#thought about changing the voice over language to something else but like ... I've played in english for so long that im used to it

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 7

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader sleep together for the first time

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: loss of virginity, oral f/m receiving, so much praise, pain during sex, unprotected sex, cr**mp**, bit of overstim, soft dom spence, if u don't like that freak shit (love and intimacy) this is not for u, spencer is a nerd, they're both nerds actually and that factors in heavily, you may get more from this part by FIRST reading how they met in this bonus chapter a/n: thank you all for being patient, ilysm, this was the most laborious thing i've ever done for no reason and also this part changed so many times and is not what i expected it to be so pls go in with tempered expectations and keep in mind that this story is more about the characters and their specific relationship dynamic than just being porn. i truly have no idea how you guys will react to this but i sincerely hope you love it and them like i do<3 also it's twice as long as the other parts so feedback would be very very appreciated! again i love u all and enjoy the penultimate part!

Spencer’s lips are on yours, and you weren’t expecting it—hell, you weren’t expecting him to be in your apartment. After all, he’d wished you goodnight and walked out only a moment ago.

“Spencer—wh—” 

But he’s insistent with his lips, kissing you bruisingly over and over like there’s nectar on your tongue and he’s parched for you. Still, he has enough decency to not completely ignore you, exhaling a quick excuse over your flushed lips. 

“I missed you.”

This time, though, you dodge his hungry kiss. Part of you thinks, as he watches you, eyes alight and breathing heavily, that he sort of likes your playing hard to get. It’s not something you do very often, admittedly. 

“We’ve been apart for like, maybe a minute.”

“I didn’t even make it to the parking lot.”

Your face heats.  

“Well you can’t just—you can’t just walk in like that! And I thought you said we weren’t supposed to mix fighting with pleasure.”

“Then start locking your door. And I thought you said we weren’t fighting.”

You roll your eyes in response, though your heart is still pittering in your chest. 

At least his hands move to your arms, stroking up and down relatively chastely—although he has this way of making everything seem intimate. Especially when paired with those amber eyes of his—glowing like a candlelight beacon in the window guiding you home. He speaks in low, appeasing tones and darts his tongue over his lips. 

“I originally said it’s a bad idea for couples to sleep together after an argument. But you know—makeup sex is ubiquitous across culture and time because it works. Anger and arousal trigger a lot of the same hormones, specifically norepinephrine which is involved in feelings of longing and—”

“Spencer.”

“You know what else?” He mutters in a way that feels dangerous. “It tends to feel better than regular sex.”

That earns a shaky exhale from you. Whether from irritation or arousal is anyone’s guess—probably a combination of both. 

“So you came back to fuck me?”

It’s probably evident to Spencer from your choice of language that this already isn’t going exactly as he’d planned. He doesn’t answer right away—just regards you, gaze bouncing between your two eyes like he’s trying to calculate your level of anger. 

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You push him away and move to walk down the hall. 

“Maybe your window of opportunity has passed.”

A warm hand wraps around your wrist in the dark of the hallway and he pulls you back until you’re falling against something tall and warm and lean. The smell of polished amber and sandalwood overwhelms your senses. 

“What’s wrong, angel? What happened in the minute I was gone to change your mind?” His voice is scratchy like a favorite record. It’s the voice he could hold you captive with. The one you have a very difficult time saying no to. 

“I don’t know,” you mutter, unintentionally leaning back against him. “What happened to change yours?”

His response comes pressed against your ear, half-lost in your hair. 

“You’re upset that I changed my mind. I thought you wanted this, honey.”

“I do,” you admit, letting your head fall back against his shoulder and bringing his arm to wrap around you. “And if you hadn’t walked out earlier I would’ve done it. But… I’m tired of us doing everything on your timeline. You just… you expect me to be amenable to what you want, constantly.” His nose and lips press into your shoulder. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like… I’ve been begging you to sleep with me for I don’t even know how long. And you keep changing your mind, and I feel like you’re being really confusing about it. Obviously you don’t have to sleep with me, you never did, but I just feel kind of… jerked around. And you did it again tonight.”

A beat of silence. 

“I understand your frustration,” he appeases, securing both his arms around you. You cling weakly to his wrist, to his warmth, like he’s a tether in a storm. “Would you prefer to wait until you initiate it?”

“No. Yes! I don’t know,” you huff, disentangling yourself from his arms and continuing toward your bedroom. “Now I’m annoyed at you again.”

He follows you right through the door. 

“Just tell me what to do! I don’t want to be annoying.”

“I can’t. I’m being unreasonable.” You flick on your adjoining bathroom light and examine yourself in the mirror. Yeesh. The eye makeup situation is abysmal after all the crying that has taken place over the course of the evening. 

“So choose to be reasonable and tell me what you want from me. I’ll give it to you.”

You frown at your reflection, pushing your hair back and rubbing at some excess mascara. 

“No, you’re not understanding me. I’m not choosing to be unreasonable. My thought process regarding the situation is inherently unreasonable and there’s nothing I can do about it because it’s just the way I feel.”

“The feeling being that I’ve been too domineering over how our sexual relationship has unfolded?”

Spencer watches you in the bathroom mirror, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed as you tip some makeup remover onto a reusable cotton pad. You try not to check him out as you nod, but it’s impossible—with his sleeves rolled up to show defined forearms cradled in capable hands, and his hair all messy. 

When he pushes off the wall you freeze, unsure of his next move—until he’s gently spinning you around and taking the bottle and cloth from your hands. 

“Maybe it would help,” he begins, soft as he focuses on the new task, carefully bringing the round to your right eye so he can remove the bleeding mascara. You allow your eyes to flutter shut. “If I remind you why I’ve been so hesitant.”

“Because you hate giving me joy.”

He laughs, nothing more than one huff from his nose. 

“You’re spoiled and we both know it.”

Point taken, as he gently wipes your makeup away for you. Your silence is his cue to continue. 

“Everything I said about worrying that you would regret choosing me is true. It was especially true when I thought you felt lukewarm toward me. And all of that confusing stuff I said in the phone is true too—having sex for the first time is incredibly intimate and weird and sometimes scary. If you’re not 100% sure about your partner, or if you think your feelings are unrequited, it’s hard to be completely comfortable in such a vulnerable situation and your likelihood of getting hurt or having regrets skyrockets. I know that from experience. I wanted better for you than what I got. Still, I know it was wrong to project my feelings about the significance of sex onto you. In that regard, you’re right. I was being domineering, and I guess… I guess to an extent I’m still deflecting. I shouldn’t be trying to pretend like it’s about you when in reality I mostly just didn’t want to get hurt again. I didn’t want to go through that again, and that’s okay, but I shouldn’t have made you feel like it was something you could have changed.”

You try to process that. 

“Go through what?” You whisper hoarsely. Something about having him at such close range while he takes such care with you feels whisper-y. 

“Sleeping with someone who didn’t love me back.”

Your reply is small. 

“Oh. Right.”

How could anyone not love him back?

Spencer’s reply is simple and kind, without a hint of, obviously you dumb bitch—which is pretty much what you’re thinking to yourself. 

“Does that make sense, lovely? Do you understand why I wanted to wait?”

He lets you ponder for a while in comfortable-enough silence as he finishes removing your eye makeup with a characteristically gentle hand. When you open your eyes, he looks genuinely content, screwing the lid back on the bottle as if he’s got an eternity to wait for your answer. 

“Yeah. That part makes sense. But why did you seem so… I don’t know, like, wishy-washy about it?”

Spencer’s eyes dart up to meet yours, brows slightly raised. Then a small laugh bubbles up from somewhere inside him. 

“Because I’m obsessed with you. I thought about you like that constantly. I still do.”

Your breath catches at the casual admission. 

“Oh.”

Spencer hums, setting the bottle down before tenderly thumbing away some excess mascara that he must have missed from under your eye. 

“You didn’t think it was easy for me, did you?”

“Well… kind of,” you admit, tracking his eyes until they meet yours. 

“Not sleeping with you has been among the hardest things I’ve ever done. Especially when you started begging me. That first time, when I picked you up from Penelope’s and you asked me why we hadn’t had sex yet…”

He trails off, still rubbing at your cheek as he loses himself in thought. 

Eventually, you grow impatient, prompting, “what?”

“It’s not a nice thought.”

“Well, you have to tell me now,” you insist. 

He half smiles, thumb straying to your lips. 

“It was just… you had no idea what you were talking about, and you were ready to throw a tantrum in my living room until I gave you what you thought you wanted. Part of me was imagining bending you over the couch right then, since you thought you were so ready.”

It feels like someone has snipped the pulley that keeps your stomach in place. 

“Spencer,” you splutter, convinced your cheek is tangibly heating under his touch as your head reels at the revelation that he could have such a deeply dirty and mildly sinister mind. 

“I told you it wasn’t nice.”

You swallow. 

“Is that… is that still what you want?”

His brows flicker again and he tucks hair behind your ear. 

“To bend you over my couch? No.”

Your face warms even more and you turn to leave the bathroom, sick of his teasing. 

“Okay, goodni—”

“Hold on.” Spencer catches you by your waist and pulls you back into him for the second time tonight. A dangerous smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I know what you meant. And no, I don’t want to bend you over my couch.” He laughs, slipping a hand under your shirt to rub your back. “You know what I want. I’m more interested in learning what you want.”

“I want…” Your eyes dance between his, and your heart flutters against the confines of your chest as you realize what you’ve wanted for so long is finally yours for the taking. “I want to stop talking about it.”

His expression neutralizes and you know it’s probably intentional to stop whatever feelings you assume him to be having color your decision. 

“Oh?”

“I just think we’ve talked about it enough.”

Before he can say another word, or ask you another question, you kiss him with such passion there’s no way he can doubt how much you want this. 

Only a moment passes before he allows himself to lean into it, cupping your face between reverent hands and taking control of the pace of the kiss, slowing it down until you can hardly breathe. Your little noise of want has him quickening the process, pressing against you until you’re walking backward out of the bathroom. It’s like the first crack in a dam. After that, everything becomes inevitable. 

Your knees hit the back of the bed and you sit down hard on the mattress, smiling up at him. You skim the front of his thighs with your palms as he smooths your hair.

Spencer groans, leaning down and kissing you til you’re on your back. 

“Don’t make that face.”

An affronted huff from you breaks the kiss up and he pulls back to study your expression. 

“What do you mean don’t make that face? I was just smiling at you.”

“I know you were. And you have such a pretty smile it makes me feel guilty about… defiling you.”

Your brows flicker up and your mouth drops open with an affronted scoff.

“Watch yourself. I’ll defile you.”

“You already have,” he admits with a half-laugh as he kisses you again. “My mind was never this dirty before we met.”

“Hm. Tell me you like my smile.”

He pauses and then chuckles dryly against your mouth. 

“I love your smile. You’re gorgeous. Any more demands?”

Pleased, you shake your head and pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Not currently.”

“Really?” he murmurs, trailing kisses over your cheek and down your jaw, “I’d do just about anything you asked me right now. You don’t want to take advantage of that?”

The sensation of his lips just below your ear threatens all rational thought in your brain, but you manage a reply with only a slight delay and a hint of a waver coloring your tone. 

“I shouldn’t have to demand things. You should just know to do them.”

His kisses drag lower, warm and unhurried and you’re trying not to let your hyper-sensitivity from going a week completely untouched show—but you doubt he misses the way your breath catches, or the barely audible squeaks, or the arch of your back or the tightening grip on his shirt. 

“Well, for future reference—” he nips at a sensitive spot and you gasp quietly, even as you tilt your head to offer him more access. More room to bite, if he so chooses. “—I happen to enjoy it when you make demands of me. Especially when those demands entail letting me call you pretty.”

“I’ve never not let you call me pretty before,” you huff. It’s a touchy subject, and Spencer can probably sense your hackles rising, but he has you right where he wants you and so he pushes anyway. 

“No. But you never believe me. We’ve had this conversation. You always act like I’m walking you to the gallows when I compliment you.” 

It’s hard to make a defense when he’s leaning his weight onto one arm so he can unbutton your jeans, when he’s looking down at you with sparkling onyx and scorched-earth eyes like you’re something to be consumed. But not violently, no—ardently. Like fruit heavy on the vine. Like you’re a religious rite to the devout and deluded. A sacrament.

But it’s not a blind passion. Spencer knows you; every inch of you and every loose thread on your soul begging to be pulled. He knows you and he still wants you like this. To be perfectly honest, you’d never thought you’d feel comfortable handing yourself over to someone like this—vulnerable and all your layers of armor shed. Never in your life would you have thought you could trust a person so implicitly that you’d hand them a knife and show them exactly where to press, that you’d say, I know once you open me and you see me you’ll not want to change a thing.

You adore him. Cosmically. Enormously. In every dimension. He’s lodged so deep in your heart you have no choice but to love him eternally. 

It’s deep in the midst of all these very profound revelations that you realize Spencer has stalled with your zipper undone. His hand has strayed to your hip, to sweetly push your shirt up and trace love letters into warmed and downy skin with his thumb. 

“I just wish you could see yourself how I see you,” he says softly, the weight of the truth a strain on his vocal cords. 

Sometimes, he is so kind it’s like a punch to your stomach. You’ve never been quite as kind as him. And nobody’s ever been as kind to you as he is. You’ve done nothing to deserve his kindness, but you know he needs a place for it, and you’re here with open arms. 

He studies you a moment longer, swallowing as his eyes trail over your face and lower. You want to reach out and brush strands of caramel hair out of his face, but he seems to be thinking so hard you’re hesitant to distract him. 

“I’ve never told you this, because I know you’d just shoot it down, but… you are genuinely the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my life.”

Something twinges in the depths of your stomach—the darker shades who live there and exist solely to whisper not enough not enough not enough to you every minute of every day. 

But they’re simply not a match for the softness you find when you do reach out for his hair, or the way he looks at you. Spencer loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist—not a cuff, but an affectionate hold. 

“Do you believe me?”

There’s so much earnest hope in his voice it almost jars you. He so badly wants you to understand how feels about you—he’s been trying to tell you for months and all you know how to do is refute his praise and insist on your worthlessness. 

Ever since Spencer, you don’t see the faces on magazine covers or in superhero movies, no matter how mathematically flawless they are. Nobody gets close to being as beautiful as he is in your eyes. He’s in an entirely different echelon, and despite how you feel about yourself, you have to accept that he might feel the same about you. 

“I do,” you say, equally soft, and 100% honest. You believe that he believes it, and that’s enough. It’s all that matters. 

The shallow knit of his brow loosens. His lips ease into a suggestion of a smile. But it’s most visible in his eyes—the way smoldering coals reignite, melting the amber glass of his irises until they’re molten. 

The way he kisses you then, you’d think you’d lassoed the moon and pulled it down from the sky for him. But apparently all it takes to make him incandescently, contagiously happy, is to accept a compliment.

There’s a renewed sense of urgency on his breath as he kisses you deeply and quick enough your heart is racing. It only goes faster when he remembers his previous task and begins tugging your jeans down, but he doesn’t even bother to pull them past your knees before his hand is creeping up your thigh. Goosebumps race each other across your body as you try to remember what it feels like—what he feels like. But you can’t, even as his thumb fans over your inner thigh and pushes it open, gently encouraging you to give him more access to you. 

“You’re not wasting any time,” you breathe against him while he traces the edge of your underwear.

“Do you want me to slow down?”

Judging by the way the tips of his fingers only barely shy away from the fabric, he really wants the answer to be no. But you know in his searching gaze that he’d never push you. 

“No, it’s fine. As long as we… don’t go this fast the whole time.”

“We won’t.” The hasty words are of lower priority than the next kiss he plants to your swollen lips. “We won’t. I just missed you so much.”

“Yeah?” You giggle airily as he drags his fingers over your clit through the material, trying to ignore the way it makes your head spin. 

“Yes. Yeah.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, so… desperate for you, as he drops his lips to your neck and presses barely-there kisses everywhere he knows you’re sensitive. Just the feeling of his breath against your skin has you shivering. His hand between your legs only brushes your most nerve-dense spot, but a few touches in and you’re already wound up, like if Spencer doesn’t give you more soon you’ll burst. And not in the good way. 

When he finally commits to actually kissing your neck, you squeak, warmth emanating from that spot just below your jaw all the way to your toes. The frantic energy of earlier is slowly melting away, and he loses focus with his hand, as it begins straying wider, stroking your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach. It’s like your nerve endings are on overdrive, delivering twice as much feedback to your brain as they normally would. Each touch feels like he’s conducting electricity over your body, like you’re a plasma ball. He’d probably like that analogy—you, a core of alternating voltage, and him, the conductor, tracing a path and giving all those electrons an easy release. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d tell Spencer you found a way to work Nikola Tesla into your mutual sex life, and he’d probably propose on the spot. 

But that electricity is building fast—even more so when he drags his lips down just above your collarbone. Your breath hitches, simultaneously trying to crane your neck to give him more room, and curl into him so as to escape the stimulation. Finally he pulls away, and losing the softness of his mouth while the air feels so cold against the places he’d kissed almost hurts. 

“You’re a mess,” he chuckles affectionately, raising his hand to brush hair away from your face before stroking the heated high point of your cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”

It’s teasing, but so low and gentle and honeyed it swirls your stomach. 

“Whatever you want,” you admit quietly. It’s a shy confession more than it is a salacious flirtation because he already has you. And you want nothing more than for him to act on that in any way he so pleases. Whatever he does, it will be careful, and kind, and because he loves you. You know that no matter how he takes you apart—he’ll put you back together again. 

“I don’t know if I can. You’re all jumpy.”

God, he has the prettiest smile—even when it’s twisted with sarcasm and a thin veneer of guilt, like he knows he shouldn’t be teasing and just can’t help himself. 

“I’m not,” you defend, face heating further. “I’m not nervous. I don’t know what it is.”

That sticky sweet tone is back, pooling in his eyes and dripping all over you like nectar as he languidly looks you over. 

“I didn’t say you were nervous. Just a little bit jumpy.”

It’s not accusatory—he’s simply stating a fact. Easy, gentle, designed to soothe. 

You shrug helplessly and chew on your lip, unsure of how he wants you to respond. It’s definitely true that excited as you are, you’re slightly on edge. You feel taut as a string on a guitar, tense and waiting to be yanked at any second. 

His expression is serene, and his thoughts inscrutable as he continues lavishing you with his eyes, down to where he’s lying over you and back up. His lips part, but he doesn’t speak for a moment as he formulates his words. 

“Can we try something? There’s this tantric exercise that might help you relax.”

Your brows draw earnestly and you nod up at him, not requiring any convincing even though you have no idea what he’s talking about. 

Spencer directs you to sit up, and you do—kicking your jeans all the way off so you can sit criss-cross with your hands braced on your ankles. 

He’s next to you on the bed, at a slight angle, one of your knees in his lap. You blink at him. 

“Now what?”

“Now you give me one of your hands,” he says, tone tinted with a hint of an amused smile, as if your impatience is funny to him. Of course it probably is. 

Frowning only a little, you unlock your left arm and hold it out for him, watching curiously as he takes your one hand between his and flips it palm-up. 

“Did you know,” Spencer begins, voice low and confidential, “that the fingertips are the second most sensitive part of the human body?”

“What’s the first?”

“Lips,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your hand where he’s brushing the tips of your fingers light enough it almost tickles. “They’re both incredibly important for keeping you alive, which is why they’re one and two. But you’ll be particularly sensitive anywhere you’re vulnerable.” His words are trailing off as he brushes his thumb over your palm and to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Like here.”

His knuckles skim up your forearm, to the crook of your elbow. 

“And especially here.”

You’re fascinated as he traces back down the length of your arm and over your inner-wrist, feather light. Then up once more, with the blunted edges of his nails, and your breath catches. You’ve never noticed how sensitive such an innocuous part of your body could be, but it has your stomach flipping—more so when he looses a breathy laugh. “You know, some people are actually able to reach orgasm just by light stimulation to this area.”

Your response is just as airy—you don’t recognize your voice when it comes out like that, hanging in the pitch black between you. 

“Really?” 

An affirmative hum from him, as he lifts your hand and places an intentional kiss over your pulse at the bend of your wrist. Your chest aches and heat is pooling in your stomach as his gently trails them up the delicate skin of your arm. Maybe you should be embarrassed by the reaction you’re having—after all, it’s just your arm. But he treats every part of you like it warrants love and attention and intimacy. Even the parts you typically ignore. Certainly parts you never considered to be sexually or romantically relevant. It’s dizzying. It’s like magic. 

“Arms up,” Spencer finally directs, just as sweetly as he’s doing everything else, and helps you tug your shirt over your head. Every brush of fabric, every seam against your skin registers more than it normally would. Everything is heightened, and despite your state of undress you’re still warm. “Your neck is really sensitive, too. It’s the most commonly acknowledged erogenous zone.”

Erogenous zone. Of course this all comes back to biology. 

“Tilt your head for me, honey.”

Utterly entranced and useless to not abide by him, you do so. Spencer brushes your hair over your shoulder, and if the slip of it down your back weren’t enough, the graze of his fingertips against the nape of your neck has you shivering. 

The warmth of him at your throat feels completely brand new, despite having already had his lips there only minutes before. But now they ghost over your skin with a kind of novelty, and your own lips part in silent pleasure, head lolling to allow him greater access.

“Lie back.”

Without hesitation (but perhaps a bit sluggishly in your stupor) you obey, sliding down until you’re propped up only by pillows once more. Spencer takes his place propped above you once more, thighs slotted with yours as he quickly picks up where he left off. 

The sweet kisses are perfect and feel so much better than you’d ever thought to notice before—but at the same time your core aches and there’s that pressure building again that’s starting to get to you. 

“Spencer,” you try, and it comes out hoarse but you don’t care at all. “More.”

“You want me to leave marks?” 

And the offer is so tempting you’ll wait a few more minutes to ask for what you really need, nodding semi-frantically and ‘mhm’-ing desperately. 

As he gently latches onto a spot that will require concealer later but feels fantastic for now, one of his hands slips down your side, just barely letting his nails skim, and your back actually arches. It’s a shocking amount of stimulation for being nowhere near any sexual hotspots. That tiny caught breath dissolves as his fingers continue down just as lightly over your hip and thigh. Your muscles tense as you chase and run away from the feeling. It’s ridiculous.

There’s no point in trying to keep your eyes open now—they grow heavy and you let them fall shut as he sucks another love bite to your throat. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it? It’s kind of weird.” He says, voicing your thoughts as he eventually decides the mark will be sufficiently dark. 

“Yeah,” you agree, lacking all eloquence as he caresses every sensitive place you didn’t know you had and your hips writhe minutely in a little desperate dance of your own creation. 

“Most people aren’t aware of the potential of the erogenous zones that aren’t actual sex organs. They don’t pay attention to them. You know what else is an interesting function of erotic stimulation to areas that aren’t directly involved in reproduction?”

“Hm,” you hum as his hand skims to your back. You lean into it and he promptly undoes your bra with a single hand—a skill you’re not even sure you have. 

“It releases not quite as much oxytocin as an orgasm but more than sexual pleasure alone. So you’re less tense before sex than you usually would be, and you’re primed to build more trust and feel more connected with your partner during.”

God, he’s a nerd. And it’s so, so hot. 

You roll over on your back again and look up at him through half-lidded eyes. The corner of his mouth flickers as he takes in your expression, before trailing downward, following the path his fingertips make over your skin as they tug the straps over your shoulders. Trying to stop him, to be shy, would be a pointless venture. He’s seen you like this and you want him to see you again. 

A shaky exhale of his own brings a little smile to your face as he pulls your bra away and observes the newly bared skin with a hunger that you can feel. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs, eyes cast pointedly down and thumb brushing over the side of your right breast. 

“You mentioned.”

“I’m not allowed to say it again?” He teases, leaning down to kiss you soft. Your lips curve against his. 

“You can say it as many times as you want.”

Spencer hums, finally thumbing over your breast’s sensitive peak. It sends a chill down your back and seeing as you’re already worked up to the point of near insanity, the pleasure from such a simple touch is much stronger than it would be otherwise. 

“Good. Because I missed you a lot.”

After that, he doesn’t waste much time—only toying with your flesh for another minute as he kisses you before his hand is skimming down your abdomen and dipping below the waistband of your underwear. 

“Please,” you whisper, tilting your hips toward him when he doesn’t move to touch you anymore. 

“Please what?”

“Spencer, don’t.”

He smiles at this, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as his hand travels lower. Fingers slip between wet folds and he begins making the lightest of circles over your clit. 

“You’ve probably been waiting long enough, huh? I should be nicer.”

Your answer is a breathy almost-whine as you seek more friction against his hand. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pressing down harder. The sensation sends sparks down to your toes and you attempt to clamp your legs shut around his wrist. “These need to stay open,” Spencer chuckles, “or else I can’t help you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The words are a sweet sing-song against your cheek as he kisses you there, before hooking his fingers into the fabric of your underwear and pulling down. You try to help wiggle out of them as best you can, gasping when he tosses them away and immediately returns his hand between your legs. He dips his head down, tongue lathing over your breast, and teases you with the tip of one finger circling around your entrance. 

“I need—”

“Shh. Let me worry about it.”

With that, he’s dipping his ring and middle fingers just barely inside of you to the first knuckle, then back out, before pushing a bit deeper, and repeating the cycle until they’re as far as they’ll go. When he slowly starts fucking you with them, still mouthing sweetly at your breast, you’re ready to melt. 

The room is quiet except for your breathy mewls, the lewd, wet sound of his fingers inside of you, and the blood rushing in your ears. Soon your breast pops from between his lips and he finds somewhere else to leave his mark. Spencer is turning you into a work of art, with his fingers, with his mouth. You don’t mind at all. You’d let him sign his name, if he could—but you doubt he’d let you get his name tattooed. 

Soon you stop fighting the perpetual tug of your lids down and let them flutter shut, loosing a freer moan as he brushes over that sweet spot inside you. Even when he’d told you how to find it over the phone, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t like this—maddening enough to have your hips twisting again and that hot bed of coals in your tummy sparking. 

“Spencer,” you warn, leg twitching as he stokes the fire beyond the point where you can passively enjoy it. Either he’s got to slow down or he’s got to let you burn all the way up. You practically jump when you feel his tongue flick over your clit—you hadn’t even been aware of his shifting positions. Maybe you’re more out of it than you’d previously thought. Your eyes shoot open and he does it again. “Oh, fuck.”

The words are simple, quiet, and apparently that’s not enough. Before you can even process the sensation of the tip of his tongue on you he’s latching onto your clit, suckling in a way that has your vision momentarily going out. You cry out and kick involuntarily, hips jumping up, but he captures your leg and presses you down into the mattress so no matter how much you squirm and squeak you can’t get away. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, Spencer I wa—ah—sn’t ready—oh my god.”

He remembers his fingers deep inside you and begins rutting them and you hiss, inhaling sharply through your teeth before letting it all out in a tremulous moan. The orgasm is building up so quickly it almost feels like an attack on your poor body as you try to process it all to no avail. Every sound you make is a vulnerable mess of pleasure and pain, a clear fear of surrendering to something inevitable. Of course, it doesn’t really hurt at all. As usual, he’s blindsided you. Found you unprepared. You rake your fingers through Spencer’s hair, continuing on with your shaky moans that sound half-worried. 

“Oh, please.” Really, you’re just pleading to be put out of your misery. It’s in moments like this, as the black is creeping in around the edges of your vision and your thoughts become threads in the tangle of an existence knotting in on itself with no discernible end or beginning in your mind until everything is completely abstract, that you’re reminded why the French refer to orgasm as the little death.  

Your fingers lace tight enough in the wilds of his hair to pull, and he groans against you, and those vibrations are your undoing. You succumb to the dark momentarily but he continues a loving assault of gentle kisses to your clit—careful enough so as to be inoffensive even after the euphoria abates and you’re hypersensitive, still relishing soft strands of hair between your knuckles. 

You’re breathing hard as you blink your vision back, looking down at him as he looks up at you from his place between your legs and rubs the top of your thigh.

“I wasn’t ready,” you pant, lips flashing into a tired smile that doesn’t hold a candle to his own livelier one. 

“Took it like a champ.”

If you weren’t already so warm his sarcastic comment would inspire more heat in the apples of your cheeks. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid using sports idioms?” You smile as he climbs back up your body. 

“It’s unreasonably sexy that you said idiom and not simile.” He kisses you, grin mirroring yours, and you don’t complain about the slick still on his lips. “And look at that. Not afraid to kiss me when I taste like you anymore.”

“I remember what you said,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, glowing amber pools in the low light. The words echo in your head from the first time he’d gone down on you and you’d been hesitant to taste yourself. 

One day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.

“So do I,” he points out needlessly. “Eerily prophetic, hm?”

“I think you just like going down on me,” you laugh. 

Without the light on, his smile is just as brilliant as usual.  

“You might be right about that.”

Another interlude of quiet begins, but you don’t mind it. Taking this slow, as desperate as you’ve been for it, feels nice. Easy. Waves of burning need ebb and flow, but for now, it feels nice to be bathed in his candlelight gaze, know you’re loved, and nothing else. 

“What next?” You whisper after a long moment, lifting your hand to trace the line of his jaw. He leans into it slightly, lips brushing your palm. 

“That’s up to you, angel. What’s going to make you feel most comfortable?” 

Your bottom lip rolls between your teeth as you think and he tracks the movement, corner of his mouth twitching fondly. 

“It might help if you weren’t fully clothed.”

“I think we could probably do something about that.”

He pecks the tip of your nose playfully and then he’s pushing off the bed. Your brow wrinkles as you follow suit only partially, sitting up with your legs folded under you and pulling the sheets over your body to combat the chill and the vulnerability of being completely naked. 

“Oh, my god. You had your shoes on that whole time?”

“I got distracted,” Spencer defends, almost tripping over himself in his hurry to slip the loafers off. 

You clutch the sheet to your chest, watching the adorable way he pushes his hair out of his face as he rushes. He’s so clearly excited—it shows in the flush of his cheek and his even worse than usual coordination. 

“But on my bed?”

“I’m sorry,” he says without seeming very apologetic, leaning down to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger and pressing his lips to yours. “I’ll pay to have your comforter dry cleaned. I’ll buy you a new one. I don’t care.”

“How chivalrous.”

“I am,” he insists against your lips, shaped by what is surely a boyish smirk. 

Unsurprisingly, you get lost in the kiss, dropping the sheet to hang onto his shoulders. Spencer takes advantage of the once-more revealed skin, rubbing your thigh with slow passes in a way that has you all lit up again already. It doesn’t help that his tie is skimming right over the recess between your folded thighs as he leans over your seated form, kissing you deeper as the moments pass. 

“You’re distracting me now,” you scold, but your voice is quiet and smiley as your noses brush. 

“Do you want to help me with my clothes?”

You nod, heart hatching like a cocoon and already slipping a finger into the knot of his tie so you can tug perhaps not gently enough. He chuckles, bracing himself with his fists on either side of your lap as you pull and yank until the fabric comes loose and you slip it from around his neck, flinging it blindly for dramatic effect. Then he slowly draws back to his full height, until you’re about eye-level with his chest. His gaze fixes on you, feverish and intent as he finds the buckle of his belt without looking. The slide of leather on leather, the jingle of the metal has the hairs on the back of your neck rising and you fight a chill as he pins you with his stare—feeling rather powerless as he towers over you, still essentially fully clothed while you’re completely naked. 

You probably shouldn’t be as thrilled by it as you are. 

Spencer tosses the belt on the floor and watches on, utterly charmed as you rise to your knees. His hands find your waist, steadying you as you begin unbuttoning his shirt with slow, careful fingers. 

“See?” You murmur bashfully. “Helping.”

His voice is equally as soft. 

“Very helpful. Thank you.”

The tension in the quiet room gets to be too much and you have to focus hard on the task at hand, failing to bite back a twisty smile. For once, he keeps his stupid perfect mouth shut and lets you push the fabric of his open shirt from his shoulders in humid silence. 

Your fingers skate down his torso and you watch the muscles tense. You wonder if he notices the way he pulls you slightly closer or if it’s subconscious as you both track the path of your hands. 

“Your button is on the wrong side,” you note, voice wavering slightly, once your fingers stall at the waistband of his pants.

Spencer chuckles. You feel silly. 

“Men and women’s clothing tend to have the buttons on different sides, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence, before the words come pouring out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m still a little bit nervous, I think.”

“That’s okay,” Spencer assures you, hands gliding up and down the soft lines of your waist. “It’s okay that you’re nervous. But I’m going to take really good care of you, okay?”

You nod, not looking away from the exposed skin of his torso. 

“And if at any point you need to take a break or stop, you’ll tell me.”

“I will, but… I don’t need to stop right now.”

“Then you can go as slow as you want.”

You swallow and take a moment to gather yourself before continuing on undoing his pants. With his assistance, you pull them down, and with them his boxers tug an inch or two lower, exposing a subtle v-shape before it disappears beneath the waistband. The fabric is obviously tented. A ball of nervous anticipation spins faster in your stomach, drawing all the heat in your body down between your legs. He’s pretty everywhere. You’d nearly forgotten. 

Spencer’s stomach tenses under your light touch as you drag your fingers down, down, just to the waistband. It’s then that you look up at him for permission to continue, and find his eyes already on you, heated and intense. 

“Go ahead, honey.”

Again you find yourself quite excited to touch him, but you start cautiously, simply letting your hand fall over the shape of him through the fabric. Even that has his chest rising and falling at a slightly quickened rate, and one of his hands finds your unoccupied one, twining them together. That small gesture inspires you to bolden your explorations, becoming more insistent in the way you palm at him. He feels big, which is a concern of yours. But you try not to let that intimidate you.  

Already he’s quite hard, you suspect from going down on you earlier (which is flattering as much as it embarrasses you) and your fingers graze a small wet patch of fabric. You fixate on the shaky little breath he releases as you push down his boxers with new fervor, and his cock springs up. 

He’s still perfect. 

You smear beads of precum down his tip, and he sighs, letting his head fall against yours as you both watch. A few coquettish pumps and he’s humming, kissing your face and dragging his lips down your neck where he makes a home for himself. Apparently the sight of your hand wrapped around him had been too much to bear. 

“So good. Missed this.”

“It’s just my hand,” you whisper, a little insecure that he’s maybe playing it up for your benefit. 

“It’s you.”

His voice is so breathy, you sort of have to believe him. 

“Can I…?”

Too nervous to voice what you really mean, you trail off, but it apparently doesn’t matter to Spencer. He lifts his head like he’s in a stupor but you’ve said something urgent. 

“Anything you want. You can do whatever you want.”

“Okay. Um…”

You let go of his hand (and his dick). Spencer automatically rotates to accommodate you as you end up on your knees on the wooden floor in front of him. 

“This is what you want?” He breathes, already pushing his fingers through your hair and gathering it back as you look up at him and nod. 

Very quickly you have him back in your hand, trying to remember what you learned from the few times you’ve done this. You start perhaps a bit softer, less eager to prove yourself than you have in the past—simply dragging him over your tongue before enveloping his tip in your mouth, and releasing with a pop. Despite being overtly, explicitly, and undeniably sexual, there’s something almost chaste about the way you handle him. It’s a (dirty) expression of love, and you think he understands that as he rubs at your cheek affectionately. 

Eventually, however, you get too excited, and you take him into your mouth in earnest, bobbing your head slowly and seeing how much of him you can take without gagging. 

Spencer makes the prettiest noises—they’re breathy, and not ostentatious, but he’s got such a nice speaking voice it’s like his gasps are bars in a song. You whine around him, wriggling your hips in a rather pathetic display, and then all too quickly he’s tugging your hair so you can’t keep him in your mouth. 

“What?” You ask, closer to pouting than you’d care to admit and voice slightly hoarse. “You said I could do anything I want.”

“Not if you’re that good at it. Come here.”

He helps you up and catches you in a deep, messy kiss before you’ve fully regained your footing, swaying against him, but he holds you fast, pulling away slow like strings of honey trail between your mouths. 

Spencer’s eyes are fixed on yours, lips parted in a sort of wonder before he glances down to your own mouth, wiping the shine from your bottom lip. Any moment you’re expecting him to say something, to tell you you’re beautiful or perfect or that he’s in love with you—but instead he just meets your eyes again, that same wonder-struck look on his pretty face. A tiny, breathy laugh forces itself from his chest like you’re a genuine miracle. 

You feel so observed—seen in a way you’ve never been seen, looked at closer than anyone has ever looked at you before. And he still looks at you like you’re the human embodiment of love, the closest mortal manifestation of the divine, Galatea come down from her marble pedestal. The way he looks at you has your heart pounding and your breathing hastened. Adoration has never been something so physical, so tangible, ever before in your life. Your blood hums at the frequency of his electromagnetic field—an energetic aura that surrounds each person and can be detected from several feet away, as he’d explained it to you. It originates from the heart and if you spend enough time close to  someone, syncs up the beating of your most vital organ with theirs until it’s a perfect match. Maybe that’s why, almost as quickly as your heart had begun to pound, it slows again, and you feel any reservation flush from your body like a fever. 

“Okay,” you breathe, cataloguing every angle and curve of his face to store with all the rest, all the moments that feel important. Of course, you’ll never remember them like he does yours. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try your hardest. 

“Okay?” Spencer asks. He understands the confirmation for what it is, and searches for signs of hesitation on your face while rubbing reassuring circles into your hip. You nod resolutely. 

As he lays you down on your bed, it feels like you’re entering some kind of altered state. Everything is muted and glowing with a watercolor aura in the dark and you really only care about the man on top of you and the way moonlight dances on his skin and the way he smells like smoky amber and rain. He makes sure the pillows are fluffed under you, before sweeping your hair from beneath your shoulders into a corona around your head. All the while his eyes are so soft on you, just like his hands, and his lips when he leans down to touch them to yours. 

One of said hands finds its way to your jaw, trailing down over your neck and collarbone, before settling over your breast where he swipes a thumb over your nipple, lightly, slowly, several times. 

Once again you’re struck with the odd feeling, even with his hand on you like this, that the situation isn’t sexual in the way you’d anticipated. It’s not pornographic, or even very dirty. Everything Spencer does, even as his hand sneaks down between your legs, he does because he loves you. 

“One more like this,” he mutters against your jaw after a moment. 

“Why?”

Your impatience yields a smile you can only feel against your skin. 

“Just want you relaxed and feeling good. That’s all.”

When you assent, his fingers are already slowly pushing inside you. 

It seems you’ve entered some sort of time warp as well, because you reach a gentle peak in what feels like record time, aided by his easy murmurings and saccharine praise.

“Perfect. That was perfect,” Spencer says with a kiss to your shoulder as he slides his fingers from you and you feel yourself literally dripping onto the sheets. “Can I ask you something before we get carried away?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sweet and compliant as pleasure dulls your inhibitions for the second time tonight and your head lolls into the pillows. 

“Baby,” he croons, voice soft as worn paper as your lids flutter and lashes brush febrile cheeks, thumbing over the heated skin. “Need you a little more alert, sweet girl.”

“’M trying,” you whine, though it’s half self-effacing laugh. Spencer chuckles too as you shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to reinvigorate yourself. “Okay. Go.”

“Well… we don’t have any protection.” Before you can groan, loudly, he hurries on. “And that’s… I’m okay with that, if it’s what you still want. I trust you. But there will come… a moment of reckoning. And I need to know where I should… reckon. So you don’t end up surprised.”

Now you’re really laughing—a giggly mess beneath him as your arms loop over his shoulders. 

“Stop it,” he whines, pressing his nose to your cheek as you turn your head in an effort to not snort at your boyfriend to his face. “That was for your benefit, you know. You get squeamish.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t take you seriously when you refer to it as reckoning.”

“Fine. I’ll rephrase. When I come, you essentially have two options. Inside, or on your stomach. Tell me where you want it.”

Your breath catches and your stomach does that tripping-over-itself thing again. 

“Um…”

Another fond half laugh, at your expense, is pressed against your skin. It’s enough to prompt you into answering—he doesn’t have to say anything to make his point about your being squeamish. 

“Inside,” you mutter, shy as you attempt to bring him closer so he won’t be able to look at you quite so closely. You wonder if he’s remembering the conversation you’d had over the phone last week—before he’d accidentally kind of broken up with you—about this very subject. You certainly are. 

“Okay. I want you to have everything that you want.” A few kisses to your neck later, between nips, he speaks again. “Just need to hear that you want this one more time.”

“I want this,” you repeat, obedient and honest, plain and simple. “Now, please.”

Spencer responds by first kissing you, firm and loving. It soothes you, and he punctuates it with a kiss to your cheek, before he’s reaching down and guiding himself between your legs. You feel surprisingly calm, more overcome with love and the light pleasure rolling down your back as he drags himself over your clit than you are by nerves. Still, you pointedly hold his gaze, not looking down in case you psych yourself out. He slots himself in place, tip resting against your entrance. 

“Remember, if you need to stop at any point—”

“I remember,” you cut him off hurriedly. 

Okay. So perhaps you’re still slightly nervous. 

He watches you, sympathetic though you’re not sure what for. 

“I need you as relaxed as possible, okay? I want this to be easy on you.”

You take a moment, scanning your whole body for tense muscles. When you feel sufficiently relaxed, you offer Spencer a small nod, and at that, he begins pushing into you ever so slightly. 

At first, it just feels foreign. He’s going so slowly, so carefully, you’re not sure he’s moving at all—until he finds resistance and the odd full feeling changes to a hint of burning stretch. Your hips jump and your breath catches, and Spencer stops immediately, relieving the pressure with a tiny shift in position. 

“It’s gonna hurt,” you realize, eyes darting between his like he might be able to tell you otherwise. You’d always been aware of the possibility, but you were holding out hope that you’d be one of those people who didn’t experience any pain their first time. 

“Just for a minute. Then it’ll feel good, angel.”

You swallow and nod. At the end of the day, you trust him completely. You trust him enough to let him hurt you. 

“Super deep breaths for me.”

He watches intently as you follow his directions, taking several deep breaths in succession, before he begins pushing into you once more. The pressure builds and builds until he pushes past that point of resistance, and it’s like he’s breaking you in two. 

“Ah,” you gasp, abs twisting as your body tries to escape the sensation without any input from you. 

“I know. I know, baby, that was the hardest part. Breathe.”

He drops his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles with light pressure to distract from the pain.

You nod, lips pressed together tight as the deep ache muddles your brain. It’s an insistent pressure against something does not seem to want to budge. It burns and stretches and is laced with sour, flirtatious pleasure so that you can hardly tell what it is you’re feeling. Mostly, you’re dizzy and hot.

“Relax, just like that,” he strains, looking down. “My good girl. We’re almost there, baby.”

Cries spill unbidden from your mouth and your eyes shut as he continues to open you up deeper, until finally, finally, his hips settle into the cradle of yours. 

Spencer sighs a curse under his breath, so quiet you don’t think it was meant for you. 

He’s inside of you. It’s bizarre. 

You whimper, and he snaps out of whatever revery he’d been in. 

“You okay? How does that feel?”

You take a shuddering breath, closing your eyes and trying to clear your head to no avail—your thoughts are like TV static. 

“I’m good. I need… I need a minute.”

“You can have as much time as you need. It’s a lot, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admit, voice small and weak. 

“I bet,” he agrees, peppering soft kisses all over your face. “But you’re doing so well. Proud of you, brave girl. You’re doing so well and we’re gonna make sure it feels good soon, okay? Whenever you’re ready.”

“Will you please kiss me again?” you whisper, and Spencer’s brow knits with concern. 

“Of course, angel. Of course I’ll kiss you,” he says, and makes good on his promise with his lips on yours. It sweetens the ache. “I’ll do whatever you want. You can have anything. You’re so perfect.”

He kisses you again, just as lovingly, and soft, like you’re delicate. All the praise is only contributing to your lightheadedness, but you don’t mind at all. It feels good. 

“You can… you can move.”

“Okay. We’ll go really slow, yeah?”

He waits for your nod before his hips are pulling back and you arch at the odd sensation. When he pushes back in, eyes carefully locked on yours the whole time, you keen slightly, frowning and brain shorting out as it tries and fails to process this new feeling. 

“Uh-huh. You’re okay, I promise.”

At first it doesn’t feel good. It mostly hurts. But slowly, the pain begins to abate as you acclimate to having him inside of you, and he’s careful the whole time. 

“Spence?” 

“Hm?”

He sounds concentrated on the task at hand—you’re entranced by the sight of him above you, the parted lips, the unkempt hair over the brow furrowed in pleasure and focus. But he’s never too busy for you. 

“Does it… um—” you pause to hold back a whine—“what does it feel like for you?”

At this, he slows even further and chuckles—it’s a strained, slightly breathy sound. 

“For me?”

“Mhm.”

“You feel perfect, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

The slight fry in Spencer’s voice as he curses, which is a rare event in and of itself, flips your stomach, turns you on immensely. The idea that you’re giving him pleasure too—it’s almost overwhelming. That’s when it starts feeling good. 

“Oh—” you squeak, jaw dropping and bucking your hips inadvertently as the first bolt of true pleasure shocks deep in your core. He hums. 

“Yeah, is that it, sweet girl?”

But you can’t answer for a long moment. Your brain is melting as your legs lock around him. 

“Mm—it’s—it feels…”

“I know it does,” Spencer murmurs.

You whine and press your face into the curve of his shoulder as each thrust gently rocks your body. As the pace picks up bit by bit, you feel yourself clenching hard around him. His hips stutter and he hisses. 

“Ah. Can’t do that, lovely.”

“What? Did I hurt you?”

He laughs breathily. 

“No, you didn’t hurt me. You almost pushed me out. You have to relax.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. “’M trying.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. I know you’re trying, baby, you’re being so good for me.”

Your nails skim his back—a small expression of a much larger desperation. Once he’s sure you’re relaxed around him, begins going faster. 

Your gasps and soft moans come more often now as he finds a steady rhythm and it feels so different when he’s actually fucking you. It feels like he’s everywhere. Every time your hips meet you feel the sweet shock of it in your teeth, your toes, the back of your neck. In the best way, you feel consumed by him. It’s not at all like you’d imagined, and it’s perfect. 

“Wait, Spencer,” you breathe, struggling to form the words. Immediately he stops again, lifting his head from your shoulder to examine your face. 

“What is it?”

He sounds just as wrecked as you feel, panting and strained and it feels good to hear. 

“I wanna watch.”

For a moment his eyes dart between yours like he’s trying to determine what you really mean—but you said exactly what you meant. Then he laughs, a huff of air from his nose as he presses his head to yours and gives you a quick kiss.

Your toes curl as he readjusts his position, holding himself a little higher and resting your heads together so you can both look between your bodies. 

“There,” he murmurs as he slowly begins to withdraw again. “Like that?”

But you can’t answer, because you’re too busy whimpering at the sight of him pushing into you. The feeling seems to increase tenfold as you watch it happen. Distantly you wonder how the fuck it fits. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Like that.”

Spencer takes this as a blessing to find a pace again, slower now as he seems to be just as enthralled by the sight as you are. 

“Give me your leg,” he rasps after a few moments like that, and you don’t know what he means exactly but you lift your right leg slightly only for him to press his hand to the back of your knee and push toward your chest, effectively opening you up and giving him more range of motion. It also enables him to fuck you even deeper. Again he slows, apparently savoring the feel of you yielding around him all the way down to the hilt. 

Black spots dance in your eyes as he settles at your deepest point—not pain, necessarily, just overwhelming sensation. Your jaw drops and you choke out a moan as he presses into recesses you didn’t know you had, as he shows you a part that you might have gone the rest of your life without knowing existed. He stops there, like that. Everything stops there, like that. If the cars on the road below ceased to drive, if the airplanes froze in the sky, you’d not be the least bit surprised. Somehow, you’ve unlocked a small eternity. There’s no sound but your joint heavy breathing and your heart pounding in your ears. The words just come bubbling up out of you in a little whine. 

“I love you.”

Spencer’s breath pauses for a moment before he’s letting it all out at once, brushing his lips up the ridge of your nose before they settle on your forehead in what seems like a permanent kiss. A few breaths in, you allow your eyes to flutter shut. Your heart rate slows down a touch, and you settle into the moment, never having been quite so content as you are like this—never having felt quite so adored and safe. 

“I love you,” he finally echoes, voice rasping, lips still pressed to your skin, still breathing against your hair. When he starts to move again, drawing back ever so slowly, you hiss softly. He raises his head from yours, and you look away from where he’s pulling out, meeting his eyes just in time for him to push back in, just as deep. They shine in the mostly-dark room and you moan unabashedly. It’s a high-pitched, sweet thing, nothing that will have the neighbors complaining—but so clearly true, from the depths of your soul, an expression of everything you’re feeling—not just the pleasure. 

Although that’s good, too, as Spencer shapes you to him again and again, the head of his cock kissing places nobody’s ever been and places you hope nobody else will ever venture to. This is all you need. Him. 

“Jesus,” Spencer groans, eyes fixed on your face as he fucks you slowly. But you can’t bring yourself to talk, too new to this kind of pleasure to find it anything other than mind-boggling and world altering. Your lips are still parted, allowing each sound to pass without filter. “Listen to you, beautiful.”

When he stops again, just to look down and marvel at you, you’re conflicted. On the one hand, you can taste the pleasure on the back of your tongue and he keeps taking it away when it’s so close. But on the other—you’re just as overwhelmed as he said you’d be. Your body has never had to process this kind of sensory information before, and you’re exhausted, but it’s so good. 

“Spencer,” you manage. He looks up, pupils blown and eyes lidded where they’d normally be wide. “Please don’t stop.”

He swallows, spurred into action again as soon as you say it. 

“Good?”

You nod and whine again as he picks up the pace bit by bit, remembering to push your leg back once more so he can get as deep as you need him. 

“So good,” you exhale at the top pitch of your voice. Your brows pinch and you release a fuller moan as Spencer finds a speed that’s fast enough to constantly feel good no matter where he is. You’re gasping for breath, back arching—and he finds a new angle, catching against the spot inside you that renders all those years of human evolution that gave you sentience and intelligence a waste. He chuckles airily at your series of series of affronted moans and halted gasps. 

“Right there? That's a good spot, isn’t it?”

“Oh, go—fuck, fuck!”

It feels so good it almost hurts, and your eyes are stinging to prove it. Your legs clamp tighter around him and you realize there’s a very lewd wet sound and you can’t believe that’s you. 

“Spencer, you’re—oh my god, I love you,” you whine, and it sounds like you’re pleading for your life. At this makes his own sound of pleasure, and hastens his messy circles on your clit as if in reward. 

But it’s too much all combined. 

Your hand claps to your mouth to obscure the loud, licentious moan that comes out—but Spencer immediately moves his hand from between your legs to grab your wrist and pin it gently to the bed, intertwining your fingers. 

“Don’t do that. Let me hear.”

You nod, and he lets go of your hand to return his fingers to your clit. If possible you get wetter around his cock—you can feel yourself gushing. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine as if pained. 

“Yeah? Gonna finally let me feel you cumming, angel?”

He has a filthy mouth when he wants to. The words hit like high voltage to your core and the very pit of your stomach. You can’t even respond beyond a desperate sob. 

“Show me, baby. I’m right here. Let go.”

You cum around his cock with a broken cry and it’s like a purge of every drop of angst you’d felt over the past week or so—hell, it’s a purge of all the insecurities that had bubbled to the surface since you started dating him. None of it matters anymore. How could it matter when you have him? When you have this?

The orgasm washes you out like a tidal wave, taking everything with it. It’s strong, and it’s so good, so intense, your body is overwrought with sensation and it’s too much even though it’s perfect. Your brain is drawing a blank as it tries to react to the feeling, and it’s like every button on the damn panel has been hit. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” Spencer grits, and you feel it in the way he adjusts his position, shifting as he grips at the edge of the mattress for leverage and the thrusts become messier, needier. You gasp as his other hand tangles in your hair, turning your head to ghost your lips over his forearm. It’s not entirely surprising when his own lips find your shoulder—but the feeling of him finding his release just as his teeth sink into your skin does come as quite a shock. It doesn’t hurt, and you’re sure there’s no skin broken, but it’s an undeniable fact that he has grounded himself in the throes of passion by biting down on you.

Inside you, he feels hot. Searing, almost, as his spend tries to fill space that doesn’t exist. There is absolutely no room for anything else inside of you. Stars dance in your eyes at the overstimulation, but long after he’s finished he’s still fucking into you—albeit much slower and with far less technique. Spencer moans like a two bit whore, like he’s reached pain to a point of ecstasy, and to you it’s as good, as special as the singing of the planets. If he’s as sensitive as you are now, it’s no small feat for him to keep going on like this. It’s a testament to how much he doesn’t want it to be over. The pleasure is carrying him away, but you’re beginning to feel how soft you must be and how if he continues on like this you may bruise like an overripe peach. 

“Spencer,” you manage, skating your hand up and down his back in what you hope are soothing lines. “Baby.”

He whines as his lips detach from your shoulder, but his hips finally slow to a stop, nestled inside you. 

“Jesus, fuck, I'm sorry,” he breathes, opting now to bury his face in your neck (with significantly less biting this time).

You’re still reeling, toes still curled, still struggling to breathe as your head spins and spins and spins. His chest pushes against yours with every heaving breath, hot and heavy on your skin, and that’s the only sign he’s still alive until his hand eventually reanimates in your hair, scratching your head tenderly. 

For a span of minutes, you stay like that—silent, twined together like caducean serpents. His weight on top of you is perfect. This, the lack of differentiation between your body and his, is perfect. You don’t know where he ends and you begin and you don’t need to. It’s a blissful moment. 

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, lifting his head to look at you with flushed cheeks and messy hair and sparkly eyes. 

“Hi.”

He smiles. 

“You’re so pretty.”

“You too,” you murmur, moving your hand from his back and pressing your thumb into the hollow of his cheek. His eyes map the curves of your face as he pushes your surely askew hair back. 

“How do you feel?”

It takes you a moment to seriously consider his question, scanning your body for any undue pains, but for the moment, you find none, beyond a dull aching throb that you can manage. 

“Good. Tired.”

You wince at the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. Spencer hums sympathetically and presses a sticky kiss to your lips which makes it a little better, though you can’t ignore how uncomfortable all the previously pleasant wetness has become between your legs. 

“Here—stay here, I’ll get a wash cloth and—”

“It’s fine,” you insist, holding on even as he tries to roll off of you. “I just need… will you stay here for a little bit?”

“Of course,” he promises, now pressed close to your side and propped up on an elbow, “whatever you want.”

You lavish in his gaze, warm like a spotlight, as he strokes your cheek and plays with your hair. Very quickly you’re lulled into a doze, eyes fluttering shut. Minutes stretch. You feel drunk on waking dreams, and perfectly at peace. Safe. 

“Angel girl,” he christens you fondly. More than anything, it’s an observation, so lovely it sinks into your skin like a balm, soothing every tired muscle and little mark he’d made. Even half-asleep, it makes you smile. 

“You’re an angel,” you slur, reaching blindly for him, and he chuckles, catching your wrist and helpfully settling your hand on his cheek. 

“I thought you were asleep.”

You hum, “mm-mm,” looking up at him with just as much adoration as he has for you. Those cuddle hormones must be kicking in because soon you’re attempting to pull him back on top of you. He doesn’t quite comply, probably for fear of crushing you—rather he settles next to you, gathering you in his arms. 

Silence blankets the two of you, but it’s not unpleasant as you just watch each other with barely-there smiles curling your mouths. This kind of intimacy still manages to give you butterflies, even after everything else you’ve done. This kind of satisfaction, reverie in the sound of each other’s blood flowing and lungs filling. Setting aside words because you don’t need conversation as a pretense for wanting to be around each other anymore. You don’t need an excuse to look at him like this. You don’t need words any more than you need clothes. It’s enough to just be. 

“I love you,” he says, a soft reminder, and entirely redundant with the way he’d already been looking at you, touching you. 

“I know. I love you too.”

The smile flickers brighter on his face. 

“And thank you.”

Your eyes narrow minutely as you consider what he could possibly be thanking you for. 

“For what?”

“For loving me. And trusting me. It’s…” your heart squeezes as you realizes tears are pooling in his eyes. He takes a moment and clears his throat. It’s incredibly endearing. “It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

You look down, thumbing at the sheets where you’ve hoisted them over your bodies. 

“You do realize how lame we are if we have sex and both immediately start crying, right?”

At this he laughs loudly but not loud enough to pop the little bubble you’re in, and you look up just in time to catch the brilliance of his smile, the way it changes his whole face and he becomes superhuman in his beauty, the lines that form by his eyes and the way they narrow and crystalline tears bead his lashes like precious gems. 

“Don’t cry,” he requests gently, hypocritically as your own eyes sting. The way his smile fades is like the sun setting. Gorgeous, like everything else he does. “You’ve cried so much, honey. Please don’t cry.”

You sniffle, gathering yourself. 

“I’m not. That would be pathetic.”

Spender leans forward to kiss you tenderly a few more times. Ordinarily you’d worry about coming across as clingy when you hold onto him so closely and so insistently like this, but for now you don’t care. Neither does he, it seems, as he seems unable to get you close enough. Eventually, you end up curled against him, head tucked under his chin and dozing on and off as he traces shapes into your skin. 

“What are you writing?” You mumble some time later, cheek smushed against his shoulder. He only responds with a soft hm, like he was lost deep in thought. You clarify, “it feels like you were writing something.”

“She Walks in Beauty.”

Your lips pull into a sleepy smile. 

“The Lord Byron poem?”

The first time you’d met Spencer, he’d inadvertently caused your painstakingly annotated copy of Lord Byron’s works to go flying all over a cafe, and then kindly helped clean up the pages and reorder them for you in record time. Among the poems had been She Walks in Beauty. 

“Yeah. I was trying to figure out when exactly I fell in love with you, and as someone who is deeply skeptical about love at first sight, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I keep coming back to our first conversation. I mean, I believe in genetic compatibility, and how that contributes to attraction and what we think of as chemistry, but—”

“Wait, what about our first conversation did it?” Your cheeks ache from smiling as you speak. “As I recall I was being a bitch and I was covered in coffee.”

He laughs dreamily, still tracing letters over the small of your back. You wonder what part of the poem he’s at now. 

“Yeah, mean to me and covered in coffee is pretty much exactly my type. But I think it was actually the annotations on that copy of Lord Byron’s works. They were so insightful, and personal, I—it kind of took my breath away, and I know I shouldn’t have read them all but I couldn’t stop. You were compelling, and charming, and funny and wildly intelligent and beautiful and… and I didn’t stand a chance.”

Everything aches. It’s a good ache. Despite being seconds from tearing up all over again, you snort. He never told you about that first day.

“You thought me writing ‘sister fucker’ in all caps every time he mentioned Augusta was charming?”

“Oh, obscenely so. But now that I’m looking back, I feel like… I feel like I can’t remember not being in love with you. I mean, I remember when I realized I was, and that was later. But it was like I met you, and then I was just… waiting for you to catch up.”

You grab his hand and interlace your fingers, watching the way the ambient nighttime light from the window and the bathroom dips them half in color. 

“We were pretty much on the same page. I was debating courthouse versus small intimate ceremony as soon as you left.”

You watch him watching your joined hands, features soft and relaxed, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly as he speaks. 

“Definitely small intimate ceremony. I have too many friends who would kill me if they weren’t invited to the wedding.”

You giggle and pretend the thought doesn’t give you butterflies. You imagine a ring on your finger, the one he’s got between his own. Marriage had never been something you’d considered. Not when you had no reason to. It seemed like something for other people. But maybe one day, it will be for you, too. 

“Did you know Lord Byron had a daughter who is regarded by many as the first computer programmer? She wrote the first algorithm for a theoretical machine that was so complex it couldn’t be built with the technology available at the time. It was called an Analytical Engine.”

He sounds almost wistful as he gives you the utterly unprompted, but still welcome, abridged version of her life. The description is ringing a bell—but you can’t quite place her, sleepy as you are.  

“What was her name?”

“Ada Lovelace. She was exceptionally gifted. The odds of parent and child being so extraordinary in their respective fields are incalculable, but from a purely theoretical perspective, negligible. I mean, they’re both massive historical figureheads. That’s extremely uncommon.”

You adore it when he goes off on these tangents—the passion that stains his voice, the ardor that grips him until he has no choice but to tell you exactly what’s got him so excited. You could listen to him talk for hours. It means he’s here with you, and he wants you to love what he loves. 

Since he met you, that’s all Spencer has wanted—for you to love what he loves. 

You want the same. 

“Pretty name,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Tell me more.” 

-

part eight

[steddieas-shegoes]

assistant to the dm, steve harrington

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'secretly studying nerd shit' rated t | 1,361 words | cw: mild language | tags: friends to lovers, getting together, d&d references (could be inaccurate since i don't actually play), banter that's also flirting

🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉

"I just don't understand why you needed to borrow my character sheets. You don't even know what most of this means," Dustin said as he handed over the papers.

"I just need to see something," Steve replied, taking the papers and adding it to his mess of a kitchen table. Other character sheets were strewn all over, most filled out, but some empty. A couple of books were open on random pages, recognizable images of weapons and monsters visible to anyone who walked by.

"Why does it look like you're studying for a college degree in D&D?" Dustin asked.

Steve looked up at him, eyes blank, mouth in a straight line. "Because I finally got accepted to Indiana State. Go away."

"Fine! I want those sheets back though!" Dustin said as he left Steve to his studying.

Hours must have passed, the light outside turning to dusk before Steve thought to take a break. His head hurt, his vision was blurry, and he didn't feel any closer to understanding a god damn thing.

He thunked his head against the table, letting out pained groan as his head throbbed.

"Are you looking for something or have you decided to finally play with us?" Eddie's voice said directly behind him, making him nearly fall out of his seat. "Shit, sorry. Thought you heard me come in."

Eddie's hands were on Steve's arms, squeezing, centering.

Like he knew exactly what he needed to lose the slight hint of remaining panic left in his chest.

"I was just trying to figure out if there actual dragons in this game or if that was also made up," Steve said, sitting back and putting distance between them. He couldn't breathe when Eddie was touching him, which was often. He was starting to worry about oxygen deprivation to his brain. "Disappointed to find out the dungeons part seems like it's up to the DM."

"The whole thing is pretty made up, Stevie. That's the point," Eddie smirked, but it fell away when Steve turned back to the messy table. "Are you, like, wanting to play?"

And this is why he wanted to keep it a secret. Maybe he shouldn't have had everything spread out in the open like this, but he'd assumed he was safe in his own home. With the door locked. And with Eddie supposedly playing the Hideout tonight.

He looked back at Eddie. "Why are you here?"

"Dustin said something about you not answering the phone after he left hours ago and you seemed pissed off or something," Eddie shrugged. "Just wanted to check on you."

"The phone? It didn't ring." Steve didn't think so anyway. He had admittedly tuned his surroundings out entirely once Dustin was gone. "But it's Tuesday."

"Uh huh. It is Tuesday. How long have you been sitting at this table?"

"Ha. Funny." Steve rolled his eyes. "You play the Hideout Tuesdays. Tuesdays are for Corroded Coffin, Wednesdays are for dinner with Wayne, and Thursdays are Hellfire."

Eddie blinked at him. "Yes, usually that's true. But, wait. Sorry. You have my schedule memorized?"

"I mean, some of it, yeah. The parts where I know you won't be nearby or easily reached."

Steve knew it was ridiculous, but how the hell could he make sure he was safe if he didn't even know what Eddie was doing?

Eddie looked like he wanted to say something else about it, but must have changed his mind. He pulled out the chair next to Steve, turned it towards him, and sat down.

"So you've been studying this stuff for..." Eddie leaned in, eyebrows raised in silent question.

"I dunno. A few weeks. I didn't have most of the sheets until a couple days ago though," Steve gestured towards the papers spread out. "I still don't really get it."

"You've been studying for weeks? Stevie, why didn't you just ask me or any of the kids to help explain it?" Eddie almost sounded hurt. "I've been playing for half my life! And I've been a DM for half of that!"

Truthfully, Steve was trying to learn so he could have conversations with Eddie about the stuff he liked. That was basically lesson number one on how to get someone to like you, and Steve had already tried the music thing and failed.

He just wasn't that into the echo of loud guitars and angry drums.

He couldn't exactly ask Eddie to teach him everything and then turn around and try to use what he taught him to flirt with him. That was lame and embarrassing.

"Steve?" Eddie had his hand on Steve's leg, leaning in further towards Steve. He must've been trying to get Steve's attention while he was lost in thought. "I'm kidding. I mean, I wish you'd said something sooner, but if this is how you get into it, I'm not gonna stop you."

"I just wanted to surprise you."

Steve could hear how pitiful that sounded, could hear the whine in his voice that he wasn't able to pull his plan off. As if Eddie would even care! Eddie was the most easygoing, laidback, chaotic person he'd ever met. He would just be happy to have someone else in his little club.

"Surprise me? For what?"

He was also incredibly slow when it came to feelings.

"Because I want to spend more time with you! Because I like you! Because I want you to like me!" Steve tried not to sound frustrated, but his headache was turning into a real problem, and he was tired, and sick of hiding things. Robin told him to just be honest, so he was. "I wanted to surprise you the next time Hellfire was here and have all this knowledge, but it's hard! I don't even know how you keep up with most of this, let alone all the characters? There's like...at least 800 options for how to use weapons and spells. I can't even remember half the races or classes or whatever. I don't even know if those are the same thing. And I keep getting distracted thinking about how you look when you stand at the end of the table and do one of those stupid accents."

"Are they stupid if they're this distracting?" Eddie was smirking, suddenly more confident than Steve had maybe ever seen him.

"They are stupid. That's why it's distracting. And I'm stupid for letting it get to me!" Steve leaned forward, put his head on Eddie's shoulder. The angle wasn't the best, but he didn't care. "You get to me so bad, Munson."

"You're kinda easy to get to, Harrington." Eddie's lips briefly pressed against the side of Steve's head. "Been waiting for you to catch up."

"What do you mean?" Steve pulled away. "I've been trying to get you to realize for months!"

"You came to one show at the Hideout. I think Robin's been to more shows and she's a lesbian."

"She told you?!"

"Steve, she spilled every secret she's ever had when she kept me company in the hospital. I think I know things you don't even know."

Steve let his head fall down against Eddie's shoulder again. "I should've known you were teaming up."

"I wouldn't call it that. She just wanted to look out for us," Eddie's hand cupped the back of Steve's head. "So what did you learn?"

"Probably nothing useful."

"Well, it's easier to be an active learner. I could use an assistant on Thursday if you want some hands on experience," Eddie's fingers scratched at Steve's scalp, melting his brain and making him feel like he was completely weightless. "If you just wanna watch, that can be arranged too."

"You don't let people watch," Steve mumbled against his shoulder, his weight sagging against Eddie.

"I think I can bend my own rule for my boyfriend, right?" Steve could feel Eddie's heartbeat quickening beneath his ear.

His face felt warm as he realized what Eddie was implying. "Only if your boyfriend can sit next to you."

"I think that can be arranged."

"Oh, and I'd like to trap Dustin's character."

Eddie snorted, kissed Steve's head again. "That can be arranged, too."

[futurewdclandonorris]

A Helping Hand | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x fem!bestfriend!reader

Summary: feeling frustrated, you go to George for some aid where he offers to help you blow off some steam

Warnings: smut

A/N: goodness, this is the most I've spent on proofreading, rewriting and editing than on any of my other fics, probably because I babied this idea for a long time 💀 and probably because I was sick for the past few days that I couldn't do anything else except thinking about George taking care of me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it 🥰

You were frustrated. The irritation was welling up inside you, and there was no telling why. And nothing going your way wasn’t helping either. But what it is that you always do whenever you feel like this?

You go to George.

George and you were best friends for as long as you could remember. He played enormous role in your life, in a way that you would often refer to him as an older brother. No one else even came close to being as important to you as he was. He was always there to listen when you needed to rant about something, and the two of you were just as comfortable sitting in silence as you were engaging in deep conversations. Today was no different.

You walked over to George's apartment, knowing that he wouldn't mind your unannounced visit. You knocked on the door and waited a few moments before he answered, your mind racing with all the things you wanted to vent about. The door opened, revealing George’s smiling face.

“Hey there, buddy,” he said, pulling you into a hug. “What’s got you so worked up?” he questioned upon seeing your slumped shoulders and frowning face.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I just know I’m feeling a lot and it’s not good.” you walked further into his apartment, running a hand through your hair.

George followed behind you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, "I don't even know what's bothering me. I'm just feeling so damn… restless." and leaned against his kitchen bar.

George nodded his head, eyes fixed on your face. He knew that look and the manner in which you spoke. George had experienced this before with you. You would continue to speak until the words dried up, and he knew it was in his best interest to listen attentively. And he wanted to do just that. To be a friend and not interrupt for once your thoughts were drifting by. He loved the feeling of neediness you gave him.

So you started to spill your troubles. From everything that happened to you since you woke up to this very moment in the afternoon. He listened patiently, nodding and frowning in all the right places. You continued to talk, your words flowing out in a jumbled mess as you tried to make sense of your emotions. George listened intently, offering words of encouragement when needed. As you spoke, he moved closer to you.

It wasn’t a subtle move, you very much noticed him getting up and walking up to you, caging you in between his arms he rested on the counter behind you. He bowed his head so that his eyes were in level with yours and leaned forward, the words dying on your lips as he did so. Your faces were now only inches away, the air around you charged.

“When was the last time you got laid?” he asked.

You were taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. “W-What?”

He took a step back, giving you space to breathe. “You, my friend, are sexually frustrated.”

You hadn't been with anyone in a while, he was right, like he always was, but “And how do you know that?” there was annoyance in your voice as you crossed your arms.

He sat down in one of his kitchen chairs, leaning on the table behind and legs spread lightly.  “How long have we been friends for?”

“Almost twenty years. Why?” you frowned, not really seeing the point of this conversation.

He gave a slight nod in agreement. “And in that long period of time you think I wouldn’t have learned your,” his gaze traveled up your body until it finally settled on your eyes, “body language?” his tongue clicked.

You swallowed hard, feeling the atmosphere between you two shift. There was definitely an undercurrent of something more, but you weren’t sure if you were ready to go there just yet.

“This-That has nothing to do with this.” you choked out.

“So you’re saying,” he moved his head from side to side. “If I offered you a solution you would say no?” his eyes found yours again and his gaze was piercing.

You couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine as George's eyes locked with yours. You had expected a hug or some words of comfort, not a proposition. You knew what he was insinuating, and part of you was tempted to take him up on his offer. But the other part of you was hesitant, unsure if you were ready to cross that line with him.

You had to admit, the idea was tempting. George was an attractive man, and you had always felt a certain level of chemistry between the two of you. But did you want to risk your friendship for a moment of physical release?

“I…”

Upon noticing your hesitation, George decided for you. “Come here.” he patted his thigh.

Bolts of electricity ran through your body  at his words. There was no denying that the idea of him taking care of you in that way was incredibly arousing. And before you made up your mind, your legs carried you over to him.

He took your arm, leading you in front of him. “Turn aroud. Sit down.” he instructed softly.

“On y-”

“Yes, y/n, on my lap.”

If he wanted to, he could pull you by the arms and just place you there, but he waited for you to slowly sit down yourself, resting your hands on his knees, your back to him.

“Good girl. Now,” he leaned forward, hugging your waist. “If in any moment you feel uncomfortable or just want to stop for whatever reason, I want you to tell me. Alright?”

“Okay.” you nodded, his intense stare more than you could handle.

You were familiar with being this close to George; you'd even slept in the same bed side-by-side without any issue. You had held each other before, but his touch was always comforting and platonic. This time however, something more hung in the air - an energy that made your heart race with anticipation.

“Good.” he kissed your tense shoulder.

George's hands caressed your body with practiced ease, gently running down your sides, across your abdomen, up and down your jean clothed thighs in order to help you relax. Gradually, you leaned into him, your breaths deeper. His lips smoothed over your neck and you let out an unwilling moan.

“You’re doing good.” he reassured and you nodded, affirming that you heard him.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, diving under to caress your stomach. They were warm, but your back arched on a sudden skin on skin contact. He stopped for a moment until you relaxed again. Moving upwards, his fingers grazed the lace of your bra before he glided his palms to cup them.

You gasped and bit your lip, surprised by the new sensation of his hands so close to your growing chest, and leaned back on him even more, your nipples hardening. You loved the way George touched you, the way he made you feel. His hands ran up and down between you and your bra, squeezing your globes. His lips found your ear, nibbling on its lobe before he spoke.

“You have a beautiful body.” he whispered huskily.

A shudder ran up your spine at the pure lust in his voice. His right hand slipped under the cup of your bra, freeing your breast. You didn’t protest, you felt good. Instead, you arched your back more, pressing your chest more against his hand. His thumb and forefinger found your nipple and pinched and pulled on it, making you moan.

George lowered his head and licked your neck, kissing it softly and nipping it occasionally. His left hand joined in the fun and massaged your other breast, pinching its nipple just as his right hand was doing. You clamped your eyes shut, enjoying the sensation of his touch.

“Sensitive, aren’t you?” he chuckled.

You leaned back once again, despite your best efforts. Now his right hand made its descend down your stomach, making you wriggle in his lap, and reached the button of your jeans. Popping it open, that’s when you opened your eyes as well.

“George,” you gulped and put your hand over his. “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely,” he pulled you closer, pressing his lips reassuringly to your neck. “Are you not?”

“I’m just worried what it means to us, our friendship. I don’t want to ruin it.” you finally voiced your concerns.

“You won’t ruin it, babygirl.” he smoothed over your hair. “Friends help each other out, don’t they? You can look at it like that.”

“Yes, but…” We shouldn’t be doing this… you thought to yourself.

“We can stop if you-”

“No!” you were maybe a bit too quick to cut him off. “Let’s continue. I… I like it.” you could feel the heat rush into your cheeks.

He kissed your neck, working his way up to your ear. “I’m glad. Cause so do I.” his hand went back to what it was doing.

He pulled down your zipper, but didn’t push your pants down, exposing just your panties. His hand went back to your breasts, kneading them, feeling their weight. Every now and again his hand would brush past your nipple, sending tingles down your body.

You’re breathing was growing heavier, his hands were good at what they were doing and you didn’t want it to stop. He could feel you squirming in his lap, his smirk evident even though your head was turned.

“Someone’s excited.” he teased.

“S-Shut up.” you bit your lip, embarrassed.

His fingers dipped under the elastic line of your panties, and you were glad that you decided to shave that morning. His fingers ran over your mound slowly, feeling every curve, every spot. He circled around your clit, teasing you, before he moved further down, dipping one finger in a bit before pulling it back out.

You moaned and he chuckled. “You like that?” you nodded, trying to contain your moans. “You want me to continue?” you nodded again, too aroused to speak.

His fingers dipped deeper inside your folds, feeling the warm, wet sensation. When his fingers reached the bottom, he started to rub your entrance, pressing just a bit, sending pleasurable sparks through your body.

“Mhm,” he moaned into your ear, “my babygirl likes that.”

“Yes.” you shook your head, agreeing.

“Tell me.” he demanded.

“Yes, I like it. I want it.”

His finger pushed a bit further inside, and you bit your lower lip, unable to keep quiet. “You want what?” he asked in a low voice.

“I want it.” you said in a higher pitched voice, trying to sound like a grown woman. “I want your fingers inside of me.” you blushed.

“You want more?”

“Yes. Please.” you ground onto his finger, your hips following his thumb’s rhythm.

He pulled his hand out of your pants and you audibly expressed your dismay at the lack of contact. He responded by placing his hands on your hips and forcing you up off the chair. Tugging your jeans down, you stepped out of them and he was quick to pull you onto his lap once again. With a nudge from his knee, your thighs opened into a desirable position. His arm was securely locked around your waist, making sure that you wouldn't move away or slip off his lap.

“Now,” he played with your panties, pushing them aside. “You said you wanted more?”

“Yes, George. Please, George.” you whined.

“Only cause you said please.” he smirked and you could feel his teeth graze your skin.

His finger entered you again, slowly, stretching you, moving only an inch or so before pulling out again. When he felt that you were ready for more, he rhythmically started to finger you, gauging your reaction. His finger pushed a bit further in, making you squirm. He pulled it back out, a bit of your juices clinging to it before he thrust it back in. You gasped, feeling the full sensation of his finger inside of you. He added another finger, and you moaned, squirming on his lap, feeling so full. Your breathing had turned into moaning, echoing through the empty apartment in which you were in.

"Shh, babygirl, it's alright. You're doing good.” George’s free hand tangled in your hair, pulling it back, your exposed neck bared to him. He nibbled on it, biting and sucking, loving your reactions.

“Just, please, more.” you begged him.

“I don't think you're ready for that yet.”

His fingers became more insistent inside you, pushing deeper and deeper. He rubbed your g-spot, making your moans turn into pants.

“No, no, no, no.” you panted. “Please, just a bit more.”

“Would my babygirl like to come already?”

“Yes, please, I’m so close.” you said, almost crying, needing to come.

“Let me hear you say it.”

“George, please. I want it. I need it. Please.” you begged.

“God, I didn’t think hearing you beg would be such a turn on.” he confessed, his voice a deep rumble.

“Please, I need it. I need to come. I love it when you touch me like that. Please!” you were almost screaming by the end.

He went back on rubbing you, his fingers moving faster and faster. Slipping his thumb a few times inside you while his fingers were busy doing you, the other hand clamped on your hip for support. His thumb pushed in deeper, your juices coated it and he rubbed your g-spot with it, making you squeal.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes.” you said over and over again, panting.

“Come for me.” he hissed and his other hand wrapped around your throat, holding you gently.

You didn’t even need his encouragement, your whole body was aching for release. His fingers moved faster, rubbing your g-spot, his thumb pressing hard against it. You were soaked, his fingers gliding inside you. You moaned, louder than before, mumbling incoherently.

Your hips bucked on his lap and he held you in place, his fingers continuing their assault on your body. You were his toy, his play thing, and you enjoyed it more than you should have. You didn’t care anymore, you were drowning in pleasure, letting it consume you.

Lights burst behind your eyelids when you came, biting hard into your lip, muffling your screams. Your whole body relaxed from the pleasure, your arms giving out and you would have fallen if he had not held you. You leaned against him, recovering from your orgasm. Your head was laid on his chest and all you could hear was his breathing, slowing down.

When the orgasmic waves subsided, you became aware of your surroundings again and blushed.

“Th-thank you.” you stammered, chest still rising and falling visibly.

“You’re welcome.” he kissed your temple. “Feeling better now?”

“Yes.” you nodded.

“Glad I could help.” he said, his fingers playing with your hair, combing them through.

“You did, but George… This can’t happen again.” you finished, standing up to find your jeans. It was just an excuse to put some physical distance between you for you don’t think you could get the last part over your lips if you were still sitting on his lap.

“Oh,” was all he said. You couldn’t determine was he disappointed or the realization hit him.

“We are friends and I want it to stay that way. You are too important for me to lose over... such thing.” you zipped up your pants.

“I understand.” he said, his voice not betraying his true feelings.

You had expected it to be hard to say it, but it didn’t feel like a lie at all, it felt like the truth. It felt like the right thing to do.

“Thank you.”

He meekly nodded. “Do you want to stay over? We can watch tv or something…” he trailed off.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Okay.” he smiled and you smiled back.

You spent the rest of the evening wrapped in blankets on his couch, laughing as you watched bad television shows and poking fun at the characters and plots. Between you two was no uneasiness; you were laughing together like earlier events hadn't happened. And that moment looked like a promise that, no matter what, nothing will ever change between you two.

Or so you thought...

Next part

[alessiathepirate]

Until Dawn

A SMALL JOY: Josh Washington x fem!reader

Summary: Taking Dr Hill's advice, Josh and his lover go up to the lodge and look through all the things his sisters had left behind - after an interesting find she does her best to take his mind off the sadness he's experiencing.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I may have made while I wrote this short story.

To be honest, Until Dawn is still one of my favourite horror games. Thanks to the game I found my favourite YouTube channel, my English improved a lot because I wanted to understand every word, and I have a huge crush on Rami Malek to this very day. Me and my friends were obsessed with him the time the game came out, and soon started to watch more of his work together.

Josh Washington was one of my first fictional crushes, I could defend him for years without getting tired and I drew him so many times I actually learned how to draw portraits correctly.

There's a gameplay I like to rewatch every year, because of the great memories I have connected to it. I always fall in love with Josh Washington once again - and thanks to that tradition, I started to write for him as well.

Warnings: a bit of swearing, mentioned depression and loss, mentioning the Washington sisters' disappearance and/or death

•••

° "(...) We would come up in the summer and we would have the best time. The whole family was there - mom, dad, my sisters. It was some serious competition out there on the big lawn... I don't know. Can't go back. New reality." °

She listens carefully, noticing every little pitch or drop in Josh's voice as he speaks - and as he puts down the baseball bat all she can think about is grabbing him and pulling him into a hug, a tight one, the kind that is both loving and comforting. She watches him, she examines his every little move and her heart aches every single time she finds a new sign of sadness.

She hates it.

She hates that look on his face. She hates that change in his voice. She hates that he feels alone. She hates that the whole case is making him go crazy. She hates that nothing is certain and he can't even grieve.

She hates that he had to change so much; that he had to become this depressed because of some stupid, messed up prank their friends had decided to pull on his sister.

He didn't deserve any of it. He doesn't deserve any of it. None of the Washington kids do.

Coming up here was already hard - back to the mountain where Hannah and Beth disappeared, where they played around like stupid teenagers do. Dr Hill said it's for the best - Josh needs some closure, some proof that he needs to slowly start to move on. She thinks it's bullshit - Josh thinks so too. It won't be easy to put yourself through something like this.

But regardless, they came. They are here now, looking through the rooms, the basement...

The memories are hurting her - and if she as a friend is hurting this badly than Josh must suffer a lot.

"Teach me." the words suddenly burst out before she can stop them, wanting to make Josh concentrate on something else - not wanting him to get lost in his own mind.

"What?" the question is loud in the basement.

"Teach me how to play." she continues on, feeling unsure like she tries to cross a very thin and sensitive line. "I've never played baseball before."

"It's been a while since I did so." Josh starts to explain, his gaze falling on the bat he put down. "You really- want to?"

She steps closer to him slowly, carefully, as if she tries to get close to a very scared and wounded animal. She touches his arm, her fingers hold him as her thumb brushes along his skin in an up and down motion. She leans towards him, her face touching his shoulder as she presses a kiss to the area what isn't covered by his t-shirt.

"You don't have to if you don't want to." she whispers. "I know it's not-" she holds that thought and says something else instead: "I just haven't seen you play yet and I want to join in."

Josh looks at her over his shoulder, he looks at her as she tries to smile even if her eyes stay sad. He watches her like she's the only thing he has left, like she's the only person who matters anymore. He looks at her and feels something break inside, realizing that she really is the only one who he has.

"All right." he says and when he sees her eyes change a tiny bit - showing a bit of happiness - he feels his heart flutter. It makes him feel better, it makes him want to touch her too, putting his hand over hers - over the one which is still clinging onto his arm. "As long as you promise me you won't accidentally hit yourself with the bat."

And there's what he wanted to see - her expression changes, playful offence takes the sadness' place and she gently hits his back.

"Hey! I wouldn't do that."

"You totally wouldn't." his sarcasm earns him another punch and despite the situation and the place, he feels like he got something back.

The last time they bickered like this was half a year ago, the night his sisters had disappeared. They drank and played around until they started to make out in the kitchen, only stopping when Chris stepped inside the room wanting some booze for himself.

As they climb the stairs hand in hand they both feel somewhat relieved. They found a kind of small joy, a bit of happiness - something what they had left here months ago. Josh chuckles when she trips and almost falls, she feels excited as he hands her the baseball bat outside.

"Since there're only the two of us here, I think it's best I teach you how to hit the ball and not yourself."

"I'm not that clumsy Mister!" she tries to sound offended, but it doesn't work.

"I know you too well, girl; and I don't trust you with that at all."

Josh stands behind her, keeping a gentle hold on both of her arms as he explains how to stand and how to hold the bat. She chuckles when he playfully tickles her and this time she doesn't feel guilty about laughing. Before he lets go of her to throw the ball, he gives her a short hug and presses a kiss into the crook of her neck.

She misses the first time...

and the second time; and the third time...

She misses and Josh laughs and she thinks it's the most beautiful sight she's ever seen.

They change positions after a while and no matter how she throws, Josh never misses - not even once. He hits the ball every single time and it flies and lands far away.

She has the feeling that in that very moment, doing that very thing they both feel somewhat complete. She feels like Josh's smiles are honest, his laughs are honest and she forgets about Dr Hill and his stupid advice.

"No shit you like to play it." she says after a while as the both of them are lying in the grass, her head resting on Josh's arm. "It is fun."

"Believe me darling, it is much more fun when you actually hit the ball." his voice has a teasing edge to it and for a moment she thinks about turning towards him and hitting him playfully once again - but she doesn't.

Instead - hoping to get something more, trying to get a kind of good change out of him, she says: "I will, after a bit more training. You'll teach me, I have no doubt about that."

Josh turns towards her, gently touching her face and playing with her hair. She tries to read his face and she realizes that he understands what she's playing at. She wonders if he'll get upset or sad... but she gets an answer pretty quickly.

"I will - of course I will. You'll be the best player in this damn country."

The muscles in her face twitch and she feels like she'll cry. It's been so long, so long since Josh smiled and laughed that now seeing it again feels like a whole new experience. She doesn't want to leave the place or the moment. It's too nice.

"Better than you?"

"Way better." he promises and lets go of the lock of hair he's been playing with. "I love you, you know that, right?"

She feels frozen at the question and starts to wonder where it's coming from. The doubt in his voice, the softness in his eyes... He deserves the world, he deserves everything in it and he deserves to know that he does enough for her - she feels his love and every single emotion and action it causes.

"Of course I do... I know." she promises. "I love you too. And I'm here for you, no matter what."

It's her turn to lean in and she kisses him, making sure the kiss is soft and calm. She wants to make him feel whole and safe. She wants him to be happy.

They lay back down and stay quiet for a bit, enjoying the sunlight and the light summer breeze. She feels like she could melt. Melt into the feeling and moment forever, without ever getting bored.

"You know," Josh starts suddenly, his voice soft and unsure. "it's been a while since I've taken you out on a date."

"It's fine, Josh. These past months weren't exactly the best."

"No... I know." for a few moments he stays silent, not knowing what to say. "All I want to say is I have a few movies here we can watch and we can have a nice time before we-"

"-go back to them." she finishes, understanding what he means.

Them. All the friends, all the family members and pals who show an annoying amount of pity. All of those people who try to comfort Josh when doesn't want to do anything with them. The people who make him feel worse than better.

"I'd love that." she smiles at him as he turns towards him and hugs him. "But no horror."

"No horror." Josh nods.

It wouldn't be good for either of them.

She kisses his shoulder as they get going, stretching their muscles, before climbing the stairs to go and find the movies Josh was talking about.

As they look over his DVDs while hugging, all she can think about is how unfair life is, because Josh doesn't deserve any of the problems life threw at him...

[anzulvr]

ʚɞ On Purpose Karma x (fem) Reader || Chapter: 1 ୨୧

001 Game Time || Next

[Name] was standing behind the chain-link fence, wide-eyed and immersed in the E-class VS A-class baseball game exhibition.

"You can't seriously be interested in this— since when are you a sports fan?" Kaho scoffed.

"Since today?" Truthfully, [Name] wasn't all that interested in the game, her eyes were set on Karma.

"Oh I get it, you've got a thing for one of the players!"

"What? No! Where'd you get that from?!"

"Shindo right? Don't worry, I won't tell!" Kaho noted with a breathy laugh.

[Name] nodded fervently. It was better for Kaho to believe [Name] liked Shindo rather than word get out that she was dating Karma.

It was Karma's idea to keep everything on the down low, that way people wouldn't give her a hard time for being with him.

"Batter number eight, left fielder, Akabane." The commentator on the speaker brought her attention back to the field.

Karma stayed in place, all eyes were on him.

"Hang on, never pegged you as the type to play dirty, sir. If the rules haven't changed this little gambit ain't legal, they're bogarting the infield umpire should have called 'em on it by now."

His voice grew in confidence by the second, "Oh come on, anyone else smell a rat or is it just me?"

Karma turned to face the fence where most of the main campus was spectating from.

"Oh never mind, you guys are morons! Baseballs like a foreign language to ya!"

[Names] peers collectively grew angry, yelling insults back at him. Karma took it all in stride, turning back with a smile, happy to have elicited a response.

No one expected E class to play this well, even Shindo looked defeated, Kunugigaokas star player was struggling to get a hit against the lowest ranked class.

"Preed, do you mind getting us something to drink?" Kaho half-heartedly requested.

"Yeah I've got you, I'll be back!" He scurried off instantly, anything Kaho asked from him went.

"Kaho… don't you think this is a little much?" [Name] asked.

"It's not like they'll find out. Guys are such idiots."

Kaho dated a lot but not out of love, she got a kick out of toying with people, or maybe she wanted to feel loved, [Name] couldn't know for sure, she was only able to make assumptions based on what she saw on the exterior since Kaho wasn't the type to speak vulnerably.

"You're with three guys this time, and Preed is nice, I feel bad." [Name] said disapprovingly, she kept her tone hushed and careful no one was listening in.

"He'll live… Are you with me or against me?"

"Okay, Okay sorry."

If Kaho wasn't with Preed, she was with Seo or Yozo. [Name] couldn't go a day without third wheeling, ever since Karma was moved down to end class she hadn't had anyone else to hang out with.

Who knew baseball could be so intense? At some point Karma dodged a bat to the face by the millisecond, eventually, the game ended, the speakers blasted for the final announcement.

"The game is over, I can't even— this is insane… the winner is, I never thought I'd say this but the winner is E-class…!"

The students from the main campus complained about the loss as they left, the only people cheering were in end class themselves.

"Preed still isn't back, I'll go look for him, see you around [Name]." Kaho sighed on her way out.

[Name] pulled her phone out and sent Karma a message.

message start

[Name] Meet me at the small building to my left?

Karma looked around the field until his eyes caught yours, his focus went back to your contact as he typed out a reply.

[Karma] Yeah just a second Ill have to make an excuse

message end

"What are you smiling about Karma?" Rio grinned while trying to get a peek at his phone from behind his shoulder, unfortunately for her, he could sense her creeping up on him before she got the chance.

"I'm getting a call, I'll meet back with everyone in a few!"

Once he was out of earshot Rio turned to Hinano "What's he lying for? I wasn't able to read his screen but I know he wasn't getting a call."

"That's suspicious… What if he's hiding a girl!" Says Hinano "Or a body!" Fuwa chimes in

"Out of those two outcomes the body seems more plausible…" Rio laughs, she tilts her head as if she's got a brilliant idea, "Hey Ritsu, you should listen in on what he's doing through his phone!"

"I shouldn't eavesdrop… I told everyone I wouldn't do anything without full consent."

Unfortunately for Ritsu, Rio's knack for sweet-talking has always been unmatched, "Exactly! As his friends we have to look out for him, we can't do that if he's sneaking around all the time, doing this would make you such a caring friend!"

"I'd be caring…? I guess that makes sense, okay I'll do it for friendship!" Ritsu, who’s new to all sorts of human emotions and expressions, naively gathers up her resolve. Now she’s just as involved as the rest of the group.

ᝰ ♡

Karma put his batting helmet on [Name's] head "Sorry you had to watch us destroy your class on the field." He bragged, not anything new.

"I was rooting for you, keeping my poker face was hard!"

"Your eyes were shaped like hearts and you were practically foaming at the mouth, your poker face could use some work."

"I was not! Anyway, how are things in E class? You look pretty close with everyone." [Name] turned the topic around.

"Is that jealousy I hear? Cute, but don't worry [Name] I still like you best."

"I'm not jealous! Just a little worried, the way Mr. Ono decided to send you to end class was harsh."

"I'm good I promise, I like it better in 3E, The only thing I miss about the main campus is you." He flicked her forehead. [Name] handed the helmet back to him, playfully shoving it into his chest.

"I know I complain about how annoying you are every day but, I wish Mr. Ono sent me to End class with you."

Karma smiled and shook his head no, "Don't go getting crazy ideas, tell you what, i'll take you out to eat as a consolation prize!"

"It's not a consolation prize if I wanted you to win!"

"Right, so what I'm hearing is, you're paying?"

"I take it back! I'm so upset you won…please pay for us!"

"Fineee…" He feigns disappointment "We'll go to [Café], right after school tomorrow, don't be late!"

[trilliwarner]

everything's fine 🍂

in which: chris sturniolo is your best friends and he's having some doubts about the future

pairing: chris sturniolo × f!reader

warnings: fluffy, kissing, a bit sad(?)

author's note: hiii! this is my first one, so it's probably kinda bad, but whatever. plus, english is not my first language, so please don't judge. hope you guys enjoy it!!!

"are you going to a party tonight?" i see my mother pass by the mirror in front of me, as she is putting some of my clothes on top of the dresser.

"no, why?" i look at her strangely from the mirror, without then turning around.

"you're taking so long to get ready, longer than usual. then i thought you're going to a party" she stands beside me.

"ah, no" i say merely without specifying anything else.

"so where are you going?" she gives a small smile "are you going out with the triplets? do you have to see christopher?". my mom has had this fixation since i've known the triplets, so practically forever, and she thinks there's something going on between chris and me.

"mom" i say stretching out the 'o' of the name, embarrassed.

"what is it, honey?" she giggles, playing dumb.

"go now, i have to finish getting ready" and without another word she leaves the room.

although my mom teased me, she's right. i have to go to nick, matt, and chris's house. especially for chris, but this would probably be best kept quiet.

"okay, mom, i'm going out" i say by now downstairs. i retrieve my house keys and say goodbye to her.

"don't be too late!" she recommends before i finally leave the house and close the door behind me.

i walk down the few steps of the driveway with my head down and make my way to my friends' house.

*****

ding dong, i ring the doorbell.

opening to me is nick, wearing a chef's apron. "hi y/n, welcome!" he gives me a gentle hug and then lets me into the house.

"hello beautiful" matt greets me from the living room with a smile.

"hello matt" i throw him a flying kiss and he playfully catches it with his hand and locks it in his palm.

"chris!" yells matt "y/n has arrived!"

"coming!" we hear chris shout from another room.

"what are we planning to do tonight?" i ask not aimed at anyone in particular.

"i'm making cookies" says nick, licking a finger to clean it of the dough "we could watch a movie?" he proposes.

"that's fine with me," i reply.

"i'll pick it, though!" says matt immediately, throwing himself on the couch to grab the remote before someone else does it before him.

i don't have time to retort that i am immediately drawn in by another voice. chris. "hey" chris smiles at me as he sees me. he walks over to me and pulls me into a hug "how are you?"

"alright, chris, you?" i smile too.

"i'm fine" he replies.

"okay, okay, good" he starts to say nick "lovebirds, it's okay, break away" he continues "chris come here and help me".

before breaking away from the hug he leaves a quick kiss in my hair, then joins nick in the kitchen while i join matt in the living room.

"chosen what are we going to watch?" i sit next to him, resting my head on his shoulder. he nods his head yes.

"but tell me about it" he makes to change the subject "with chris?" he looks at me.

"with chris, what?" i take the remote control in my hand and start playing with it.

"i mean" he says "between you and chris, is there something going on?"

"mh, no" i reply vaguely "why?"

"i don't know" he shrugs "it seems so" he returns his gaze to the television and neither of us adds anything else.

*****

after a good hour of watching the movie i hear chris mumble something. "what did you say?" i turn in his direction and whisper so as not to disturb the others.

"nothing" he mumbles again.

"what did you say?" i repeat, still referring to before.

"only feel like having a pepsi" rightly.

"who would have thought it" i giggle.

"shh!" admonishes nick, turning a glare on me.

"sorry, sorry" i say in a low voice. "go get one" i turn to chris, then return my attention to the screen.

not even a second later chris gets up from the couch - his obsession with pepsi is impossible to stop, it's insatiable - only he looks a little discouraged. matt and nick look at me questioningly, and i just say "he wants a pepsi" with a shrug. the two of them shake their heads and go back to watching the movie.

i take a quick glance at both of them, and i notice that matt gives me like a nod as if he has already understood my intentions. i get up pretending that i have to go to the bathroom, so that chris won't find out right away. as i pass by the kitchen i stop and see chris with a can of pepsi in his hand who is looking at the empty space in front of him.

"why don't you go back?" i ask, but he doesn't answer me. i go next to him and wait for him to say something, but nothing. he just lets out a loud sigh. "are you sure you're okay?" i look at him.

"yeah" he nods once "i'm just sleepy, i've had very little sleep tonight" he gives a tugged smile, trying to convince me that everything is fine.

"chris..." i say softly, moving back in front of him.

"do you mind if it's just the two of us here for a while?" he asks, but without making eye contact with me "the other two are too focused on watching the movie anyway."

"sure" i say "no problem."

in truth it's not true that there's no problem, i'm worried about chris. he's aloof today. something has happened for sure.

during moments of silence i move over and sit with my legs dangling over the countertop. chris takes a sip from the can and then stands in front of me. he lays the can down beside me, spreads my legs slightly and stands between them resting his hands on the sides of my thighs.

"chris" i call his attention, at which point he looks at my face. his eyes are off. "will you tell me what's going on, please? what's wrong?" i take off the red hat on his head and put it on myself.

he snorts and shakes his head. "i don't know" he lowers his head until it rests on my chest, moving both hands to my hips, and then he lets out another sigh. "i don't know what's going on" he adds.

i slowly stroke his hair. "you're sad, chris. it's not like you to be like this" i say "there must be something wrong if you're like this. don't make me worry".

"really, i don't know" he repeats and lifts his head up returning to look at me "it's kind of like that" he continues "i'm just not in the picture, that's all".

"oh, chris" i start to say "that's it? what's going on in your damn head?"

a few seconds pass before he decides to give an answer. "i happen to think that sooner or later all this, maybe, will be gone" he says "the stuff with matt and nick, the videos and the fans, my relationship with you. all of this seems too good to be true" he explains.

i sigh, continuing to look him in the eyes. does he really think about these things? "listen to me" i say "i'm not sure things will stay the way they are now, but i'm sure we'll all do everything to make sure we don't grow apart over the years, that we don't drift apart" i continue "i get to think about it too, but, chris, i try not to let that thought wallow in me. i try to think more about what we have now and how, over time, that can only get better. and that's what you need to do too" i say, trying to calm him down.

"okay" he says "alright".

"chris" i call him again "you know that if you need me, i'm always here. i'm not going anywhere without you guys, without you" i say, marking that 'you' more.

"and now come here" i then add. i spread my arms wide and he immediately pulls me into one of his amazing hugs.

he starts to leave me a few little kisses here and there and, in between them, occasionally murmurs a "thank you."

i chuckle slightly, feeling chris' kisses on my chreks. "chris" i murmur at one point.

"hmm?" he mutters as he returns to look at me, though staying very close to my face.

we peer carefully into each other's eyes, trying to guess who will be the one to take the first step between the two. we both know that this first step will be there.

a few seconds later, he is the one who moves. he comes even closer to me and with a quick jerk he is on my lips. with a gesture he drops behind my back his hat that i had on my head until just now, while i immediately and completely let go of the kiss without even thinking about it several times. i push myself further forward so that i feel more contact with him. his hands are still on my hips, while i bring my arms behind the back of his head, touching his hair.

he passes his tongue over my lips, as if asking my permission to deepen the kiss, and i don't hesitate to give him the go-ahead. and as soon as our tongues make contact i immediately feel the taste of pepsi invade my mouth. it's pleasant. more than pleasant.

"guys, what's taking you so lon-" we both gasp at hearing matthew's voice and surprised we instantly pull away, red in the face and with swollen lips. remaining close, however.

in embarrassment i rest my head in the crook of chris's neck as he turns to his brother who is still here with us.

"oops... sorry," he says under his breath, "did i interrupt something?" he chuckles. no matt, do you think so? quiet, you didn't interrupt anything at all!

"fuck, matt!" chides him chris, holding back a smile though "go away!"

"yes, yes, i'm leaving" and then i hear the sound of matt's footsteps, not before i hear a "I knew it!".

chris turns back to me and i return my gaze to him, at which point we both burst out laughing.

"that was pretty embarrassing," i say between laughs.

"I knew it would happen sooner or later" he admits.

"the kiss or matt seeing us?" i ask, intrigued by this statement.

he pretends to think about it and then replies "both."

"oh yeah?"

"mh mh" he looks at me and nods before pulling us closer and kissing me again.

"okay, okay" i let our lips touch again but then i rest a hand on his chest and gently push him away "before someone else discovers us there."

"right" he pulls away, though reluctantly. "well then" he starts to say "i'm going back to the living room".

"yes" i nod and get off the table "i'm going to go to the bathroom for a moment and then i'll join you".

"okay" he says and then disappears toward the living room.

i remain a few moments befuddled staring at the exact spot where he disappeared, thinking about what just happened. only, without even almost noticing, i feel chris' lips settle on mine again to leave me with a quick kiss in the form of a smirk.

[madaqueue]

Dripping in Gold | Chapter 3

synopsis: finding a job was never easy, and why even bother trying after you meet satoru gojo, a man with mysterious and exorbitant wealth, who wants nothing more than to spoil you with it? the only caveat to your little arrangement is that it can never, ever, become personal.

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au, sugar daddy gojo. language, fluff, smut. kissing, brief fingering (f receiving), car sex. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.3k

a/n: the way i've given up proofreading this lmao lemme know if y'all find any errors bc i'm simply not looking for em anymore! anyways eat up :)

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

What the hell did I get myself into?

The question repeats in your mind while the cool air in Gojo’s car blasts against your skin, still hot from earlier, as his hand returns to its natural place along your thigh.

After your little encounter, he promised to take you to one of his favorite places for lunch. He also promised to wash your soiled panties for you as he shoved them into his pocket with a smirk, citing how “gentlemanly” he is.

The events of less than an hour prior replay in your mind as you remember how his touch felt, how his lips pressed against yours, how badly you wanted him to bend you over and fuck you then and there. But instead, he just picked up all the dresses you had tried on and marched them out of the changing room to the front of the store, setting them down and paying without a second thought. “Oh, and we’ll take the yellow one she’s wearing, too,” he chirps to the attendant as she rings up an amount you can’t even fathom.

You get pulled out of your thoughts as the car stops, your door opening suddenly as Gojo once again holds his hand out to you. He has brought you to an adorable restaurant you’ve never even seen before, with yellow flowers lining the walkways and windowsills of the old building, perfectly complementing the new outfit you have on.

Once again, the date is actually really lovely. He orders you both champagne and tells you to get whatever else you want from the menu, and conversation flows naturally between you two, almost like old friends. Wanting to learn more about him, you direct the discussion to his past, probing to understand more about his background. While he often acts like an open book, you find that there are three things he will absolutely not talk about: his family, his home, or his money. Whenever one of these topics comes up he maneuvers the conversation elsewhere, often deflecting back to you.

That said, holy shit does this man love to talk - you bet that if you put him in an empty room he’d speak just to hear his own voice. He seems to know something about everything, and he wants to make sure you know it, too.

“Do you ever shut up?” you tease after his fourth time interjecting a random, unwarranted piece of information into a story you were telling him.

“Hmm,” he thinks, bringing a hand up to ruffle through his hair. “Nope, I don’t think so,” a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

While the time you spend with him is nice, his inability to be forthcoming does put you slightly on edge. You can’t help but find yourself wondering, in a tiny corner of the back of your mind, what’s the catch? Why is someone who seems so perfect possibly interested in you?

You push the feelings of unease down as you continue your meal. Eventually you look up and see his eyes locked on yours, taking in your every move. The cerulean pierces through you like a cold wind, and you can’t quite place the feeling it sends through you until you feel his fingertips brush against your knee from under the table.

Desire.

“You know,” you say, a grin slowly forming on your face, “I love this dress, but I almost feel like it’s getting a bit uncomfortable.”

“Oh yeah?” he tilts his head, knowingly playing into your little game. “Well, that’s a shame.” He sighs dramatically. “I guess you could take it off, if you really need to.”

“Mhm,” you hum, “I might need your help with that, though.”

Leaning forward slightly, his words come out airy, “Anything for you, princess.”

He stands up and holds his hand out again, your fingers intertwining with his as his free hand pulls out his wallet and drops a few hundred dollar bills on the table, more than enough to cover your meal. Leading you back to his car, you feel your heart start to race in anticipation.

Pulling open the back door, you hop in first and get comfortable against the seat before he joins you inside. You hadn’t noticed how spacious the back of his car is but you’re grateful that it at least won’t be uncomfortable; you expected him to take you back to his place or yours, but this will do just fine for now, as your need for him was increasing with every second he wasn’t inside you.

Immediately upon closing the door his lips crash into yours, soft and warm against the lingering cool air inside the vehicle. As you sit in his lap his arms reach around your body to undo the zipper of your dress before sliding it over your head, tossing it somewhere into the depths of the car.

Since your panties were already stuffed into his pocket and you hadn’t worn a bra, you were now fully bare in front of him. He pulls away from the kiss for a moment, allowing his eyes to slowly cover every inch of your body, taking you in as a smile curls at the corners of his lips.

Gojo lays down with his back against the seats so you can straddle him, legs around his waist as you start to undo the buttons of his white dress shirt. With your eyes closed and hands shaking slightly in excitement, you take longer than the man would like as he sighs against your lips and simply rips his shirt open, muttering “I’ll buy a new one,” as it slides off his shoulders.

Your eyes open for a moment to take in his body beneath you - his firm chest, abs surrounded by a v-line that dipped below the waist of his pants, practically begging you to trace along it with your fingers. As you do, you hear Gojo’s breath hitch momentarily at your touch.

“Aw, are you nervous?” you tease against him as your fingertips brush along his waistband, slowly fumbling against the buckle of his belt.

He smirks at you through the kiss. “Just impatient.”

Before you can quip back, he has undone his belt and zipper, allowing you to pull his black slacks down to his ankles, sitting up slightly to let him kick them off. Your hands find the top of his black boxers before his hands wrap around your wrists.

Pulling his mouth away from yours for a moment, his eyes open to meet your gaze. “Are you sure?” he asks through a breathy sigh.

You nod eagerly, starting to lean back down before a hand reaches up to stop you.

“Say it,” he commands, voice suddenly low and raspy.

“I want to fuck you, Satoru,” the words barely leaving your mouth before your lips crash back into his, a new greediness between both of you as your tongues glide against each other’s.

Your attention turns back to undressing him as you pull his boxers down, revealing his fully erect cock. The tip flushed, needy, drawing your hands to it as you use your thumb to drag the leaking precum around his tip before sliding your hand loosely down his length. Satoru sighs into your open mouth at the feeling, reaching his own hand down between your legs.

As soon as he touches you, you feel electricity shoot through your body, his fingers barely brushing against your clit. Maybe you were still horny from earlier, maybe you just needed him that badly, but something in you couldn’t wait any longer.

Your hips move so you’re hovering above him, using your hand around his base to align him with your entrance. His tip slowly enters you, the feeling already threatening to send you over the edge as you envelop him in your warmth.

He moans your name softly as you drop your hips to take all of him inside of you. His cock stretches at your walls, the mix of pleasure and pain better than anything you’ve felt before. You fit him perfectly as he fills up every last inch of you, your wetness allowing him to glide in and out with ease.

“Wanted you so bad,” he murmurs against your lips as you grind your hips in circles up and down his length, “needed you.” One of his hands grips at your waist while the other snakes behind you to grab the thick flesh of your ass.

You continue your movements, using one hand on his chest to stabilize yourself, his cock pressing into every last part of you. “S’good, you feel s’good,” he babbles, a never-ending stream of consciousness leaving his mouth as your body moves against his.

Damn, he really can’t shut up, can he? you think to yourself with a grin.

You don’t mind though, the silky lightness of his voice only adding to your pleasure. As you feel yourself approaching your release, your pussy clenches around him, eliciting another moan from the man underneath you.

His grip tightens on your waist as he suddenly begins thrusting his hips up into you, adding to the pace. You open your eyes slightly as he reaches even deeper into you, glancing down to see the veins in his arms as his fingers dig into your skin.

“F-fuck, I’m close,” he whines, desperation dripping from his voice as he continues pumping into you.

“Me too, ‘Toru,” the words leaving your throat in a hoarse whisper.

You don’t even process the nickname, something simply spoken out of ease as sounds struggled to escape your lips through moans of pleasure, but it sends butterflies through Satoru’s body as he is suddenly pushed into his climax. You follow almost immediately, your body racked with pleasure as your legs shake and cunt flutters around his cock as he finishes inside of you.

The humidity of the car finally hits you as you try to slow your breathing, realizing both you and Satoru are covered in a thin layer of sweat as you peel yourself off of him to sit up.

“Wow,” he pants, reaching a hand up to brush white hair off of his slightly damp forehead, “that was amazing.”

“I know,” you reply slyly, leaning down to place a peck against his lips.

He chuckles, “So cocky already? And here I thought we could have a sweet post-fuck cuddle or something.”

You can’t stop yourself from giggling. “Oh yeah, in the comfort of the back seat of your car?”

“Aw, are you saying you don’t like my car?” he fakes a pout. “Guess you can just walk home then.”

You roll your eyes at his teasing. “You and I both know damn well I’m not walking home, and we aren’t going anywhere until you find my dress.”

“As you wish, sweetheart,” he smirks, sitting up and wrapping his arms tightly around you, placing a wet kiss on your cheek as you laugh and squirm in his lap.

–

For a while, things with Satoru are easy. You find yourself slipping into a rhythm with him: he calls you, he takes you out somewhere, you fuck, and he pays you. It feels nice to finally be able to afford to live again and not stress about your job hunt, and you start to genuinely enjoy the time you spend with him, looking forward to your weekly dates.

Between the times you see him, you also find yourselves communicating more often. He starts sending you pictures of himself trying on clothes in that all-too-familiar dressing room, asking for your opinions on what he should get so he can match you whenever you go out somewhere. You start video calling each other too, getting to see that stupid grin on his face whenever you pick up. Usually you just talk about your days or what shows you're watching, but you slowly start bringing him more into your life, telling him about your family and whatever gossip you hear about from your friends. A few times you’ve even invited him to come out with your group, but he always declines with a vague excuse. A part of you wants more, to have him in your life fully, but you also know that it would bring with it the complicated explanation of how you met and how your relationship first started.

You also begin to notice that you never hook up in your apartment or his - it’s always in restaurant bathrooms, his car, or the few times he’s gotten you a hotel room to stay with him overnight. You don’t particularly mind, since your apartment is still not the cleanest, although it’s certainly gotten better with your newfound free time, but it does seem odd to you. Whenever you try to bring it up, he just shrugs or brushes it off with a wave of his hand. “It’s too personal,” he always reasons, and you decide that you either have to drop it and accept how things are or push it and risk losing him.

Around six months after your first date, something changes. He drops you off at home after an amazing dinner at a new steakhouse and even better sex, this time in the private lounge of the restaurant. Inside your apartment you shower and head straight to bed. When you awake the next morning, you see two notifications on your phone: one from your bank informing you of a deposit of $6,000, and one from Gojo.

Gojo: Sorry about not paying you right away last night, I must have been a little distracted after our dinner and dessert 🥰 (the dessert was us having sex). I sent you a bit extra as compensation for any emotional damages I may have caused <3

You roll your eyes, a smile involuntarily forming on your lips as you read his message. Suddenly, it hits you: you didn’t even notice that he didn’t pay you. For months, that had been the routine, the expectation you both had set and agreed to. But last night, you didn’t notice. And maybe, you didn’t care?

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[lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit]

hi, the way this blog is formatted and the menu is written is so creative and fitting! i had a great time looking through it

may i request some fem reader w rocky? maybe him playing the violin or reciting poems in a public space to himself and reader is the only one to react (positively) so he immediately is struck in awe. please and thank you :)

Good evening, Anon!! First off, thank you very much for the compliment. Two things you should know, however...

This ended up over three thousand words long somehow. (For the record, it was gonna be a scenario.)

It's the cheesiest meet-cute I've ever written, so I advise you all to brace yourselves, folks-

That being said, enjoy!! <3

When you heard it, everything else quieted.

The thunder of cars bolting down a busy road, metal armor bobbing upon four wheels as they broke past and left smaugful clamor clashing against the monstrum business blocks, softened to but a distant skitter of shiny black bugs ambling self-importantly about. The cacophony of pedestrians, indiscernible faces in square suits and tasteful pastels spewing bits of language into one converging mess, each voice independent yet competing for dominance until they clawed at your eardrums and suffocated your thoughts now felt no graver than the meek rustle of forest foliage when coddled by the summer breeze; a humming chorus to a beautiful solist’s serenade, and when a bycicle trilled inches past normally skittish, city-dweller you it didn’t even occur to step aside as you were far too absorbed in the one delightful sound that made the greys of asphalt’s reign seem greyer and dulled even the most striking women’s daywear to sun-worn cleaning rags in comparison.

It was a melody the color of blue, matching his eyes.

You hadn’t a chance to admire them for long when you spotted him in the crowd. They drifted closed for long stretches of time as their owner’s features suggested a deep, gentle focus on the music, his whole being smoothing into the instrument. There was something bewitching about the violin, you found; seemed even its players could seldom resist its particular pull, fingers dancing across the strings as if possessed by magic. The rosined bow dipped to and fro in a hypnotic sequence that pulsed like the rise and ebb of the tides; sometimes the pace changed, slowed to but a meandering, peaceful ponderance before it flew from the threads of catgut like nimble sparks of lightning, with the ease and comfort of at least a thousand hours of practice.

Must’ve been a classical piece, if not improv; but for that far too complex. Vivaldi? Mozart? You hadn’t heard it before, so you couldn’t confirm, however it proved the enchanting stranger to be both talented and educated. He looked up from his divine craft to initiate eye contact with passersby and, yes, he had the bluest eyes indeed, seated under emphatic brows, and he gave a hopeful smile of such integrity to those undeserving strangers who walked past in indifference as if he’d been an smaug-borne ghost, a trick of the light invisible to all but yourself and when he turned in resignation and his gaze caught upon you, playing still, your breath hitched in your throat.

How long had you been gawking there, frozen on the sidewalk like a dimwit? Oh, no. He must have thought you such a creeper; a notion which you had to rectify, and rectify it quick. Puff your chest out, march up, tell him you liked his playing and leave a dime; you took off at once with this very plan in mind.

In doing so, you forgot you had stood on opposing sides of the road.

Heels clicked across hot concrete in a headlong hurry. You realized that the cars were still coming midway through when his eyes widened in horror and a spontaneous screech of tires replaced that joyous melody. You stumbled back, blinded by car polish and a pair of glaring headlights you profusely apologized to before skittering away from a second car in the right lane when it came to an angry halt likewise. Loud honks scolded you along your path whilst you yelled back sheepish sorries.

Well, talk about making an entrance.

As you reached the paved edge, a hand manifested to help you up on it.

“Are you alright, miss?”

And blue eyes. You felt yourself sink further into the road with the transient wish those cars had hit you after all, nonetheless took the offer and tottered along with the stranger’s help. He held bow and violin in his other hand, by the neck, and you narrowly avoided stepping on their rickety case with a meager amount of coins and a crumpled up bill inside.

Ah, right. He’d been busking, after all.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he reiterated, scanning you, and you realized you’d missed the previous question. “It’s hardly safe to cross this thoroughfare without looking both ways first, you know. You ought to try that next time.”

“I know, I know– I’m sorry. I’m fine.”

You weren’t. Not when this handsome vagabond with the most radiant blue oculars you’d ever seen and enough of a musical gift to put you in a trance kept observing you from such proximity whilst implicitly chiding you for being a tunnel-visioned idiot.

“Well, great news, then!” he grinned. Oh. That’s a lot of teeth, you noted with slightly raising eyebrows. “I doubt I’d have been able to sleep tonight had you met an undue fate under the stampede of these motorized beasts all for just trying to reach me.”

An odd penchant for metaphors, too. When you didn’t respond right away, he withdrew his gesturing hand in contemplation.

“You… were careening specifically my way, yes?”

“Yes!”

You snapped out of your appreciation for his endearingly boyish timbre and thereby commenced a frantic battle with your purse as you attempted to pry something from it.

“Right, I was heading this way– just give me a moment–”

He watched in intrigue as you counted something he couldn’t see under your breath, then produced the intended amount of what he identified to be cash and reached to hand it over to him, near breathless.

“I really loved your playing.”

You couldn’t bear to look him in the eye yet hardly missed his astonishment when he conceived the sum.

“Miss, that’s ten dollars.”

“Yes,” you affirmed curtly. “What of it?”

“I can’t accept that.”

Hearing which, you did finally face him with a frown.

“You’re a very kind soul,” he asserted in a hurry, smile never faltering, “and I’m thoroughly humbled by your contribution, but I cannot rob a lady of her hard earned pay in good conscience for that frivolous noise–”

“It was beautiful noise,” you interjected with knitted brows, “I really did enjoy it, and you deserve much better audience than the pedestrians of some drab street corner who’ll never bother to pay your music the attention it deserves.”

You pointed curtly toward the flow of people. Some in turn spared you a glance, but then you blended into their scenery again like another pair of shop mannequins.

“So take it from a lady,” you enunciated, all but shoving the money in his chest, “and I sincerely hope you end up in a concert hall someday.”

You exhaled and waited. He stared at your extended hand, then you, then at your hand and back again and gorgeous as you found those gleaming sapphires you couldn’t for the life of you tell what he was thinking. Your arm muscles trembled, and you contemplated whether sparing yourself from the awkwardness of further playing statue might be worth giving up anyway.

Finally, he seized your wrist with both hands. He didn’t seem to notice your startlement as he was busy beaming at you bright enough to put celestial bodies to shame.

“What’s your name?”

“Uh…”

God forsake it, that smile alone was turning your heart into a fluffy, overripe dandelion inside your chest. If he kept up, you feared he might just blow it apart.

But you managed to tell.

“Well, miss…” he began, implementing your surname, and you would’ve bolted on pure instinct had you not taken root at your spot, “your generous praise is, by far and large, the most invaluable gift I could’ve received on this brilliant morning.”

You took a deep inhale, acutely aware of his touch tingling across your skin even though he meant nothing by it… you supposed.

“You have certainly made a lowly troubadour’s day with your gracious approbation,” he patted your knuckles, at the same time gently shoving your offer away. “You see, I could tell from the moment our gazes locked across the street that I would enjoy the pleasure of meeting someone positively extraordinary… right after she ambled through the active traffic. Call it a concise connection of kindred souls, if you will. You, miss, have proved yourself a true appreciator of the arts.”

When those blue eyes were holding yours hostage so intently, you almost did believe he could see into your very soul. You tried to brave it, however.

“Thank y–”

“Which is why this won’t be needed.”

You held the rejected money against your chest, where he had guided it.

“You’ll be better off forfeiting it to charity,” he suggested, “if aiding the honest predicaments of your fellow citizens in need is a cause dear to your heart. Like orphans! Those poor, unmothered things, always caught in the throes of some quintessential lack or other; surely they could put your benevolent funds to good use… that is, in case you are looking to make a charity. If you’re not interested in, erm, providing for the orphans, that’s still quite fine. You just seem to me the sort to care for children. But that doesn’t make it your obligation, of course, to feed the orphans… no one is about to force that duty upon you… in equally sound conscience I suppose you could just as well keep the money…”

He proceeded along his mildly morally concerned tangent, but any of it beyond the lip movements you ceased to process. Some convoluted cliché about personal indulgence over supporting the waifs of the world, you reckoned. In terms of lifting your spirits it achieved a ludicrous heap of nothing, and amidst your silent marinating in this strange and unexpected failure of your strange and unexpected encounter, you continued to clutch the bills to yourself.

You didn’t figure that may have looked like dismay on his end until he trailed off, fidgeting vaguely as he probed your expression. The warmth of his hands on yours still lingered.

“My attempt at a point is,” he resumed at a slower pace, “you’re awful generous, but to tell you the truth, I’m quite comfortably off without the help. I am employed, after all.”

“You are?”

Rude as it sounded to gape the question so, you hadn’t considered that possibility. He was… well, not badly dressed, but his clothes appeared worn and a tad oversized on his comically skinny limbs, granting him a ragamuffin sort of appearance.

Though you still found it quite charming.

“Sure am!” he grinned in earnest, and you’d soon come to accept that his face simply looked that way when he did. “This is only some nifty supplemental income for a craft I spend day and night honing anyway. Really, I play out here to preserve my associates’ peace of mind more than anything. The other day they got so peeved with all the melodic caterwauling my boss had to fetch a broomstick and chase me out into the great wide open after failing to quiet me down.”

A chuckle escaped you at the joke, and it’s like his eyes gleamed brighter.

“What can I say,” he admitted with a theatrical shrug, “a musician’s ichor pulses to the ever-flowing rhythm of higher realms beckoning. That can hardly be helped. When my eager heart doesn’t sing Apollo’s odes from the strings, it reaches for the lyre, however… but they don’t deal in stanzas and limericks on the job market in contemporary times.” He glanced off into the distance wistfully, as if envisioning an ideal future where they did. “Miss M, our aforementioned lady-in-charge, says it’s only since our customers can’t exactly do the Lindy Hop to recitativo verse form.”

“So that means you’re a poet?”

“Indeed!”

You hummed in acknowledgement. He gave his vest a proud little adjustment as part of the performance, not that it served to make him look any more presentable.

“Vivacious vicinal versificator,” he expatiated with a playful half-bow, “humble herald of numinous inspiration, eulogizing the beauties of this peculiar earthly life to the cobblestone and the stars for a passtime. Old Muddy Miss herself has proven to be my most faithful audience… and for lack of substantial competition, in her listening skills she remains unexcelled.”

“Not for long, I should hope.”

That made him pause. Your nerves struck you alert as you rushed to explain.

“That is, well, I would be curious to join said, um, audience… mayhaps… sometime. I mean– you have a fascinating vocabulary, sir, so I can only imagine…”

He listened on with perplexed blue eyes; you mentally smacked yourself for the honorific. No one so refreshingly unrefined as this overeager stray puppy of a man could even remotely qualify for a ‘sir’, and you were happy about that, because had you made so many social blunders with any other stranger in succession you would’ve craved death.

He took his sweet time providing a readable reaction, but when he did he laughed. Not with a mocking edge, as you had feared; the sound tinkled as melodically as his trusty violin.

“Oh, miss, you’re just a bundle of pleasant surprises.”

You came to chuckle along, too, a nervous smile stretching your lips. He took your hand again.

“I’d be delighted to deliver a private recital,” he dipped forward then paused, perhaps contemplating whether a kiss on the back of it would be appropriate, peering up at you in a bluest display of rapt attention that made your heart leap, “if that’s truly the case.”

You averted your eyes. The vague unease as if you’d given your name to a fae in a stroke of recklessness minutes prior melted into the bustle of sluggish, smoke-ridden traffic.

“So where is it that you work?” you switched the topic.

Attuned, he let go of your hand as if it had burned him, adjusting his hat like an excuse.

“Little Daisy Café,” he responded quickly, perpetual cheer intact. “It’s just an ambitious spit from here, actually, a few blocks down that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction from where you’d been headed. “Awful cute little gem of an establishment. Perhaps you’ve been to?”

“No, not that I recall.”

“Well, I can only recommend that you drop by. The pancakes are to die for.”

“And there’s live music?”

You both glanced at the violin, then back at each other. He gave you another grin that you couldn’t help but detect as somewhat complicit.

“Makes your early beverage taste all the sweeter.”

You let your eyes linger on one of the boutique windows in the background; a closed one under construction. The ample light struck it at an angle which obscured the debris-filled darkness and activity inside, flawless glass surface glimmering at front in gorgeous deceit. Its reflective sheen conjured an alluring vision; deep azure sky dotted with fringed, fluffy lamb-clouds.

Suppose you offered it.

“Well, if you won’t let yourself be tipped,” you sighed, putting your money away, “may I treat you to breakfast, at least? A plate of those fabled pancakes, even?”

Childlike delight flashed across his face before the metaphorical reins were pulled back with a frantic grip.

“Why, miss, you’re spoiling me,” he lamented, “but I really shouldn’t–”

“I was heading for the bakery myself,” you continued with a pacifying gesture, “but now with your recommendation in mind, I might as well try a treat from that ‘little gem’ of a café, no? You could show me the way there, and… I suppose I could listen to those stanzas of yours, if you’d be willing to share…”

The words intended to compose the rest of your reasoning kept tumbling from your grasp before you could string them together, and someone in the crowd of pedestrians laughed. A snooty, feminine laugh. He kept watching you and you only, however, engulfing you in that mysterious blue once again.

“…granted that is okay with you, of course.”

He began to smile like the sun itself and dove with startling momentum for the violin case.

“Why, it’d be most uncouth to refuse the benevolent offer of such lovely ladyship,” he concluded while packing away his instrument then slapped the lid over the case once finished, money withstanding, “and I don’t reckon I’ll make two more pennies to rub together this morning, so I’d be more than happy to escort you along.”

He grabbed the handle and sprung up, beaming at you with the energy of a couple additional suns before he got an idea and moved to offer his free arm toward you like the smoothest of gallants. Clearing his throat, to boot.

“Mademoiselle?”

You put a hand to your chest, accentuating the action with a playful once-over.

“Chivalrous,” you chuckled before locking his arm with your own. The two of you would set off this way not unlike lovers, which he stiffened at the realization of.

“Too much?” he questioned.

“No, it’s quite alright.”

The cracks in the sidewalk became very interesting all of a sudden, however. You could feel his skinniness and lack of musculature thus far only guessed through the rolled-sleeved shirt; not that you minded.

Must have not gotten treated to meals often.

“About that poetry,” he piped up a bit quieter than before, “granted you won’t tire of my voice ahead of time…”

“Don’t be silly.”

You gave him a look, then caught yourself.

“Well, alright,” he resigned with an evaluating pout when you turned away, “but, uh… unfortunately, most of my limbs are occupied. And the fervent gesticulation makes up half the performence.”

By that point, you found yourself believing him. You all but burst into laughter at the mental image.

“Maybe you can gesticulate it to me after the fact,” you quipped.

“…Fair enough.”

You reached a street corner together and turned it. From the corner of your eye, a young couple were teasing each other by a flower shop on the opposite side of the road with a posy gift of piquant red tulips, blushing and giggling. You matched the bouncing steps of the stranger you were intertwined with in newfound giddiness.

“Let’s see,” he pondered, scanning the rows of buildings in an absent-minded manner before his eyes lit up. “Right! As fortune would have it, there does happen to be one I’ve been itching to inflict on a willing pair of ears for the past week…”

He made a big show of clearing his throat before he began; you were eager to let the mesmerized flow that had brought you to him in the first place take you along, absorbing the dramatic inflection and animated spirit oozing from his entire complexion as he made the widest gestures he was capable of in his inhibited position nonetheless.

A stranger indeed…

“Wait!”

Before he could proceed with any experimental odes to clay and calicos, you cut him off. He turned to you right away, magic put on hold.

“I never caught your name.”

He glanced around in recollection before those notorious brows sprung up.

“I never passed it,” he exclaimed, bewildered, and wriggled from your hold haphazardly as he scrambled for his hat. “Oh, foolish I! Forgive me this horrendous discourtesy, milady, if you might find it in your heart.”

You simply observed him in amusement.

A zephyr swept along the length of the street, bringing where you stood a nectarine fragrance which, though delicate, transcended the heavy smoke and for a delightful moment let you smell nothing but itself. With his hat now off and held politely to his chest, the breeze ruffled his tousled hair as it did yours. His blue eyes shone in the urban grey like diamonds.

“The name is Rocky Rickaby.”

And when he said it, you already knew you wouldn’t tire of that voice anytime soon.

[canolaaoil]

To all my best friends, only twelve leagues and one text message away

1. Dearly Departed, Brockhampton. // 2. The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion. // 3. unsent project. // 4. I am in Eskew. // 5. His dark materials. // 6. Where did you go? Hishaam Siddiqui. // 7. parts in motion, Vera Much. // 8. Your Name Engraved, Herein. 9. Hmu, spacegirl GEMMY.

Description follows

[ID: song lyrics reading, "What's the point of havin' a best friend if you / end up losin' him?" end ID]

[[ID: a photograph in the style of an early digital camera of two teenage girls cuddling under blankets on a couch watching something on a computer. end ID]

[ID: a poem reading, "Life changes fast. / Life changes in the instant. / You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends. end ID]

[ID: a fuzzy photograph in the style of an early digital camera of three people huddled around a fridge. All of the people have brown hair, glowing golden from the lighting and only one of their faces is turned toward the camera. end ID]

[ID: a text entry on a pink background reading, "To: Harry I / i've written 43 / poems about you. / come back and i / won't have to write anymore. / -asle" end ID]

[ID: a photograph in the style of an early digital camera of a couple in a photobooth with only their feet and legs visible behind the curtain. one is sitting on the other's lap. ]

[ID: text reading, "The problem is, my love, is that I can't sustain the fact of your death. / I can convince myself that it's true, force myself to picture your rotting, ruined face dumped in a mass grave somewhere out in the world... / ...and then my phone buzzes and I'm still expecting an unexpected message from you, telling me what corner of the globe you've holed up in, the foods you're eating, the card-players you're outwitting." end ID]

[ID: a photograph of two people in an aquarium, shot from behind. they stand in front of a large window showing a tank of water and seaweed. the two pose as if dancing grandiosely with no one else around. end ID]

[ID: a paragraph reading, "And it was comforting to think she and Will had another thing in common. She wondered if there would ever come an hour in her life when she didn't think of him- didn't speak to him in her head, didn't relive every moment they'd been together, didn't long for his voice and his hands and his love. She had never dreamed of what it would feel like to love someone so much; of all the things that astonished her in her adventures, that was what astonished her the most. She thought the tenderness it left in her heart was like a bruise that would never go away, but she would cherish it forever." end ID]

[ID: a photograph from behind of a group of people walking together down a city street. two of the people have their arms around each other shoulders. another two link arms. the image is slightly blurry. end ID]

[ID: a couplet reading, "One day I woke up and we no longer spoke the / same language. I haven't heard from you since." end ID]

[ID: a photograph of two people, focused on one in the foreground. A young woman looks lovingly towards something out of frame, her face resting on the meat of her hand. In the background a man looks away towards another subject. The lighting is dreamy and yellow. end ID]

[ID: lyrics reading, "Show me it all / Tell me what's wrong / You got your hard drive stolen / Your phone's been broken / Play me a song off of mine / Show me it all / Show me a rise / Show me a fall / Pay me no mind / Paint me in gold / I don't mean to pry, but give me a call" end ID]

[ID: a gif from the movie 'Your Name Engraved Herein' of Birdy and A-han riding a motorbike through the streets at night. Both smile widely as they breeze along, Birdy sitting behind A-han with his shirt off over his head, yelling happily. End ID]

[ID: lyrics reading, "They say everything has reason / Life fluctuates like seasons / And maybe someday soon we'll both find our reason / But bitch you're still the bro / Never letting go / Of the friendship bracelets we made when we were twelve // I'll be waiting by my phone / For you to hit me up / For you to hit me up / Hit me hit me up" end ID]

[ID: a photograph of a plaque on an outside wall reading, "LIFE HAPPENS BUT I STILL CARE FOR YOU. I HOPE YOU'RE DOING WELL." end ID]

[constantvariations]

Why Some People Don't Like Jaune Arc

I've seen some folk confused about the dislike towards Jaune, such as @the-sapphic-raven and @foxgirltail so I thought I'd compile all the reasons (that I can remember without a whole-ass rewatch) in a single post. For the most part, it's not the character himself that earns ire but the way he's used

Volume One

All the goodwill Jaune built up by being sweet towards Ruby is immediately soured by his chauvinistic attitude towards Weiss and his dismissal of Pyrrha, a strange choice given this is supposed to be a progressive society/show. And Pyrrha, the prodigy of the entire school, is somehow into being treated like dirt

There's also the matter of his sneaking into a school dedicated to protecting people from man-eating monsters despite the fact that Jaune had negative skills (while somehow being from a long line of warriors). It makes for good story, but it's also an incredibly selfish and dangerous decision that put people, most directly his teammates, at risk due to his inexperience. This would've been smoothed over had he actually been proactive, but instead he sleeps in class and Pyrrha has to take initiative in training him

The biggest problem comes in the "Jaune Arc" where his generic bullying plot not only overshadows the anti-faunus attitude, not only comes before Blake or Yang get an arc, but takes up an entire twenty-five percent of the first season. That was a whole month of Jaune instead of RWBY back in the days of release

Volume Two

Once again, Jaune has a disproportionate amount of time dedicated to him but this time he's joined by Neptune so we can have a love triangle between these two and Weiss. Given that Jaune and Neptune are voiced by Luna and Shawcross, the writers who, yknow, write Weiss's every word and action, this comes off as super creepy. Additionally, he pursues Weiss despite her multiple unambiguous rejections, and the narrative is clearly on his side. And then, after learning that Neptune turned down Weiss - something well within his right to do - Jaune gets pissy and confronts him with language objectifying Weiss as some sort of possession and forces Neptune to reveal something he's obviously very ashamed about

There's also the man-in-a-dress "joke" that shouldn't be considered a joke in a gender-equal society, but that's simply more bad writing choices with Jaune as the victim

Volume Three

There's not as much here since Jaune plays more of a supporting role to Pyrrha, which is where he really shines as a character. There's that bit during the Vytal Festival with the team name shenanigans throwing off the scene's rhythm, but it's more of an annoyance than anything else

But then after Pyrrha sends him away, instead of calling Glynda like he'd been about to do or any authority, he calls Ruby and breaks his phone before calling anyone else. Grief does make people do stupid things, but this is goes beyond that. This was a choice of the writers to refuse Pyrrha backup so she could die, leading into the most consistent complaint of Jaune in all subsequent volumes: trauma hogging

Volume Four

While Ruby, Ren, and Nora get only outfit changes, Jaune gets upgrades to both his armor and weapon using Pyrrha's crown and sash. This is pretty blatant favoritism since Ren and Nora don't get anything of hers to symbolize their connection to Pyrrha despite them also being teammates and friends. This trauma favoritism continues when Ruby wakes from a nightmare about Pyrrha only for the scene to be about Jaune's feelings. We never come back to Ruby's trauma (unless you want to count that one talk with Oscar in V5, which still isn't great) and Ren/Nora are completely passed over

Then in the Nuckleavee fight, instead of Ruby being the one to rescue Qrow from oncoming attack because she's got the speed and that's her uncle, it's Jaune who saves the day. It's Jaune who gets that silent handgrab with Qrow, which means nothing because these two don't really know each other but would mean a wealth of things had it been Ruby instead

Also, the sword sword "upgrade." It's not Jaune's fault that it's poorly designed, I'm just legally obligated to say it sucks every time I talk about this fight

Volume Five

When Qrow and Lionheart talk about Raven, Jaune knows she's Yang’s mom despite the two of them sharing maybe 10 words with each other. Yang didn't even tell Blake, her own partner, much about Raven, but for whatever reason she told Jaune? Sus

The climatic fight nerfed everyone, but Weiss and Cinder got special stupid juice specifically so Jaune could be the main character. Cinder spent the last two seasons building up and reinforcing her hatred of Ruby, even agreeing to Raven's alternative plan just for a stab at the kid. Yet her attention during the big fight is solely on Jaune because...? And he goes toe-to-toe with her! She was trained by a professional huntsman for years as a child while Jaune has, what? Maybe a year of training? And she's a Maiden! The deck is so stacked against Jaune it's not even funny

Then to punish him, instead of attacking Ruby - who's entirely preoccupied by Emerald, his very first friend, and the person he crossed continents to follow - Cinder goes after Weiss. His crush. Who conveniently forgot her sword isn't a wand and her glyphs can do just about anything so her aura could be broken

Weiss got fridged so Jaune could discover his semblance. Female empowerment at its finest

(Before anyone tries it, no, I'm not saying Ruby should've been fridged instead. The situation as written is set up so that somebody HAS to be fridged, which is stupid. This could've been revealed in a million ways that didn't involve girls being maimed)

Volume Six

Getting aggressive with Oscar was out of line. I understand (not condone) Qrow being violent because he's been in the game longer than any of the kids and just watched an entire HD powerpoint of Ozpin's lies. Being Oz's spy was essentially his life

Jaune does not have that same depth of investment. One can argue that he was acting on his grief of Pyrrha, but that falls flat when neither Ren or Nora come even close to the same reaction

Once again, Jaune hogs all the Pyrrha-related trauma, even getting a visit from her mom(?) while looking at a giant statue of her (despite the fact that Pyrrha blatantly said in V2 she didn't like being treated like she's above others)

Volume Seven

Jaune hogs the camera for JNR's new landing strategies, his hair is dumb, and grown women fawning over a teenager is gross, but overall Jaune this volume is fantastic. Super swell in his supporting role here and that bit where he compliments Nora after her failed flirting always makes me giggle

Volume Eight

Imma be honest, I don't remember much of V8 and I do not have the time, will, or energy to rewatch it, so I'll just skip to the biggest thing in the volume: Penny's death.

Jaune did not try hard enough to save her. Whereas any other time this trope of mercy killing during combat has been implemented, it's typically done as a reluctant last resort after every other option has been exhausted. Cinder was still preoccupied with Weiss and Jaune's pretty beefy; he could've made a dash for the exit while still healing her

Instead, he boosts her aura for a whole 2 seconds before agreeing to stab her in the heart.

Another fridge for Jaune's collection

Volume Nine

Everyone's fears of Jaune stealing the spotlight once again get confirmed. He gets a legendary role in a story loved world wide, a pedestal only matched by Ruby's weird deified status in the rtx V9 epilogue, which may or may not be canon

Weiss is into him for "being mature" despite never having shown a preference for older men. Not counting villains we have Ozpin, Oobleck, Port, Klein, Qrow, and Ironwood; all of whom could've been used to establish this trait, yet it only comes out with Jaune? Highly suspicious

His relationship with the paper pleasers is incredibly terrible. He has no respect for their culture and treats them like children despite their obvious intelligence. It rings far too closely to missionaries "saving" people, usually of color, in third world countries

Then, when Ruby finally snapped and is venting her frustrations, Jaune cuts in to take his rage out on her. Jaune, at this point, is at least in his mid thirties, so we get a grown ass man yelling at a seventeen year old girl who then runs away, putting her in a vulnerable position that is immediately taken advantage of. Nobody blames him for being upset, but as an adult he now has a responsibility to take care of how he treats people significantly younger than him

Not even an hour after Ruby drinks the tea right in front of them, the entire group hugs Jaune with big, bright smiles. Ruby not once had someone actually comfort her despite her obvious failing mental health, but Jaune gets comforted by both the team and the narrative

Thanks for surviving this far

Feel free to add on, but I'm tired of this being in my drafts so Jaune be upon ye

If y’all disagree with any of the points, I'd love to hear your view and have a nice discussion

[bookishjules]

fic writer twenty questions!!!

tagged by the lovely @timelesslords <33 (that's kind of alliteration if you think hard enough hehe) aka an incredible writer who i admire greatly (for which reason i'm linking her version of the post here) <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

28

2. What's your AO3 word count?

103,418

3. What fandoms do you write for?

very primarily percy jackson (i.e. pjo/hoo/toa) and the shadowhunter chronicles

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1. Percy to the Rescue (69)

2. A Different Kind of Adventure (54)

3. Napkins and Notebooks (54)

4. Mistletoe (52)

5. The Holiday Market (51)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i do! it may take some time (if i get in my head about something lol) but i will always get to them if they elicit a response. i appreciate comments and the people who make them so incredibly much

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

probably Acceptance. it's <900 words but it's the only fic i have flagged with "main character death" so..

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

this is so hard.. prospecitvely i want to say it will be The Shape of the Tide just because of how much of a journey it will take to get us there. but as of right now it might be You, Me, and Nick just because of how damn cozy it is.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i get a lot of "why would you do this" but so far *knocks on wood* no real hate.

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

yes. and i have no idea how to answer the second question.. um ig pretty straightforward explicit hetero smut? (so far.. if anything else i could def see myself writing sapphic smut in the future)

10. Do you write cross overs? What's the craziest one you've written?

i have written one (1) crossover. it was a percy jackson/harry potter next gen where the percabeth fam move to the uk and their son gets a letter from hogwarts. i was like 14/15 and gave up two chapters in because i couldn't figure out the conversion rates of american dollars to pounds to wizard money o7 (ftr i would totally write more. it can be so fun to play with characters like that and see how they interact etc.)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i am far to unknown for that lol

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no sirr

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no, but i would love to

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

es a tie between percabeth (pjo) and sizzy (tsc). (some might determine from observing my blog (or sideblog) that it's actually just sizzy. but (a) i love them in different ways, (b) i don't recieve asks about percabeth, and (c) the scarcity of sizzy fan-content makes my heart act out the economic principle of supply and demand lol)

15. What's a WIP you'd like to finish but doubt you ever wilI?

ivy.. i would love to see this story completed but unfortunately i no longer ship ghostwriter and even with reshaping the plot to change the endgame, i just don't feel like writing that much about jesse anymore.

16. What are your writing strengths?

i feel like i'm pretty okay at tackling complex emotions? i've also gotten comments on my imagery, voice, and characterizations.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

endings; it's the biggest critique i remember receiving in my college writing classes. i also feel like i have a tendency to get lost in the weeds sometimes, which results in too much narration. also just general confidence.. i get spooked really easily.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

it's fun if it's spanish! but so far that's the only other language i've written dialogue in.. (thank you, leo)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

i actually think it may have been ella enchanted ? it was back on figment.com when i was 13-14 and was for some sort of challenge and i thought like ooh i can connect this with ella! (i was prob in my reading and rereading the book era) but it was super short and barely connected lol

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

gonna take a page out of lexi's book and split this between fandoms hehe

for tsc: Trying. i have found myself sitting at the top of my stairs ready to leave just rereading the first like 5k of this fic way too often. (it's also horribly the longest piece of writing i think i've ever finished. so it holds a special piece of proof to myself in it.. even if its only like 8k)

for pjo: Here Without You. there's an entire fraction of my soul tied up in this fic i swear. i'm never not thinking about it. it's been incredibly cathartic for me to write, both for myself and the characters (incl. calypso who i was not expecting to learn to appreciate/understand as much as i have)

leaving the tag open bc i can't think to save my life rn but! if you write fic and wish to do this, consider this your designated tag <3

[gfdatingsim]

HOO you don't have to respond to this bc I'm gonna RAMBLE but I just wanted to say thank you so much for making this game. I remember when it first came out years ago, I love dating sims, but I had never seen Gravity Falls before. I thought "aw man, if I play this, a bunch of references will probably go over my head huh" so I decided to actually sit and watch GF, I binged it and managed to finish the whole series in about two or three days. I wouldn't have taken initiative to watch the show at *all* if it wasn't for this dating sim, but I sincerely love visual novels more than anything else in the world, and I am so glad I watched the show. I really enjoyed it. Now, years have passed, I decided that I wanted to replay this dating sim again today, but it'd been years since I'd played or even watched the show and I didn't remember much of anything at all, so I rewatched again and fell in love like the first time. I'm pretty sure I sped through the episodes in less than five days this week because I was so so so excited to play this game again. I smiled SO big when I heard the music after opening the title screen. Felt like coming home.

I can tell a lot of love was put into this game. I've tried making dating sims before, just personal ones for my own self indulgence with my OCs and such, and like... dude, it's so hard! Making games is hard!!! Pushing yourself to actually finish a game is hard! Not to mention coding, that's like a whole other can of worms more tempting to never open. So the fact that you finished this game is impressive just in itself! Not only does your game seem so in-character, making it so easy to read everything in the character voices, but it's got such expressive sprites!! I cannot tell you how many otomes I've played where the sprites are just one plain expression with maybe 3 different eyebrow angles and just a switch between a smile and a frown. But your sprites really move!! The body language!! Oh my god. The way the sprites are colored to fit the setting. Like their coloring is darker if they're outside, and even tinted red in the sunset backgrounds. I literally just sat and stared at the screen when that first transition into nighttime happened and you see the characters matching. I was so impressed. Even Stan's hands in his pockets change when he bunches his shoulders forward ever so slightly. The attention to detail is amazing. The outfit changes too!!! Ahh!!! :D

The illustrations. Wow. Just.. man, please let me ramble about the CGs, they're gorgeous. The brush strokes look so so so soft and the fact that so much time was put even into the backgrounds... lineless and so clean... every few minutes I take the time to just stare at the artwork. I rarely draw backgrounds because I find it so difficult, and anyone who has the patience to make backgrounds and also paint is really admirable to me. I'm so blown away by the art in this game. The illustrations are magnificent. There is genuine fondness and joy in their eyes in each drawing and it's so pretty to just [parks and rec voice] this is beautiful, I've been staring at these for 5 hours now

I'm so happy to have found a fan-made dating sim who is not only true to the characters, but also slowburn. It feels real, making a genuine connection with these characters at a steady pace, not rushing into things. And maybe this is just because I'm ace, but agh, I can't tell you how refreshing it is to play a game where I don't have to do anything raunchy to get a good ending... like, I've played so many dating sims, it's one of my favorite things to do, but it's always a little bit disheartening to only get a good ending if you do something sexual, from the perspective of a person who. well. isn't! And when I replayed this game today, I remembered "oh yeah... I don't have to worry about that sort of thing" and it also makes me feel more lovable because... well. ahh this might sound dumb but it made me feel like these two would really truly love me, not just despite me being ace, but maybe even *because* of it? It was so refreshing, I'm sorry I'm not the best with putting things into words but I hope I was able to phrase it clear enough to state: I am really, really grateful that this game is made the way that it is, that someone like me is able to play it without any worries. A huge lift off of my shoulders. I can't tell you how many otomes I've played where I've gotten a bad ending or a neutral ending just bc I didn't sleep with someone. Playing this and just having pure fluff and kisses (with a bit of the steamy makeouts on Stan's route? heehee) Hoooo, that was perfect, that was just perfect.

This message is getting so long fjdhkfh I'm sorry I was gonna ramble more about how much I love the game like, the dates, how the dates are very fun to play bc there's such a variety of things to do that makes you feel like you're really in Gravity Falls, and I love how you get to interact with many more characters on the side without it distracting from the main storyline, like interacting with Dipper and Mabel and even Dan and Susan, things like that! I love the little mini games like boxing and playing dungeons, I love that you have to really work hard to get the perfect endings and that Ford takes a little more time to open up about his feelings - hell, I love the little detail that you have to encrypt the codes to get their walkthroughs!! That's such a cute little touch! This whole thing couldn't be more perfect. I adore everything about this game, it's very dear to my heart. You've all put so much love into it, I don't think there's any other fan-made games out there for any other fandoms I'm in, at least to my knowledge, that are so well put together. It's one of my favorite things and I love replaying it at least once a year. Thank you for making me feel like these characters would love me, it helped me through a tough time lately, I've been in and out of the hospital for a few months and this game gave me some much needed comfort today. I hope everyone who worked on this game is doing well right now. And know that there is some random person out there on this planet under the same sky as you, who is always going to cherish the love put into this game, forever, always gonna have a special place in my heart for it and I am so thankful it exists 🥰💙

i love that you noticed so many details about the game!

reading this felt like looking into a mirror a couple times--i've had a similar experience with vns/dating sims, though for me i gave in and stopped playing them bc it felt like while i loved the genre, it never loved me. i've felt those thoughts and worries myself, so i'm really glad you can just relax with this one!!

thank you so much for sending this in :') i hope you're doing well right now too!

[tosxa-h]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Sorry this isn't an RP, I just had a thought and had to write it down and I wasn't sure where else to do it haha. This is a quick drabble about 'the weekly boss' in the Golden House, separating him from Childe as a character. It's stupid and sorta abstract, but if you wanna pass 5 minutes, here you go!

Every week you come to a house made of gold.

Every week. Without fail. The same day, the same time. I could count down to the very second of your arrival. Between these minutes, these hours and days without you, I counted each coin that scatters the floor, I could blindly trace each divot and line that makes up the art of the ceiling and walls.

There are no windows, the only clue to the changes of the day are the footsteps outside, the guards swapping places or complaining about their duties- their long trivial waits until the sun rises or falls and they return to a place of warmth, of home, of family.

I had a family, I think. I had an idea of what a home might look like. I'm not sure I can even translate the word into my native tongue anymore. In fact, I think I may have forgotten my own language all together. How much time would have to pass for that to happen? To have drowned yourself in a vat of someone else's design? Who's life am I leading?

The same, if not similar, thoughts occur every day. I no longer have the ability to answer them. The questions, an unanswered song that echoes off the walls of this chamber.

And then you arrive.

Every week. Without fail. That is to say, you always manage to best me. Somehow, I don't mind the defeat. Somehow, it feels like that might be what I was made for. Somehow, it feels like I've lost something in allowing that thought in.

Every week. You may bring new faces. People who I've never seen, speaking in a dialect I've never heard. Some times it's not you, but you are there. Because you come every week, without fail.

The pattern is the same, yet I can't seem to learn from my mistakes where you do. I am something. I become more of that something. Then I become something else all together.

A creature I cant remember the name of dances across the handmade marble below, it falls into the sky and soars in to the floor. It's terrifying, but you're not scared. Even if I whittle you down to fewer and fewer, you are never scared. You never hesitate. I suppose you cant afford to.

Those moments are brief. Playing this part I was designed for, the minutes of your life I am meant to part take in - nothing more, but could be less. So I never take them for granted.

And then you win. And then it's over. And then you leave. Triumphant. A warrior from the stars.

I am left with the lasting imprint of the memory of your back. I do my best to forget your face, so I have something to look forward to.

And though as proud as I sound during the height of the fray and the power I unleash as the water I command is laced in our blood- a fearful thought controls my every motion; Will this be the last time?

You didn't come this week. I gave you the grace of a minute, of an hour or so. But you never came. You poured concrete into my worries and fixed them in place with your absence.

But what else can I do? I will count every coin, trace every line, continue to forget my tongue as I listen to the faceless voices and the songs of my queries.

I am waiting for you at the Golden House.

[lakemichigans]

tlou episode 4 thoughts!

- i loved seeing ellie play around with the gun in the bathroom. that felt like the perfect amount of childish innocence contrasted with the fact that she clearly knows how to use a gun on some level

- THE JOKE BOOK THE JOKE BOOK THE JOKE BOOK!!!!

- i totally didn't think we would see that scene with ellie and joel in the truck, i thought that the end of the last episode was all we'd see! i even showed my friend a clip of that scene from the game because i didn't want her to miss out, oops. super cute though

- joel not being able to sleep because god help him, he has a job to do. my hearttttt 😭 and the fact that as soon as he recognizes that he cares about her, even the smallest bit, he rebuilds that wall and insists that she's just "cargo", not family. typical joel.

- they really upped the tension leading up to the iconic "he ain't even hurt" scene (although i'm sad they cut that line, because it implied so much about joel). i loved how ellie felt genuinely scared and joel kicked into protector mode (and the callback to sarah hurting her leg: "are you hurt anywhere, are you hurt?" was so good)

- okay so of all my predictions on how the stolen gun would turn out, ellie successfully saving joel was the option i called the most boring, but i'm actually 100% happy with how it turned out. we finally get to see some humanity, remorse, and sadness from ellie in relation to death, something i've been CRAVING. this felt like the ellie i know and my heart broke seeing how that encounter happened. the fact that joel actually apologizes and doesn't act like an asshole after? hello?? that was a welcome change. hbo!joel is a lot more self-loathing where game!joel is more closed off to emotion in general, so this makes sense to me. joel teaching ellie how to properly hold the gun was so cute! and then she puts the gun in her pocket anyway yesss that's so ellie, that's my little shit

- "it wasn't my first time." HMMMM is she talking about riley? did she have to kill riley? :( or someone else?

- melanie lynskey killing it as always!!! it makes so much sense to tie her to henry. i'm super interested by her story! it feels like a soft intro to abby's future story; maybe they're introducing the idea of the cycle of revenge now so people won't freak the fuck out when we get to part 2? one can hope...

- jeffrey pierce!!! i didn't recognize his face but as soon as i heard his voice i was like omg

- joel wheezing his way up the stairs was so cuuuuute, "get up you lazy ass" 😭 i love them so much

- what a beautiful fucking scene, you know the scene i'm talking about. man. i could listen to them laugh with each other all day 🥺 reminds me of this concept art:

- HENRY AND SAM!!!! they must've already been in the building right? i loooove the way they introduced them after joel promised that no one would sneak up on them and they already stated that joel is hard of hearing on the right side, which we then see that he rolled over in his sleep (letting his guard down) and he didn't hear them sneaking in. just another one of joel's "failures" in his mind. and sam is deaf (?) or possibly they're just using sign language as a way to stay silent/safe? either way it all ties together so well

- this is a dumb complaint but i really wish they had used ashley johnson's cover of true faith for the credits. but i'm glad lotte kestner is getting recognition after what happened with the original trailer

- neil druckmann in the post-credits saying "i love humanizing villains" sooo real, i love it

[mollusc-era]

dj paul headcanons :)

i have been thinking about him so much and like i've held off on sharing doodles of him because i felt like they wouldn't make sense without all of the thoughts in my head but like i made this blog so i'd start posting my splatoon doodles more SO. might as well get the ideas out there

he's an orphan, kind of? its a lil complicated but like, essentially. grew up in the domes of octo canyon in an orphanage. for what limited resources they have in general, octarians have some pretty nice orphanages etc. it's almost more communally raising kids than anything else, there's a fairly large population of adults that can't reproduce, after all (tentacle octarians. referring to the tentacles.) could go on about the concept but for this the most important thing is that paul doesn't have many familial ties

...hence why he left the domes at such an early age. right after splat 2's hero mode ending, as it often goes. his main motivation was music, to find new influences and inspiration out in the world, as the domes were far enough underground that getting media from the surface was hard.

marina knew him back before either of them left octo valley/canyon! she tutored him occasionally, which was like. a big deal. marina was obviously known for her smarts, and paul was definitely selected because he was seen to have lots of potential

after leaving the domes, he almost immediately tracked down marina. he knew she left and was likely in inkopolis and kind of just showed up and hung out with pearl and marina for a while. marina introduced him to the rest of sashimori + knew of them through pearl. paul being pearl's replacement "vocalist" was something that happened without her knowing until paul left

pearl and marina may not have been ready to take care of paul, but sashimori was definitely a good pick. those are his parents :)

taichi was less involved w/ the whole paul thing for a while compared to karla and ryu-chang. he was under the impression that paul was going to sing with his voice for a long time and the "tiny and awful" comment came after paul tried singing for him

dj is his title. like dr or mr. not elaborating on this (at least not here)

he has a special interest in linguistics. starts off with just the amount of phonetics he needed to know to start playing around with ancient samples in the songs in splat 2, but over time he's gotten super into it. unfortunately this kind of means that he is aware of just how many human languages there were and that he currently has no way of translating any of them

murch is one of his oldest friends and probably his first friend on the surface (marina doesn't count.) they've become super close over the years. paul does get friend discounts he is using that fact to more easily farm ability chunks. sorry

dynamo roller main. how does he carry the thing? good question. (this is in splat 3 times though like hes ~15 for this one not 10)

he will be tall at some point. watch out!!!

[foxingpeculiar]

FF16 Blogging: I've gotten through the point where the party is preparing to leave for Oriflamme. Spoilers Up to that Point.

I've actually started taking notes as I play, so I'm just kinda looking through those. But generally speaking, the section I did today (Martha's Rest, Eastpool, Phoenix Gate: Part Deux) are the game going, "hey, have you noticed how much it sucks to be a bearer? Gonna beat you over the head with it for a sec." Actually, what it kinda reminded me of was the Village of Dali from FF9, where they find the Black Mage factory: this idyllic rural setting where they expose how horrific the treatment of this minority class is.

I still don't know what Joshua's up to. It's pretty clear he was leading Clive along by the nose to get him to take control of Ifrit, and whatever he's trying to do, it has a time limit on it. It seems logical that 1) Cid is correct about the mothercrystals and their relationship to the Blight, and 2) whatever Joshua is involved in behind-the-scenes has something to do with that, but I dunno.

The scene with Kupka in his castle, where he receives the package has a lot going on. Like, okay 1) you know how I said earlier that I wasn't sure Benna was dead? A lot of that was because her involvement with him hadn't really factored in yet. So this may have resolved that. Boo. 2) Cos I'm pretty sure we just pulled a Se7en there and that's her head in that box--that's the only thing I can think of that would explain that reaction, based on the information we have. 3) Which, if true, speaks a strength of this game's presentation--it implies a lot of awful shit, without having to actually go there. Not the first time it's done that. 4) I find it unlikely that Cid is actually behind sending that to him, and significantly more likely that someone is playing puppetmaster somewhere, but that remains to be seen.

Re: point 3 there, that's not to say the game shies away from shit, though. The slaughter of Eastpool was... rough. I dunno, I'm not sure what else to say about it, other than damn, fuck Annabella. (I was yelling "your mom sucks, dude" at the TV a few times during that bit). Her character is coming into somewhat more clear focus now--we know she married the Emperor (Sebastian or whatever), and it seems like that was more about being a power move than being really invested in an affair with him or something. So... yeah, proper cunt that one.

I suppose it's logical that the most difficult boss so far was myself. The whole reconciling with Ifrit thing was pretty cool, and brings up some interesting questions, the largest of which in my mind is "what do the Eikons and The Fallen have to do with each other?" Because there is clearly some connection there. But beyond that, more thematically, it's funny, cos I was just talking about the concept of "moral injury" with my therapist the other day, and now here's a grand example of it: both Clive and Jill figuring out how to go on after the awful things they've done.

Speaking of Jill, I like her so far, but it doesn't feel like she's gotten to do much yet. I'm looking forward to that changing, especially now that that kind of soul-searching, emo stretch of the game is over and we're about to get down to some business. Some fuckin'-shit-up business.

Stray thoughts:

So okay. When Clive hears "the voice," it's not speaking the language everyone else speaks. But he can understand it. And then there's that rando moogle (Nektar?) in the Hideaway who's like "holy shit, you can understand me?! thank god!" So... what's with that? Can Clive just understand any language, or what's going on there?

The lady in pre-slaughter Eastpool who was like "hey, check out that mysterious tower. Isn't it mysterious?" made me laugh a little. That's some old-school RPG shit there, those little "hints."

They keep showing the moon and Metia. What IS that thing? Like, it stays with the moon, so it's in orbit around the planet, not at a fixed position. I dunno, I keep thinking of like the Lunar Cry in FF8 or something like that. (Actually, the fact that magic takes a toll on the bodies of bearers and dominants kinda reminds me of GF's effect on people in FF8 also).

So, inside the holy whatever (some word that started with A) beyond Phoenix Gate, that bit where you have to hit the switch on each side to raise the bridge in the middle. Clive says something to the effect of "It's not a dead end, after all." And Jill pauses and looks at him like he's an absolute idiot before saying "Apparently not." Great moment.

Who are the "we" in "we are you?" That's the 10,000 question.

lol @ Kupka's henchman being identified as "Suspicious Character" in the subtitles.

Cid has a kid, huh? Wonder if that's just backstory or if that's gonna become a thing later.