgent things i've ever written#also i wrote this while i had an essay due two days after that i hadn't started on yet lol#babycandle-post#call of duty#captain john price#(i'm not sure if john actually has family i just word vomited this one day in 30 mins i'm sorry)#john price
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Summary:
When Adrien slips and breaks his wrist getting out of the shower, it definitely puts a damper on his date night with Ladybug. But that doesn't mean he's not prepared to flirt his way through the pain.
#coffeebanana fics#miraculous ladybug#ladrien#the most self-indulgent thing i've written in...possibly ever but definitely a while ahaha
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The Tension and the Terror.............Part II
Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length in a later part)
Summary: Letha, left alone to guard Macrinus's things as the party turns to debauchery, lets her curiosity get the better of her. She leaves a bit of an impression on a man no longer surprised by anything.
Warnings: Voyerism. 18+ only
Word Count: 2.4k
Part 2 of 13?
[ Part I ]
Series Masterlist
A/N: I really hope you like this one. Letha is a bit of a peeper. I mean, you'd look too, right? Right? Hope you like it.
Letha forced herself to stare down at the swirling patterns in the outer robe Macrinus had handed off to her. She followed a line of embroidery until it was lost in a swirl of too many others, indistinguishable. The noises echoing from the individual rooms down here were uncomfortable, to say the least. She honestly might have preferred her cell. The smooth stone walls hid the real draw of Thraex’s lavish party from her eyes, thankfully. What did people with no fears do for fun? It made her feel sick.
Laughter reached her ear, causing her to turn her head in its direction. She recognized it as the same woman from earlier. The one hanging over Geta’s shoulder all evening, feeding him fruit, laughing at every word that came out of his mouth. She glanced over at the narrow opening in the stone wall to her left. Amber light spilled out, beckoning to her. The curtain covering it might as well have been invisible with how sheer it was.
It was him. Geta. The woman sat in his lap, joy in her features as he ran a hand up and down her bare arm. She reached up for his face, her slender fingers smoothing over his jaw, the tips of them lightly brushing at the start of his bottom lip. He pulled at the sheer maroon fabric barely covering her chest from his eyes and smiled at what he saw. Letha forced herself to look away from them, doing her best to tune out his quiet words, her breathy laughter and squealing. Clothes rustling. A satisfied sigh. Oh.
She begged herself to not look up, but she was possessed by the compulsion to observe him in such a vulnerable state. What did an Emperor look like when surrendering to another?
He was still mostly clothed, his black and silver patterned tunic pushed up above his waist. His thighs were on full display, and even they were almost too much to look at. He had long, quite muscular legs. The way they were stretched out, it was as if he was almost all leg. Thraex’s concubine was nestled into the apex of his thighs, one of her hands resting on the pale skin beneath his hip.
He watched the woman working in his lap, doing what she was employed to do. A handful of minutes exchanged for precious gifts. To have the favor of an Emperor? Well, that was probably worth more than just a few minutes. His eyes were very nearly closed. He was breathing heavily as he reached down to hold her hair out of her face. He wanted the view. The hand on the back of her head was tender, his grip relaxed as her head bobbed beneath it. He moaned, the sound drawing blood into her cheeks.
Letha felt her own heart racing. Her face burned as if the amber light streaming out through the small window was the sun. She knew she’d spent too long there. She cautiously took a step back, her sandal scratching at the floor. She immediately looked back into the room, wondering if she had been heard.
He was no longer blissful, his intense eyes staring daggers into hers, an unmistakable heat in them. He stared her down for almost a minute. She didn’t dare breathe. His lips finally smoothed out into a knowing smile as he reclined back further, relaxing underneath the pretty woman’s ministrations.
She found she couldn’t catch her breath, though she was merely standing still in the hall. Macrinus’s beloved robes were still in her arms and she cursed him for making her endure this. He accepted her insistence that she not participate well enough, but he couldn’t just leave without sampling something.
Letha knew for her own sake she should walk—no, run—but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. The way his lips parted, the slight reddening of his cheeks and throat… It was intoxicating. And he didn’t look anywhere but at her, the woman in his lap forgotten. He was taunting her, just with his eyes, the dark brown orbs watching her every breath, looking for signs of her arousal. She couldn’t help but imagine it, with him. Would his grip be gentle or firm? What did an emperor taste like?
She knew she was as affected as him, suffering from the heat of his gaze, that same heat pooling low in her belly. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She bit her lip, her chest burning. She pushed her thighs together, almost looking away.
Geta’s eyes squeezed shut, cutting the live wire hanging between them. His breathing hitched and he gave way to his release, low moans filling the small room. The glint of the light off the silver laurel crown sent her crashing down to reality. He was an Emperor. She wouldn’t get to just walk out of here. But he hadn’t scolded her. Hadn’t called for one of the guards to send her away. No. He welcomed her gaze. As the woman sat back on her knees, wiping at her mouth, Letha finally did look away, not feeling up to any more daring behavior for the evening.
“Oh, did Macrinus abandon you?” Someone tutted. At the sound of another’s voice her head whipped around, heat rushing to her cheeks at possibly being caught. It was Thraex, and he was not wearing near enough layers for her comfort. “Letha, was it? Come drink with me, I am sure he won’t mind.” His hand was sweaty on her arm. The contrast of Thraex to Geta was staggering. A chill quickly overtook the warmth in her belly.
“I–I cannot–”
“Thraex,” Geta interrupted, his greeting stern despite his smile. She whipped her head around to look at him. His robes were righted and the woman was slipping out of the door behind him as he stepped out in the hall. Relief washed over her despite what had just occurred.
“I–Yes, your majesty?” His grip lessened and his hand fell away under the Emperor’s gaze.
“I just wanted to thank you, you are a gracious host. Caracalla does so enjoy your parties, more than most.”
Thraex smiled widely at the praise. “Thank you, Emperor Geta. It is always my goal to relieve some of the stress you two must carry. A bit of respite,” he explained, winking.
“Yes. It is appreciated.”
Geta’s eyes moved down to where Thraex kept his hand near Letha’s arm. As if Thraex was waiting for Geta to turn around so he could whisk her away. She felt her nerves growing in the awkward silence, wondering if she would survive this evening after all.
“Ah, these belong to Macrinus?” Geta finally spoke, gesturing to the folded robes in her arms. “Would you happen to have a place to put them? I have business with her.” Thraex realized what Geta was implying, as did she. She felt lightheaded. As if there was more than one kind of business being conducted in these halls.
Thraex stood there stunned for a moment before he snapped back into the role of a welcoming host, collecting the folded bundle of outer robes and large necklaces and passing them off to a young man standing behind him. “Yes, yes, of course your majesty. Excuse me.” He bowed to Geta before leading his own concubine down the hall, his movements harried as he gestured to an ornate side table near the door Macrinus had disappeared into. The bundle was placed there, and then they were gone.
“Come,” Geta ordered, turning around to return to his room.
Letha felt frozen, like she was buried in hot sand up to her neck. She did not want to follow him, but it seemed she had little choice. To defy him surely meant punishment, and if the rumors were true, it was usually fatal. She had done enough to put herself in hot water already.
“You look like a frightened deer,” Geta chuckled, standing in the doorway, looking every ounce a hunter. “Come, have a drink,” he urged before stepping into the room.
He is a monster.
He is a monster.
He is a monster.
Letha sucked in a ragged breath, her stomach fluttering just beneath her ribcage as she took a step to follow him into the mostly private room. He stood near a side table, pouring some wine.
“Shut the door.” An icy chill spread across her shoulders as she turned to do as he bid, the door offering a click as the latch fell into place.
“Here,” he muttered, his arm outstretched, ring-adorned fingers offering a glass of wine to her. She couldn’t look him in the eye as she accepted the cup. Her limbs were shaky, her body full of nerves. “Sit,” he ordered, retaking his place on the plush bench. He patted the space beside him. The vision of him stretched out in that same spot, eyes falling closed in pleasure, filled her mind and she balked at Geta’s command.
“There?”
He grinned. “Yes. There.” His eyes were full of mirth. “You should not defy your Emperor,” he playfully scolded.
Letha felt like she was jumping into the ocean with a shark as she took a seat beside him. His dark eyes observed her over the rim of his glass, his motives indiscernible. She held her own cup with both hands, her eyes averted, unable to look at anything but the floor.
“You’re welcome, by the way.” That caught her attention, allowing her to finally meet his heavy gaze. “For the show,” his eyes were intense, but not angry, “and for saving you from Thraex.”
Heat blossomed under her skin. “Thank you, Emperor.”
“Geta,” he instructed.
“Thank you, Geta.” She brought the cup to her lips, allowing herself a small sip of the sweet red wine. Silence filled the space between and she felt his stare burning through her skin. She didn’t know what he wanted of her if he wasn’t outright angry with her. She floundered, breaking under imagined pressure. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Watch me? Don’t apologize. It was quite nice, actually.”
She very nearly choked on the wine, moving the cup away from her lips. He bit his lip to smother a grin. He was toying with her. She had no defense against his honeyed, teasing words.
“I am curious. Does Macrinus particularly enjoy your shyness? Your… watching?”
She felt her eyes go wide. “No. Uh, I do not… He has another,” she tried to explain. He seemed surprised.
“Then why bring you, knowing what this night would devolve into?” He was studying her, his large brown eyes shining with curiosity as he took a sip from his glass.
To observe. To dangle the carrot in front of her eyes. To show her he meant what he promised. He could enter the Emperor’s orbit, allow her close enough to enact her revenge, whatever form it took. Though this didn’t feel much like revenge.
“I am here to serve Macrinus, Emp–Geta,” Letha explained, only barely catching herself using his formal title. “His usual—Hyacinthia is not feeling well.”
“What a shame.” He smiled, the tone of his words implying otherwise. She didn’t know how to respond, instead letting her eyes fall to his ringed fingers holding his cup. In a strange way, they suited him.
“So,” he started, setting his cup down on the side table before returning his attention to her, his body turning too, “do you have any notes?”
“Notes?” She replied, confused.
“Yes, notes, for Lyra. You were paying enough attention, surely.” His words cut through her, that same feeling from before beginning to build again. “I’ll be sure to pass them along.”
She looked down to her lap, the heat of her blush filling her cheeks, making her feel woozy. Or perhaps it was the effect of the wine on a very empty stomach. “No.”
He grinned. “You look heated.”
“The room is stuffy,” she excused, lying.
“Are you thirsty? In need of more wine?” He put on a good act of being concerned for her, but it was obvious he was enjoying himself.
“Do you have a habit of teasing women?” She asked, mildly frustrated, on the verge of embarrassment.
“Just the ones that watch me cum.” She was mortified. He let out a small laugh at her reaction before continuing, undaunted. “Do you have a habit of watching people fuck through windows?”
She blushed furiously, looking away from him. “Definitely not.”
He looked the part of one of the fabled wolf-children of Rome as he grinned. “What is your name?” His hands fell to his thighs, the very same thighs she’d just seen completely bare.
She wanted to lock this whole evening in a box and throw it in the sea. Her confidence in herself and her dedication to avenging the death of her family was profoundly shaken. And all it took was a pretty face. But how could she help herself, especially with the way his brown eyes watched her every move?
“Letha, your majesty.”
He looked like he wanted to scold her for the honorific, but the offering of her name seemed to satisfy him.
“Letha.”
Footsteps could be heard outside, as well as a stern voice calling out for her. Macrinus.
She looked to Geta who simply nodded, releasing her from his presence. She paused at the door, taking a moment to smooth her hair out of her face before pulling on the handle.
“Letha,” Geta called out, his voice hardly louder than a whisper. It seared against her skin. She turned and looked at him over her shoulder, her heart racing. “It was a pleasure performing for you. Perhaps we can do this again sometime.”
She felt her face flush and she forced herself to leave the Emperor there, unable to think of anything to say in response. She had never felt so conflicted, unable to let herself enjoy the attention of a beautiful man.
She slid through the door, careful not to open it too far to reveal the occupant. She wanted to keep this from Macrinus. She wasn’t willing to hear anything he had to say about it. She didn’t know what to make of it all herself. If Macrinus questioned her resolve too firmly it might crumble. After closing the door as quietly as she dared, she stepped out into the hall. She saw him already shrugging on his robes, head on a swivel.
“Macrinus,” she spoke, approaching him. He turned to look at her, his eyes tired, but still alert. Surely he would notice something telling in her eyes. She quickly walked over to him, apologies and explanations ready to tumble from her lips.
“We will talk later,” he warned her, putting on his large necklaces. “I have business to tend to.”
[ Part III ]
#emperor geta x ofc#emperor geta x reader#emperor geta#gladiator II x reader#most self-indulgent thing I've ever written#hope you like this#let me know if I screwed anything up#please and thank you
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Neve/Rook || M || 1.8k || complete || no archive warnings apply
After the end, there’s a new beginning. A couple of affection-starved women with a penchant for deflection try to figure it out.
#please don't mind me exorcising all the brain worms this game gave me one fic at a time#i said i wouldn't write anything for my rook but i was wrong!!#this is probably the most self indulgent thing i've ever written and it was a blast#also it's been so long since i wrote some femslash and it's soooooooo nice#i love my guy blorbos as much as the next person but there's something special about t giving women issues and problems#dragon age: the veilguard fic#veilguard spoilers#seriously: it's a post epilogue fic#neve gallus#aglais ingellvar#dragon age rook#neve x rook#f/f#neve/rook#my fics
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Honestly, as someone who has been going through fictosexual attraction for years and also didn't know how to deal with it at first: Just write and think about the most self-indulgent bullshit you can picture. It is the only way to keep sane or so I've found.
Oh I'm already on it, believe me. In fact, here's a little snippet from what I've been working on...
"Are you... turned on by this too?" you ask. "I'm not sure," he growls. "I will admit it's not something I've ever involved in my... liaisons before. But seeing you so desperate like this is always sure to awaken a hunger in me. Or rather-" he pauses for a moment, burping again- "a thirst." With that, he kisses you deeply once more. You feel his fangs press against your lips as you moan with pleasure. You grip the back of his shirt as your hips instinctively buck against his, suddenly jostling his body. He abruptly breaks his lips away from yours only to turn his head to the side and release a short, thick belch. "Apologies," he says. "I didn't want to be..." He trails off, lost in thought for a moment. He eyes you for a second, observing the redness in your cheeks and the pleading look in your eyes. "On second thought, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" "Yes," you moan. "God, yes." "My, my, what a nasty little creature you are..."
#needless to say this is probably the most self indulgent thing i've ever written#if he can't burp in my mouth for real this is the next best thing#also gives me something fun to do while procrastinating on studying for some exams lmao#but yeah. an x r/eader involving my fav burping in my mouth. it's fun#already at a few hundred words even though i skipped the exposition for now and haven't even gotten to the actual screwing yet#i can for sure link to it once it's done bc i probably will put it on a/o3 tbfh#if the stuff you want to read seemingly exists nowhere online you just have to diy it#and then lay your sins bare in an anon upload so other freaks (affectionate) like you can enjoy it#ask#answered#anon#ruelpsen writes#<- i mean. i guess#also worth noting that this is what the 'kill the cop in your head' post i made was about#londarling
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After I Met You
+8k, 2/?
+canon divergence, palace au, foxxian/dragonji
+Wei Wuxian marries Hanguang-jun to stabilize the relations between the great sects. This, unsurprisingly, doesn't go as smoothly as planned.
#mdzs fic#mdzs#mdzs wei wuxian#foxxian#dragonji#amandyalmonds#mod is back on her fic shit#and actually has time to write#come enjoy the most self indulgent thing I've ever written#hnngggg
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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Professional Wrestling, All Elite Wrestling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Adam Cole/Roderick Strong Characters: Adam Cole, Roderick Strong Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Mirror Sex, Barebacking, Porn with Feelings, Angst and Fluff and Smut
The porny/emotionally climatic part of the third to the last chapter of a 200-300 page new adult urban fantasy novel that doesn't actually exist.
Almost posted this on anon, but everyone who knows me would probably know who wrote it anyway, so. This is me owning it LOL
#mel's writing tag#this is THE most self-indulgent thing I've ever written and I'm still a bit sorry about it#but I'm trying not to be!
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#new chapter if the most self indulgent thing I've ever written#the coffin of andy and leyley#coffincest#oc
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writing saturos/menardi fic in 2024 was not what i expected to be doing this year but apparently i've done it anyway
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register now for access to passes, on sale this friday at 11am PT. May awaits with arms outstretched. 🫶 $49.99 down payment plans available. www.justlikeheavenfest.com
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1, 13, 48 for the fic ask meme!
Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?
For things like FF it is "I gotta write this down ASAP" since it's a lot more stream of consciousness and a lot less 'planning'. However for stuff like Math Nerd Neil AU I am constantly day dreaming about it at work (especially when I'm dealing with cleaning up files and my brain needs outside stimuli to survive)
13. Do you listen to music while you write? If yes, what have you been listening to recently?
I listen to music EXCLUSIVELY for fight scenes. So I was listening to roundtable rival by Lindsay Sterling for the two recent ones lol (music is a lot more badass than those fights)
48. Who is your favorite character to write for? Has this changed since you’ve started writing for that fandom?
Okay my favorite for AFTG is Andrew. I just think that in general he has A LOT going on that we never got access to properly in the series so I like exploring that.
IN GENERAL I have a a 300k Trails of Cold Steel fic that sits in editing hell that is largely written from Crow Armbrust's POV because I love him.
#Ask meme#Don't ask me about the Cold Steel fic it's been banging around in the noggin since 2016#and in the it's current form since 2020#It's the most self-indulgent thing I've EVER written
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Snapshots
Random snapshots of my ocs with their partner(s). The canon ones anyway. Warning. This is very self indulgence lol. Oc x oc and oc x canon ships here!
1. Jin, Amber and Wally( Jin and Amber: 26 Wally: 24)
"Wa-lllllllyyyy~" Jin coos, their face flushed from the nights drinking. They cling onto Wally's sleeve as they stumble along, a giddy smile on their face.
" Mm-hmmm?" Wally replies, vaguely amused at his partner's drunken state. He would be lying if he said he wasn't a little tipsy. But he was sober enough to help his lovers walk back home....or rather a nearby hotel. Gardevoir and Gallade are behind them, keeping a watchful eye on them and their surroundings, so they should be safe.
Jin inches closer to Wally, and with a childish grin. He gently boops Wally's noise.
" Pretty," Jin giggles, and if Wally's cheeks weren't already tinted pink, the shade deepens.
" Aaw," Wally whispers, " You're pretty too!"
" But you're the prettiest," Amber chimes in. She's been silent the whole time compared to Jin. She too was leaning on Wally for some support, but not to the point where she's weighing in him. Wally glances down up at Amber now, his cheeks growing even more red. She gives him a similar childish smile, face flushed.
" You're so pretty," she giggles.
" Soooooo pretty,"
Wally thanks Arceus, Rayquaza and whoever else may be listening for the darkness of the night. Both of his hands are preoccupied keeping his lovers close by his side, so he can't cover his beet red face with his hands.
" Guuuuuuuuuys!"
2. Kenji and Silver. ( Kenji and Silver: 19) ( semi what if/ alt reality. Might be canon but I need to think about it)
Not many people know exactly how soft Silver can be. They get small glimpses- with his pokemon, with his friends, but no one truly knows how soft he truly is. But Kenji knows. Kenji knows this well.
Silver cups his face as if it's fragile glass, planting small chaste kisses on his cheek, near his lips, and down at the crane of his neck. Small yet so filled with love. Silver then rests his forehead on Kenji's shoulder, moving his hands around Kenji's waist, connecting his hands at his back. A hug.
Kenji bites back a tease. A "What happened to Mr. Grumpy Face? Where's my Silvy?" which would definitely get a reaction out of Silver. Maybe a small kick. But he doesn't, instead returning the hug.
"Long day?"
" Mmpf" Silver grunts.
" Want me to make you some food?"
"Yes please," Silver whispers, turning his head slightly so Kenji can hear him better. Kenji beams.
" Right on it!"
Kenji knows how soft Silver truly is. He knows this well.
3. Elliot and Eva ( Elliot: 26 Eva: 25)
" Eli, come on, I need to get to work. You need to get to work" Eva giggles, gently shaking her girlfriend- no wait. Gently shaking her wife as said wife as an iron grip around her waist.
" Noooooo," Elliot whines, still in the process of waking up.
" Eli!" Eva laughs, still gently shaking her wife, who only continues to pout.
" If I gave you a kiss, would you let go?" Eva muses, and Elliot stops to think. Eva snorts as she does.
" Make it two kisses," she bargains and Eva rolls her eyes.
" If I make it two, then we're making out and then we'll never leave,"
Elliot smirks devilishly
" Is that so bad?"
" Eli!!!" Eva laughs again, giving her wife a gentle smack on the arm.
" Fiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeee!" Elliot whines, " One kiss. But when we get home, I'm getting two!"
Eva chuckles, bringer herself closer to Elliot, face inches apart.
" Deal,"
4. Jude and Dante ( Tbh this could honestly happen any time after they get together. So maybe when they're 26 or so?)
".... Dante,"
" Yes Jude?"
" I need to work"
Dante looks up from his papers , giving Jude an unamused brow.
" You are working. And I am too, so maybe don't dilly dally, hm?"
This man will be the end of her.
Jude steels herself again, feeling heat spread across her face.
" Dante."
" Yes, Jude?"
" You-" the embarrassment is going to kill her, " You're sitting on my lap,"
Dante looks down, pretending to look shocked.
" Oh wow, would you look at that," Dante says plainly, then going back to his papers which she's pretty sure he's not even reading, " I don't see the problem here,"
" You have your own office?!"
Dante shrugs, shifting his papers around.
" So? This is comfy,"
He will be the death of her, swear it unto Yveltal.
Jude sighs, a slight irritation beginning to circle.
" You can't just sit there, it's -" Distracting. But she knows that once she says that, she will never hear the end of it, " I need to work, Dante,".
Dante simply stares at her, and for once, she can't seem to meet his gaze. He then tilts his head to side ever so slightly.
" Do you want me to leave, Jude?"
Silence.
Dante smirks.
" Hm,"
Jude's face turns red, either from embarrassment or anger, she doesn't know.
" Fuck you,"
" Love you too~"
5. Naomi and Marnie ( Both are 20 here!)
"-And then we saw these kids ride on a weird lizard thing!" Naomi rambles on the phone, Marnie listening intently as she fixes some boxes.
" That's very amusing coming from the person who rides a wolf everywhere," Marnie teases, placing on uniform into a new box from another. She hears Naomi let out an offended gasp.
" I do not!" she cries, " I am a proud train user, thank you very much!"
Marnie rolls her eyes, pushing the box away from her a bit, now leaning back on her chair.
" Sure, sure. I'm sure Ms. Rika would be pretty impressed by your wolf riding skills,"
Marnie can practically hear Naomi's face turn red as she sputters a response.
" I- Carol did tell!"
" Tell they did," Marnie muses. Though really it was Bede, who was told by Carol. But it still ends with Carol, so who cares.
" I'm gonna kick their ass," Naomi swears, and Marnie laughs.
" B-but, um," Naomi stammers, surprising Marnie a bit, " It's not- there's really nothing- I mean you've seen Ms. Rika, right?"
Marnie nods.
" I have,"
" S-so you understand where I'm coming from, right?"
" That I do,"
Naomi continues to surprise Marnie, as she hears the girl sigh in relief.
" Oh t-thank goodness, I- I thought you'd be upset-"
Marnie's eyebrows furrowed, " Why would I be upset?"
" W-well! Um-" Naomi stutters for a bit more, " N-No reason! Just that, well, Carol said-"
" Carol says things," Marnie cuts off, " You know this better than anyone,"
"R-right! Right. I-" Naomi pauses, " I'm just glad you're not upset, either way,"
"....Did you want me to be upset?"
" No!" Naomi yelps, and Marnie distances her phone from her ears a little, " No, no, no,no, not at all!"
15 year old would be upset. Angry glares and punching pillows, upset. Marnie wonders if she should play into her 15 year old self. Just a bit.
" I just ....I just miss you, you know?" Naomi continues, talking faster than she can think. Marnie's cheeks grow rosy, but she doesn't say a word.
" I mean, it's natural to miss you're my-" she cuts herself off , and for whatever reason, Marnie can feel her cheeks growing even more red.
" Your...."
" My.....friend???? I- I mean we are friends, I just-" Naomi sighs, " ....I don't want to have that conversation over the phone. I-I don't think that's fair to you,"
Marnie tries to tell herself to not get her hopes up. She could be reading far too into it. The two of them could always be friends and nothing more and she would be fine with that.
....but she did say she should play into her 15 year old self more, hm?
" I can wait," she whispers, as if she hasn't been doing that for the past 5 years.
" O-okay. I'll....see you later?" I love you, bye.
" I'll see you later" I love you too.
#this is arguably the most self indulgent thing I've written here so you know how scared i am to post this#like i finished this early in the morning and it's been sitting in my drafts ever since#i'm very proud of it but NNNNNG#i hope you guys like reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it#and if not then WELP#not even gonna tag mfs lmao#legendverse ocs
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the eternal #struggle to get myself to focus on the like 5-10% of this fic that involves things like plot or emotions instead of the vast majority of it which is, of course, [redacted]
#fic tag#every kink fic i write im like 'this is the most self-indulgent thing i've ever written'#and it's true every time! i just keep getting Worse (affectionate)!#anyway this is def gonna be in the category of Fics I Don't Post Here lmao but it'll be a good time (if i ever fuckin write it)
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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games), Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Jedi Exile/Female Revan, Female Jedi Exile/Visas Marr Characters: Female Jedi Exile, Female Revan (Star Wars), Visas Marr Additional Tags: Pining, Dreams, revan and leida were a wartime relationship that leida is having dreams about a decade later, really normal stuff, absolutely lethal levels of 'i can fix her' radiation Summary:
The Ebon Hawk—Revan’s ship, with Revan’s droids and one of Revan’s teachers, and Leida practically sleeps wrapped in one of her dark cloaks, the way the echoes ring in her ears. She should meditate. She should really meditate. She goes to the medical bay and watches the Sith sleep.
#anna plays kotor#anna's fic notes#perhaps THE most self indulgent thing i've ever written#it's so fun to have an oc. you can just have her get mixed up in her feelings for 1400 words and nobody stops you#leida karcast you will always be famous to ME <3
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register now for access to passes, on sale this friday at 11am PT. May awaits with arms outstretched. 🫶 $49.99 down payment plans available. www.justlikeheavenfest.com
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in the dead of night
in which spencer wakes up in the middle of the night with an overwhelming desire to feel you
18+ (smut) warnings/tags: fem!reader, soft dom!spence (certified nereidprinc3ss classic), sub reader, fingering, piv sex, praise, overstimulation, cr**mp*e (god pls we need a new term) a/n: this is probably THEE most self-indulgent thing i've ever written. but.... lowkey favorite smut i've posted thus far..... i'm such a sucker for disgustingly sleepy needy sex. just.... read it and u will see.... and as usual i love you!!! PLEASE tell me what you think!! MWAH
When Spencer got home around one in the morning, he’d been too dead on his feet to do anything more than get undressed, fall into bed, pull you close, and pass out. Now he’s slightly disoriented as he stirs, pinned between sleep and wakefulness as he realizes how you’ve curled into his side—your face is buried in his shoulder to the point where he’s concerned about your access to air—but each warm puff against his neck assures him you’re breathing alright. One arm is slung haphazardly over his shoulder and your top leg is wound around his. Without thinking, his hand cups the back of your thigh, stroking the bare skin where it presses against his hip. You’re never so soft as you are in sleep; plush, easy, gentle. Spencer realizes with some degree of frustration that he has to fuck you. That’s why he’s awake, and he condemned himself to the fate of it as soon as he touched you.
Sometimes the impracticality of sex becomes so apparent he resents his own mammalian, biological drive to reproduce. It was never like this before he met you. You reduce him to nothing more than a primate doomed to follow its basest instincts. You make him feel stupid.
God, he loves you.
It’s with this in mind he drops his head to kiss your shoulder—a gentle sort of wake up call, as his hand snakes further around to your inner thigh and he presses his lips to your ear.
“Baby?” he murmurs, kneading the smooth warmth of your leg. It doesn’t take much to wake you up. He thought after you’d been staying at his apartment on a semi-regular basis you’d begin to sleep through him getting up and coming home at odd hours, but if anything, you became more sensitive to the floor creaking or the mattress dipping.
“Hm?”
His fingers brush the fabric of your underwear. Your hips twitch.
“Is this okay?”
You inhale deeply, readjusting your arms around him and nodding into his chest.
“I need yes or no, angel.”
“Yes, please.”
The words aren’t desperate. They’re sleepy, mumbled, maybe even a little annoyed that he’s making you jump through hoops. The corner of his mouth twists in amusement at your perfunctory politeness and the way it poorly disguises your habitual impatience.
“Thank you,” he says, rewarding you with his fingers pushing between your folds through the fabric. You say nothing more as he unhurriedly rubs your clothed clit, but he feels the way your breath catches for a moment—before pouring out in one deep tide. He presses slightly harder, transitioning from passes to slow, tight circles that elicit the tiniest, sleepiest moans. This goes on for a while until your hips begin grinding in isolated circles, chasing his hand.
“Touch it,” you beg quietly. He can feel how damp you are through the fabric and realizes he was probably torturing you for several minutes, but sometimes he just gets so lost in touching you it becomes almost meditative. He pulls his hand away and snakes it between your bodies, sliding beneath your underwear and dragging his fingers over your puffy clit. You whimper but he quickly gets distracted when he realizes just how wet you actually are. Spencer sinks his fingers into you and moans lowly at the sound, rubbing at a spot deep inside you and rutting his palm against your clit rather than pumping his fingers.
“Breathe,” he reminds you when he realizes how still and silent you’ve gone. A small amount of air escapes in a tremulous little cry as your hips roll gently against his hand—whether to escape the sensation or get closer is unclear. “You’re all wet, baby. Were you touching yourself before I got home?”
“Mhm,” you hum weakly against him. “Couldn’t come.”
Spencer feels like he could finish at the thought alone—the nightly phone calls while he’s away occasionally devolve into desperate phone sex and he’s gotten off to the image of you playing with yourself in his bed on more than one occasion.
“We’ll make you come,” he promises, dragging his fingers from your soaked heat with bated breath.
He pushes your underwear down first, until you can kick it off your feet (you’ll have to search for it between tangled sheets tomorrow) and then his own, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth as his cock brushes your tummy. Spencer hoists your bent leg further up his body, exposing your cunt a little more and reaching underneath your thigh until he can guide himself between them.
The head of his cock pushes between your folds momentarily before he’s teasing your swollen clit, slipping the underside of his tip over it in lazy, noisy circles until you whine.
“Stop it,” you beg, voice still strained with sleep, “need it inside.”
“You’re right, baby, I’m sorry,” he croons, pressing his lips to your hair as he notches his cock at your dripping entrance and slowly begins to push in. “You’re being very patient—”
He cuts himself off as the two of you moan in filthy harmony. You’re so worked up for him, so defenseless in your half-unconscious state that he slips in with far less resistance than usual.
“Fuck, me,” he groans under his breath, hissing and bucking his hips when you tighten around him and cry out. He shuts his eyes and thinks of the Goncharov conjecture in an attempt to control himself; the i-th cohomology of the complex is isomorphic to the motivic cohomology group—and then he’s fine. He’s at least learned to stop rattling off mathematical paradoxes out loud during sex. “You okay?”
The only answer you have for him is an indecipherable whine that makes his chest ache. He rubs your thigh in sweet, soothing passes.
“I know, I’m sorry.” A thought occurs—he chuckles breathily, seeing stars as you throb around him. “You never let me in that easily.”
“Mm,” you squeak, gripping his shoulder hard enough that it aches and he truly couldn’t care less, “you feel good.”
He exhales shakily, pulling out slightly before grinding his hips even deeper into yours.
“Yeah? So do you, sweet girl.”
“Fuck,” you whimper, and he takes it as a sign that you’re ready to be fucked. Spencer’s not thinking about a whole lot as he withdraws all the way and you clench around him desperately—but somewhere in the back of his mind he’s realizing how much he loves your dirty mouth. When he was younger and dumber, he thought he’d prefer a girl who was soft-spoken and rarely (if ever) cursed. Now that he’s had you, he realizes how compelling and endearing the contrast of your soft voice is when you’re swearing like a marine.
“God, I missed you,” he breathes into your hair as he leisurely finds the right pace and you melt against him. “I missed how soft and wet you get for me,” Spencer admits gently, eyes screwed shut as he rambles from a place of profound affection and not at all thinking clearly, “and I missed how you cry when you need it so bad it hurts, and I missed how sweet you are when you let me fuck you right after I get home and you’re so tired, just like this. You’re always so good, honey, I don’t know what I did to deserve you—” You whine and clench so hard around him it becomes an effort to push back in, and he groans as he realizes you’re already coming. “Good girl, baby. Holy fuck.”
That last part is more so whispered to himself, but he can’t help it as he feels you painting his cock with your release. You’ve never come this quickly before, and he slips his arm beneath the crook of your knee, pulling up and granting himself more access to fuck you harder and faster. You moan brokenly, sinking your nails into his back.
“‘m sorry. That was—I didn’t mean to.”
“No,” he quickly assures you, breathing hard, “that was so good, baby. It was perfect. Don’t apologize.”
It seems the brief window between climax and over-stimulation has passed, and a gasp falls from your dropped jaw, arching into him as your body unconsciously tries to find relief from the sensation.
“Oh, god, Spencer, I—”
“You can take it, we’re getting close,” he promises. Not a demand, but meant as encouragement. “Do you think you can come for me one more time?”
“I don’t know,” you slur, the words rising to squeak.
“I think you can. Come on, show me how you were touching yourself earlier.”
You whimper, but slide your hand from his shoulder and push it between your bodies. A gasp accompanies the jolt of your muscles as you make contact with your clit, probably demanding too much of it. Soon, however, the conflicted mewls melt into a rhythmic string of delicate, short moans, so pretty it’s like a practiced song. Spencer’s brain, usually overflowing with words, is nothing but a void of swirling fog—each of your perfect sounds, a little burst of light. Soon he’s making noises of his own, which you obviously adore if the way you tense around him is any clue. Usually he sublimates them into words, but he’s too tired, and you feel too good. Your combined moans, along with the sound of him fucking you and the sheets moving over skin make for a truly dirty soundscape.
“Will you come inside me?” you beg breathlessly, and he can feel the movement of your hand speeding up as you get desperate. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at your plaintive request—the words bring him that much closer to finishing.
“Yeah, baby. I’m—fuck, I’m not going to last.”
“Spencer—” and somehow, when you say his name like that, he knows exactly what you want. He bows his head and finds your lips, mostly blind in the dark, kissing you messily until that split second where his grip on reality becomes tenuous before the building pressure finally bursts. Multicolored fireworks explode behind his eyes as he moans against your lips and continues fucking you through his orgasm in strong thrusts for as long as he can. Thankfully you finish again just as he’s running out of steam. He rubs the spasming muscles of your thigh deeply as you writhe against him in your typical push-pull style—you don’t know what you want and it’s his job to hold you still and make you take it. After a moment you quiet down, stilling in his arms except for the continued expansion and contraction of your lungs. “Oh my god,” you breathe. “I can’t believe I did that. That’s so embarrassing.” Spencer chuckles breathily—kisses your forehead with his eyes still shut and slips a hand under your shirt to rub your back.
“Why is it embarrassing? I liked it.”
“I have never—it’s never been so fast! It’s not supposed to be!”
“Why not?”
You huff.
“You’re the man. Men come too quickly. Not me.”
“I’m sorry you had to have two orgasms instead of one. Next time we’ll make sure you don’t come so we can even it out.”
You bury your face in his shoulder once more, immediately softening.
“No! I take it back.”
“I thought you might.” His hand slides down your back, squeezing your ass affectionately. “Let's rally. We need to clean you up, angel.”
The pillow muffles your voice as you say, “I can’t. I’m asleep.”
“Can I record you saying that for playback in the morning when you ask me why I let you go to sleep with my come inside of you?”
“Spencer, I am seriously not moving. You woke me up. This is not a me problem.”
That makes him laugh, and he presses his lips to yours softly. After a long moment of his mouth moving slowly against yours, a needy little whine rushes from your nose, and it becomes evident he’s successfully kissed the attitude from you.
“You were so good, honey,” he murmurs against your lips. Another (shorter) kiss. “Did so well. I’m proud of you, baby.”
A second soft whimper from you as you chase his lips and he gives in once, briefly—knowing he can’t make you get up after this. How could he do that to such a sweet girl when she’s obviously completely exhausted? Jesus, you have him whipped. He recognizes that. And he made peace with it a long time ago.
“Go back to sleep. I’ll clean you up.”
“Thank you,” you mumble, already slipping back into unconsciousness like you knew you’d get your way. Knowing your boyfriend, you probably did. “I love you.”
“I love you. Even though you’re a princess.”
You laugh.
Ten-ish minutes later, once he’s done the best he can cleaning you up and is throwing the covers back over both of you, you startle him slightly by speaking. He thought you’d been asleep.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you sigh dreamily, snaking your arms around him once more. Spencer’s cheeks heat up at the memory of the praise he’d shamelessly lavished upon you not long ago. He’s glad you’re barely awake, because he’s too flustered to think of a response.
He loves it when you do that.
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