#tides of desire

[joelalorian]

Tides of Desire masterlist

yacht captain!joel miller x f!reader

Complete: TLOU no outbreak AU. Joel Miller is a luxury yacht captain running charters in the Caribbean. You join the crew as a deckhand and unexpectedly complicate Joel's peaceful existence. Basically the TLOU bunch on a Below Deck yacht.

Chapter One - A Prelude to the Open Sea

Chapter Two - The Adventure Begins

Chapter Three - The Cut of One's Jib

Chapter Four - Cut and Run

Chapter Five - Red Sky in Morning

Chapter Six - Edging Forward

Chapter Seven - From Stem to Stern

Chapter Eight - As the Crow Flies

Chapter Nine - Close Quarters

Chapter Ten - On Your Beam Ends

Chapter Eleven - All at Sea

Chapter Twelve - Turn the Corner

Epilogue

[transmechanicus]

The HRT has killed a lot of my normal everyday experience of sexuality but fortunately it has revealed a second, much much weirder sexuality underneath.

[bedtimegiraffe]

Here's my little essay about King Arlan (and a little bit about Baldur) and their complicated relationship with ruling effectively.

Arlan, the (overall) very good king

King Arlan is keeping the kingdom running well

In the very first lore tablet, you learn that, "King Arlan Valleros VII currently sits on the throne. Known as the Gentle King, Arlan has reigned over a period of great peace and prosperity."

Periods of great peace and prosperity are not easy! It's a combination of luck, delegating effectively, and putting in a ton of administrative work to make sure the laws and policies work for the unique situation your nation is in at this moment. That stuff does not happen on accident.

Based on Aerin's statements that he never really saw his father, I'm assuming Arlan keeps busy with actually running the country. We never see Arlan show interest in hunting or any vices that would take similar amounts of time. I also don't get the sense that Arlan and Baldur are always like, hanging out. And we don't interact with many administrators, making him seem pretty hands-on.

King Arlan knows how to maintain an image

When you return from the Shadow Realm...

King Arlan is very savvy. Maybe he's sincere, who knows! But publicly honoring the heroes who saved your ass is a great way to get goodwill for yourself and make it so you no longer owe those heroes. Your party puts in quite a lot of work to save Morella and King Arlan just lets you take some weapons and armor no one was using anyway. Doesn't even send a single guard to help. Unlike Book 2...

Before the battle he does a great job making it seem like he's doing you a favor. Like you asked for his help and he's magnanimously granting it, even though the Ash Empire is very much coming to destroy his capital!

Which brings us to his take on Aerin being gone (assuming he was imprisoned previously)...

This is an awful thing to say about your son! But it's actually a pretty cunning move as a king. Arlan was absolutely right- his best move was to let Aerin go and hope he got killed. He gets to eliminate a problem making him look bad to the court (his son who committed murder and treason in a very public manner) and keep his reputation as a nice guy. He's the 'Gentle King,' not the 'Strong King' or 'Decisive King.'

And in the very unlikely (in his estimation) chance Aerin did come back alive and looking heroic, Arlan could keep him imprisoned indefinitely. Or (much less likely) he could say Aerin was corrupted before and use his success as an excuse to get one of his kids back in the line of succession. That's good for your ego and can help prevent a succession crisis if there isn't a super clear heir in place (which seems to be the case currently).

Overall, (and completely separate from him being a horrendous father) it seems to be like Arlan is actually a very good king. But there is one part of the job he sucks at...

Arlan's fatal flaw is that he is terrible at reading people.

'Baldur's great, no concerns!'

Obviously, we know that thinking that Baldur is going to be a good king is stupid.

But why didn't King Arlan know that? Aerin (who does seem to be pretty good at reading people) says he's, "handsome, bold, outgoing." Those things are all great for winning people over!

But not nearly enough to actually run a country. We know Baldur's not really even trying to have any of the practical, administrative skills that requires. And this system does not seem set up to function with a figurehead.

You know that tutor must have clocked that Baldur was asleep! It was probably common knowledge at the palace that Baldur never learned a damn thing. Either Arlan didn't realize his heir was not gaining any practical ruling skills (bad sign) or he didn't care (also a bad sign).

Even monarchs who aren't invested in their kids as people are usually very invested in their education. Because that's how you make sure the wheels don't fall off once you die, ending your glorious bloodline.

Aerin tells us that Baldur would never contradict their father. So Arlan absolutely could have forced him to read a damn book. But for some reason, he didn't.

'My second son sucks...

Arlan truly thinks that Aerin is useless. Which is a wild stance to take after you watched him kill big strong Baldur in a single blow and open a portal to the Shadow Realm.

Arlan got there a little late for Aerin's full villain monologue. But the second your party disappears through the portal, the smart thing would have been to determine if Aerin did any more damage. It didn't feel like it to Aerin, but he had tremendous access to people and resources. For all King Arlan knows, this could have been just one piece of a bigger plot.

And it was! Aerin admitted to corrupting dozens of people, usually very connected people. That's a ticking time bomb just waiting to cause more damage. One it doesn't seem like King Arlan ever looks into.

Arlan seems to just assume that Aerin can't cause damage because he's... not physically imposing? Because knowledge and connections are never a threat to power?

Pre-crisis, Aerin also talks about trying to smooth over Baldur's brash decisions. Having someone to soften the blow of harsh or unpopular decisions is absolutely crucial for any ruler, but especially one like Baldur. Yet Arlan doesn't seem to have any awareness of that either.

So Arlan at least picked up some vibes from Aerin that he was... something. Troubled could be 'miserable,' but this statement makes it feel more 'he creeps me out.'

-and I'm not worried about that.'

Even if Aerin was incompetent or messed up, King Arlan should have been concerned about that! Baldur is very strong and presumably good at not dying. But he throws himself into dangerous situations all the time for fun! There is a very good reason most monarchs don't stop at one kid if they can help it.

History is absolutely littered with examples of people who inherited a throne and ran things into the ground because they didn't have the ability to manage the amount of power they had effectively. If Arlan thought Aerin could fall into that category, he should have had people working around the clock to get him up to standard just in case.

Instead, King Arlan fully ignored Aerin, letting him just haunt the archives like a depressed ghost.

'The Heroes of Morella obviously agree with me, they're important!'

King Arlan makes the assumption, based on your party's status, that you'll agree with him on the 'complicated politics' of executing your own kid. Because you're not 'commoners.' Your party includes one elven noble, one orcish (until like 2 days ago) princess, and one human with a very prominent position in the Temple. Mal is more under the radar, but he was still proclaimed a hero. And your character is the most Hero of all.

So Arlan basically does that thing some people do where they trash talk a marginalized group, because everyone in the room looks like they belong to the majority group, so why would they object? (Never a good look.)

But Mal and Nia are both, at least to you, visibly angry with Arlan for being excited his son is (presumably) dead.

Still, no effort to backtrack or soften the blow from King Arlan. Just sails right over the dude's head that Mal looks pissed and Nia is using her damn customer service voice.

Seriously, King Arlan should probably keep an eye out for Mal... Not a big monarchist, that one.

Bonus Baldur, the tremendous idiot

The fact that Baldur thinks he's the first of his name, when "Baldur Valleros" literally founded his dynasty, is incredibly funny to me. Such ignorance. Such hubris.

I am not about to give him the benefit of the doubt that maybe Baldur I went straight to being king, so our dumbass is the first "Prince Baldur Valleros." His father is Arlan VII, there's no way no other king has named their heir after the founder of the dynasty. More evidence that he has never once learned a thing.

(Don't worry about Kade- he took a shadow lance to the face but he's fine. He's mostly fine. Feel free to look at my older posts if you're curious how that went down.)

Baldur seems to make the same assumptions about people based on their status as his father. I don't think it's an accident that when Baldur wants to tell gross stories (including the phrase "slum girls"), he immediately grabs Mal, the human man. Mal isn't all that subtle about his disdain for the nobility, but he still looks like the best one for Baldur to win over. Mal is also the one who steps up and negotiates for the group, making him look like the leader- even more Baldur catnip.

[boinday]

Horror and romance are sibling genres in my eyes, both showcasing the extremes of human emotion, both fascinated by vulnerability and its consequence.

Anyway! I loved drawing this sequence ^_^

You can read the whole comic for free here!

[smile-files]

i hope god loves me as much as you did

[cute kittys!!! by gabi on flickr; neighborhood #2 (laika) by arcade fire; goodnight sparky by @smile-files on tumblr; the fight is over by patrick mchale; my cat is sad by spencer madsen; a dog's midnight prayer by unknown; so big / so small by rachel bay jones; everyone i know (will die) by four eyes; the little prince by antoine de saint-exupéry; breathe (in the air) by pink floyd; sunpod by gustafer yellowgold; sweetie little jean by cage the elephant; cat dreaming by tiddler on flickr; untitled by roadarch; goodnight by whimsical animal; this is home by cavetown; untitled by @storieldraw on tumblr; plane crash blues (i can't play the piano) by phoebe bridgers; just take my wallet by jack stauber; death is nothing at all by henry scott holland; untitled by petfurniture on twitter; fading kitten syndrome by roar]

[hexjulia]

what is it about this bird's taste that makes things that are good for her scary/gross (banana etc) and everything toxic to her the object of her greatest desire. An approximation of how she looks when you are eating something that can kill her.

[seud-luachmhor]

[desire-mona]

Love is so like icky but also not icky

i like love and i crave it but i dont but i do but i dont

[korzionarchive]

I need to write and I've proved today that I can force myself to write work things, so I should be able to make myself to do fun things.

[serpentinebrando]

Send 🌑 to crawl into bed with my muse (Callie: @mxrvelouscreations

Bedtime | @mxrvelouscreations

Lucien had just begun to doze off when he felt someone climb under the covers with him. He wasn’t too startled, at first; usually, if he was joined unannounced at this hour, it was by his lusty First Mate. After the day he’d had, he wasn’t going to complain if the man wanted to hold him down and fuck him senseless. He felt a head rush just thinking about it. This didn’t feel quite right, though. The presence in his bed felt far smaller than his First Mate.

Confused and flustered, Lucien rolled over with a start, cheeks flushing when he found Callie next to him. He didn’t know how to react, so he froze. A not-so-rare moment of vulnerability. She’d become too good at instigating those in him, so pretty and strong willed. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t dreamed of a moment like this on several occasions. “Hello, Princess,” he finally responded, having regained enough of his composure to try his hand at flirting. “You seekin’ pleasure or comfort? I’m happy to provide either one.” If he’d been a bit more logically inclined in that moment, he might have realized that he was risking his job by going along with this. It was quite the compromising position, after all. A young lady should never be alone with a man in such a manner, especially when both were of such nobility.

Lucien didn’t care. She’d joined him of her own free will, and he was curious to find out why. Did she want him as badly as he wanted her, or was she simply lonely? The Captain gave her a coy smirk and gently stroked her cheek, encouraging her to answer him.

[joelalorian]

Tides of Desire - Epilogue

*mood board by the lovely @janaispunk. divider by the equally lovely @saradika-graphics

Pairing: Yacht Captain!Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Summary: TLOU no outbreak AU. Joel Miller is a luxury yacht captain running charters in the Caribbean. You join the crew as a deckhand and unexpectedly complicate Joel's peaceful existence. Basically the TLOU bunch on a Below Deck yacht.

Chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI. Fluff, smut, unprotected p in v (they're in a committed relationship). Smallish age gap (reader is 32 or so, Joel is 40). No use of y/n, though reader is of British descent and has the nickname Brit (occasionally used). Chapter names are nautical phrases.

a/n: This tale has come to its nautical end, docking in the harbor of happily ever after for these two. I was stuck for a long while on quite how to finish this off and I'm relieved to have finally done it. Hope you enjoy and thank you for coming along on this high seas adventure with me!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Three months after the season ended, you pulled into a half-moon driveway, in front of a beautifully landscaped two-story home on three acres of land in the outskirts of Austin with every possession you owned tightly packed into your ride. You and Joel spent a lot of time together after the season ended, making certain that what you shared was much more than just a boat-mance. It didn’t take long to confirm that neither of you had any doubts left – what you had was as real as it got.

The Millers and Ellie were at the door and running down the porch steps to greet you before the car even stopped moving. The four of you shared deliriously happy grins as you got out of the car after the long drive from Florida.

“You made it!” Sarah greeted, throwing her lanky arms around your neck for a long hug. Ellie quickly followed suit, throwing her arms around your waist. Joel met your gaze, his chocolate eyes full of love and warmth at the sight of his favorite people so happy to see each other.

Breaking free from the young women, you turned to embrace Joel. His broad frame wrapped around you in a bear hug, squeezing just enough without hurting you. The scruff along his jaw gently scratched against your neck and cheeks as he peppered your face with kisses.

“Mmm, I missed you,” he breathed in your ear, the little puffs of air tickling the sensitive skin.

“I was only gone a week,” you laughed in response.

“Don’t care. It was too long, and I missed you.” Stepping back, Joel brushed his pouty lips against yours in a chaste kiss as the girls groaned teasingly. “Come on, let’s unload this mess so you can finally settle in and relax. Welcome to your new home, baby.”

It took only an hour to have you officially moved in with Joel and Sarah. Living the nomad lifestyle for the past several years had its benefits when it came to moving – you sold most everything that wasn’t a necessity or held some kind of sentimental value – and you were settled right into their home and lives without too much fuss.

After putting your things away – Joel cleared out half the space of the large walk-in closet and made other space throughout the home for your belongings – you settled for grabbing an ice-cold beer from the fridge knowing you’d fall asleep if you sat down.

The beer went down smoothly, soothing the dryness of your throat as well as the achiness in your bones from driving for so long. Joel leant back against the kitchen island, chocolate eyes drinking you in from head to toe like a man dying of thirst. A flash of heat swept through you, settling in your cheeks and ears. It had only been a week since you’d seen him, but the ache for him pulsed as if it’d been months.

“We’re heading to San Antonio, Dad!” Sarah called, tripping down the stairs with a small tote. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs to find you and Joel staring at each other, she shared a knowing look with Ellie. “Yeah, we’re gonna give you two a few days to get through the honeymoon phase. Glad you’re hear, Brit! See ya!”

Grinning broadly, Ellie added, “Don’t burn down the house and use protection, kids!” The young women were out the door, giggling madly, before either of you could respond.

The moment the door closed behind them, Joel pounced.

His need for you so great, he didn’t bother leading you upstairs to your newly shared bedroom. Instead, he took you right there in the kitchen, your body pressed forward over the counter as he practically ripped your shorts and panties down your hips. His own quickly followed, tee shirt coming off as well so it wouldn’t get in the way. Hand pressed into your lower back, Joel leant back, spit into his other hand to lube himself up, and watched as his hardened length sunk into your depths with a guttural groan.

“Fuck, sweetheart. How does that feel?”

Hips thrusting against your backside, thick cock going so deep and hitting just the right spots at this angle, you mewled in response. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure even as the counter’s edge dug into your skin painfully with each hard stroke.

“Use your words, baby. I missed your voice just as much as I missed those sweet little sounds you make.”

You twisted your torso a little to look at Joel over your shoulder. Holy hell, did he make the sexiest sight. A sheen of sweat already built up along his forehead, curls falling forward to stick to the damp skin with each movement. His face a mix of concentration and overwhelming pleasure as he stared back at you.

“Feels so fucking good, Joel. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

It didn’t take long for Joel’s thrusts to become sloppy, his need after a week apart left him teetering on the edge in short order. His body and mind had become so acquainted with yours so quickly that time apart was nearly unbearable. Bending over you, he murmured filthy things in your ear, causing a line of gooseflesh to rise along your skin, each word like a bolt of pleasure straight to your clit.

Within minutes, you came with a drawn-out shout of his name, taking advantage of the empty house to be as loud as you wanted. Joel worked you through it until the aftershocks became too much for him and he spilled inside you, your name a falling in an overstimulated whimper from his lips.

The pair of you stayed perched over the counter for several minutes, allowing your breaths and heart rates to return to normal as Joel’s cock remained inside you. When he finally softened and slipped out of your wrecked pussy, he stepped back and helped you stand upright on shaky legs.

Body trembling from the heady mix of exhaustion and the lingering effects of a mind-blowing orgasm, you let Joel lead you upstairs, your shorts and panties left forgotten on the kitchen floor. He tucked you into the bed you now shared – your mind still stuck on the fact that you now lived together – and climbed in beside you, wrapping his arms around you so you could nap securely in his embrace.

Days turned into weeks, which turned into months as you adapted to Joel’s off-season routine and developed your own rhythm in this new life you shared with him. Ellie and Sarah would come and go as they pleased, spending time with friends and taking online courses to complete their undergraduate degrees, leaving the two of you on your own with the occasional visit from Tommy.

Much of your time in those first few months were spent learning the ins and outs of captaincy with Joel’s guidance. His home office contained a plethora of resources for you to read and review and he would quiz you on different aspects of the job. You were well on your way to being ready for the captain’s exam by the time you enrolled in a training course, which you took while Joel worked a few contracting side jobs.

Before you both knew it, another yachting season arrived, and you were back on a boat with your favorite people. Navigating an established relationship with the captain was a completely different adventure as the two of you figured out how to keep it professional yet still have time together. Needless to say, you stayed in Joel’s quarters most nights despite technically having your own assigned bunk with Tess again.

For the first time in longer than you could remember, you woke up happy everyday and faced your beautiful live with the gratitude it deserved. You were blessed to have the love of a wonderful man, a fascinating career, and the best friends a girl could ask for.

Life was good, really fucking good.

fin

[nikushimihime]

tag dump!!! please do not interact w this post.

[the-winter-brothel]

Poseidon Tag Dump

[tcnacious]

Tag drop

[nereidprinc3ss]

in the dead of night

in which spencer wakes up in the middle of the night with an overwhelming desire to feel you

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: fem!reader, soft dom!spence (certified nereidprinc3ss classic), sub reader, fingering, piv sex, praise, overstimulation, cr**mp*e (god pls we need a new term) a/n: this is probably THEE most self-indulgent thing i've ever written. but.... lowkey favorite smut i've posted thus far..... i'm such a sucker for disgustingly sleepy needy sex. just.... read it and u will see.... and as usual i love you!!! PLEASE tell me what you think!! MWAH

When Spencer got home around one in the morning, he’d been too dead on his feet to do anything more than get undressed, fall into bed, pull you close, and pass out. Now he’s slightly disoriented as he stirs, pinned between sleep and wakefulness as he realizes how you’ve curled into his side—your face is buried in his shoulder to the point where he’s concerned about your access to air—but each warm puff against his neck assures him you’re breathing alright. One arm is slung haphazardly over his shoulder and your top leg is wound around his. Without thinking, his hand cups the back of your thigh, stroking the bare skin where it presses against his hip. You’re never so soft as you are in sleep; plush, easy, gentle. Spencer realizes with some degree of frustration that he has to fuck you. That’s why he’s awake, and he condemned himself to the fate of it as soon as he touched you. 

Sometimes the impracticality of sex becomes so apparent he resents his own mammalian, biological drive to reproduce. It was never like this before he met you. You reduce him to nothing more than a primate doomed to follow its basest instincts. You make him feel stupid. 

God, he loves you. 

It’s with this in mind he drops his head to kiss your shoulder—a gentle sort of wake up call, as his hand snakes further around to your inner thigh and he presses his lips to your ear. 

“Baby?” he murmurs, kneading the smooth warmth of your leg. It doesn’t take much to wake you up. He thought after you’d been staying at his apartment on a semi-regular basis you’d begin to sleep through him getting up and coming home at odd hours, but if anything, you became more sensitive to the floor creaking or the mattress dipping. 

“Hm?” 

His fingers brush the fabric of your underwear. Your hips twitch. 

“Is this okay?”

You inhale deeply, readjusting your arms around him and nodding into his chest. 

“I need yes or no, angel.”

“Yes, please.”

The words aren’t desperate. They’re sleepy, mumbled, maybe even a little annoyed that he’s making you jump through hoops. The corner of his mouth twists in amusement at your perfunctory politeness and the way it poorly disguises your habitual impatience. 

“Thank you,” he says, rewarding you with his fingers pushing between your folds through the fabric. You say nothing more as he unhurriedly rubs your clothed clit, but he feels the way your breath catches for a moment—before pouring out in one deep tide. He presses slightly harder, transitioning from passes to slow, tight circles that elicit the tiniest, sleepiest moans. This goes on for a while until your hips begin grinding in isolated circles, chasing his hand. 

“Touch it,” you beg quietly. He can feel how damp you are through the fabric and realizes he was probably torturing you for several minutes, but sometimes he just gets so lost in touching you it becomes almost meditative. He pulls his hand away and snakes it between your bodies, sliding beneath your underwear and dragging his fingers over your puffy clit. You whimper but he quickly gets distracted when he realizes just how wet you actually are. Spencer sinks his fingers into you and moans lowly at the sound, rubbing at a spot deep inside you and rutting his palm against your clit rather than pumping his fingers. 

“Breathe,” he reminds you when he realizes how still and silent you’ve gone. A small amount of air escapes in a tremulous little cry as your hips roll gently against his hand—whether to escape the sensation or get closer is unclear. “You’re all wet, baby. Were you touching yourself before I got home?”

“Mhm,” you hum weakly against him. “Couldn’t come.”

Spencer feels like he could finish at the thought alone—the nightly phone calls while he’s away occasionally devolve into desperate phone sex and he’s gotten off to the image of you playing with yourself in his bed on more than one occasion. 

“We’ll make you come,” he promises, dragging his fingers from your soaked heat with bated breath. 

He pushes your underwear down first, until you can kick it off your feet (you’ll have to search for it between tangled sheets tomorrow) and then his own, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth as his cock brushes your tummy. Spencer hoists your bent leg further up his body, exposing your cunt a little more and reaching underneath your thigh until he can guide himself between them. 

The head of his cock pushes between your folds momentarily before he’s teasing your swollen clit, slipping the underside of his tip over it in lazy, noisy circles until you whine. 

“Stop it,” you beg, voice still strained with sleep, “need it inside.”

“You’re right, baby, I’m sorry,” he croons, pressing his lips to your hair as he notches his cock at your dripping entrance and slowly begins to push in. “You’re being very patient—”

He cuts himself off as the two of you moan in filthy harmony. You’re so worked up for him, so defenseless in your half-unconscious state that he slips in with far less resistance than usual. 

“Fuck, me,” he groans under his breath, hissing and bucking his hips when you tighten around him and cry out. He shuts his eyes and thinks of the Goncharov conjecture in an attempt to control himself; the i-th cohomology of the complex is isomorphic to the motivic cohomology group—and then he’s fine. He’s at least learned to stop rattling off mathematical paradoxes out loud during sex. “You okay?”

The only answer you have for him is an indecipherable whine that makes his chest ache. He rubs your thigh in sweet, soothing passes. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” A thought occurs—he chuckles breathily, seeing stars as you throb around him. “You never let me in that easily.”

“Mm,” you squeak, gripping his shoulder hard enough that it aches and he truly couldn’t care less, “you feel good.”

He exhales shakily, pulling out slightly before grinding his hips even deeper into yours. 

“Yeah? So do you, sweet girl.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, and he takes it as a sign that you’re ready to be fucked. Spencer’s not thinking about a whole lot as he withdraws all the way and you clench around him desperately—but somewhere in the back of his mind he’s realizing how much he loves your dirty mouth. When he was younger and dumber, he thought he’d prefer a girl who was soft-spoken and rarely (if ever) cursed. Now that he’s had you, he realizes how compelling and endearing the contrast of your soft voice is when you’re swearing like a marine. 

“God, I missed you,” he breathes into your hair as he leisurely finds the right pace and you melt against him. “I missed how soft and wet you get for me,” Spencer admits gently, eyes screwed shut as he rambles from a place of profound affection and not at all thinking clearly, “and I missed how you cry when you need it so bad it hurts, and I missed how sweet you are when you let me fuck you right after I get home and you’re so tired, just like this. You’re always so good, honey, I don’t know what I did to deserve you—” You whine and clench so hard around him it becomes an effort to push back in, and he groans as he realizes you’re already coming. “Good girl, baby. Holy fuck.”

That last part is more so whispered to himself, but he can’t help it as he feels you painting his cock with your release. You’ve never come this quickly before, and he slips his arm beneath the crook of your knee, pulling up and granting himself more access to fuck you harder and faster. You moan brokenly, sinking your nails into his back. 

“‘m sorry. That was—I didn’t mean to.”

“No,” he quickly assures you, breathing hard, “that was so good, baby. It was perfect. Don’t apologize.”

It seems the brief window between climax and over-stimulation has passed, and a gasp falls from your dropped jaw, arching into him as your body unconsciously tries to find relief from the sensation. 

“Oh, god, Spencer, I—”

“You can take it, we’re getting close,” he promises. Not a demand, but meant as encouragement. “Do you think you can come for me one more time?”

“I don’t know,” you slur, the words rising to squeak. 

“I think you can. Come on, show me how you were touching yourself earlier.”

You whimper, but slide your hand from his shoulder and push it between your bodies. A gasp accompanies the jolt of your muscles as you make contact with your clit, probably demanding too much of it. Soon, however, the conflicted mewls melt into a rhythmic string of delicate, short moans, so pretty it’s like a practiced song. Spencer’s brain, usually overflowing with words, is nothing but a void of swirling fog—each of your perfect sounds, a little burst of light. Soon he’s making noises of his own, which you obviously adore if the way you tense around him is any clue. Usually he sublimates them into words, but he’s too tired, and you feel too good. Your combined moans, along with the sound of him fucking you and the sheets moving over skin make for a truly dirty soundscape. 

“Will you come inside me?” you beg breathlessly, and he can feel the movement of your hand speeding up as you get desperate. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at your plaintive request—the words bring him that much closer to finishing. 

“Yeah, baby. I’m—fuck, I’m not going to last.”

“Spencer—” and somehow, when you say his name like that, he knows exactly what you want. He bows his head and finds your lips, mostly blind in the dark, kissing you messily until that split second where his grip on reality becomes tenuous before the building pressure finally bursts. Multicolored fireworks explode behind his eyes as he moans against your lips and continues fucking you through his orgasm in strong thrusts for as long as he can. Thankfully you finish again just as he’s running out of steam. He rubs the spasming muscles of your thigh deeply as you writhe against him in your typical push-pull style—you don’t know what you want and it’s his job to hold you still and make you take it. After a moment you quiet down, stilling in his arms except for the continued expansion and contraction of your lungs. “Oh my god,” you breathe. “I can’t believe I did that. That’s so embarrassing.” Spencer chuckles breathily—kisses your forehead with his eyes still shut and slips a hand under your shirt to rub your back. 

“Why is it embarrassing? I liked it.”

“I have never—it’s never been so fast! It’s not supposed to be!”

“Why not?”

You huff.

“You’re the man. Men come too quickly. Not me.”

“I’m sorry you had to have two orgasms instead of one. Next time we’ll make sure you don’t come so we can even it out.”

You bury your face in his shoulder once more, immediately softening. 

“No! I take it back.”

“I thought you might.” His hand slides down your back, squeezing your ass affectionately. “Let's rally. We need to clean you up, angel.”

The pillow muffles your voice as you say, “I can’t. I’m asleep.”

“Can I record you saying that for playback in the morning when you ask me why I let you go to sleep with my come inside of you?”

“Spencer, I am seriously not moving. You woke me up. This is not a me problem.”

That makes him laugh, and he presses his lips to yours softly. After a long moment of his mouth moving slowly against yours, a needy little whine rushes from your nose, and it becomes evident he’s successfully kissed the attitude from you.

“You were so good, honey,” he murmurs against your lips. Another (shorter) kiss. “Did so well. I’m proud of you, baby.”

A second soft whimper from you as you chase his lips and he gives in once, briefly—knowing he can’t make you get up after this. How could he do that to such a sweet girl when she’s obviously completely exhausted? Jesus, you have him whipped. He recognizes that. And he made peace with it a long time ago. 

“Go back to sleep. I’ll clean you up.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, already slipping back into unconsciousness like you knew you’d get your way. Knowing your boyfriend, you probably did. “I love you.”

“I love you. Even though you’re a princess.”

You laugh. 

Ten-ish minutes later, once he’s done the best he can cleaning you up and is throwing the covers back over both of you, you startle him slightly by speaking. He thought you’d been asleep. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you sigh dreamily, snaking your arms around him once more. Spencer’s cheeks heat up at the memory of the praise he’d shamelessly lavished upon you not long ago. He’s glad you’re barely awake, because he’s too flustered to think of a response. 

He loves it when you do that.