#i'm definitely going to write more of it for Ao3

[redwinevinegar47]

Good Omens on Grindr

This is every GO fic I’ve found where the characters use Grindr. Even a brief mention. Why? Because I love it. One of my favorite tropes. Please write me if you know of any more. Please give kudos and comments to the authors. Please write more. (Please use the AO3 tags.)

Current count: 15

Twitter and Grindr by Literallymyusername (Rated Teen & Up, 5K, finished)

Acting on advice from Maggie, Aziraphale procures his first mobile phone. (Set sometime in Season 3, probably.)

Aziraphale noticed that the app appeared to be missing the “e,” and was thus abridged to “Grindr.” Young people had no appreciation for the written word. It had been years since he had to carefully convince a human under the age of 40 to not purchase one of his books. Crowley insisted the change was due to Kindling, which Aziraphale thought was probably a manifestation of the demon’s trauma from a certain bookshop fire and the discorporation of his best angelic friend. He chose not to press the matter.

The Mills of God Grind Slowly by causidicus (Rated Explicit, 7K, finished)

It's another Grindr-themed, jealous!Crowley, 6000 year old turbovirgins first time fic! Also featuring very sexually charged hugs and Crowley talking about books.

Dim the Lights and Sing You Songs by Polaris (Rated E, 27K, finished)

A few months prior to leaving the Dowling household, Crowley had downloaded Grindr for the sole purpose of catfishing randy morons. He was not expecting a paragraph that began with: ‘hello. I hope you don’t think this is too forward, but I couldn’t help but notice you have the most lovely nipples.’

Crowley keeps trying to meet his Grindr fuckbuddy. Aziraphale keeps showing up at all his meeting spots. This is terrible.

Do I Look Like I Own A Screwdriver? by IneffableToreshi for ElliottRook (Rated Explicit, 5K, finished)

When the Grindr app he'd meant to delete pings with a new message, Aziraphale fully intends to ignore it. When several more pings come through, he gives in to curiosity and can't help but be amused by the messages.

Well...it couldn't hurt to be someone's "knight in shining armor" for a few minutes, right?

Do Not Disturb by Appleseeds (Rated Teen, 800 words, finished)

Crowley decides to see a therapist, but the appointment doesn't go ahead as planned after he recognises a particular notification sound emanating from Dr Fell's phone.

DEFINITELY Do Not Disturb by IneffableToreshi for AppleSeeds  (Rated Explicit, 3K, finished)

A spicy follow-up to "Do Not Disturb" by Appleseeds

Crowley has just discovered that the guy he's been chatting up on Grindr is actually his new therapist. As it turns out Dr Fell may not be up for accepting him as a client after all, but it might be for the best. <3

(Can technically be read by itself, but it'll make more sense if you read Appleseeds's piece first. :3)

The Price by @cemeteryangel725 (Rated Explicit, 5K, finished)

Aziraphale wouldn't even have the stupid hookup app on his phone if Anathema hadn't set it up — part of her longstanding campaign to "get him back out there," whatever that means. But when he decides to answer a message from a handsome stranger, he ends up with much more than he bargained for.

Ghosted by smolalienbee for sevdrag (seventhe), orderlyhouse (Rated Mature, 5K, finished)

Crowley, looking to have a casually naughty evening, ends up summoning more than he expected.

(what was only meant to be a crackfic, but ended up taking far too many twists and turns along the way)

The Ineffable Shades of Gray (Good Omens Season 3) by @altsernative (Rated Teen & Up, 26K, finished)

I was heartbroken by the end of GO Season 3, so I wrote this! My very first fan fiction. I'm very open to nitpickers and Britpickers!

After returning to Heaven, Aziraphale learns the Metatron's true intentions, finds himself disillusioned, and regrets his choice to leave Crowley, who has been working in the Temptations department. They reunite, and find themselves stopping the final war between Heaven and Hell and learning God and Satan's true intentions for the world and each other.

Zero Days of No Nonsense by FireChildSlytherin5 (Rated General, 3K, finished, Supernatural crossover)

Bobby Singer wasn't expecting this. Being tricked into being a human witness to capture the Trickster that his boys failed to kill wasn't on his bingo card, and he never intended to fall in love with Fergus Crowley, an angel/demon hybrid and the King of the Crossroads demons. The Supreme Archangel of Heaven, Archangel Aziraphale, and the King of Hell, Anthony Crowley, are currently getting drunk in his kitchen while their two children, one he is dating (balls, he sounds like a teenager!) and the other he has begun to be protective of, Castiel the Angel of Thursday.

What has become of his life? Balls!

Private Gig by madrabbitwrites (Rated Explicit, 17K, finished, Supernatural crossover)

Aziraphale is on a miserable date with Gabriel, his most recent Grindr mistake, and is considering breaking things off when a sweaty musician in tight trousers appears before him, basically making the decision a snap. Aziraphale hasn't seen Crowley in a few decades, but their reunion is... passionate to say the least. Will they ever talk about why they stopped speaking in the first place? How does a stuffy bookseller go about dating a rock star?

Prompt was 'feedback' and I, of course, thought of microphones.

Blessings Upon Grindr by agrajag (Rated, 900 words, finished)

"What is Twitter? Or Grindr?"

Crowley's step faltered, and he would have fallen face first into one of the lovely trees that were planted along the road, if Aziraphale hadn't been quick enough to catch him.

"Ah, well, I suppose that explains it. Those are Your doing, aren't they?"

"Uh, not really. Twitter? A little. And demons definitely use it daily to stir things up. Plant the seeds for some smaller sins.

Someone Just Like You by KannaOphelia (Rated explicit, 1K, finished)

Aziraphale doesn't believe in true love, at least for him. If it was to happen, it would have happened before middle age and good dinners made braces as much a convenience for his belly as a style choice, before blond curls faded to white-gold, before deep vertical lines cut their way between his eyes and the horizontal bags under them became permanent.

He doesn't believe in lust at first sight, either. Oh, he's seen people hook up casually in bursts of hormones and attraction, he knows about nightclubs and Grindr, even though he deleted the app in consternation the first time he sent a shy greeting and got a picture of an erect penis in response. It's a foreign language, and he secretly knows he's the despair of his French conversational tutor. At least learning French is fun.

He doesn't know how to explain the fact that he's pressed against the wall of an empty storeroom, hands pushed up under jacket and shirt to feel warm skin and bony spine, mouth full of tongue and a slim leg pressed hard against his erection, nothing but fire and wanting and the odd feeling he is floating.

Sugar by Caedmon (Rated Explicit, 12K, finished)

Aziraphale is baking a tart in his flat when he realizes he's run out of sugar. He's too far in to give up on the project, and he can't just run to the shop. With Anathema's encouragement, he decides to use Grindr to see if anyone is nearby - not for sex, just for a cup of sugar.

He's totally unprepared for who shows up at his door.

And, finally, the one I know you’ve read because it’s practically the Middlemarch of GO fanfic (by that I mean a tremendously well-written indisputable classic):

The Grindr Logo Doesn't Even Have a 'G' In It by @indieninja92 (Rated Explicit, 80K, finished)

After the Apocalypse, Aziraphale ventures into a new space in the gay milieu - Grindr. There he starts talking to a charming young man who certainly doesn't bear any resemblance at all to a certain long streak of demon, not one bit, no thank you.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale and Crowley navigate their friendship after the world failed to end. There is much drinking and silliness, but could it be that there are other feelings lurking underneath?? Of course there are, this is fanfic.

[copingcopia]

An Appetizer

... of an appetizer? Sneak peak of something I started tonight. Last time worked out well, so I decided to do this again. This is a very short snippet, please let me know (DM/notes) if you want to be tagged in the full version when it's done.

**FULL VERSION NOW AVAILABLE HERE AND ON AO3**

Below cut is not, but will likely become M/E, so MDNI as usual. Worked on it some more and updating this to IS ABSOLUTELY GOING TO BE EXPLICIT even if this snippet is not SO DEFINITELY MNDI.

Feeding Copia did something to me and let's just say I'm learning a lot of new things about myself writing this.

Frater isn't taking care of himself, so you need to think of something. Tonight you make sure he eats.

Late. Too late for dinner. It was becoming a more frequent problem since Copia's promotion to Frater. Quality time had become almost non-existent in the last few weeks, which had been difficult, but you willingly still stood by his side, ready for when he needed to lean on you.

Giving him a nice cooked dinner when he finally came home seemed like the least you could do but, especially when tour preparations were in full swing, Copia could barely keep his eyes open at the table. When he told you he was barely finding time to eat at all, slight concern grew into a more tangible worry. So tonight would be different.

When you heard your apartment door click open and shut, you emerged from the kitchen. An oversized t-shirt and your underwear was his favourite thing to see you in and, as he leaned against the front door, he managed a small smile as he looked you over. He also saw what you were carrying - a large charcuterie board, which you placed on the coffee table next to the wine glasses before heading over to him for the usual bear hug and welcome home kiss.

He was already unbuttoning the more constraining parts of his suit when you guided him to the couch. As you gently pushed him to sit, he held on to you to bring you into his lap. You leaned down to kiss him, feeling that same wanting but tired energy of every kiss in recent memory. When it broke, he simply looked up at you for a while, admiring you as you straddled him.

"You're not going to bed without eating again."

"What would I do without you?" His fingers gently ran up and down your thigh and, as he glanced down, he noticed your shirt had ridden up letting him see the deep red lace of your panties and he raised an eyebrow.

Before his mind could wander too far, you reached back for the board filled with food, and placed it next to you. "Starve. Apparently I need pin to you down and feed you since you won't take care of yourself."

You picked up a cracker, some prosciutto and cheese, assembled it together and held it out for Copia. He licked his lips before inching forward with his mouth open, never taking his eyes off you. He hummed as he took his first bite, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second. "Delicious."

While your plan really had been just to make sure Copia would eat, very quickly you realized it was a different kind of hunger in his eyes. He eyes bore into you as offered him bite after bite, intense and unwavering. As overwhelming as it felt, you did not bend under the weight of it, but Copia knew he could make you if he wanted to.

And when you offered him another mouthful and he groaned low as he tasted it, making sure his tongue lingered enough to graze the tip of your finger, you bit down into your lip and shifted against his legs and suddenly he didn't feel so tired anymore.

He had you, and you both knew it.

[sucrosette]

★— ⋆｡˚ [Losing Myself In Simon Snow]

For Day 23 of Carry on Countdown 23, Bite. @carryon-countdown

On Simon Snow and Baz Pitch and their respective sets of teeth finding their way into each other's bodies.

Rated M for... this being what it is (the precursor to smut).

⋆｡˚

Simon bites a lot.

Between the two of us, you’d expect the vampire to be the one that bites a lot, but no. That honor goes to the dragon winged boy with the prehensile and overly sensitive tail.

When we’re kissing, he tugs my lips between his teeth, nips at them till they’re sore. He’ll trail more nips and bites overy jaw and down my neck and over my shoulders until I’m so worked up and frustrated, I pin him beneath me, just to keep his teeth from digging in more. I mean, other things follow, but it starts with stopping Simon from assaulting me with his teeth.

When he’s been worked up into a bluster— my fault, almost with one hundred percent certainty, I know— he bites. He latches onto my forearm or pec and digs in for dear life until I give in and stop teasing him for some small thing or another. Even if I think he’s cute when he’s all red in the face and annoyed with me.

I do, by the way, always think he’s cute.

When he’s embarrassed, he steals my hand to hold, inevitably using me as a sort of shield from whatever thing’s embarrassing him. I’ll talk us out of the situation and walk us away and then somehow my hand will end up in his mouth and he’ll be chewing on my palm like some sort of stimtoy. I don’t bother to stop him. It’s silly, sure, and it feels odd, but I don’t mind if it helps calm him.

When he’s angry, he doesn’t quite bite. He’ll snap his jaw at whatever or whomever has him fuming, but he never actually finds purchase to bite. I can feel it in him though, the urge to snap back with something more instinctual than sharp words and mean looks. Sometimes it’s at me, though I like to think that I give Simon less cause to be angry than I once did, but even though I always let him, he never bites me when he’s fuming at me. He doesn’t want to actually hurt me, sweet thing that he is.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s because I don’t bite him. It is mostly in teasing and play and definitely intended to get a reaction out of me, so it could be that. I mentioned the thought to Bunce once and she kindly asked me to never mention it again, or else she’d evaporate out of existence.

I’ll stick with Shakespeare and familial magicks. At least that much is safe to talk about with Penny, as much as the psychology of Simon is also a shared interest of ours. Apparently the interest doesn’t extend to all facets of Simon, and his biting habits are just a boundary she won’t cross.

It’s fair enough, I suppose.

Maybe I need more friends so I can have more perspectives on what might be normal or not. Vampire friends, maybe, though I admit that I’ve had relatively bad luck with those.

I think a part of it might be the whole “well if you won’t bite me, I’ll have to bite you” attitude he’s got going on. A sort of petty revenge, or maybe it’s some kind of way to egg me into doing it. That’s not to say I haven’t thought about biting him. I’ve thought about it too much, honestly. Every time his heart skips a beat when we kiss, every time we’re nestled together in sleep and my nose is buried against his neck, every time his pulse is thrumming with effort when he’s wrapped around me, every time I bend to kiss his wrist…

I think about it too much.

He undoes me, my Simon. Takes every decision I’ve ever made and throws it out the window, makes an exception of himself in my life at every turn.

But not on this. At least, not yet.

I’m getting weaker in my resolve against it, and I think Simon knows, because he’s tripling down on the biting lately. Coffee’s gone cold? A bite. Remote’s gone missing? A bite. I changed the wifi password? Several bites. I had a good reason for it, but no, there was no forgiveness, only teeth.

He’s in my lap and he’s kissing me hard, shoved me back against the couch like he’s desperate for it, and he is. His tongue is everywhere, my lips are already sore from his teeth, his hands are hot under my shirt and I don’t even know what I did to get him worked up like this.

I’m not about to stop him though. “You make me come undone, Simon Snow,” I breath against his lips and he moans into our kiss, “You make me feel insane.”

“Show me,” He half-demands, half-begs as his kisses start wandering. His lips feel like fire against my collarbone and I can hear the thundering of his heart. “Show me how insane I make you…”

I’ve spoiled him, I know I have. I give him everything he wants, I give into his every demand, but there’s no going back on it now. I don’t regret doing it either. I love giving Simon everything I can, he’s so hungry for it, swallows it all down like he was made for me, asks me for more.

I’m kissing him still and he tugs at my lips, asking for a deeper kiss while he grinds over me, and I give it to him. I let my tongue trace the roof of his mouth and the heat of his tongue, and when I pull back I tug on his lips in turn. I give him just the barest taste of my teeth.

He nearly collapses on top of me.

“Simon?”

He leans up on his elbow, biting into his own lip over where my teeth had just been. He bites hard enough to make himself bleed. I don’t think he’d intended that, but he did it all the same. “You used teeth.”

I don’t think he can even taste his own blood he’s so caught up in the thought.

It’s a moral thing. I want to live my life with Simon Snow. If I drink human, I become more inhuman, I live forever, blah blah blah. I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about it too sodding much.

There is a drop of blood growing on Simon Snow’s lips.

I’m not thinking about it when my tongue darts out of it’s own accord and laps over the bite. I’m not thinking about it as that droplet runs over my tongue and back down my throat. I’m not thinking about it as I feel Simon start to run through my veins, as his taste fills my mouth.

The only thing I’m thinking about is that taste, that savory-sweet taste. It’s not like the blood I normally drink, but it is blood. It’s not like anything else I’ve ever tasted. I can’t find the words to describe it, and that would probably shock Simon more than the fact that I’d used teeth in the first place. I don’t stop to think about it.

I capture his split lip between mine and suck over it hard, tongue laving over it as I drink from him, letting myself linger in the flavour that is uniquely Simon Snow’s. I drink from that little wound until it’s given me all it can, and it’s not nearly enough, and in the same breath it’s entirely too much.

I didn’t even realize I’d flipped at some point in the process. My hands are poised on Simon’s shoulders, keeping him pinned down under me, my kisses turning tender over that small sore.

“You used teeth,” Simon says again as I lean off of him enough to regain myself.

I’m trying to think about my breathing, bring myself back to calm, but my veins are alight with Simon running through them. I’m thrumming with him. “I used teeth,” I manage to echo back.

“Do it again,” Simon asks, his hands finding their way back under my shirt, and I almost shake my head, denying us both.

But why not?

I’m already not thinking. I can’t think of a single reason why not.

I’m already pulling one of his hands away from my abdomen, letting the other linger there while I caress his palm against my cheek, against my lips, teasing the sharp edge of fang against it, lapping over the lines of his palm, tasting his sweat.

I am not thinking.

I am breathing Simon, tasting Simon, bleeding Simon.

And I want more.

I lay the tenderest of kisses against his wrist, feeling the pulse of it against my lips, thin, sensitive skin against thin, sensitive skin. “Do it again?” My voice comes out harsher than intended, giving me away entirely.

“Do it again,” Simon confirms. His eyes are fixed to mine, watching me lose myself in the sensations of him.

I don’t mind. I trust him. He trusts me. He wants it just as much as I do.

My fangs sink in against his wrist and he gasps like he’s forgotten how to breathe while I drink from him. Maybe he has. Maybe with both have.

I’m drinking from Simon Snow. I’m losing myself in Simon Snow. I’ve never felt more alive. I’ve never felt more dangerous. I could live on this, I think. He’d let me.

I might be addicted already.

He’s writhing under me when I pull off his wrist, and I must look some kind of way, but I can’t begin to imagine how. I keep kissing his wrist, licking up stray droplets, even as his nails dig into the soft underside of my jaw, begging my attention properly.

“Again,” He whines, and it is a proper whine.

I haven’t taken much for myself. I know I could.

I smirk down at him. “Later,” my words filter back in clearer, and I think I can see the details of him that much sharper, “I have other ways I want to eat you tonight, Simon Snow.”

[third-time-charmed]

Dance the Night Away

An HSR smut fic

⚠️Rated E⚠️ ~13.5k words Aventurine/Dr. Ratio | Post-Penacony | Character Study | Top Ratio/Bottom Aventurine | Porn with lots of feelings | Angst and fluff

After Penacony, Aventurine takes on the biggest gamble of his life — his heart, soul, and desires laid out on the table. He only does it because he doesn't expect Ratio to match his wager. But not only does the good doctor match it, he raises the stakes so far beyond what Aventurine could have ever allowed himself to dream of winning.

Preview:

Slowly, he reaches his free hand up, hooking gloved fingers into the chain dangling from the taller man’s neck. Not hard enough to pull, just toying with it, his gaze fixed on it in lieu of meeting those vibrant eyes so closely scrutinizing him.

“What do you want from me, Ratio?” he whispers.

“Nothing short of your honesty,” Ratio replies, equally low and so very soft. “In whatever form that must take. I want for you to be as straightforward with me as you possibly can.”

A wry smile twists its way onto his face, and he feels the mask begin to slip. It doesn’t frighten him as much as he thought it might, though he finds himself squirming uncontrollably under the pressure.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he begins after a long moment of silence, plunging ahead before he has a chance to second-guess himself any further. “Had a lot of extra time for it after… you know, while I was in recovery.”

He still can’t quite bring himself to mention the Penacony job more directly. They still haven’t really talked about it at all since coming back to Pier Point. He’s not sure if they ever will. If left up to him, of course, it’s water under the bridge at this point. He’d rather not bring it up.

A soft hum of acknowledgment bolsters his resolve, reassures him his audience is listening. His words are poorly thought out and unrehearsed, but he ignores the flicker of embarrassment as he stumbles through.

“Anyway, without getting too deep into all the unpleasant details, I realized that I… I’m not satisfied. With our current arrangement, I mean. And… being forced to come to terms with the reality of my own mortality like that… gave me the motivation I needed to do something about it.”

The gambler shrugs, one eye peeking up from under his blond fringe to gauge the reaction of his solitary listener. He gives the chain in his hand a soft tug, insistent, pointed, but still not quite the blatant request he yearns to make.

Won’t let himself make.

“Not a bad start,” the scholar says as he hesitates. “Three points.”

“Three points?” Aventurine mutters under his breath. “Goddess, Ratio, you’re such a hardass sometimes.”

Ratio ignores him, though there is a twitch in the corner of his mouth. “And your strutting around and posturing?” he asks instead. “Was that part of your plan to… ‘do something’ then?”

“Give me a break here, doc,” the blond huffs out. “I don’t exactly have a ton of experience in this department. I thought that I could… entice you into making the first move so that I wouldn’t have to, but clearly that was a miscalculation on my part.”

They’re so close together now that it’s near driving him to madness. Aventurine has always been very particular about his personal space, and Ratio has never been so deep into his personal space before, and for such a long time. The warmth of the other radiates along his skin and sets his veins alight. His fingers itch to pull.

He wants… more.

“Today… I don’t know. I guess I got fed up with the more delicate approach and decided to try provoking you instead.” He shrugs again, keeping his voice as level and casual as he can, even though he can feel something deep in his core vibrating, begging to reach out and take. “Thought it might help to heat things up a bit, so to speak.”

“Four points again for honesty,” Ratio says, his tone firm like he’s correcting a student during a lecture. “But minus two points for such a blatantly terrible plan of execution. Your hypothesis hinges entirely on the supposition that I, too, am dissatisfied with our current arrangement.”

“And you’re not.” Aventurine’s head drops in defeat, his gaze fixing on his lap as he fights to hold his composure together. This rejection stings a little less than the previous one, but he’s still taken aback by how disappointed he feels.

This is still no less than he had realistically expected. After all, Ratio isn’t entirely correct. He’s mostly been banking on Ratio being at least moderately easy to seduce, not necessarily harboring his own feelings of dissatisfaction. This whole endeavor was from an entirely selfish standpoint.

There is a subtle softness that seeps into the doctor’s voice, one that Aventurine has only heard very rarely. “How could I possibly find myself dissatisfied,” Ratio says slowly, “when you have never once indicated that you were willing or even at all interested in offering more than you already have? To ask more of a man so intensely guarded with his own intentions and desires… How could I possibly do such a thing, in good conscience? And what’s more, I held no evidence to suggest that any of your flirtations were not simply made in jest.”

A pause, a slow inhale, and something between them shatters.

“No, gambler. I made my peace with you some time ago. I made myself satisfied with what I had.”

Aventurine’s hand falls away from the chain, feeling suddenly heavy. His body flops backward, head landing on the armrest with a dull thud, and an empty, humorless chuckle punching out of his gut. Eyes sliding shut in defeat, he breathes a sigh. And yet, he can’t resist one last desperate grasp as he feels the win slipping out of his hands.

“No chance of changing your mind?”

There is no answer, for such a long period that he becomes curious enough to open his eyes and see what sort of expression the doctor is giving him. He expects something close to pity, or a remorseful frown. But what he sees instead is an intense and focused contemplation. As if the man is actually considering the question seriously. It is unanticipated enough that it nearly makes him startle.

“If you would do so,” Ratio says carefully, “you would need to be forthcoming about what exactly it is that you want from me. Stating simply that you are dissatisfied with our current arrangement is far too vague.”

“I don’t know if I can do that, Ratio,” he responds flatly.

“And why ever not?”

Because I’m a greedy selfish fool and I’m afraid of suffocating you.

Because once I start taking I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop.

Because I’m not allowed to want things, because everything I’ve ever desired has been withheld, removed, or destroyed and I’m afraid of you ending up the same.

“Because… I don’t really know what I want. I never really… got that far, it’s too nebulous, just…” He stops, licks his lips again, eyes darting to the side as if to check for his escape route. His hand trembles so hard the shivers wrack his entire frame, but his attention catches on the molten gaze that is trained intently on his face.

It catches on the way that gaze dips toward his mouth almost imperceptibly, on the sparks that flicker in its depths, on the way the taller man is leaning slowly closer, chin tilting ever so slightly.

Straightforward. Honest. Sincere.

“I just… want more,” he finishes breathlessly, the words feeling ominous and unfamiliar as they leave his mouth.

“Then why don’t you take it?”

Because I’m not allowed to.

Because I’m afraid.

Because…

“What if… I take too much?”

Tip your hand. Just a little. Just enough that I know I’m not losing everything I have left if I take this bet.

“Should that be the case,” Ratio whispers in reply, “I shall inform you. But I find it highly unlikely.”

They are so very close now, barely a breath of space between them. So much so that the doctor’s velvety baritone vibrates in his chest, thrumming through every one of his bones. There is an undertone to it that Aventurine hadn’t detected before, something… almost ravenous and hopeful that sends sparks running up his spine.

...all in, then.

Before he can overthink it, he relents to the burning greed that urges him to take. Gently — but not hesitant — he shifts forward, closing the scant distance to press his lips to the ones taunting him. It is a chaste gesture, simple and unhurried. Almost tender, but definitely inviting.

Ratio’s response is immediate, returning the gesture in such a way that their lips slot together seamlessly. The firm brush, full of intent and answering want, pulls a soft, quiet gasp from the blond. He pulls back, almost reluctantly, his head starting to spin as their mouths come apart with a sound so delicate it makes him feel weak.

And then Ratio gives a low, thoughtful hum, as if appraising the action with careful consideration. “Much better,” he says, the murmur of it dancing provocatively against the curve of his lip. “Five points.”

(Keep reading here!!)

[eliashirsch]

Here's a few McQruise fic ideas i've had floating around my brain these past few weeks! If any of you decide to write a fic based on these prompts, please let me know! The fandom desperately needs more!

On one of their movie premieres, they were too busy getting into each other's pants that they were late to the stage. (They were actually a few minutes late to the Seoul premiere which was the inspiration for this lol)

McQ being so stressed when they were filming that he didn't realize he was having a panic attack. Tom found him, and even if he didn't know what to do, soothed him best he could.

Their first meeting and first impressions of each other.

Their first real fight.

Fighting the urge to touch/kiss in front of the cameras.

Relationship reveal, how would they do it?

1 time when Tom depended on McQ, and 1 time it's the other way around.

Love languages. What's Tom's? What's McQ's? Them learning how the other shows love.

1 misconceptions about Tom (the movie star) and 1 private scene between him and McQ where it shows how absolutely untrue it was.

Texts between Tom and the closest people in his life. McQ, Heather, etc.

The first time McQ really saw and understood who Tom was behind the movie star persona.

They sneak out to make out in the middle of an award show.

AU where they never meet, how would they have ended up in their careers and life?

1 thing McQ taught Tom, 1 thing Tom taught McQ.

Ethan Hunt (the actual character) stumbling across McQ. (That scene at the end of MI:FR where McQ makes a cameo.) Could be universe travel or that McQ really existed in the MI world.

McQ finds out that Tom is a supernatural creature.

Superpower AU. McQ thinks his power is a little useless (especially compared to Tom's) but when they end up in a specific situation, McQ ends up saving them both.

De-aged Tom, like maybe back to his Top Gun days. Present McQ finding young Tom absolutely cute and their age difference a little hot.

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

re: the last post i reblogged bc i am realizing just how much i yapped in the tags and i do not wish to subject the wider tumblr public to that rant LMAO

[unityrain24]

me when people keep reading and liking and commenting the shitty uploading test fic that i did not put any care into and wrote just to figure out how to upload fics to sites instead of the actual fics i have put thought and care and love into

[sysig]

Your Weekly TV Guide

On Monday you can expect:

2:30 PM: Star Control II - Hanahaki

And Tuesday:

2:30 PM: SCII - Hanahaki

Wednesday:

2:30 PM: SCII - Hanahaki

Thursday:

2:30 PM: SCII

Friday:

2:30 PM: Clinical Trial

Saturday:

2:30 PM: Clinical Trial

Sunday:

2:30 PM: Clinical Trial

Thanks for tuning in! (Patreon)

[allisonreader]

Laundry is done for now. We'll see if any writing actually gets done.

[it-was-summer]

Busy Woman

A/N: I do not wanna see ANY Minors in this bitch. Seriously. Like you'll get it when you get older I promise. This worm has been wiggling around in my brain for MONTHS. Things have been so busy that it's been a real struggle trying to write. I really hope you all like my excuse to write porn. Thank you to @cafekitsune for the border/dividers used. Thank you to @beenreidingaboutyou and @alsofoundinpeas and practically the WHOLE discord server for letting me send this google docs to you and yapping with me about logistics (positions at one point I'm sure). Enjoy!

Link to the AO3: Busy Woman -> Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Smut with plot. Reader is a maneater, some she/her pronouns at one point or another, PinV sex yall, wrap it up!!!! condoms my beloved (they are not used here, reader and the team go out drinking, spencer reid yapping, reader is a dommy mommy idc Spencer Reid would have a mommy kink, he’s a whiner, SUB SUB SUB SUB Spencer, nothing too crazy sexually (in my eyes), i forget something else this is porn, no creampie for you!!! (I know... i know..).

Genre: Smut w/ Plot. Pairing: ManeaterBAUFem!Reader x Season4!SpencerReid

Plot: After spending countless months watching you break men's hearts, Spencer is surprised when you call a sudden dating hiatus. Amid your 'break,' you confide in your lanky coworker how much you miss certain physical intimacies. Spencer is quick to offer a solution.

Word count: 11,827

 A man-eater… by definition, is ​​a woman who uses men to have a series of sexual relationships but does not love the men. The thought of being one of those men has been lingering in the back of Spencer’s mind for the past eight months. 

He knows, of course, that you’re more nuanced than that feeble definition. The team never misses the opportunity to tease you; your dating habits are an ongoing joke and mystery within the bureau. Derek often jokes that the two of you are peas in a pod, which, in turn, makes you respond that he’s the one with commitment issues, not you. You insist that you’re just picky.

You’d give any guy a chance until they disappoint you, and then you’re gone. You knew what you wanted from them, and if they couldn’t fulfill those ‘duties’ (as Emily jokingly puts it), then it wasn’t worth it. Spencer hates to admit it —to you or anyone else— but he loves how you detach from them. 

He likes how you lure them in with honey and how they drop like flies at your feet— that trap of yours working effortlessly. It feels strangely voyeuristic, which makes him feel like a creep, but he swears it isn’t like that. If he could describe it better, he’d say it was more like a form of admiration. He likes that you know what you want out of your relationships. The way you don’t stick around and accept bad behavior. It’s exceptional and incredibly intimidating. Maybe femme fatale would be a better title, though he doubts you’ve ever destroyed a man’s life, as that definition suggests. Distress? Most definitely. 

His eyes are glued to you now as you brush a stray hair behind your ear, how your brows knit together when you’re concentrating, watching as your left hand plays with the chain of your necklace. Tearing his eyes away from you, he focuses on the map on his desk, circling the location of the recent body discovered earlier that morning. JJ leans over his right shoulder, her blue eyes looking at the work-in-progress geographical profile with silent intrigue. 

She leans away from him, folding her arms across her chest, getting lost in thought until her gaze lands on you. You were so focused a few minutes ago, but now you’re looking at one of the officers across the station. He was young, about the same age as Spencer, if she had to guess. His uniform is a little loose on him, the material around his arms droops, and his shirt hangs off his body in a way that makes it obvious he’s wearing a size too big for him. 

She watches with you as he tucks it into his pants nervously, his fingers adjusting his collar as he mutters something under his breath. He’s handsome, boyish, with decently styled brunette hair. His dimples pop when he gives one of his fellow officers a slight grin— just your average prey. “Don’t give him that look.” 

Your eyes are on her in seconds, and she holds back a laugh when she sees your offended expression. “What look?” You sound shocked, glancing at the young officer. “I was just people-watching.” 

“I think the word you’re looking for is hunting.” JJ counters as Emily walks in with a coffee in hand. 

“Oh? She’s on the prowl away from home? Down girl, down!” 

You frown, eyes narrowed as you look between the two women taunting you. “I’m not a dog. A girl can’t make an observation anymore?” 

Emily shakes her head as she pulls her coffee cup away from her lips, “Not when the girl is you.” 

Your frown deepens, looking at Spencer with a look that silently pleads for help. He can never resist that look— it’s one he knows well. He looks over his shoulder at JJ and gives her a light pout, “I don’t think that’s a fair assumption of her character.” 

JJ’s eyes shine with amusement. This is how the dance usually went. You’d be selecting some poor gentleman as your next meal, they’d tease you about it, and then Spencer would come rushing in to protect your honor— assuming you had any, to begin with. “Spencer the Valiant enters into the arena, ladies and gentlemen.” Her hand comes up to playfully ruffle his hair.

Spencer fails to dodge her efforts. “Don’t,” he grumbles as he swats at her hand as it touches his already messy curls. “Do that.” He can never catch a break when it comes to being teased by the team. 

You grin, watching Spencer flatten out his hair carefully, rearranging it until it’s slightly neat and wavy. You silently motion to him that part of his hair is still sticking up and watch as he blindly tries to fix it. Watching him struggle with his hair, you break the usual respect you show for his personal space, leaning over and smoothing down the cowlick with a soft chuckle. 

His cheeks are red, watching you lean away from him, his gaze awkwardly avoiding yours. “Besides,” You begin, looking at the young officer with a charming smile. “You and Will make it work, don’t you?” You ask, talking to JJ without looking at her. 

JJ scoffs a little, watching as the young officer looks up from his desk and across the station— he won’t last. You give him a little wave and flirty smile combo before looking at JJ. “Don’t even think about it,” JJ warns, but you technically don’t have to do anything. You shrug a little, looking down at the evidence pile on your desk. 

Not while the young officer stands up, smoothing out his too-big uniform and taking large strides over to you. You don’t have to look to know he’s coming. JJ shakes her head with Emily when he arrives at your side. When he clears his throat, you don’t look up from your task, twirling a pen around your fingers. 

The way you look up with gentle doe eyes and a polite smile on your lips as you turn to face him has Emily holding back a giggle. You blink a little, eyes reading the name tag on his uniform— David Miller. “Can we help you with something, Mister…” You trail off, acting as though you hadn’t just read his name tag. 

“Miller and I don’t need help from all of you, maybe just you.” His voice is slightly deeper than you expected, and he sounds confident— which is fine— you just thought he’d be the shy type.

You let out a soft ‘ah,’ nodding slowly like the idea just occurred to you. “Well, as sweet as that is,” you don’t even let the poor guy officially ask you out. You just openly assume. “I’m afraid we’re all swamped working on this case— myself included.” You watch his broad shoulders slump slightly— the action doesn’t even last a full second— and you sigh like you’re contemplating something. “But maybe we could get a coffee in the break room?” 

His demeanor brightens, eyebrows raising as he asks, “Now?” 

You shrug, looking at the clock on the wall, “Ten minutes.” Standing, you brush off your jeans, as if this sudden coffee date weighs heavily on you. “You coming?” As you walk towards the breakroom, the question hangs in the air, and you don’t even bother looking back to see if he’s following you. 

Three days later, Spencer watches you frown at David. Words can not describe how much he hates David. Well, many words could describe how much he dislikes David, but Spencer Reid is not a man to spit petty remarks at a man undeserving of them (though some may disagree). In truth, he only dislikes David because he envies him a little… he’s lying to himself. Spencer Reid envies that man with an intensity that rivals forest fires. 

Spencer watches as David’s lips form words he cannot hear— words he’s sure you know all too well— Stay. He watches as you give David a small, sympathetic smile. His gaze lingers on your plump lips as you lean in to press a chaste kiss to another man’s lips, and he can imagine the sticky, sweet tone of your voice as you tell him that you have to leave. 

Once you’re in the backseat, you relax your shoulders with a huff. Derek shakes his head at you in the front seat, staying quiet as the black SUV drives off towards the airport in this small Maryland town. Spencer knows that he should stop watching you, but it’s like he’s bewitched. 

Your lip gloss is a faint pink— messy. You probably left some of David’s lips. Spencer wonders if it has a taste; he’s seen you use a cherry lip balm a handful of times. He can imagine kissing you, slow and sweet to start, if he had the time, getting hungrier and hungrier with each press of your lips on his. He wonders if you’d let him drag his tongue on your bottom lip and let him get a taste of cherries and skin. Could he pull on that full bottom lip with his teeth– “Spencer!” 

He blinks, hazel eyes focus on yours. You chuckle, airy and slightly concerned, “Are you okay? You’re staring.” 

Derek barks out a laugh from the driver’s seat, “When isn’t he?” 

Spencer shakes his head, mainly at Derek’s idea of a joke, but also because he doesn’t want you to think something is wrong with him. His smile is unconvincing and quick: “I’m fine.” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, trying again. “Just thinking about you and David. H-He seems nice.” 

You shrug, hair falling into your face, “I guess he’s nice, yeah.” Then you lift a hand, waving the idea off like it’s bothersome. “I don’t think I’m going to see him again.” 

Derek groans out, “Surprise, surprise.” 

Spencer manages to keep the smile off his face, but his voice gives him away: “Why not?” he sounds elated. 

You move with your hands, throwing them up before letting them rest on your outer thighs, slumping a little in the seat. Your eyes search the car’s floor, as if it’ll help you find a good enough answer. Why not? He’s not what you envisioned in a romantic partner. He wasn’t gentle, well-spoken, or even stimulating.  

He seemed like a good conversationalist during that ten-minute coffee break, but he kept pushing for a late dinner with you. When you finally relented, you found he lacked any real substance. He was… dull, hot, but bland. He didn’t have strong beliefs like you, lacked wit, and seemed entitled. 

Sure, you could have let him take you home and given him something to remember you by. But, considering how dull he was over dinner, you doubted he could impress you in the bedroom. Why go looking for disappointment? 

You force a small smile, gentle eyes leaving the SUV’s flooring to look at Spencer. “Didn’t pass the benchmark, I’m afraid.” It’s meant to be a joke, but your delivery is slightly off. You sound somewhat saddened by the fact, and Spencer debates asking you what’s wrong. However, discussing your dating life is not his strong suit. Instead, he simply delivers a curt nod, lips drawn into a tight line as the car falls silent on the way to the tarmac. 

A week later, it’s one of those rare days when the BAU team stays in DC. Indeed, this week is a way to make up for lost time. Spencer has heard about two coffee dates, one dinner date, and how you’re going on a lunch date this upcoming Saturday. Not that you’re telling him necessarily; he tries his hardest not to ask about your dating habits out of fear that you’ll eventually catch on to his hopeless crush on you and break his heart before he’s mentally prepared for such a tragedy. 

No, he hears about your escapades from Penelope, Emily, or JJ. Mostly in passing gossip sessions, he hears when he shouldn’t be eavesdropping.  He’s not the biggest fan of gossip, especially when said gossip is about a coworker, but he can’t stop listening when it’s about you. 

The second he hears your name leave one of their lips, he pours his coffee a little slower in the break room or takes smaller bites of his lunch. He even held the elevator doors for the group of women on a handful of occasions so he could silently listen in. Morgan says he’s whipped (and after Spencer gets clarification on what that terminology entails, he nervously disagrees). 

He’s just a naturally curious person. His high IQ can be blamed here— you’re a constant question on his mind. He cannot solve you, and every time he thinks he’s close, you switch it up on him. 

Penelope is trying to be discreet—genuinely— she’s walking at a normal pace, a rested smile on her face, and the feathered flower pinned into her blonde curls shakes slightly as she approaches Emily’s desk. Her eyes look towards your desk, glad to find you lost in conversation with Anderson. Spencer watches her anyway.

Emily’s eyebrows raise as Penelope leans down and whispers something into the small space between them, which is effective because Spencer can’t hear anything (much to his dismay). Emily reels her head back, shocked as she mutters in disbelief, “No way.” 

Penelope beams, nodding quickly and letting out a drawn-out “Mhm!” 

Spencer wonders if it has anything to do with Anderson. Could they be alluding to the two of you getting together? Spencer would feel nervous about the idea, but you never dated coworkers. Besides, Anderson didn’t have that boyish charm you so adore. Spencer thinks he can mark him as safe.

But what else could it be? He’s trying his hardest not to stare at Penelope and Emily as they whisper to each other a few feet away, his eyes darting around the case file in his hands as his mind runs away with him. His gaze occasionally flits over to your desk, taking note of that polite smile you’re sporting. Yeah, you’re definitely not into Anderson. 

Something work-related? No, that sounds ridiculous the second he thinks it. He blinks, forcing himself to set down the case file and mull over all the probabilities. He feels like it’s too obvious to be a date. You go on those all the time. And he doubts it's a second date update because those never end well for you. However, there is a slight chance that this time, it did. 

He’s still in the process of analyzing every bit of information related to you when he hears an open laugh from Penelope as she follows Emily over to your desk. Anderson is nowhere to be seen as you settle back into your desk chair, barely looking up when Emily asks, “You’re taking a break from dating?”

“Derek is such a gossip.” 

“Don’t blame him, he can’t resist me.” Penelope sighs out. 

Emily dismisses the comment with a slight wave, “For how long?” 

You shrug, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, “I don’t know. Until I feel like talking to a man again?” 

“Oh my god, an indefinite hiatus!” 

You chuckle a little, “Why do you care so much?” You couldn’t imagine your dating life being that interesting. Then again, you have dated some questionable people.

Penelope gasps, hands reaching her chest, “Why do we care? You’re the only thing that saves us from boredom. You’re water in this gossip dessert. Don’t let us dehydrate, please, please.” Her palms press together as she begs you. 

A strange laugh escapes you, your shoulders shaking as you giggle. “Listen, I really need—” You gently swat at Penelope’s still clasped hands, “I need a break from all the disingenuous compliments and ploys to get into my pants—” you scoff. Spencer’s heart stutters in his chest; he’s empathetic towards your feelings. He wants what’s best for you, of course (that and this could be his once-in-a-lifetime chance to see you be wholly unattached, his chance). “I need to be alone and work on some things before I date again, simple as that.” Well, so much for his chance. 

“She’s so wise.” Emily turns to Penelope, her tone mocking. “Isn’t she so wise?” 

“Oh, on par with Buddha.” 

Your eyes shine with amusement, though you keep your tone serious, “Yes, laugh at me all you want for being a healthy person.” 

Two months later, your hiatus is still going strong. Spencer has not seen or heard of any flirty endeavors surrounding you, much to the other’s dismay. It’s true in a way, gossip is drier during your dry spell. There’s been no mention of terrible dates nor any mention of bad kisses on first dates, or worse, lousy lays. 

Spencer has never had any issues talking to you, but lately, he’s noticed you’re prone to daydreaming. You’ll stare off sometimes during a lull or mutter to yourself in the breakroom. He wants to ask how you're feeling amidst your break from dating, but it feels like such an intimate topic that he’s hesitant to approach it. 

So now, he’s watching you watch Emily flirt with some stranger at the bar. This week has been grueling, with case after case. It never gets easier, but moments like these—the whole team spending time together—make it less painful at the end of the day. Spencer’s nursing his whiskey, always a slow drinker, but his attentions are on you as you roll the straw of your mojito between your fingers. 

Eventually, after a quick sip of whisky, he gains the courage to ask, “Everything alright?” 

You jump at the sound of his voice beside you, but you still smile at him when you turn to look at him. You open your mouth for a moment, then close it again, then open it again, “Yes.” You say in a strange voice— a twisted mixture of confident and drained. 

Spencer raises an eyebrow, his expression letting you know that he doesn’t truly believe you. You laugh a little at that look of disbelief before your shoulders slump, and you mutter a soft, “I sort of miss dating.” 

“Sort of?” It's more confident, more teasing than he’d like, but it just slips out of him. His cheeks are tinted the prettiest shade of pink, and you try your hardest not to stare at him. 

Your eyes shift to the drink in your hands, fingers leaving the straw as you elaborate on the topic. “I don’t know. I didn’t think I would miss the flirty conversations or feeling wanted.” You trail off for a moment, eyes not meeting his for a moment. “Does that make me sound,” Your eyes finally reach his, “Conceited?” Your gaze is so full of worry that he has to stop himself from shouting his answer upon impact. 

Instead, he swallows down a shocked breath, shaking his head. “No! No, you’re not conceited. That’s normal, considering all the attention you…well, attract.”

“Great,” You murmur, frowning. “You think that I’m some shameless, attention-seeking seductress,” gazing downcast at your mojito. 

Spencer laughs nervously,  “What?” He can’t deny that the seductress part might be true— you could seduce a saint, he’s sure. “I think a lot of things about you when I think about you, but shameless, attention-seeking seductress is not one of them.” 

He’s melting at the look you give him. Head slightly bowed, looking up at him through those long lashes of yours, full lips in a slight pout. “Really?” 

“Really.” He squeaks, much to your delight— the alcohol is messing with your head. 

You sit a little straighter at that, sighing, “So, what do you think about when you think about me?” You ask, teasing Spencer wasn’t something you did often. The team teases him so much that you feel bad joining in. But you can’t help yourself, not when he’s looking at you with his gorgeous, honey eyes. All wide and deer-like, fuck, he’s pretty. 

You would feel bad for thinking about your coworker like this, but in the dim lighting of this bar, you find that you don’t mind. Truth be told, if Spencer Reid weren’t your coworker, you would have worked some charms on him a long time ago. He was so pretty, so receptive to new ideas, a genius, a man of his word. God, he was so sincere. Why is that such a turn-on? 

You drag your tongue along your bottom lip, lost in thought, a movement not lost on Spencer as he can’t seem to take his eyes off your lips. His mouth is dry, and his voice is caught in his throat as he stammers out a gentle, “What–” he clears his throat, trying to stop his voice from sounding so high, “What do I think about?” 

That slow smile makes his heartbeat skip a beat, he’s seen that smile before, and he’s screwed if you decide to do anything more than teasing him. “Yeah, you said you think lots of things when you think about me. I’m curious.” 

“Well, I, uhm,” He swallows, his tongue feels like sandpaper. His eyes shift down to his whiskey, his gaze shifting between you, his drink, and the table. “ I think you’re kind. You’re always willing to help a friend, like when you made all those meals for Penelope after she got shot.” Your expression softens at that, your teasing smile melting into something warmer. He takes this as a sign to keep going, “You’re considerate. I think you could make Hotch smile, I’m sure you have, all because of your sense of humor. You rarely judge people; you’ve never judged me. You’re empathetic, seeing you connect with people so easily, it’s— you have this gift for shifting your perspective, and I—” 

“Spencer,” You cut him off with a gentle touch of your hand on his. You’re quiet for a moment, eyes searching his, looking for some kind of sign of deception, but finding none. Your gaze warms him to his core, melting away anything cold residing within him. “Thank you.”

He lets out a soft stammer of confusion, about to ask you why you’re thanking him, but instead, he regains some of his composure and nods. “Anytime.” He hates how cold his hand feels when your fingers leave his skin. Everything about you is so warm: your smile, your laugh, your touch— and against all reason— he’s sure he could survive frigid winters as long as he spends them by your side. 

An hour later, you’ve ditched the idea of feeling sorry for yourself. You were seemingly determined to make your own fun. And you were. Penelope had bought a second round of drinks, and you chose something a little stronger than the mojito from before, and drank it fast. It wasn’t enough to get you drunk, but it did give you a slight buzz, feeling looser now as you spun around the dance floor with Penelope. 

Penelope’s sure that your voice will be gone from how loud you’re singing to the song the DJ just started playing, laughing harder as you place a finger to her lips, grab hold of both of her shoulders, and dance to the beat. 

Spencer isn’t a dancer, well, he can slow dance, but he doubts he could keep up with you right now. So, he lingers on the sidelines of the bar. He —like many of the men at this bar— can’t take his eyes off of you as you spin around in a sloppy circle. The way you move your hips in a circle has his head cocking to the side, focusing on the slope of your lower—

A chuckle can be heard beside him, making Spencer stand up straight, turning to look at Derek. Derek, who has the biggest grin on his face, is shaking his finger at Spencer. Spencer rears back his head, giving his friend an odd look. “What?” 

“Nothing.” Okay, so he’s lying. Derek stuffs his hands in his pockets, acting aloof as Spencer stares him down. Derek, however, has his attention on you and Penelope. “You know,” there it is, “She’s gonna need someone to walk her home.” 

“Who?” For a genius, Spencer can be incredibly dense at times. 

Derek sends a deadpanned look his way, eyebrows raising, waiting for Spencer to catch on. Spencer blinks, his brows furrowed in confusion, oblivious to what Derek is saying. Derek groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose before dragging his hand down his face. 

He then points over to you, Spencer’s gaze following his finger. “Ms. Vixen, Pretty Girl, the Man-eater of the BAU, the temptress of the —” Spencer holds up a hand, cutting him off. 

“I get it, okay?” Even though he knows that Derek’s joking, Spencer’s tone still comes out clipped. He forces his shoulders to relax. 

“She’s going to need someone to walk her home,” Derek says in a calmer tone, his shoulders shrugging slightly. 

Spencer stammers, flustered with the idea of walking you home. To be honest, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He wouldn’t let it. His imagination runs wild when it comes to you, and he daydreams about the oddest things— the taste of your skin, his palm on your lower back. “Didn’t she come with you and Penelope?”

Derek clicks his tongue, “Nope, she lives two blocks over, walked here.” 

“Oh,” He responds lamely, his arms crossing over his chest. He chews lightly on his bottom lip, thinking it over. He had his whiskey over an hour ago and had been nursing a water, but it didn’t matter much, considering he, too, walked here. “Well, I mean, I can’t assume, wouldn’t it be rude to think she’d,” He bounces around before he drops his arms at his sides. “You think she‘d say yes?” 

“What makes you think she’d say no?” 

“I don’t know,” Spencer tries to think of a good reason as to why he’s worried you’d turn him down, but finds nothing but his own insecurities. He knows that you’re kind; he knows if you didn’t want to do something, you wouldn’t. Spencer finds that very reassuring. “Just don’t want her to think I’m weird.” 

Derek barks out a sharp laugh as if he knows something that Spencer doesn’t. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Pretty Boy.” 

Spencer wants to ask why, but Derek looks away from him before he gets the chance. Spencer steals a glance over to the dance floor, watching as Penelope and you giggle yourselves away from the crowd. 

Your pupils are dilated, and Spencer is sure that if he pressed a hand to your cheek, your skin would be warm, either from the alcohol or light giggles still leaving your lips. He feels his lips twitch upwards at the sound of them, broken up with soft gasps of air as you and Penelope hold onto each other in front of them. His heart clenches in his chest as he hears your giggles die away, and your gaze meets his. He wishes he could keep you this giddy all the time.  

Your face relaxes into a gentle smile, and you let out a slow sigh. “Hi,” you motioned between Derek and Spencer with a wave of your hand. “What are we talking about?” 

Derek cuts Spencer off before he has the chance to embarrass himself. “We were actually discussing leaving,” Derek says, much to Penelope’s dismay. 

She’s frowning, and Derek knows he can’t tell the blonde his plan to get these two together, not yet, anyway. Spencer’s pining is evident to anyone with eyes, and you aren’t exactly smooth either, always choosing men who look strikingly similar to your lanky coworker. 

“It is getting pretty late,” You mutter, sobering up a little at the idea of walking yourself home at this late hour. 

Worry must be written across your face because Spencer is softly clearing his throat. “I can walk you home,” he offers in a soft voice. You don’t even question how he knew that you walked here. Instead, you can feel your cheeks flush. The idea is tempting, but it feels somewhat… intimate. 

“That’s okay,” You begin, “You don’t have to go out of your way–” 

“I don’t mind!” He’s leaning into you, nodding his head slowly. “I’d sleep better knowing you got home safe.” 

A little tiny voice inside of you is shrieking with delight at that, but you answer him in a reasonably calm voice. “Well,” you tsk, “if it’ll help you sleep better.” Your tone is flirtier than you’d like it to be. You’ll be the first to admit it: It’s hard controlling yourself around him, and being dehydrated and tipsy isn’t helping. “Let me grab my things.” 

Spencer is nodding, discarding his plastic cup of water and ensuring he has everything on his person before he looks at Derek, who has very clearly filled Penelope in by now in fast whispers. Derek gently taps a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “Breathe. You’re just walking her home. Remember, you’re already friends with her. She won’t bite… hopefully.” 

Spencer prepares to shoot back that he doesn’t need the pep talk because nothing is going to happen, but his mouth snaps shut as you materialize by Penelope’s side. “Ready?” You rock back and forth on your heels, eyes shining. 

Spencer’s brows raise, smiling nervously as he hums a shaky-sounding, “Mhm.” 

The night air smells fresh and clean with the promise of summer, warm and refreshing. You dragged in a slow inhale through the nose and hummed. A cool breeze brushed over your shoulders for a moment, and you felt awake again, your slight from earlier replaced with a second wind of energy. You glance over at Spencer, who is still holding the bar’s exit door for Penelope and Derek. 

He doesn’t look bored or annoyed by the task, and though it’s the tiniest act of kindness, it makes you smile. You hug Penelope, tight and secure around her middle, muttering gentle goodbyes to her in a playful tone. Derek laughs when you bid him farewell in the same style, pulling away from the hug, smiling widely, and shaking his head. He then points at Spencer, “Stay safe,” his gaze moving to you. “Both of you.” 

You wave his worries off, nodding, “Dr. Reid, lead the way.” 

Spencer lets out a tiny scoff, waving his friends goodbye before doing exactly as you say. You seem incredibly awake, despite the last hour. His eyes are so focused on you as the two of you begin the short walk back to your respective apartments that he almost trips on a crack in the sidewalk, not even ten minutes in, and he’s already making a fool of himself. 

You pause your movements, hands raising in the air as if you’re preparing to catch him, “Everything okay?” Your tone gives away your amusement. 

He nods, “Yeah, yes, just distracted.” 

“How out of character for you.” You tease lightly, sighing out as you lower your hands. You let out a soft hum, thinking about a tune they played at the bar, when you see two bodies pressed up against a wall in the not-so-far distance. 

Your shoulders feel tense as you try your hardest not to stare at the couple as they kiss, soft sighs and moans of pleasure leaving one lover’s lips as you force your eyes straight ahead. Spencer, however, is staring. His eyes don’t stay on the couple long as he hears a frustrated sounding exhale from you. 

His lips quirk up when he sees you walking with a rigid posture. “Does PDA bother you?” He asks curiously, keeping his voice low as he passes the couple to his right. 

You shake your head, cheeks feeling warm at the sound of his voice. “What? No. I just,” You pause, unsure about how much you should be sharing with him anyway. Would he want to hear about how much you missed it, dating, kissing, sex, the touch of someone’s hand in your hair? Your eyes nervously glance at him, then the sidewalk, a soft laugh leaving you. “It’s going to sound so pathetic.” 

Spencer finds that highly unlikely, “Try me.” 

You bite your lower lip, considering it for a moment. It had only been two months, how could you be so… needy? You can feel the edges of your ears grow warm as the night air— you were so pathetic. How could someone become so touch-starved in such a short amount of time? How could you tell that to him? Then again, Spencer Reid was not quick to judge… though maybe he would be if he knew what you were thinking about right now. 

You're slow to smile, and your face looks a little shy and awkward. You speak in a hushed tone, “I think I miss it.” 

“Kissing?” 

“No, I mean yes, but more than kissing. Touching, heavy-petting, dates,” You dare not glance at him, “Sex.” You can’t stop yourself now, the words leaving you against your will. “I’ve just been stressed, irritable lately, and I think sex… took my mind off things.”

Spencer’s throat fills with cotton, and he tries to swallow normally, going shockingly quiet for someone who always seems to have something to say. It doesn’t last long as he feels the growing silence crawl under his skin— he can’t stand it. “That’s normal, for someone— well, anyone who hasn’t had it, sex, I mean, in a while.” He stops himself from asking how long it has been before continuing. “Regular sex can boost your immune system, am-among other things.” 

You grin, “Of course, it does.” You feel lighter hearing Spencer nervously ramble about sex, less judged, more listened to. You glance to your side, admiring the sharp slope of his jaw, the ends of his brown hair curling against his smooth skin. “Don’t stop on my account; I love learning.” 

Of course, you do.

It seems to be Spencer’s turn to stare daggers into the distance, following you as you take a left turn. “In some women, sex can lower the risk of heart attacks. Which is funny, Men’s likelihood of a heart attack goes up with continuous sexual activity.” He chuckles lightly, sparing a glance over his left shoulder at you. 

His knees feel weak seeing the way you’re looking at him. Your gaze occasionally glances at the sidewalk, but your eyes shine with curiosity. He’s always liked that about you. You’re always willing to listen to his random rants, never poking fun at him. No, it's not like you to laugh at someone for something as direct as knowledge, but you still smile at him. 

He keeps going, his hazel eyes focused on you. “Rhythmic stimulation,” He should not look at you as he says this, “During an orgasm, has similar brain activity to dancing.” Your eyebrows raise at that, mouthing a gentle ‘huh’. 

“So, what, like birds?” 

“Yes! Dancing has been a long-standing method of seduction, so I suppose it stands to reason that muscular stimulation, in that way, would make our brain activity act that way.” 

Your head tilts, trying to get the mental image of Spencer’s hands on your waist as you dance against him out of your mind. “I suppose it would. Though I wouldn’t consider orgasmic pulsing to have a steady rhythm.” 

Spencer feels his heart stutter against his ribcage, his jaw clenching as his mind graces him with the mental image of you under him, shaking, hips stuttering against his roughly. He blinks, the tips of his ears turning red as he struggles to find something interesting to say. “W-Well,” he squeaks, and he feels panic flood his system, watching your grin widen when you hear such an embarrassing sound. He coughs, fixing his shirt collar, “Oxytocin— endorphins really— are released when dancing, same with uh,” His mouth hangs open for a second as his gaze dips down to your lips, “Climax.” 

He’s your coworker, he’s your coworker, coworker, cowork— “Would you consider orgasms to have a steady rhythm?” Honestly? Not the worst question you could ask right now. You just hope that it comes off as you being curious instead of desperately horny. 

Spencer needs someone to put him out of misery, cheeks hot as he answers you, “I suppose that maybe, possibly, they could, yes.” 

Your chin tilts upwards, and a soft “Uh-huh” leaves you before the two of you are swept up in a slightly charged, albeit awkward, silence. You try to talk down the little voice in your head that seems to be screaming at you for making things so uncomfortable. 

Why did you ask him that? What did you expect? Was Spencer supposed to drag you into an alleyway and immediately make you cum? Well, on second thought, that’s not such a bad idea— enough! You try to think of a possible escape from this silence, but all your dirty mind can think about are more inappropriate questions and remarks— just your luck. 

“It wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” Spencer’s voice pulls you away from your thoughts. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” 

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea––” He clears his throat in an attempt to keep it from closing up, “Having sex, to help with your, uhm, stress problem.” He holds his breath, waiting for your reactions. Morgan told him that the worst thing a person can do is say no, but Spencer disagrees. Said person could scream at him, slap him for being brazen, or stop talking to him altogether. He wouldn’t blame you if you did. Why did he have to say that? Why would he suggest something like that so openly—

Your laughter makes his brain short-circuit. What kind of reaction is that? Did you think he was joking, or did you find his suggestion so funny that you’re laughing at him? His laughter escapes him in a nervous attempt at self-preservation. If he can play this as a joke, maybe you won’t tell Penelope, and then Penelope won’t tell Derek, and Spencer can live another day free of embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry,” You stammer, “Is the Doctor Spencer Reid suggesting that we sleep together for a dopamine boost?” 

He doesn’t know how to save himself from that; his poker face is not a good one, not when it comes to you. His emotions almost always show on his face; there’s no way you’d believe him if he lied. So, he mentally prepares himself for rejection. “Not necessarily, strictly, suggesting anything. I’m just saying that it could be beneficial to you— both of us— if you needed some help with your irritability, since you’re free.” 

“Are you saying that I have nothing better going on, so I might as well have sex with you?” He’s not exactly wrong, but you don’t need to admit it. 

His cheeks feel hot, burning as he rasps out a shrill, “No! No, speaking from a scientific standpoint, biologically it is one solution to your problem.” 

You let out a soft chuckle, breathy and short-lived. He can’t be serious, there’s no way he’s serious. Not Spencer Reid. And if he wasn’t joking, what would you even say? Sure, sounds like a great plan. Do you have a condom, or should we stop at the store? Better yet! Let’s do it raw to reap the full biological benefits of sex together. 

It’s not realistic. 

Spencer says odd things all the time. Once, he told you about how the spread of ringworms between animals and humans works, solely because of one off-handed comment. Not that you mind, you do enjoy learning, that was no lie. Spencer was a plethora of knowledge, and you trusted every little word that came out of that pretty mouth of his. 

He’s grown to be more than just your favorite walking, talking, human encyclopedia. Spencer Reid had the biggest heart, the best laugh, and the softest hazel eyes. He cares about other people intensely, is always willing to go out of his way to listen and help others, and is borderline selfless sometimes. Sure, that was part of the job, but Spencer made it into something more, something raw. 

So, no, he couldn’t be suggesting such a thing. Not your Spencer Reid. “You’ve got a weird sense of humor, Reid.” You mutter, your feet falling into sync beside him. You can see your apartment building coming into view and feel your body beginning to long for your bed. 

The rest of the walk is quiet, with soft mentions of summer plans and idle chatter. Spencer shouldn’t be so disappointed. You’re still talking to him, still laughing at his jokes, listening to his random facts mid-conversation. You’re willing to make everything go back to normal, ignore his odd suggestion, and go to bed. He should be grateful, and maybe a small part of him is, but the rest of him? The rest of him is so disappointed.

Not because you ignored him, but because you didn’t give him a proper yes or no. Even without a direct answer, he feels rejected, and he’s kicking himself for not being able to make a move like a normal person. 

He walks you up to your door, staring at the number four on the outside of your apartment door for longer than necessary as you dig through your bag to find your keys. When you find them, you hold them up with a proud smile. “They materialize.” You muse, your back facing him as you push the key into the lock. 

The last thing he wants tonight is for him to walk home regretting something. He could go home lamenting the fact that he didn’t make a move, or he could go home regretting the fact that he did. For him, one of those options is far worse than the other. 

Pushing your apartment door open, you begin to turn back towards him, “Thanks for walking me home, Spence, I appreciate it—” A jolt of energy zips through you as Spencer’s lanky fingers wrap around your wrist, yanking your body closer to him.  You barely have time to look down at your wrist before he’s inching closer, pressing his lips against yours in one swift movement. 

The kiss is timid and far too quick for your liking, and when he pulls away from your lips, he immediately apologizes. “I’m sorry! I know I should have asked you first, but I got so nervous with everything I said earlier and—” The rest of his rushed apology is tuned out as you stare up at him with wide eyes. 

In complete amazement, you stare at him like that for what feels like forever. You’d blame it on the alcohol for the way that you find his pathetic ramblings adorable, or for the way you’re reevaluating your conversation from earlier, when you laughed him off. And then there was that little, insistent voice in your head that demanded another kiss, claiming the feeling of a dim spark. 

And who were you to deny it?

Spencer’s hands are moving with him as he talks, finger trembling as he explains that he “....couldn’t go home ruminating on the what-ifs and I needed to do something, and Morgan says that confidence is key and I was trying—” Your fingers hook into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to your level with a rough yank.

Your lips meet his in a sloppy kiss for just a moment before he kisses you back, and when his head tilts ever-so-slightly to the side, it becomes something else entirely. His lips are softer than you expected, hungrily meeting yours. Spencer kisses like he’s starved for attention, for touch. His hands find purchase on your hips, holding you in place with both hands, like he’s scared you’ll disappear. 

The way the palms of his hands squeeze at your waist makes you weak at the knees. The kiss has seemingly shifted from tender to needy in a matter of seconds, his lips pressing against yours with a delicious roughness. When you pull away, you can feel your bottom lip tingling, a feeling that leaves you a little lightheaded. 

The soft pink of Spencer’s lips is the first thing you’re looking at before pushing him deeper into your apartment. His feet stumble as you force him into your apartment, the flat of your palms on his chest. When the door shuts behind you, the two of you are left in the dark of your apartment. Moonlight seeps through your living room curtains, illuminating the room with a softness so close to ethereal that it leaves Spencer wondering if he’s dreaming.

He’s sure you’re about to tell him that this is a bad idea and send him home, before you let out a frustrated groan and ask him, “Are you sure this is alright?” 

Holy shit. 

He can feel a faint squeeze in his lower abdomen, licking his lips as he tries to think clearly, for your sake and his. “I want this.” He’s clear with his feelings for once. “And I can promise you I want this and much more.” 

As his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he can see the shine in your eyes. You're staring up at him with the eyes of a woman lost between admiration and awe. You nod slowly, your left hand grabbing his right, “Then don’t keep me waiting.” And while your tone is playful, he can’t help but take it to heart, letting you guide him toward your bedroom. 

A soft giggle can be heard from you as you press a quick kiss to his lips, then another, and another, until the back of his knees are hitting the edge of your bed. You lean in slower now, with the tempting promise of a sweeter, sensual kiss—one where Spencer can enjoy the taste of your lips in full. Your lips brush against his as your hands press against his chest, his balance wavering, and then he’s pushed down on the edge of your bed with a light groan of disappointment. 

His head is spinning from the teasing brush of your lips, his eyes lingering on them as you smile down at him, the look of innocence. “Did you think I’d make this easy for you?” Your teasing words shoot an electric shiver down his spine, a breathless laugh leaving him as your hands rub his shoulders.

“I don’t believe easy is in your vocabulary.” 

“Oh?” You muse, your hands stopping the gentle massage of his shoulders, your left hand leaves a trail of fire up his neck to his chin, tilting it up slowly. Your head cocks to the side, he’s never seen you this smug. Were you like this with everyone else? Or is this just for him? He’s too scared to ask. “Care to elaborate?” 

Spencer swallows slowly, trying to keep his voice steady. “You like the challenge. You like having to work for it. I used to think it was because you wanted to be intellectually stimulated, but seeing you like this makes me think that you get off on it. ”

You try to hide your smile, the grip on his chin slacking as your thumb traces a soft pattern on his lower jaw. “God forbid a girl has a bit of fun.” He cracks a smile with that, letting out a low hum as he raises his hands to pull you closer towards the bed, your knees hitting the edge of the bed that lies between his thighs.

Spencer’s pleading eyes almost make you cave, those soft chocolate pools of desire almost too alluring to resist. Almost. Although you guess he deserves a little treat before the night begins. You lean down, cupping both cheeks to press a slow kiss to his lips. Spencer matches your energy, not taking the kiss up a notch until you do, one of your hands straying to the root of his hair and pulling lightly at his brown curls while your tongue slowly slides against his bottom lip.  

Fighting back a groan, Spencer eagerly parts his lips for you. Your tongue drags against his, exploring his mouth at a torturous pace. Spencer can feel his cock, begging for some friction, jump inside his pants as you softly suck on his bottom lip. He’s breathing hard, your mouth swallowing most of his groans and sighs, until your teeth pull at his bottom lip and he lets out a sweet, quiet whimper. 

You pull away, and Spencer can feel himself spiraling before you push his hair back and whisper a breathy, “So good, baby.” His genius mind is out of commission after that, and whatever energy, whatever brain cells he has left over are now yours to use as you like. “Lean against the headboard.” 

It’s a direct order that he immediately follows. He’s kicking off his shoes as fast as possible, moving around on your bed until his back hits the headboard. 

His enthusiasm both excites you and amuses you, your eyes rolling with a playful shake of your head. He watches as you crawl over to him on the bed, swallowing hard as his eyes take you in. He’s waiting for his alarm to go off and for him to wake up in bed, without you, alone, and painfully hard. 

You let out a short laugh, seeing his wide-eyed expression, “You’re sure you still want this?” You ask as you reach him, your eyes on his. 

Spencer’s answer is a quick, “Yes!” which makes you smile wide at him, “Are you?” His fingers are itching to touch you, but he keeps them in his lap, fidgeting. 

You let out a playful hum as you swing a leg over his lap, carefully straddling him. “Yes," you answer, looking down at him. You lean in, teasing his lips with a light brush, leaning away whenever Spencer tilts his head up in a vain attempt to kiss you thoroughly.

“Patience is a virtue.” Your lips brush against his as you whisper, kissing the corner of his lips, much to his dismay. 

Spencer would say he’s not usually this needy, but he doesn't have ample experience to draw from anyway. He can only blame his neediness on you. You who is grinning from ear-to-ear as you kiss his cheek, you who is hovering over his lap, you who is laughing when you see his pleading expression. You mutter something that Spencer can vaguely make out as disappointed, “Greedy.” Before your lips press firmly onto his. 

He could spend hours kissing you. In fact, if nothing else happens tonight, he’d walk home happy knowing he kissed you like this. Your languid kisses easily turn hungry as Spencer slides his hands to your waist, guiding you to sit on his lap. He can feel a ghost of a smile against his lips, his hands squeezing gently at your sides as you resume your earlier task of exploring his mouth with your tongue. 

You swallow a groan from Spencer as you take a moment to suck on his tongue, his hand gripping your waist tighter. Letting out a muffled hum of pleasure, you grind your hips down on his with almost perfect precision. 

Spencer’s back goes rigid, feeling the way your hips grind against his, unsure if it’s okay for a moment before lust wins out against logic. His large hands tighten around your clothed hips, pulling your hips down against his until he’s rutting his hips against yours like a dog in heat. He can feel your grin against his lips again, and he’s already whining by the time you pull away from him. Your hips lean away from his, sitting up on your knees. 

His eyes look dazed, lust and confusion dancing in them as he tries his best not to come off as anxious, “Why’d you stop?” His breathy voice sends a shiver down your spine, right to your core. 

“You want to take my clothes off, don’t you?” You leave his lap, moving to the side of his outer right thigh to properly strip. 

His parted lips snap shut, nodding as fast as he can, immediately playing to your whims. You raise an eyebrow, “You need to learn to let a girl have her fun with you.” You muse as your hands reach for the edge of your top. Spencer’s heart rate doubles as he watches your fingers curl around the bottom hem. 

His gaze darts between your fingers and your face, but his brows knit together, clearly confused. “What do you mean?” You’re pulling your top off painfully slow, and he’s debating asking you if he can do it for you. 

Your top is passing your midriff. “If I’m on top,” His breath catches in his throat as he sees the bottom swell of your breast, “And if I want to tease you, learn how to take it.” 

“Jesus Christ,”  He shifts under you, your words reminding him how his erection is going ignored. “I’m going to need a good teacher.” It’s meant to be witty, but his tone sounds so strained that he’s surprised that you aren’t laughing at him right now. His eyes, not knowing what to stare at, barely meet yours before the sight of your lace-covered breasts enthralls him. 

His strained, whiny voice has your body feeling hot all over. Making a mental note to make this man whine some more, you throw your top off to the side of the bed, hands making a beeline for your pants. “Oh, how exciting.” You slide out of them, leaving you in your bra and panties. “Your first lesson.” 

Spencer, feeling awkward that he’s still fully clothed, begins to pull his shirt off. But when he goes to undo his pants, your fingers cover his. Your fingers are quick to pull his pants down to his thighs, and Spencer kicks them off without needing to be told. 

You were a professional; you didn’t sleep with coworkers, no matter how tempting. Spencer Reid, however, is your forbidden fruit. His hazel eyes, wide and soft with need, make your chest clench with affection. You can feel some part of you salivating for another taste of him, knowing you’re too far gone to listen to reason. 

Your gaze is slow to drop to his lap, eyes flickering across his bare chest, then down to the bulging outline of his cock against the thin material of his boxers. You hesitate, just for a moment, hand hovering in the air before you gently trace the outline of his cock through his boxers— undeniably pretty. 

“Just for me?” Your head is bowed, eyes looking up through your lashes. Spencer lets out a shaky sigh, nodding a wordless response. You drag your index fingers roughly against the tip of his clothed dick. “Words, Spence.” 

“Yes,” He whines, groaning as your hands pull down his boxers. “It’s all for you.” 

“Very good.” Then, you're pulling his boxers down, gaze hungry as you expose Spencer’s hard cock inch by inch. You shift slightly to help him pull his boxers off, but your eyes are locked onto his cock. Red, hot tip with a slight curve towards his stomach, thick and twitching. You swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth slowly, and millions of ways to tease him immediately come to mind. 

He tries to stop himself from feeling hot under your intense gaze, fighting the urge to beg you not to stare. He’s about to cave when you reach your left hand into your panties. A gentle groan leaves your lips as you swipe your fingers along the entrance of your warm cunt, “I can do that—” Spencer begins, but you’ve already stopped touching yourself, pulling your left hand away from your heat, fingers covered in your slick. You wrap your hands around his length, and Spencer has to stop his hips from immediately bucking at the feeling of your slick-covered hand.

“What was that, pretty boy?” Your hand slowly begins to move up and down the length of his cock. 

Usually, Spencer would say something in rebuttal to that nickname, but the only thing you can hear right now is the sounds of him letting out tiny moans. He sputters, trying to reply, but your grip grows tighter as your hands move down his length, and all you get is a pathetic-sounding whine. 

Leaning in to press a wet kiss to his shoulder, you watch as Spencer’s hips jolt when your index finger does a quick sweep over the pretty pink head of his cock. “Feels so much better than your hand, huh?” You read his mind, looking up at him. 

Spencer’s head nods, breathing picking up as your lips suck on the sensitive skin of his neck as your hand steadily strokes him. “I–” You pick up the pace, teeth dragging against his pulse point. “Mmm, I’ve fantasized about you touching me like this.” He has no reason to lie, not now. He has pictured what it could feel like to have your fingers wrapped around his cock instead of his own, how you’d spread the pre-cum around the head of his cock, how you’d look licking his cum off of your hand. 

His breathy admission earns him a soft groan, “Often?” You sound excited as you pull away from his neck. The idea of fulfilling one of his fantasies leaves you with an oddly triumphant sense of pride. Truth be told, he was fulfilling your fantasy: having Spencer Reid whining and moaning at your touch—a guilty pleasure on lonely nights. 

Spencer doesn’t want to look you in the eyes when he answers, but he does anyway, your lustful gaze making it hard for him to look away. “Yes.” 

You let out a satisfied sounding hum, looking away from him to lean down closer to his cock, for a second he’s sure you’re about to take him into your mouth. But, he isn’t disappointed when he sees a long trail of spit leaving your lips and coating the head of his cock. 

Your hands helps coat your spit all around his cock and he’s in heaven. His head leaning back against the headboard as your hand brings him closer to the best orgasm he’s ever had. “ I-I’m, oh god,” He pants out, head rolling to the side to catch your gaze. “I won’t last very long if you keep this up. I’m not as experienced as,” His mouth falls open mid-sentence as you move your hand faster, letting out a cry of pleasure. 

“I’m not, shit—” He swallows hard, “I’m not as experienced as I’d like to be, can–can’t last that long with you doing that!” He practically shouts at the end of his sentence. 

“With a cock this pretty,” You give his length one last pump, “I find that hard to believe.” Carefully letting go of his cock, after all you want to have fun too. If Spencer thought his cock was being ignored before, he wasn’t expecting this. He whines, feeling the warmth of your hand leave him, his breathing heavy. 

Your hand, covered in remnants of spit, dips into your underwear where you haphazardly smear the spit against your folds. Spencer’s heart skips a beat, enjoying the show you make of pulling your panties off your body. He almost sobs when you straddle his lap again, carefully sitting with your dripping core pressed directly onto his aching cock.  

You let out a shaky groan when Spencer’s hips buck into yours, a wild look in his eyes that makes him seem more animalistic than needy. You can feel your walls squeeze around nothing as the head of his cock slowly grinds up into your clit. You bite your bottom lip to muffle a low moan, shuddering above him. 

Your lips part, staring down at him with half-lidded eyes as Spencer’s brows furrow and eyes flutter shut with every needy rock of his hips. His hands grab at your hips, pushing and guiding you down to meet his. It’s not nearly enough and the both of you know it, the desperate urge to fill your sopping cunt to his heart's content growing with every pleasured sigh that leaves your lips. 

“Please,” Spencer’s hands move to swell of your ass, gripping the skin hard as he uses your pussy lips as his personal toy. His breath is hot against your chest, lips leaving sloppy kisses below your collarbone. To him, you’re ethereal, a seraph, as you grind your pussy lips against his length and he desperately needs to be inside you. He needs to know how the cunt of an angel feels as soon as possible. “Let me fuck you.”

Fuck. It’s not a question, nor a demand, but a plea. His wording makes you groan, the idea that he has to beg to fuck you like this, that you have control over him like this. You’ve imagined Spencer in bed a handful of times, assuming that he’d be timid, yes, but fantasies are nothing compared to hearing that desperate plea.

You reposition your knees, pressing your chest into his face as you reach between your legs to guide him to your entrance. Spencer’s hands knead against the plump skin of your ass as you slowly sink down on him, a shaky exhale can be heard from the both of you. The fact that you haven’t been stretched out on his fingers dawns on you as you struggle to relax around the girth of his cock. 

And Spencer seems to have the same thought, his hands snaking up your back to unlatch your bra. Once off, his lips sucking and nipping at the skin around your right nipple before his lips latch around its aroused bud. Your discomfort is partially forgotten as the flat of his tongue drags against the sensitive bud. A gasp, followed by a small, “Mhmm, that’s it.” Your hands leave his shoulders to push his hair back and away from his face as he focuses on his task, threading your fingers into his brown locks. 

Your core swallows the rest of him whole, and you experimentally grind your hips down on his cock. His eyes, previously half-lidded, widen for a second before looking up at you. His lips still attached to your breast, eyes silently pleading for more, for anything, he has you teasing him with a light clench of your walls around him. 

“Remember what I told you, Reid,” Spencer remembers… well, practically everything. But memories are hard to conjure when he’s buried deep inside you, velvet walls pulsing around him. Leaning away from your breast, a trail of spit still connects your skin to his tongue. “Learn how to take it.” You playfully scold, right thumb trailing down from his hair to swipe at the spit on his lips. “You can do that, can’t you?”

Spencer’s lips twitch into a soft smile, your thumb tracing a soft pattern against his bottom lip. “I can do that.” He confirms with a gentle tone, eyes searching yours. The man beneath you looks lovesick, drunk on your touch, perfectly content to spend his days doing whatever you tell him, obedient. 

The thought that he’ll do anything you say. The first move from you is a gentle roll of your hips, followed by a slow exhale. The sting of discomfort readily gets replaced with pleasure as you begin to ride him. Your palms move to grip the headboard behind Spencer’s shoulders, tilting your head to the side to carefully observe him, getting off on every little reaction he shows you. 

A quick, lust-filled smile graces your lips as you move your hips up and down at a slow and steady pace. Spencer’s head tilts back slightly, soft sighs of pleasure leaving his parted lips everytime your hips sink down on his cock. “Is that good?” 

You're teasing him, and he’d be dumb not to notice it; he knows that you can see—feel— how much he’s enjoying this, hear it even. Nevertheless, his head nods quickly as he rasps a mewl of a “Yes, so good.”

Canting your hips closer, you pick up the pace. The slight change in your position has his cock brushing against that sweet spot inside your pussy that has you shivering ontop of him, electricity coursing down your spine. Your eyes flutter closed, chasing after that feeling, panting as you use Spencer’s cock to bring yourself closer to your climax. 

Spencer’s hips meet yours now as you ride him faster, the slapping and squelching of skin meeting skin can be heard alongside a cacophony of sinful-sounding moans and pants. Spencer’s head is thrown back, brows drawn together as he staves off his orgasm, wanting to drag this out for as long as possible. “Oh, god,” your name falls from his mouth in a string of pathetic-sounding moans, “Oh, Mommy—” He squeaks as he realizes the words that have escaped the dirtiest parts of his mind. His rosy cheeks turn slightly pale, eyes peering open to see your reaction. 

Your cunt squeezes him tighter when his worried eyes reach yours. Your gaze isn’t filled with disgust, but darkened with desire. “What was that baby?” You gasp out, hips expertly snapping down onto his. Spencer’s mouth falls open to shamelessly repeat himself, but it’s too much for him. His words choking in the back of his throat as cries of pleasure replace them. 

Pouting, you snap your hips down onto his with an abrupt stop. Spencer lets out a strangled sounding sob as you tilt his chin up, “Oh, Spencer, baby, do you need to say something?” You’re breathless and so, so, so, so close, but you need to hear him repeat those words before you cum. 

Spencer’s chest softly heaves, blinking away the confusion in his eyes as you squeeze your tight walls around him, his hips struggling against yours.  It’s hard to tease him properly as the head of his cock keeps grinding into your g-spot, your mind becoming hazy with pleasure.  But you can’t risk stopping, not when you’re this close. Your lips part, a whine threatening to leave them as you speak, “I’m so s’close, you can handle a little more. Just a-a little longer.” Your voice trembles for a second, but it coaxes a gentle moan out of him nonetheless. 

His cock feels desperate to empty into you as you deny him his orgasm with another sharp, “Not yet.” He feels he must obey your demand, his head becoming lightheaded whenever you order him around. He can feel tightening around him, walls fluttering against him with every second you get closer to your climax. 

Spencer can feel his eyes prickle with tears, his bottom lip trembling, “I need to cum. Need to cum, let me cum, Mommy.” 

You let out a broken laugh as he finally says the words you were so desperately waiting for, “You’re the one who asked for this, Spence.” You managing to speak so coldly to him while vigorously bouncing on his cock has him letting out another weak sob, “Look at you, you can barely handle it.” Your moans are becoming louder and slightly animalistic. “Let me use you while I can.” 

You do exactly that, using him as you feel your orgasm crashing on you, your hands move to his shoulders, nails dragging against his skin as you loudly cry out for him. When your hips stutter against his, your body shuddering and melting into pleasure, Spencer is quick to buck his hips erratically up to yours, helping you ride out your orgasm to the fullest. 

Spencer is quick to follow, grabbing your hips tightly to pull himself out of you with a curse, his seed coating your pussy lips and inner thighs. “I’m sorry,” He pants out, the ends of his hair sticking to his forehead, “I’m sorry, I’m–” 

“Spencer, it’s okay.” You exhale, panting lightly as you look down at him with a lazy grin. 

He’s quiet after that, his grip of your hips loosening as you dip your head to look at him, forehead slowly pressing against his. You let out a little laugh, exhausted and giddy, “You good?”

He lets out a soft ‘mhm’ that tells that all his energy has left him. You can’t judge him; your body is suspiciously close to crashing. You can hear him mumble your name, and you move your head away from his, “Yes?” 

“Are you—” He stops, licking his lips, “I’d like it if we could be—” He struggles to find the right words, anxiety and exhaustion making him into a simpering fool. 

But you’re grinning, so he must be doing something right. He’s about to attempt his messy request to be the only man in your love life when you mutter a soft, whisper-like, “I’d love to be exclusive with you, Dr. Reid. On one condition.” 

You smooth his hair back, out of his face, “We keep this between us until we’re ready to tell the team, I don’t need a team of profilers in my love life— not while we’re together.” 

Spencer can feel his chest tighten, watching as you move to hold your pinkie finger towards him. He links his pinkie around yours, “Deal,” He laughs.  “Now, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Spencer finds acting normal around you increasingly difficult, especially when you keep leaving flirty notes telling him to meet you in the supply closet in ten minutes on his desk (for the fourth time this week). Ever challenging when you insist that your ‘innocent’ little rendezvous won’t lead anywhere, but your plump lips kiss his so hard that they’re swollen in seconds. 

He knows the team knows something is amiss, but he can’t think to worry about it as his head finds a place between your hips, your fingers threading into his hair as you bite your swollen bottom lip in a weak attempt to quiet yourself. 

JJ and Emily note your absence this fine Wednesday morning, something Derek doesn’t find too interesting until he sees that Spencer is also missing. But who is he to ruin it for Spencer? He’s sure the boy genius has you on a mini-coffee date at some café across the street. 

Well, he was sure, until he rounded the corner to see you stumble out of a supply closet, your hair ruffled and makeup smudged. He almost calls out your name when he notices Spencer tailing behind you, his cardigan ruffled and hair equally tousled. Derek’s jaw drops open, waiting and standing in awe as you blow Spencer a kiss and head in the opposite direction toward the bathrooms. 

The second Spencer turns to see his friend, the smile drops away from his face, and the color leaves his cheeks. Morgan’s smile is reminiscent of the Cheshire cat’s as he draws out a proud “My man!” and Spencer feels dread fill his soul. He’s never going to live this down.

[ao3commentoftheday]

I know "I'm bad at summaries" and "I'm bad at tags" are not sentiments to voice in the summary/tags of a fic. But, genuinely, I don't consider myself good at either. (This is background.)

The actual question is, how do I learn these? Especially tagging. My fandom background is sparse, at least far as participation in broader fandom culture is concerned, so I wasn't part of fandom when current tagging practices on AO3 evolved. It's difficult for me to grasp, and I suspect I end up treating the tags more like CWs than search terms as a result.

Great for people who want to filter out particular unpleasant elements. Not so great for people who can't find my fic because I didn't think to tag something someone else might see as obvious. I have severe social anxiety so joining e.g. a Discord to ask for help isn't really a viable option. Tagging fic isn't worth panic attacks.

Tagging fic isn't worth panic attacks.

100% agreed!

When it comes to being "good at tagging" that definition is going to vary from person to person. It will also vary depending on what your goal is.

I'm a fairly minimal tagger myself. I'll tag the fandom and the major characters, the general vibe (e.g. humour, smut etc) and then anything else I might think of. I don't personally like to tag smut fics with all of the various sex acts in them, but I've done it before because I thought I was supposed to. Since it doesn't really feel like "me" though I've since stopped doing that. If folks want to avoid my fic as a result, that's totally fair. If folks who would like it can't find it 🤷‍♀️ maybe it'll be a rec someday.

All that is to say that tagging is not a thing it's possible to be perfect at, so just aim for accomplishing whatever your goal is.

I get what you're saying, though. I wrote a fake dating fic once without tagging it as fake dating because I didn't realize that fake dating was a trope. It was only when a couple of friends started referring to it that I realized and added that tag to my fic.

One way to learn about those kinds of tropes is to pay attention when you see them tagged on other people's fics. You can browse through tags that are similar to ones you already use and see what else people add to their fics and whether those would work for yours or not.

You can also visit Fanlore! It's another project by the OTW (the people who run AO3) and it's a great resource for learning about fandom. You can look up a common tag like Alternate Universe, and it will give you examples of different types of AU and link out to pages that will link out to pages that will... you get the idea. It's wikipedia but for fandom stuff.

As for summaries, there are a lot of ways to go about that too. I'll let folks add ideas in the notes. The way I do it is that I include the name(s) of the major character(s), and outline the inciting incident for the fic. Since I post as I write, I might or might not tease something that happens later on (because I might or might not know yet).

The way to get good at doing it is just to keep practicing. When I was in university, I took a Russian Lit course where we had to write a summary of each novel in 200 words or less, 10 sentences or less - and semicolons were cheating. I did that 13 times in 8 months, and by the end of that I was really good at writing summaries. Add in the fact that I started posting fic back on FF.net where there was a character limit on summaries and you can see why I keep them pretty short.

That's another thing that you can analyze in others' fics, though. Find a summary that you think is well-written for whatever type of summary you like and then look at that author's other fics to see if you can spot a pattern to how they do it. Once you find the pattern, it's a lot easier to replicate it and then it's just a matter of repeating it until it feels natural.

[beardedjoel]

honey, honey | three: stirring up a hurricane

sugar daddy! joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

summary: a lunch outing with joel brings some unexpected company and digs up anxiety. 10.2k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, sugar daddy worthy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 54), slow burn! inherent power dynamic imbalance from a sugar daddy arrangement, flirting!, one (1) more jerk off session, talk of past relationships on joel's part, playing it a little fast and loose with pov, reader's clothing is described (dress and jacket).

a/n: i definitely intended to have this out sooner for y'all but life got in the way. i'm so ready to keep going on this journey with them, and this slow burn has been sooo fun to write. i really love them getting to know each other and fighting their feelings 🤭

The elevator softly whirs as you fly past the floors, all the way up to twenty. Alone and enclosed by the monochrome walls you fidget, smoothing your dress and wishing you had enough time to double check your appearance. 

It’s exhausting, apparently, actually caring what Joel Miller thinks about you. He always seems to have a compliment or two in store, but you can’t shake this pesky, anxious feeling gnawing at you that comes at the prospect of seeing him. Of him seeing you - perceiving you - and deeming you worthy of his time and money.

The elevator doors open to the office beyond with a rounded, wood paneled desk sitting centered in the foyer. Joel’s company comprises the entire floor, and you see a bustling crew beyond the glass walls and dividers. Black, shining floors beneath your feet, dark wood walls, and leather furniture adorn what appears to be a waiting room. It's decidedly masculine, but it doesn't feel cold in the slightest.

You nearly turn back around, wondering if this is a good idea after all. Being seen out in public together held its risks, you know that, but Joel seems assured that nothing will come of it. And if it does, he's promised to be there for you. You aren’t a public figure by any means, but any overachiever here in the know of Joel’s business associates might be able to place you and your connection to your father. The thought alone makes you feel itchy.

The young man behind the desk greets you in a chipper, smooth voice before you can make a decision on scampering back the way you came. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

You snap back to attention, approaching the rest of the way, trying to move with more purpose, a way to trick your brain into believing this will all be okay. “Yes, I’m here for Mr. Miller. It’s a - a lunch meeting.” Your cheeks heat in a rapid blaze, not having rehearsed any of this. You couldn't be the first of this nature in the office, based on Joel’s history, and you wonder if the man - Vincent, by the little nameplate on the desk - knew exactly what you were to his boss.

With a few clicks on the computer in front of him, Vincent gives you a soft smile of recognition. “Absolutely. I’ve got explicit instructions to have you brought back to his office first.” He holds up a finger to you as he dials on the phone, speaking in a hushed tone.

“Mhm, Mr. Miller’s twelve thirty is here. Yes. Okay. Thanks.”

You shift awkwardly, but only for a few moments before a woman appears around the corner, wearing a stylish blue pantsuit. She calls you by name, making your eyes widen in surprise before beckoning you to follow her. You’re guided between cubicles, open areas that appear to be free working spaces, and conference rooms. The place is buzzing with energy, a well oiled machine with employees engrossed in their individual work or collaborating. A pang of jealousy shoots through you, reminding you just how far you are from your goal of feeling that same spirit and drive towards your work.

You stop short in front of an office enclosed with glass walls, half opaque, half clear. “Mr. Miller will be just a moment. You can have a seat,” the woman says. “Water? Coffee? Tea? While you wait?” She rapidly fires the questions at you, to which you shake your head mutely, having a seat on the leather sofa that sits opposite to Joel’s office. 

She settles in at a nearby desk, turning her attention back to her computer, and it dawns on you that this must be Joel’s personal assistant here. Movement inside of Joel’s office catches your attention, your prying, curious eyes unable to look away even if giving Joel privacy feels like the right thing to do. Hurried movements ensue - a flash of Joel, hands flung up and then falling in frustration, and his face comes into view, screwed up tight before he says something that you can’t hear. You don’t see who he’s talking to, blocked by the fully opaque door, only leaving a shadow of a body that looks equally as heated. 

A few uncomfortable, shameful moments of spying pass before the door to his office flies open and a woman appears, throwing it shut behind her with a purposefully loud and dramatic thud. She appears closer to Joel’s age, dressed well and adorned with expensive, flashing jewelry. She seems to have a permanent scowl on her face as she approaches where you sit, stalking with purpose in her heels.

When she makes eye contact with you, the side of her lip curls up with a sweep of her gaze up the entirety of your body. You feel small on the leather loveseat under her scrutinizing stare portraying her message loud and clear: I am better than you.

“Feels good to be the latest model, huh?” she rasps, hips swaying as she walks.

You stutter, your voice only able to make a strained sound before you finally squeak out, “E-excuse me?”

A scathing breath of a laugh leaves the woman, and she shakes her head as she slows to a stop in front of you, letting her eyes rake over your outfit once more. It’s a simple, casual dress covered with a jacket to keep the October chill off of you - you hadn’t wanted to go all out for only a lunch date, but you’d felt good, presentable, for Joel. Until now, that is. 

“Good luck with that,” she says without any real sincerity behind it. A cruel joke sits in her words, something you don’t seem to be in on. “Until the next comes along.”

Your brows knit tightly as you just stare at her, your heart thundering heavily against your ribcage, nearly painful. No witty retort comes to you, too shocked by the turn of events to even think straight as she just huffs in satisfaction, moving along. You crane your neck, following her movements with your mouth agape until she turns the corner, not even bothering a glance back at you.

It feels like hours condensed into these few moments passing as you sit stupefied on that couch, your cheeks burning in shame. You try to avoid eye contact with Joel’s assistant who almost surely heard the entire exchange with how close she’s sitting. Eyes down, you finally bring them up when you hear Joel’s office door open once more.

He looks brighter than you’d seen him minutes ago, so heated inside his office with that woman. At least one of you seems to have shaken her off.

His smile is wide and warm when he spots you, and you hope the distressed look on your face has wiped off enough to avoid suspicion. You’re not sure if you want to tell him what just happened, unsure if what it all means is something you can handle. It was embarrassing too, to imagine speaking the words she’d said aloud to him. It had felt demeaning, your existence boiled down to whatever that mystery woman saw in you, some kind of less than being, some thing for Joel’s pleasure. She knew nothing about your situation, who you were to Joel, or the fact that he didn’t even seem interested in it becoming about more than money. 

“Hey there,” Joel’s voice cuts through the depths of your mind, and you softly smile, standing to greet him. He places a hand on your bicep, wrapping his fingers tenderly around it, leaning in to peck your cheek. His scent envelops all of you, forcing you to hold back a sigh, this particular smell already worming its way to a place of comfort for you. “Y’look fantastic.”

You have to clear your throat before your voice betrays you. “T-thanks.” You flash him another smile that luckily he seems to buy, but that woman's piercing, judgemental stare has your confidence completely shaken up. Beyond that, your curiosity is piqued on who the hell she even is to Joel, but you don’t know if it’s nosing into his business too much to ask about it. The way things had seemed between the two, it gave the impression it was a topic best left forgotten in Joel’s eyes.

So you bite your tongue, trying to become the pleasant, fun-loving girl Joel signed up to spend time with. It’s hard though, to not break open this dam of emotions that’s been full to bursting. Everything has just been too much this past week.

This arrangement. That woman. Joel. School. Your parents. Lying.

You have nobody to lean on, nobody to understand the stress, the diamond forming amount of pressure you’re put under to be somebody you don’t want to be. You’ve been dodging calls from your father, not having the energy to make up lies about the firm you’re supposedly interning for. You know it’s only a matter of time before he figures it out somehow - knowing him he’ll likely try to call the CEO using his own influence just to try and keep tabs on you. To make sure you’re doing it all right, up to his gold standard. When this comes to light, the fallout could be catastrophic, and you wonder if it might be better to just come clean now, maybe helping to absorb some of the blow.

The thought of doing that instantly makes you feel nauseous, and you realize you’ve gone the entirety of the way back down the elevator and out onto the street with Joel, barely paying attention to your surroundings. Joel has been talking on and off the entire time, his voice a distant murmur, and you’re flooded with guilt for being so rude. The sudden city noise blaring hits your ears harshly, and you turn to look at him.

“I-I’m sorry, what’d you say?” you ask him.

“Oh, jus’ that we should walk to lunch. It’s nice enough, and the place is just a few blocks. That alright with you?”

“Right, um, sure,” you reply, stumbling over your words when you feel Joel’s questioning gaze on you. You try to brighten up to avoid suspicion, tuning in to the autumn sun on your face and Joel’s presence beside you. It doesn’t seem to help the constant loop of anxiety swirling in your gut like you'd been hoping.

“How’s school goin’?” Joel asks, sounding far away.

“Alright. Just trying to get through the semester until I figure things out,” you tell him on autopilot. You know he’s only being polite, trying to check in, but the question pulls up pressure from inside of you, choking your already anxious stomach. It’s like the weight of the world crashes on your shoulders, like you’re supposed to have it all figured out by now. That way, Joel can stop this ruse with you and get back to his normal life, not having to continue to waste his money taking care of someone who can’t seem to sort their life out. You’ve been researching schools, ideas, and careers, wanting to do your due diligence to Joel’s generosity, but you keep coming up short or feeling indecisive. It seems too big a choice, too weighty, right now to decide your entire future when for most of your life you’ve never been able to think this way.

“You’ve got nothin’ but time,” Joel replies, seeming to either not notice or not be bothered by your flat attitude today. His hand gives your back a quick, reassuring rub as you walk, and you stiffen, but only because of the unexpected flutter it brings to your belly, momentarily distracting you from overthinking.

You let him do most of the talking as you saunter along, and are grateful it’s only those few blocks until you reach the restaurant. It’s a chic, modern looking space with high, airy ceilings and minimalist furniture. It’s bustling, apparently a hot spot for the business elite to attend their lunches with each other and their clients as you scan the room and see mostly suits and black, gray, and navy attire.

You’re seated right away despite some lingering groups clearly waiting for tables at the front, which makes you finally crack a smile. Joel always has things so figured out, so planned to perfection.

“This place is all the rage, I guess,” Joel commentates, glancing around at the busy dining room. “Ate here a few weeks ago with some folks and it was pretty damn good. We’ve got to get you one of these grilled, uh, avocado appetizer things. Wouldn’t have thought myself keen on it, but hell, it surprised me,” Joel rambles on, picking up his menu and scanning it. He holds it further and further away from himself until he sighs, pulling his reading glasses from his jacket pocket and plopping them onto his nose with a frustrated sigh. The entire series of events melts away some of your sourness, and you grin at him. It makes you glad to have someone like Joel, who so effortlessly lifts your spirits.

“Don’t say anything,” Joel snips, noticing your amusement at his struggle. “You’ll need these someday too.”

“I didn’t say a word,” you reply smugly, glancing down at your own menu. 

“This is nice, y’know,” Joel remarks out of nowhere after a beat of silence. “Goin’ out together, enjoying the day.”

“Yeah.” You smile a little brighter, almost starting to feel silly for pulling into your shell so much. Joel is always laid back in his own way it seems, acting as if it’s not a bother to be here with you. You only wish you could believe it to the degree he so effortlessly exudes it. “It is.”

Joel orders for the both of you when the server comes around, but only after finding out what you’re interested in eating. Of all the assholes you’d been set up with or asked out by, thinking they were doing you a favor by ordering for you, Joel has been the only one who actually asked. 

Whether Joel has detected the difference in your mood or not, he seems intent on keeping the mood positive, continuing to carry the conversation while you two wait for your food. You do swear you perceive some minute difference in his eyes, though, some discerning quality that's attempting to figure you out. You try to avoid suspicion, but it seems that the harder you try to act normal, the less you feel it, and the more that Joel’s studying gaze deepens, trying to read your mind. 

You answer his questions about school, about your life, and ask him how his week is going, playing the part as best you can. When the avocado appetizer Joel so excitedly mentioned comes, you rave about it, but everything feels half hearted when all you want to do is scream out in questioning about that rude woman at the office. Could Joel be secretly married or have some serious relationship you aren’t aware of? Could that be the type of woman he liked to affiliate with - someone cold and mean with no regard for other people’s feelings?

“Everything alright?” he finally decides to ask once the main course comes. His fingers wiggle together anxiously, his voice softer with a shy edge to it.

“Uh, y-yeah," you lie. You’re caught off guard, blurting it out before you can think about it. “Just tired with schoolwork and stuff. Haven’t been sleeping enough.”

That stare is on you again, his eyes slightly narrowed, but he nods. “Well alright, then,” he says faintly, looking down at his meal. You feel a pang in your chest, a desperation there to fix it. You’ve wounded him, and you open your mouth to speak, to retract what you said and tell him the truth, but something catches your eye over Joel’s shoulder. A woman is approaching, deliberate in her movements with her eyes on Joel’s back like she knows him.

“Joel?!” the woman’s perky voice cuts in. Joel turns just as the woman sidles up beside him, a cheerful look of recognition on his face. She’s dark haired, curly and wild, but in a way you know has been styled to look so effortless. She seems to have a glow about her, something glossy in her aura that’s instantly friendly and attractive. “I thought that was you!”

You hate that jealousy sears through you in an instant. You hate this protective feeling you get over Joel, over this undefined, amorphous thing you have with him. She’s everything you wonder if you should be - the perfect, shiny match to his desires for investing all his hard earned money. You’re only the latest model, after all.

“Valerie? Hey there.” Joel is up in an instant, wrapping his arms around the woman in a familiar embrace. Never forgetting his manners, he introduces you in the next breath. She flashes you a bright, inviting smile and tousels her hair before waving a hand at you.

“Valerie,” she replies with her graceful, perky body language, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Nice to meet you,” you muster up. The look she’s giving you is coy and knowing, understanding of the situation, because you’re guessing that she has been exactly where you are, who you are.

“Randy and I were just having lunch ourselves. We love this place. It’s so funny to run into you here. Did I tell you we got married last year?!” Valerie rambles on to Joel, her hands animated as she speaks, one of them held up to display the ring as if it would be hard to miss the giant, sparkling rock that sits heavily on her finger. She gestures to a table behind Joel, and you glance over his shoulder to see a man near Joel’s age, his hair a coiffed, shining silver. He’s facing away, typing on his phone, and blatantly unavailable and uninterested in his wife’s side quest to your table.

“That so? Well congrats to you two, then,” Joel says, sounding genuinely excited for her.

She nearly squeals. “Thank you, it was so beautiful! Just every girl’s dream, really. We flew everyone out to Fiji, did it on the beach at sunset and everything. But enough about me! I’ll let you two get back to your date. I just saw you here and had to say hi. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?!”

As much as Valerie steals the spotlight, you’re stuck on watching Joel’s face, the subtle ways it moves and reacts to her. The corner of his lip twitches up, clearly privately amused but not fazed by her erratic yet charming way of taking up the entirety of the space in the conversation. When he shoots a glance at you, your heart squeezes, feeling in on the little joke that this is just Valerie being Valerie. You feel part of his wide, glamorous world. 

Joel is polite and kind as they wrap up the conversation, sending Valerie back to her table with a smile where it appears she begins to animatedly recount the entire conversation to her husband.

“Who was that?” you ask, your lip curling up a little deviously, your problems half forgotten for the moment at your piquing curiosity and seemingly innate desire to tease Joel. “One of your girlfriends?”

Joel flushes, his cheeks tinged a soft pink. “You know I don -” He sighs, clearly flustered. “She’s an old friend. And married now, by the sound of it.”

“Ah, a friend. Like I’m your friend?” you ask, and Joel shoots you a pointed look. 

“Would that be a problem?” He finally snaps, latching onto your teasing and throwing it right back with a raised brow as he leans towards you. Your face heats the tiniest bit, knowing despite your teasing that yes, it actually did seem to be a problem while Valerie was here chatting up a storm. Even if whatever it was between them was ancient history, you feel insecure, wondering if you can live up to the other women he’s let into his life. You’d been feeling good about the arrangement - finally - even excited for this lunch today, until that presumptuous woman at the office threw a complete wrench in your emotions.

“I’m juuust asking,” you tell him, “So…?”

“Yes, alright?” He clicks his tongue, sitting forward and placing his forearms on the table, challenging you. “It was ages ago now, but yes, if you must know we had a similar arrangement.”

You give him a slow, intrigued nod. “I see,” is all you reply.

Joel’s lips twist to the side in irritation, but the sparkle in his eye reminds you that he’s having just as much fun as you are with this. “You see, what?”

“Nothing!” You chuckle. “I swear. I just - she’s really nice. And pretty.” You hear the way your voice falls, cracks a little without trying, on your last words, so you clear your throat, hoping to cover it up. Eyes on the table, on your half eaten meal, you can feel Joel’s gaze boring into you.

“What is this? What’s goin’ on here?” he asks, sounding a little impatient, losing that light edge to his voice that says he’s no longer teasing. 

You sigh, waving a dismissive hand. “No, nothing. I just, I mean what I said.”

“It’s true. Valerie’s wonderful person. And so are you.”

You nearly snort, but feel yourself go shy at the last minute under his praise. “I guess. Yeah, thank you.” You try to sound sincere, but you can hear the way you’re trying too hard, the strain of each syllable an attempt to hide your rising emotions.

“I don’t get it,” he says, sounding exasperated. Joel always tried his best, but sometimes he was stumped by the inner workings of the women’s minds he chose to have relationships with. Even Sarah, when she was growing up, had her share of moments just like this where he felt helpless, just wanting her to talk to him, let him help. “Are you jealous? Of a fling I had five years ago?” he asks, guessing what seems to be the first logical explanation. “Cause I promise you that I only like to focus on one woman at a time. That’s long in the pas-”

“It’s not that, I swear,” you cut in. Processing his words a second later, you flick your gaze to his, wonder in your widening eyes. “Wait, what? You - Joel, you don’t have to do that for me. This isn’t -” A relationship, you’d wanted to say. But you can’t discount that you did feel protective over keeping Joel all to yourself, even if he’d made the promise that it wouldn’t become anything more. “You shouldn’t hold yourself back because of me.”

“I’m doin’ nothing of the sort, I promise you. I’m too busy for having all kinds of relationships, and besides, I’m happy with where I’m at right now. I swear t’you.”

Joel’s reassurance instantly cuts through your racing thoughts. You put your head in your hands, your whole face hot with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I’m acting so… so… insane right now. I mean we literally just started this whole thing and I’m already more trouble than it’s worth. God, I -”

“Stop it right there,” Joel says softly, but his voice hits a dichotomy with the biting edge to his words, urging you to listen. His hand reaches out, wrapping around your wrist. The touch is gentle but his fingers are thick and rough, sending a skittering of sparks across your skin. Affection isn’t something you’re used to, and it does the job he’d hoped of stopping you in your tracks. “Just know, whoever told you that about yourself before, it ain’t true. It’ll never be true. I chose this too, y’know. You didn’t force me to spend time with you, to want to help you out. I wanted it, too, right? Hell, I’m the one that offered, remember?”

Your breath catches, a lump in your throat thick as you attempt to swallow. You peek at Joel from where your head rests in your hands, slowly lowering them, but his hold on your wrist stays steady for a few more seconds, a comforting presence while his thumb rubs a few lazy circles. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him with a watery smile. “Thank you. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I think this is all just new, and a lot. And worrying about everything with my parents… Or being seen together like this…” You blow out a long, stressed breath. “Yeah, it’s a lot.”

Joel gives you a nod of understanding. “It’s true, it is a lot. You know I’ve got your back now though, yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“I’m not gonna go back on things, that’s just not the kind of guy I am.”

Until the next one. The woman’s words cut in, making you nearly flinch. You believe Joel, you do. He’d already proven to be generous and steadfast, but would he really show up for you long term? Would he keep up the charade of pretending you mattered in the world, that you could find your place with his help? Or would he be distracted as soon as something better came along?

You stare at him for a long, quiet moment, biting at the inside of your lip. “The - the woman… Who is she?” you ask quietly, balling your hands in your lap underneath the table. At Joel’s quizzical look, you sigh, elaborating. “At the office earlier.”

He clicks his tongue, his head drooping and fingers coming up to swipe at his eyes then pinch the bridge of his nose. He looks decidedly defeated and tired now. “God damn it, Marissa,” he mutters under his breath. His eyes flick back to yours, burning with fresh intensity. “What did she say?”

“I - Well-”

“What did she say to you?” Joel’s sudden surge of protectiveness over you is surprising, but welcome. The intensity of it, though, takes you aback, making you start to regret bringing it up. This was a whole new side of Joel you hadn’t gotten to see yet. 

“J-Just some bullshit, it’s fine.”

You see the recognition flash across Joel’s face, now reaching a new level of anger and defeat. “I knew it was somethin’. That’s why you’ve been acting quiet today, yeah? So it ain’t fine.” 

You groan internally, hating the confirmation that he’d noticed. “She just made a dumb comment about me being the latest model, or whatever.” And looked at you like you were the scum on the bottom of her shoe, but you hold back from saying that part out loud.

Joel rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “She’s got a flair for the dramatic, especially when she’s not gettin’ her way.” You stay silent, so Joel goes on. “That’s my ex. She’s - it’s complicated.”

“Two in one day. Lucky me,” you say flatly, and Joel offers you a sympathetic, guilt ridden smile. “At least one was nice.”

“Marissa is… it’s a different situation. As much as I wish we weren’t, we’re stuck together. On account of havin’ a kid and everything.”

The realization hits you hard. You’ve never seen Sarah’s mother or heard much about her. She doesn’t show up to functions, is never mentioned, and effectively, Joel has always seemed like a single dad from your perspective. 

“Oh, shit. That’s Sarah’s mom?” you ask.

Joel nods solemnly. “It’s complicated, like I said. It’s a long history, and her favorite thing seems to be stirrin’ up trouble for me, so I’m sorry about that.”

“No, no, I’m sorry. That sounds awful,” you tell him, sympathetic to his cause. 

“She shouldn’t have said that, or said anything to you at all. I’m sorry. She showed up this mornin’ out of the blue as she does, on her usual shit and I didn’t notice the time. Should have sent her away the minute I knew you’d be comin’.”

You give him a shrug. “It’s - it’s not your fault, Joel. You can’t control what she says.”

“There’s no merit to it, I swear. I would never have let her speak t’you that way. She say anything else?”

You shake your head at first, hesitant to share more for fear of hurting Joel. You could tell how heavily the guilt of someone else’s words was weighing on him, like he was responsible for everyone in his world and how they behaved. 

 “Not really. Just… basically that I was about to expire and be replaced any minute. And if looks could speak, well, yeah. She had a lot to say with those,” you tell him, avoiding eye contact, focusing on fiddling with your fork on the table.

Joel’s mouth presses into a flat line. “Don’t pay any mind to it. She’s always done this, always wanted to make sure I’m less happy than she is, even though I’m the one that took care of things when she was too -” Joel cuts himself off, placing his palms on the table. His sudden distress causes you to snap your head back up, looking to him and seeing the worry now etched on his features. It nearly breaks your heart to see him like this. “Sorry, you don’t need my whole sob story, sweetheart.”

This time, you reach to him, placing a hand on his and squeezing before pulling it back, unsure of yourself in the intimate gesture. Joel seems to be so much better than you at this kind of thing. “If you want to share, I’ll listen. I can’t imagine what that’s like. I - I thought she wasn’t even in the picture, but…”

“She ain’t,” Joel snips. “Not really. She comes and goes when she pleases, and I - I let her walk all over me, take from me. Shit, hard to even admit it, but that’s the truth. Never do that shit for anyone, just… when it comes to Sarah, I’ll do fuckin’ anything. Marissa knows that.” Joel avoids holding your gaze, his eyeline averted to the left at some spot off in the distance. “The worst part is, watchin’ Sarah get that hope in her eyes, like maybe it could be different this time. Even after all these years. God, listen to me. Second meal together and I’m turnin’ into this big sap, ranting like some sad old man. You should be havin’ fun, being shown a good time.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Joel,” you chide him. “What did you just tell me? About wanting to be here?”

He cracks a small smile and you return it. In a way, it’s nice to know he has this baggage, that he’s not always put together and suave. He has demons, like you do, like the rest of the world does. He’s not invincible, he’s complicated. Just like you, too.

“You’re a good one, kiddo, y’know that?” Joel says, sighing, and you try to fight the bolt of disappointment hurtling itself through your chest at the nominer. A kid. Joel says it so passively, and you know he’s not trying to undermine you, or make you feel the crush that it brings to know he doesn’t see you in the way you’d like him to, so you just smile.

“I like this kind of conversation much better, anyways,” you reply, swallowing down your hurt. “Helps me get to know you.”

Joel’s smile cocks sideways. “Right. Almost forgot this is what it’s all about, ain’t it?” he teases. “Been talkin’ your ear off, not even askin’ about you.”

“Oh, no, no. You’re not getting off that easily. I have more questions.”

He laughs, the thick tension in the air starting to evaporate as his shoulders relax. “Really, now? Alright, nosy, shoot.”

You bite your lip, reigning in your cheesy grin. “Okay. So… What happened with you and Valerie?”

Joel speaks bluntly. “We ended things. She did, actually.”

You raise one brow, unimpressed. “Well, that much is obvious. But, you just let her go? I don’t know, she seems so… nice. Perfect. Like someone every man would want to be with.”

Joel’s look shifts to something more amused. “You ever broken up with someone before?”

“I - Well, kind of, I guess. But they were assholes, and it wasn’t anything serious.”

“And maybe just not the right person for you, yeah?”

“A mistake, more like it,” you mumble, and Joel chuckles, scratching a hand through his beard as he shakes his head at you.

“My point is, some people just aren’t right for each other, no matter how perfect they seem,” he says pointedly. “Me and Valerie got along, but we were just wanting different levels of, er, commitment at the time, I guess.”

“Oh? And you… weren’t committing then?” It’s hard to see that for Joel, given what you’ve already learned about him in this short time. He was steadfast, seeming singularly focused when he put his mind to something, given his success, so it was hard to picture him shying away from commitment. Especially seeing as how whenever you’ve been in his presence, it's felt like you are his sole priority, like he's dedicated only to that moment with you - it seemed to be a gift he had. 

“She was lookin’ for more, and I wasn’t really there with her back then. We were havin’ fun, and she realized she was lookin’ for someone to marry, spend her life with, y’know? So, I’m happy for her that she found it. She’s a nice gal, deserves that.” 

You consider it, knowing there may be more to the story than he’s letting on, but you don’t press him. Maybe it’s too early to dig into things, despite you wanting to learn everything you can about him. 

“That’s really sweet, actually. It seems like things ended amicably, then?”

Joel nods. “Yeah, it did. Never was really contentious with any of the others, neither. Sometimes y’just grow out of things, or realize it ain’t a good fit, even if money's the motivating factor. For me, I want to look forward to spendin’ time with the person, too. It makes it all worth it.”

You give him a genuine smile, feeling your gaze going soft. Something about the way Joel speaks about this, so surefooted and thoughtful, and the way he regards the women he’s involved in his lifestyle, it grasps at you and refuses to let go. He recognizes where he’s at and owns it - not trying to say anything to please you, but just speaking honestly about the experience. 

“And not to mention the, you know, little boost of… motivation you get from it,” you say, poking at him.

Joel nearly chokes on the sip he’s taken from his water glass, then composes himself. “Very funny,” he grits out with an overexaggerated frown, one you can tell he’s forcing. “Keep it up, and we’ll see what happens.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You put your hands up in mock defeat. “It was just too easy. But I get what you’re saying. Uh… have the others known about that part of it, too? I - I’m just genuinely curious about all of this. I guess I never thought about the, uh, intricacies of these sorts of things.” You’d been wondering if it was obvious or expected in that kind of arrangement, or if what you knew about Joel was some kind of rarity. Was it always all about that for these men providing lavish gifts and financial stability? Or could it be something more, like what you and Joel have? Was it the big secret that all these women were in on, that writing checks and throwing credit cards their way was a one way ticket to these men getting hard in their overpriced slacks?

You’ve been feeling so naive, ruminating on it since that dinner with Joel, that you hadn’t guessed the minute he’d brought it up in his office that day. Was that the only reason he was here doing this, to get some kind of sexual satisfaction out of it? 

Joel grimaces a little, clearly anxious about toeing back towards this topic with you. “Well, yeah, to a degree. It’s not always spoken, but sometimes it’s part of the fun. Making jokes about it, or… shit, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but we’re both adults here, I ‘spose. It’s foreplay at times, knowin’ about what’s going on for both people. Makes it fun.”

You fight the slight gape your mouth has dropped into, snapping it shut into a smug smile, nodding. “Oh,” you blurt out dumbly, feeling your cheeks go hot, curling the back of your knuckles to rest your chin in your hands, looking down. One mention of foreplay with Joel and you’re reduced to an awkward, wordless mess, unsure of how to proceed. There wasn’t any foreplay happening here, he’d made that very clear repeatedly, but your conversations always seem to edge towards something else, filled with an unspoken tension. It was messing with your mind, your ability to keep things compartmentalized for your own sanity. You pick up your fork, attempting to return to your meal just for something to do with your hands. “That’s…”

Joel seems to catch himself, leaping into action. “B-but not… this. This situation is different. I’m able to separate things, and… and… shit, I’m sorry. I’m the one goin’ on about not crossin’ those lines, and here we are. I was jus’ trying to tell you how it usually goes for lots of folks doing this sort of thing, that’s all.”

You wave your hands as if to pardon his blunder, finally collecting yourself. “No, no, I get it, and that makes sense. I was the one who asked. It sounds fun, honestly. I see why people do this.”

Joel loosens up, his tense shoulders dropping and lips giving you a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah, it is. I’m havin’ fun now, too, just to make that clear.”

“Oh gee, thanks,” you reply sarcastically, giving him a playful scrunch of your nose. “Me too, though,” you add on with more sincerity.

“Oh, so gettin’ treated to new things and meals because of me is fun, is it?”

You feign thinking for a long moment to irritate him. “Hmm, I guess so.” You laugh, grateful to be back on track with Joel, the banter right where it should be in both of your sweet spots. This was far from normal - secretly dating but not dating such an old friend of your father, accepting his money and gifts - but it felt like one of the most natural places you could be right now.

“Now, should we enjoy our meal together?” Joel asks.

Smiling at him, already feeling the hefty weight that had been pressing on your soul this entire week lifting some thanks to Joel, you nod.

You walk side by side along the busy sidewalks with Joel, his body constantly hovering close to you so as not to lose you amidst the throngs of people going about their busy days. The lunch rush is still alive and well, a blur of people in business casual rushing past, clutching their bags or talking hurriedly on their phones, likely all on their way back to their respective jobs.

Joel had insisted on walking together instead of going separate ways after lunch, seeming to have a secretive air about him that piqued your interest enough to go along with it. 

“Want to make up for everythin’ from today,” he tells you, stopping outside of a jewelry store with gold and silver alike, gemstones and diamonds glittering in the window displays.

“Joel…” you chide. “There’s nothing to make up for. This seems to be a theme with you. Wasn’t lunch supposed to make up for the mustard incident where you almost poisoned me to death?” 

Joel rolls his eyes. “Yes, but this is for Marissa.” At your insistent mouth opening to brush it off, he puts both his hands on your shoulders, stopping you. “I’m serious. I’m gonna have a talk with her about it. She shouldn’t be gettin’ into my business or yours. I really am sorry.”

You melt quickly under the softness in his tone and the bulk of his hands weighing comfortably on your shoulders. 

“It’s really not like she’s making it out to be, I want you to know that. I know you don’t know me as well as you’d like yet, but it’s always been… as respectful as I can get things to be between me and whoever I’m with at the time. She can’t see that, and doesn’t want to, ‘cause she’s bitter she’s not getting more out of me. So if she made you feel like you’re just someone to use an’ throw away, I’m sorry about that. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m here until we get everythin’ sorted out for you and more, yeah?”

You blink rapidly, willing away the unwelcome tears starting to make your eyes shine. You’ve never heard words even remotely like what Joel is saying to you right now, never have had anyone take the time to express a sentiment like that, make you feel worth the time of day for it. It’s… incredible, a warmth that quickly burrows itself inside your chest, so foreign but so welcome to feel like you’re truly seen, truly matter to someone else beyond what it could give them. Even if it was Joel, who barely knows you, but seems to see the merit in helping you figure your life out despite it being risky for him. Nobody had ever done anything like that for you before.

“I…” you stutter out, clearing your throat and looking down at the sidewalk. Joel’s gaze is pensive and sharp as he studies you, trying to read the emotions warring within you. “Thank you, Joel. I’m sorry, I’ve just never - you’re really kind. Not just the money thing, but you’re… not what I expected.”

He smiles, seeming to understand the struggle you’re unable to verbalize. It was obvious here, what was going on based on everything you’d told him about your father. There was a deep wound you were simply trying to fill. It should make Joel feel dirty, but he lit with pride somewhere deep inside, making him want to keep being the reason for you to smile.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he replies smugly, forcing a weak chuckle out of you. “Now c’mon. We’ve got things to buy.”

Joel surprises you when his hand trails down, grasping at yours, making a beeline for the door to the shop. You let your fingers intertwine with his like it’s a natural, everyday occurrence for the two of you, tugging you along. 

The man behind the counter knows Joel, greeting him by name, which amuses you to no end. Joel really has perfected this type of relationship for himself, down to the jewelry shop he frequents. Joel introduces you, and you can only offer a shy smile and hello, feeling the difference between the bustle of the outside world and placidity of the polished jewelry shop hitting you hard. You’re too aware of the way your hand is clasped tightly in Joel’s now that you’re somewhere quiet with eyes on the two of you. The more places you’re seen together, the more likely it is that your entire world could come crashing down with this secret getting out. There are millions of people in this city, yet you keep getting the sinking feeling it would be just your luck to be spotted by the wrong one.

Joel senses your shift, slipping his hand out of yours and briefly grazing the small of your back with it. “Hey, it’s okay. Nobody here knows anythin’, or would say anythin’, even if they did,” he whispers, and you eye the clerk suddenly acting very interested in wiping the surface of a case across the room to give the two of you privacy.

You shoot him a nervous look. “Should we really be out together like this? It’s been making me nervous all day. What if - what if…?”

Joel’s entire body nearly lurches forward, but he holds himself back from grabbing onto you, squeezing those anxious cheeks of yours between his hands and holding them tightly, making sure you look into his eyes while he reassures you. This instinct he has, the one he’s never been able to ignore, feels like too much with you, too suffocating. You have a father, someone to look after you that way already. Hell, all of them have had a father, but never one that he knew personally. Yet, he saw the need you had for it, the craving maybe you weren’t aware of, the one that brought you to tears the moment he’d shown you any sign of that kindness.

It hurts his heart to see you so neglected - all these years of knowing you by proxy, and he’d never seen it. How could he have missed it, how miserable you’ve been? How much sooner could he have been able to help you realize that you were worth anyone’s time, that you were worthy of living the life you wanted to live? Somehow though, he felt that this was exactly where the two of you were meant to be at this point in your timelines. Any sooner and maybe he wouldn’t have been able to make the difference he wanted to because you’d not have been ready to face it, or too late in the game, already too miserably deep in your path to CEO to care.

Meant to be - the words that kept running through Joel’s mind, despite everything in him fighting to stop thinking like that, to stop gently placing your sweet self so deeply in his heart so early on in the relationship. You yearn so earnestly for something he was so innately able to give, and that’s making it harder than it ever had been with the others.

“We don’t have to go out like this again, if you don’t want. I know, I thought the same thing, and we can stick with my place if y’want to. I just want you to feel comfortable, that’s all.”

You throw him an appreciative smile. “I - I’ll think about it. I liked today, though.”

“Me too.” He smiles. “Now can I treat you to somethin’ pretty like I’m supposed to?”

“Alright, alright, Mr. Impatient. Let’s have a look,” you reply, stepping forward to peer down at the closest display, feeling Joel’s presence sidling up beside you. Heat radiates off of both him and the lights in the glittering case, making you sweat at the proximity of it all, the nearness of his body and that cologne of his wafting invitingly into your space.

“What do you usually like? Noticed you mostly wear gold. But not many bracelets.”

You flick your gaze to him, brows lifted. “Very observant of you.”

“It’s all part of the gig. Got to know what kinds of gifts you’re lookin’ for, so I can surprise you when you least expect it.” Joel’s pleased smugness shadows his face, and you roll your eyes at him, even though you are impressed. Men don’t have the best reputation for paying attention, or at least not the ones you’ve known. Your father has never opted to buy his own gifts for your mother, always either hiring someone to do it or deferring to you, since you’d clearly know better what his wife would like.

“Well, what would you pick out for me if I wasn’t here?” you ask him, feeling emboldened.

Joel seems to like this game, taking on the challenge with an intrigued twitch of his brows. He leans the tiniest bit closer to you, but he may as well have crossed an entire canyon with the difference the proximity makes to your steadily beating heart. He seems to morph into something more right there - giving you the suave show he offers to any other woman in your position. 

“Alright, well, I’d want to know first if you don’t wear bracelets because you don’t like ‘em, or if you just don’t think about buyin’ them for yourself, which would be a damn shame. ‘Cause for some reason, I really want to be the one clasping something nice to your pretty wrists. Just a feeling I get.”

You can scarcely breathe at the way his voice reverberates so close to you, lowering to a gravelly rumble with each word weaving its way inside of you. It’s all too sensual, too evocative of an image painted in your mind for this to be the casual thing you’re both seeming to pretend it is. Your skin is prickling, warm all over as you stand with tightening thighs, your hip pressed against the jewelry case to help hold you steady. You don’t dare look him in the eye now, for fear he’ll be able to see the mortification burning its way through you at the effect his words have. 

“I - I just don’t think about it. I like bracelets, though,” you somehow squeak out, keeping your answer safe and only opting to respond to the actual question rather than… whatever the hell all the other stuff was. You simply can’t dive into it further if you want to remain sane right now and pretend that Joel didn’t have some kind of obscene hold on you.

“Alright, then. Let’s have at it,” he says casually now, dropping some of the charm. He prowls along the cases at a slow, steady pace, carefully weighing the options. “I’ll stick with gold, for obvious reasons. No point in mixin’ it up if you’re not interested.” He flashes a glance back to you, to see if he’s on the right track, so you nod for him, agreeing. You do your own browsing, admiring the wide selection of jewelry while he’s quiet for a while, stopping to observe each case with scanning eyes before he glances to the clerk across the room.

“William, I think we’re all set here,” he booms out, and you look at him curiously, walking over to the case he’s landed on. You peer down through the glass, trying to guess which one he’s selected, but Joel stops you with a gentle hand to the shoulder. “Do you want it to be a surprise?”

You consider it, pursing your mouth in contemplation. A flutter moves through your middle, making you lick your lips before smiling wide for him. “Yeah, why the hell not?” you conclude. 

Moments later, after dutifully averting your gaze from across the room as Joel and William pack up your new gift, he walks over to you with a slender, black box in hand. There’s a bag in his other for you to carry it home in, sporting tissue paper and the shop's name in a classy, black font across the front. 

“For you,” Joel says quietly, presenting the box to you and cracking it open. It’s a dainty, gold bracelet, periodically studded with flowers, daisies by the look of it, each one beautifully crafted and shimmering with diamonds. You’re accustomed to nice things like this - diamonds, designer clothing and bags, all the highest quality things your parents provided for you growing up, yet you still gasp at the sight before you. There’s something touching about it being specifically chosen for you by someone who truly wanted to do it. That makes it the most beautiful piece of jewelry you’ve ever seen, despite having laid eyes on much more elaborate, eye-catching pieces. 

This feeling was pure magic.

“I love it,” you exclaim softly, bringing a hand up to your mouth, some self conscious part of you desiring to conceal your smile, not wanting to seem materialistic. Joel’s hand goes to your wrist, moving it away, his eyes intently flashing between watching your grin and your eyes crinkling happily with it.

“Mm-mm,” he chastises you, nearly a whisper. “This is the best part, watchin’ you be happy.”

Your smile falls into something more subtle, an electricity crackling down to your very veins at the intimacy brimming in the air between the two of you. “Thank you, Joel. I love it. You did really good,” you manage to say, your breath a little shaky.

“Let me,” he says, bringing your wrist a little lower and gently pulling the new bracelet out of its box. The way he so gingerly moves, wrapping the gold chain around your wrist and clasping it, all so certain yet reverent, has something inexplicable taking hold of you. He’s an expert, this sort of thing practically a second job for him, yet you feel like it’s the first time, as if he’d never tire of making you feel this cherished and special. 

“Now would you look at that,” Joel marvels as he finishes up, turning your wrist in a slow, graceful manner to allow a moment of appreciation as the bracelet shines and sparkles. When he lets go, you feel the absence like a plunge of ice to your skin, much colder than you could remember it being before he’d touched it. You smile absentmindedly at the bracelet, shaking it to hear the tiny, pleasant jingle. 

“It’s perfect,” you tell Joel. “Thank you again.” Before you can think, your arms are thrown around him in an embrace, wanting to show your appreciation. You feel his hesitation at first, but once his arms finally wrap around you, they’re committed, squeezing you tightly to his chest. “I thoroughly forgive you now for your rude ex. And the mustard,” you say into his shirt.

You both descend into laughter, pulling away to watch his crooked smile lighting up his whole face. “Thank god. I was worried it was a deal breaker.”

You shrug. “Nah. More where this came from, and we’ll definitely be even.”

Joel’s hurried footsteps have him rushing along the sleek black floors past the front desk, not so much so as to not give Vincent a proper greeting as he passes. Thankfully Bianca, his assistant, is still on her lunch too, no questions or needs or check-ins from her buzzing in his ear. Just for these few minutes, that’s all he needs.

The office door closed in a haste, shaky hands pulling the shades on his windows into the hallway, he makes sure to lock the door before settling in at his desk. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, the half hard cock he’d been fighting for blocks now straining against his slacks, so stiff and achy it’s nearly painful. Leaking a spot onto his briefs, he palms it, sighing softly at the relief it brings.

Jerking on his cock, the length of springs out, slapping at his belly before he tugs out his balls too, resting heavily against the hastily shuffled down fabric. He swallows the tiny pit of shame growing inside of him before skimming a finger through his precum, spreading it along his head in a circular motion.

This time, he doesn’t even try to avoid picturing it’s you doing it.

He’s hardly allowed himself to let go like this for days, not since your first dinner together. It’s been too difficult to not tie it to you, to not conflate the fact that he was rock hard more often than was convenient now to the fact that he had someone new out there enjoying all the wonderful things he could provide for them. That someone being you, maybe one of the few people he absolutely should not be fantasizing about. He was coming on too strong, he knew that, unable to help himself from giving in to what seems to come naturally between you two. You’re too nice, too sweet to ruin with vain, carnal desires, so he’d have to resort to this instead - holding back until he’s nearly bursting with unplaced desire. 

He thought he could handle the jewelry store, could handle you. But just as you’d said he’s different than you’d expected, so are you. Funny and biting, but so soft and caring underneath it all, passionate and driven but without a direction yet, something in you so wanting of it, so needing, you were simply… lovely. Radiant and perfect in all your own little ways, you’ve been one of the biggest pleasures to be around after only two god damned dates. Joel hates himself for it. It’s such a shame it had to be you, the one who’d finally caught his attention in this way. It has been too long since he’d indulged himself, let someone in and taken care of them. He’d just stayed focused on work and family, ignoring the part of him that ached to be satisfied with being seen as someone’s provider.

Joel’s slick hand slides up his cock, gripping tightly, a dichotomous hope uttered on his lips that it should be you, and that he wishes it wasn’t you running through his mind during such an intimate act. 

“F-fuck, yeah,” he mutters to himself, stroking faster. You and that smile, the new bracelet hanging off your wrist, just as he’d imagined it. The new dress you’d worn to dinner, aching to see more, more, more - new, pretty things, or to watch your stress melt away as he took on all those burdens for you. You could have everything, you could have it all, because of him.

He’d never touch you, no, and never let you touch him like this. But in this moment, squeezing his own slickened cock, he allows himself just one glimpse of it in his mind - one time, and he’d be done. One moment of imagining your hand wrapped around his shaft, fingers curling delicately as they move up and down, struggling to take him all in your hand. You would struggle, with that pretty new bracelet sparkling the entire way through.

He groans. 

It’s louder than he’d meant, unexpectedly so, but that’s just what you do to him. The unexpected. A thin sheen of sweat coats Joel’s brow now as he strokes himself furiously, enjoying every second of allowing himself to relinquish his morals. It would be over too soon, he thinks to himself, catching a glimpse of his ruddy, pulsing cock in his hand, desperately imagining you’re there instead, touching it, riding it, the two of you doing something nobody has to know about.

“Sh-shit, shit,” Joel blurts out, hastily reaching for a tissue, pumping his cock a few more times, throwing his head back. When he comes, it’s harder than he has in recent memory, so much built up tension and need behind it all, but he doesn’t picture any specific thing to push him over the edge. It’s just you.

Catching his breath, he copes with the shame of it all, still feeling you buzzing pleasantly around his mind. This thing he can not rid himself of now that you’ve taken up residence there. It was a new kind of high, one he hadn’t felt in years, or maybe ever. None of the others had felt like this, his heart and mind seeming to slip out of his control and into something dangerous. Joel always found he didn’t like things to be out of his control if he could help it. You, however, were completely, irrefutably out of his control now.

Sitting there in his pool of shame, Joel cleans himself up and discards the evidence in the trash, feeling defeated. He’s already let this get too far, putting you in a dicey position, and for what? For him to self satisfy some part of him that he’s considered broken?

Isn’t that exactly what you were doing too? Could two people trying to fix what’s broken come together and not have it end in disaster? This isn't like his other relationships - there hadn’t been so much at stake, no end that resulted in upsetting the status quo of the other’s life. 

He’s pondering all of it, if he’s being fair to you, if he should be more careful with what parts of your life he holds in his hands now, when he feels his phone buzz inside his pocket.

You’ve sent him a photo of your wrist, seemingly out on the street somewhere. He catches the facade of a high end, cream colored building in the background, and he wonders in passing if that’s where you call home. Wonders if he’ll be able to see it, be let into your world a little more. Not the parts of it he knows from being on the fringes, but the bits of you that you don’t share with your parents, your friends, or maybe anyone else.

Never taking this off, you tease in the message attached to the photo, and Joel’s chest tightens and swells with affection. He longs to make you feel like this every day, to make sure you know that you have someone looking out for you even when so many people in your life seem to have forsaken that. He studies the picture, looking over every inch and promising himself to put aside his vain desires to see this through for you. To give you all the things you deserve to have, because you’re a nice girl who deserves better than the lowness he’s stooped to in his office today.

It nags at his mind though, in a way he can’t shake off despite trying, the things he feels when he looks at the photo, the new bracelet shining in the sun. The things he feels when he looks at you.

You. You were certainly going to be the death of him.

[shycloudkitty]

Time off

Summary: A rare time off with your boyfriend spent in creative ways ;)

Pairing: Re4r Leon × Fem! reader

Tags: NSFW 18+, MDNI!!! , Soft dom Leon, Oral (f! receiving), spanking, Swear words, Fluff, Light angst, Mostly fluff, premature ejaculation

A/N: Long time no see you guys!!! Okay so this is my second time writing smut, it's kind of clunky ig? But I feel like it has improved (I really hope it has). Shoutout to @writingwisterias and @fawnsflowerbed for giving me useful advice, the writing is not perfect but I feel like it has gotten better. Okay so, Things written in italics are a flashback scene, so be mindful of that.

WC: 4.1K

Credits to @/strangergraphics for dividers

Masterlist | Ao3 account

Finally, God, finally. A week free from work.

A week where you could happily enjoy the company of your boyfriend. Surprisingly, he happened to be free at the same time as you. Miracles do exist, it seems.

And now these past few days, you were in your boyfriend's arms sleeping late just because you can. Cuddling and laughing while he made another corny joke, he was charming enough to get away with it. Making out lazily and whispering sweet nothings to each other.

It was a miracle because whenever he was free, your hectic job used to pull in for a new project or a meeting. You couldn't help but dread and curse at your job for pulling you out of your boyfriend's arms while he was kissing your neck and caressing you all over like he could do it all day. And then, you have to leave.

“Leon, I'm sorry baby but I have to leave. It's important.”

As soon as those dreadful words leave your mouth he immediately holds onto you tightly, muscular arms wrapping around your waist as if caging you and huffs like a child who was about to throw a tantrum.

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘No’?”

“No.”

You tried to wriggle yourself out of his grip but it was useless. Trying to push his arms away that were wrapped around you but they only grew tighter like a venus flytrap capturing a fly.

You couldn't help but groan half heartedly at his attempts. “Oh come on, Leon. You know I will be back soon.”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Yeah… like an eternity later when I'm old and sad and…miserable thinking about where my one true love went…”

His hands slowly slipped inside your clothes as he caressed your skin there, you suppressed a shiver as his calloused hands roamed your soft skin.

He sighed dramatically. “You want me to die old thinking when that asshole of your boss would let you come home?”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. He could be dramatic when he needed to be. “Y'know I will come home by 8 right?”

“Same thing.” Honestly, if it was upto him he would have marched up to your office and gave your boss a ‘talk’ about calling you whenever he wanted some help with work but he knew you would be upset so he didn't.

You were sure if you rolled your eyes any further they would fall out of your skull. When did he got so dramatic? “Leon, I will make it upto you I promise but for now I have to go really.”

He held you tightly for a few more minutes and saw you weren't budging, he couldn't help but sigh deeply and loosen up a bit. Giving you a chance to slip out.

You don't, it's not like you were happy to leave him here all by himself. You definitely wanted to keep cuddling with him, feel him wrap around you like a warm blanket on a cold night. Talking to him until one of you falls asleep or till your talks drift somewhere else… that somewhere being your face buried in a pillow while he arranged your insides from behind, him whispering all kinds of dirty things that made you come undone.

You looked back at him and cupping his face in your hands, his eyes looked into yours giving you puppy eyes which could melt anyone's heart but reserved only for you. You kiss his cheek, softly whispering. “Leon, I'm sorry but it's important. I don't wanna leave you either.”

“Then don't.” His answer came immediately. He leaned into your touch pressing a soft kiss in your palm, making your heart melt once more.

You sigh and kiss his forehead softly. Your thumb caressed his cheek gently as you continued to console him with love. “Babe don't make it any more difficult than it has to be. I promise I will make it upto you tonight.”

He slowly nods and immediately hugs you tightly in his arms and grumbles. “Fine, but if works calls in once more, I'm going there myself to talk to your boss.”

You chuckled and kissed him. “Deal.” He kisses you back, a small smile appearing on his face.

You pulled away and started make your way out of bed when he immediately yanked you back and held you tightly, making you yelp in surprise.

“Leon!”

“Just pretty please. 30 more minutes.”

“30?!”

“Ugh. Fine. 20 minutes. God it's like you love your job more than me.”

“It kind of pays my bills y'know.”

“I can too. Stay. 20 minutes. Final offer.”

You knew it was useless to fight against this, might as well rest up while you can. You can tell your boss you got held up in traffic or something.

And whenever you were free, it was him getting yanked into his government missions to save the world, literally. Not that you weren't grateful. But him leaving always felt like a piece of your heart breaking. The type of work he was in… there was no telling when he would come back or if he would even come back.

What words might be his last to hear, which emotions would be his last to be feel, will it be fear or will it be anger?

It was kind of funny, in a dark way. When you left home, all he was complaining about was not getting enough cuddles.

But when he leaves home, you don't even know if he will be back. And neither did he, although he tried his best to make you think otherwise.

It was still early in the morning when some rustling sounds around the room, woke you up from your peaceful sleep.

Your eyes slowly open, adjusting to the dark room barely lit up from the sunlight. You could make out the silhouette of your boyfriend preparing his duffel bag for his mission. He was trying his best to be quiet, tiptoeing across the room to collect his things.

You watched him quietly, not wanting to interrupt what he was doing and also avoiding a goodbye.

Opening his closet to take some warm clothes, going to the bathroom to pack some essentials. Taking out his gun from his closet which was usually hidden well, although you never tried to search for his gun when he was home. Things were difficult as it is & to digest the fact that there was an actual gun in your home was a whole different tale.

You watched him wear his mission clothes, gearing up with his knives and keeping his gun to one of his pockets, fixing his tactical gloves.

He sighs to himself looking around if he was missing anything then he looked towards your sleeping form in the dark room, the only thing he had left was to say goodbye to you.

He walks towards you, his boots creaking against the floor, you closed your eyes immediately trying to look like you were sleeping. You felt your side of the bed dip slightly and a hand gently caressing your hair, his warm breath fanning your neck.

A soft whisper fill your ears. “It's time for me to go now, I know you will be pissed but I have to do this.”

He takes a deep breath and continues. “It's always dangerous but knowing you're here waiting for me, helps me through it all.”

His fingers towards your cheek and gently caresses it with his knuckles. “You put up with so much shit, I don't know how… you're still here with me. You're the most important person to me. I love you so much.”

He presses a soft kiss on your forehead and holds one of your hands tightly. He sighs and buries his face in your hair, closing his eyes.

You feel a lump rise in your throat as you just stay there with your eyes closed not wanting to say goodbye, it broke your heart every time as he left but you also had to be brave, the last thing you wanted is him worrying about you.

You let out a shaky breath and whispered. “I love you too…”

He simply wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your neck. “I will be back soon.”

“Okay… just be safe.” Leon nods at your words and then gently tilts your head to face him, pressing a soft slow kiss on your lips. He always said his goodbyes like this. He could never say it out loud, it was better to show you how much he would miss you.

You both slowly part from your kisses and look at each other like it was your last. You softly ask. “30 more minutes?”

A soft chuckle leaves his lips, his knuckles gently tracing your cheek and replies. “Not 20?”

You shake your head “No.”

“What if I have to leave in 20 minutes?”

“I don't care. I want you for 30.”

You see his familiar smirk blooming on his face whenever he is amused by you. “Bossy & demanding.”

You shrug and feel your smile widening. “Well, someone has to be The Woman in this relationship.”

His soft chuckle turns into a full laugh, the warm sound filling your shared bedroom, making this goodbye into something much warmer. His eyes crinkle around the corners and smile at you. “You're right, someone has to.”

He adds in with a shrug “I can do 30 minutes, if you add in the kisses.”

Your smile widens and nod. “Deal."

He lays down on your side, getting under the sheets once more but this time with full gear. “Scoot over.” He mumbles.

You scoff. “No way, I'm on my side, I'm too comfy to move.”

He rolls his eyes and says. “You want cuddles or not.”

You grumble under your breath but comply by shifting in bed, giving him plenty of space. After getting comfortable he pulls you in and wraps his arms around you, his chin resting on top of your head and your warm breath hitting the nape of his neck.

Your grip tightens around him, soaking it all in once more before he goes…

That's how usually things went for you both, just trying your best to be by each other's side. Testing fate whenever you both can.

But this week, finally, you are both home. Safe and sound. In each other's arms & watching a movie, what better way to spend time together as a couple… Or that was the plan at first.

Now, you are sitting on the couch with your legs spread, panting heavily and moaning his name endlessly, both hands gripping your thighs, so you can't squirm away from him while his face is buried in your warm cunt.

Movie plans being far forgotten now along with your clothes and the sly bastard was still in his clothes.

He was on his knees, tongue swirling around your puffy clit, sucking on it happily while you whined that it was getting too much for you and him getting hard as a rock in his sweatpants. Grinding his hips against the edge of the couch, letting out occasional grunts and low moans as he wats you out.

One of his hands leaves your thighs to dip his fingers into your entrance to collect the juices flowing out of you, using it to lubricate his fingers as he gently pushes them inside. A soft moan slipping your lips at the feeling. “Lee…”

He kisses your inner thigh in response and mumbles. “You're doing wonderful, sweetheart… such a good girl for me.”

He starts to move his fingers at a steady pace while his tongue plays with your clit. Coaxing soft whines with his pace but then he curls against that spongy spot that always makes you sing louder for him. He gets his answer pretty quickly when you eagerly grind against his mouth and fingers for more.

He couldn't help but smirk at how easy it is to get you riled up. A few kisses here and there, some filthy words spoken, careful measured touches…and soon you were a beautiful mess for him.

Huge ego boost too since only he could unravel you like this. And he loved you for it. The moans, the tiny whimpers and gasps you make when he touches or tastes you, never fails to send a shiver down his spine.

It turned him on just by looking at you, seeing the way you surrender yourself for him, let him do whatever he wants. To know you trust him so much that you'd surrender yourself to him so easily.

Panting for breaths, your legs weakly settle on his broad shoulders immediately wrapping around his head as he keeps going.

He removes his fingers briefly only to delve his tongue deep in your warm pussy, nose bumping your sensitive nub, hearing those pathetic moans of yours that were driving him insane.

He tips his head up a bit to see your expression and he couldn't help the growl that leaves his lips. Your pretty face flushed red, sweat forming on your forehead, your hair being a beautiful mess, framing you into a perfect image of sin.

And the combination is just enough for him to immediately cums, humping the couch chasing his relief. A guttural moan leaves his lips against your folds as he rides his high, his tongue eventually slowing down and closes his eyes because his head feels lighter and dizzy. He adjusts himself and grunts at the feeling, his cock twitching lightly in his sweatpants.

He pulls back briefly to rest his head on your cushiony thighs. His words are breathy, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Sorry, princess… didn't mean to do that so early…Give me one minute…”

Your breath hitches at the sight, him losing control of himself like this was rare but a welcome sight. His usual perfect blonde hair now sticking to his forehead, pupils blown wide and lust written all over his face. It didn't bother you that he came earlier than you, if anything it made you proud of yourself that you can make him lose his mind like this.

He mentally curses himself for losing control of himself so early when you didn't even reach the peak yourself. But he couldn't help it, the taste of your juices along with the sight of you surrendered to him…it would take a miracle for any man to not lose control like he did. A part of him still felt wrong for cumming before you did and he tries not to focus on it too much.

He felt your hands gently tugging his hair upwards, he looks up to see you, panting heavily and mumbling softly. “Yeah?”

Your heart melts at the sight and smile at him. “You good?”

He closes his eyes once more and mumbles dryly. “Yeah… yeah, M’ good. Just catching my breath.”

Your fingers gently massage his scalp as his head rests on your thigh. Your tone turning more soft as you talk to him. “It's fine, take your time.”

He nods and slowly says. “Sorry, really…didn't mean to-”

You interrupt him with a soft shush and keep caressing his hair gently. “It's fine, baby, nothing’s wrong… We can stop, if you want. No shame in it.”

He shakes his head and peppers kisses across your inner thighs. “Mmm, no way, I ain't leaving you high and dry like that.”

After a few moments, when he feels much normal, he starts again, slow and steady. His hands gently grip your hips, gently biting the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, sending a jolt through your spine as you start to feel worked up once more.

His mouth dives back into your pussy, he lays his tongue flat as he slowly moves it up and down your folds. His tongue lazily circling around your clit, smirking to himself when he starts to feel your hips twitch in his grip, his grip tightens to prevent you from squirming too much and continues his work.

He closes his eyes once more and simply focuses on you. Your soft moans, the way you tug his hair helplessly, motivating him to go further. He slowly inserts one of his finger, moving it inside you, feeling your walls contract around it. He inserts another and hears you yelp, trying to pull away from his grip. He grumbles disapprovingly against your clit and pushes his fingers deeper inside you, occasionally curling them.

Your skin grows hotter like before, breathing coming in short pants, thighs clenching around his head from the pleasure coursing through your veins but he makes no motions to stop you.

His hand that was on your hips moves to caress your waist gently, rubbing your back, helping you relax. He flicks his tongue against your sensitive nub of nerves, sucking on it, anything to get you closer to the edge.

You arch your back, trying to bring him even close to your core. A plethora of names and broken whines leaving your sweet lips, indicating to him that you were close.

He suddenly pulls back, breaking his pace to look at you. “Look at you, dollface…So fucking pretty just for me.” His hands travel up towards your chest, roaming towards your smooth curves, feeling your skin under his own. He teasingly ran his hands over your plump breasts, cupping them and pinching your nipples playfully, slowly rolling those soft peaks between his index and middle finger.

You whine and huff at him, glaring at him to stop toying you like this. This was probably the second time he brought you this close. It did feel good but right now all you wanted was to just fall apart by his tongue and fingers.

He has a big smirk on his face when he sees you glaring daggers at him. “Use your words hon'.” Pinching your nipples once more for emphasis.

Words? You didn't even had a chance to breathe when he started all this. And now he was teasing you instead of finishing what he started.

You groan from frustration and try to speak but the words come out in a half broken moan. “Just make me cum, Leon… I was already so close.”

Leon smirk doesn't wavers if anything it only gets bigger when he hears you beg. “I was just admiring the view, baby” He raises himself up and starts to kiss the nape of your neck, kissing away the beads of sweat, tasting the salt on your hot skin.

Both of his hands drift back down to your hips, giving you few gentle spanks but also gently rubbing the spot to soothe the skin, the roughness of his hands raising goosebumps on the bare expanse of your skin. His touch slowly travels back to your inner thighs, pulling your hips near the couch’s edge so he could settle between them. He hears you whine near his ear, your desire and impatience apparent. “Leon…-”

He immediately captures your lips in a deep kiss and mumbles against them. “I know baby… I know…” He deepens the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a passionate dance, demanding your focus into the demanding kiss instead of your delayed orgasm. One of his hands grabbed the back of your neck so you couldn't pull away from it either.

Your body shudders from the intensity of the kiss as he swallows every sound as it left your lips, eyes fluttering close, you allow yourself just enough to get lost in the kiss. And he feels your legs relax just enough. He suddenly pushes two fingers back inside your pussy, smirking when he sees your eyes opening wide and a yelp leaving your throat. “Fuckkk! Fuck! Leon-” You feel the familiar stretch of his fingers and try to push him away, mewling as your walls soon accommodate the feeling of his fingers.

Whines turn into desperate low moans as he starts to move his thick digits, once again curling them against your spongy spot. Your eyes roll in the back of your skull as he pulls you in a kiss once again. His voice turning into a mocking one. “You wanted to cum, yeah? Well, go on. Nothing's stopping you, not whining now are ya?”

You try to kiss him back but instead it's just more messier than before, string of saliva connecting your mouth to his as you pull back. Your vision blurs as you feel your orgasm starting to close on you with each thrust of his fingers. You choke up on your moan. “M’ gonna cum!”

Leon's smirk only widens as he hears it and leans in to gently tug at your earlobe and huskily whispers. “Ride those fingers for me, paint ‘em with your cum.”

Your body feels hotter at his words, hips starting to move at their own accord now, just need that sweet release that was nearing the edge.

He kisses your collarbone and keeps mumbling. “Yes, sweetheart, you're doing so well, look at you…” His sweet praises were what you needed as you suddenly felt your orgasm crashing over you, a scream of his name ripping through your chest, legs giving out as your juices gushed around his fingers.

He helps you ride out your high and slowly pulls out of your aching hole, immediately putting his digits in his mouth, softly groaning at the taste of your cum. “Mmhmm, Jesus…” He licks them clean and looks down at your spent body and grins to himself. “Would you look at that…So pretty.”

He gently caresses your body as it shakes from pleasure. Leaning down to pepper soft kisses from your waist to the swell of your chest, slowly making his way up your body. He finally reaches your lips as he drops a soft kiss. He leans back and grins at you. “I was good, wasn't I?”

You chuckle breathlessly as you stare at him, feeling like you probably have melted in goo on the couch. Replying to him in a breathy tone. “Good doesn't…even begin…to cover it.”

Leon chuckles along with you, gently brushing some of the hair away which was sticking on your skin cause of sweat. He drops a soft kiss on your forehead. “I aim to please, sweetheart…Now come ‘ere.”

He groans softly as he stands up front sitting on his knees for so long. He sits down on the couch, leaning back & spreads his legs, stretching them a bit. He gently pulls you in his lap, allowing you to just simply curl up as you sit there, his chin resting on the top of your head. His fingers thread through your hair, gently untangling any knots that came across his way while you came down your high.

You sigh, feeling your shudders subside in his arms and reply. “God, I don't think I can walk even now.”

His lips turn into a mischievous smile, his chest puffing up at your words. “I know & you're welcome.” And drops a kiss on your head.

You roll your eyes at his self-satisfied tone. “So Humble.”

You feel his chest rumble up from soft laugh as he replies smugly. “I know right, considering how much noise you were making I should brag more.”

You hit his chest lightly and feign annoyance at him. “Shut up.”

A stupid wide grin spreads across his face as you hit him, his arms squeeze around your body, pulling you closer and says. “What? It's not a bad thing to accept the fact that I'm just that good.”

“I didn't say that.”

“It felt like you did.”

“I was hoping for more quiet cuddling and less bragging.” Playful exasperation apparent in your words.

He rolls his eyes and dramatically sighs but his voice is full of teasing. “Jesus, fine, a guy can't even brag about making his girl satisfied. But okay, whatever the princess demands.”

He hears laughter spilling from your lips and feels his heart melt from the sound, his hands gently rub your back. And he buries his face in your neck, kissing you there softly. “Wanna get cleaned up in the shower or too tired?”

You nod and reply. “No… I wanna shower but only if you carry me.” Playfully batting your eyelashes at him.

He chuckles and stands up with you in his arms, prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck. He passed the same playful smile back at you. “Was gonna do that anyway, Princess.”

Your giggles fill the air as he carries you quite happily to the bathroom. You rest your head on his chest and briefly close your eyes praying, that you'd both get more time like this more often.

Hello, everyone!!! So happy to be back. Good news- I have already started working on some requests from last time, I wasn't writing anything for these few months cause of exams, I'm still not exactly free but I think I can manage.

Other than that, I hope the smut is good enough to enjoy, I know it's not perfect😅 but I'm working on that, this is the only area where I get stuck Lol. Do let me know if you guys want me to improve in some areas or anything else you'd like to see.

Hope you all have a good day!

-Bella

[verareids]

feel the same - s.r. x bau!reader

spencer misunderstands a conversation he overhears between reader and derek. tags/cws: misunderstandings, confessions of feelings, use of 'y/n', gn!reader, fluff, mild angst, derek morgan has big brother energy wc: 1708 (much longer than I thought lmao) a/n: I'm truly obsessed with season 1 spencer as of late so I HAD to write a fic with him in mind. <3

also posted on ao3

“You know Pretty Boy likes you, don’t you?”

Spencer had been trying to get some sleep on the flight back after working a case that had drained all his energy when the sound of Morgan’s voice caught his attention. Without opening his eyes, he knew exactly who he was talking to. Spencer had never outright admitted to anyone that he had developed feelings for you but it was getting harder to deny. Once Derek had started pointing out the way he’d look up when you entered a room or the way his eyes lingered as you walked away, he was becoming concerned that this crush was more obvious than he’d like it to be. 

He’s been trying to ignore it, telling himself it’s unprofessional when really it’s because he believes there’s no way you could possibly feel the same. There’s a myriad of reasons why he wished Derek would keep his big mouth shut but honestly – that was probably the biggest.

“Likes me? How old are we?” The smooth sound of your response makes Spencer smile to himself in spite of the current situation. 

“(Y/N), come on…” Derek chuckles and is immediately met with a long stretch of silence. Spencer can picture the death glare he knows he’d see on your face if he were to look at you in this moment. “Look, you know he’s never gonna ask you out himself so maybe you should just–”

“Derek.” You interrupt with an evident sternness in your tone. “I’m not having this conversation with you. I’ve told you, it’s not happening.” Ouch. Spencer had never allowed himself to dream that you would reciprocate his feelings but he definitely wishes he had been asleep for that one. With that, he forces his eyes shut tighter than before and takes in one deep, slightly shaky breath and decides to try to go back to sleep, if only so that he doesn’t have to hear you reject him even harder.

~

Spencer wakes up as the jet is landing and he quickly gathers all of his things, walking out and across the strip with much more urgency than usual. This detail doesn’t go unnoticed by you, not much does – especially where Spencer is concerned – and you make a mental note to check in with him later. He had caught your eye the first day you met him which must be, what? Half a year ago now? And he had been on your mind ever since. You had bonded quickly as friends, being the two youngest members on the team. About a month ago you had finally allowed yourself to acknowledge the fact that you had developed feelings for him. You’d sit next to him at any given opportunity, listen to his infamously long rants much longer than anyone else would, spend just a little too long staring at his lips as he talked you through his theories. It didn’t take long for people to notice. Elle had her suspicions, JJ made a comment every now and then, but Derek – he wouldn’t let it go. He teases you about it constantly. You haven’t given him the satisfaction of admitting it, you haven’t been able to deny it either.

When you eventually make your way into the building along with the rest of the team you notice that Spencer had already left. It’s only then you start to be concerned. It’s unlike him to leave in such a hurry, even more so to not even say goodbye. You rack your brain trying to come up for a reason for this strange behavior. Is he sick? Upset about something? Was it you? You begin to go over every interaction you’d had with him recently when you have to stop yourself before you spiral. He’s just tired. If it was serious he’d tell you… right?

~

The next morning you walk in to find Spencer at his desk working on the report he didn’t write last night before he had basically ran away.

“Morning, Spence!” You greet him, making an effort to sound cheerful as you lean on his desk. He doesn’t look up, like he’s trying extra hard to look busy.

“Morning, (Y/L/N).” He replies without looking up. His tone seems normal, his use of your last name is what sounds the alarms in your head.

“Hey… are you feeling alright?” You ask tentatively, not wanting to pry too much in case you really had done something wrong that you clearly weren’t aware of. “I noticed you kind of left in a hurry last night.” He finally looks up and meets your eyes, easing your nerves slightly. His eyes shift away and then back to yours before a soft smile graces his lips, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m okay.” He responds after a while in a way that sounds like that’s not all he wants to say. You go to reassure him, make sure he knows he can tell you anything, but stop yourself when you notice the way he tenses when you place a hand on his shoulder. Retracting your hand quickly, you begin to fidget with your fingers before running them through your hair nervously.

“Spencer… I–” You start and stop and Spencer feels a little guilty as you seem to stumble over your words anxiously. “Is it me? Did I do something? Because if I did I–”.

“(Y/N).” Spencer cuts off your panicked rambling. You take a steadying breath as he slowly rises to stand in front of you, your eyes trailing up when he towers over you. He looks around the room and sighs before focusing back on you. “Can we go somewhere to talk?” You nod and begin walking towards a storage room with Spencer following close behind, quickly checking that there's no one in there before stepping inside.

“What’s going on with you?” You break the silence as Spencer closes the door behind him. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been acting weird.” You notice the way he dodges the question. He can’t meet your eyes anymore, his gaze shifts around the room and he smiles awkwardly at you.

“Spence, that’s not–” You interrupt yourself, trying to find a way to put your thoughts to words without overwhelming him. “I only want you to be okay. You’ve been acting differently since last night… If there’s something going on I want to be there for you.” When you say that he smiles sadly. He looks down in thought as if he’s considering something.

“I heard you talking to Morgan…” He mumbles, still staring at his feet – wringing his hands together. You furrow your brows in confusion. Talking to Morgan? “On the jet on the way home…”

“Oh.” This isn’t happening. You figure you should’ve known Derek’s relentless teasing would be your downfall. He must know you like him now. There’s a reason you never wanted him to know how you felt. You couldn’t stand the thought of anything ruining your friendship. Spencer visibly deflates even more in front of you at your lack of response. You begin scrambling to come up with a way to get out of this horrifically embarrassing situation.

“Look, I– I didn’t mean to make this awkward…” Oh god. The way he’s stuttering and tripping over his words. You stare blankly at him, then duck your head, bracing for the impact of his rejection. “It’s not like I thought you would feel the same way I just–” Wait what? Your head snaps back up to see his face, eyes widened, which seems to startle him a little. “I wasn’t going to say anything but I guess I just got really in my head about it.” He begins to look a little panicked. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry if I did.” You just keep staring up at him, mouth agape in disbelief. “(Y/N)?” He says your name with a sad desperation and it reminds you that you should respond.

“Sorry, I–” You say slowly while shaking your head. “Are you saying that – Do you like me?” Now it’s Spencer’s turn to look confused, but it was all starting to make sense to you. You had thought he was acting weird because he had found out about your feelings, when in reality, it was the other way around.

“Yes?” He replies hesitantly.

“I like you too.” You say simply with a shy smile but Spencer looks completely taken aback. 

“You do?” The way his eyes light up with a subtle excitement was adorable. Soon after, that look was replaced with skepticism. “But I thought— you told Morgan you didn’t like me.”

“I told Morgan to stop teasing me about you because I didn’t think this…” You gesture between the two of you. “Was ever going to happen.” Spencer let out a sigh of relief and smiled bashfully.

“You could have just told me.” You feel his eyes scanning your face as if he were still looking for proof that you weren’t messing with him.

“You didn’t tell me either.”

“I thought there was no way…” You make eye contact as he trails off in thought. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.” Spencer takes a tentative step closer to you but doesn’t move to touch you in any way, so you reach out to take his hands in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“Well… maybe if we don’t have to fly out for a case today, we could go to dinner tonight?” You’re staring down at your intertwined hands, squeezing once before looking back up. When you see his face he’s still looking down with a big dopey grin on his face and you can’t help but smile right back.

“Yes— definitely.” You giggle at his obvious enthusiasm. 

You both stay in the storage room for another couple minutes, mostly just staring starry eyed at each other. Eventually you both decide that you should get back to work. You try to hide whatever was now going between you as much as you can but like always, Derek Morgan figures you out within minutes and he, along with the rest of the team, teases you relentlessly. (You wouldn’t have it any other way.)

[imagine-you]

won't somebody come take me home? [Logan/Reader]

Summary: You've been abandoned to the Void after experiencing heartbreak in your universe. Instead of becoming food for Alioth or one of Cassandra's underlings, you find a new family with the resistance seeking to bring her down. When Johnny doesn't come back to the hideout, you keep watch in the hopes of seeing his return. Instead, you find a Deadpool variant fighting someone who looks achingly familiar. Someone who reminds you of your old life and the person who broke your heart. When you finally come face to face with a Logan after being pruned from your universe, you're not expecting the longing you're met with or the fact that in his universe, you were his wife. Word Count: 7.7k Author's Note: I've wanted to write for X-Men for so long and then I saw Deadpool and Wolverine and fell in love with Logan all over again. If you like this, please let me know! I'm so nervous about writing for a new fandom. And if you want to see more X-Men stuff from me, please let me know that as well! Reader's song for this is definitely I'm With You by Avril Lavigne, but I kind of imagine Logan's ends up being Hanging By a Moment by Lifehouse.

closer to where I started // all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me

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Everyone in the Void had a tragic backstory that was befitting a hero or villain or anything in between. You were the ones who were lost, abandoned, or forgotten by your worlds and the people you cared about more than anyone else.

You didn't remember much about how you got to the Void, but you had a pretty good understanding of why you were dropped into the barren wasteland for the multiverse's landfill.

Like most people in the Void, you were here because of heartbreak. The one person you had loved with your entire being had loved someone else. You had given him your all, but he only gave you a piece of himself. And when he ripped that piece of himself away, leaving you aching and broken, you were swept out like unwanted trash and right into the Void.

"What's got you so down today, ma chérie?" Remy dropped down into the chair at your side.

You huffed out a laugh that was nowhere near amused. "Besides the fact that we're all stuck here and trying to avoid Cassandra and her wandering fingers?" You brought your hand up and wriggled them in Remy's face, reluctantly letting out a laugh when he snapped his teeth at them.

"Ah, there's that smile," he mused, bumping his shoulder into yours. "You thinkin' 'bout your old life?"

You rolled your eyes, inanely feeling your throat tighten as you fought the urge to cry. You kept your gaze on the bottle of whiskey on the table. Remy reached for it, but he met resistance and turned a glare on you.

You shrugged your shoulders before dropping the forcefield. "I had a dream about him last night," you admitted with a scowl. "About what happened and how no one on my team had my back. How they all thought it was inevitable." You snorted before you quickly grabbed the bottle and took a swig, relishing the burn that traveled down your throat and sent warmth pulsing through your chest. You handed it over to Remy, ignoring his obvious annoyance.

"Listen, you're a lot better off now than you were with those fuckers," he consoled as he finally wrapped his hand around the bottle. "But don't go gettin' between me and my drink, now," he warned, his eyes briefly flashing red before fading away. "I'm not like those assholes who abandoned you. You've got nothin' to hate me for."

"You're real shit at pep talks, you know that?" Johnny cut in, knocking into Remy as he walked by. "Leave Y/N alone. She doesn't want to put up with your bullshit right now."

"And you suppose she wants to put up with yours? All you've got is bullshit," Remy taunted, idly twirling a card between his fingers. It was half a threat, but Johnny would only fight fire with fire and Remy knew it. Elektra had forbidden both of them from using their powers in the hideout, since they had almost burned it down last time.

"Will you both just stop?" You groaned, letting your head hit the table. Someone reached out to pat you on the shoulder, but you didn't bother to look and see who did it. "I love and respect you both dearly, but if you leave another scorch mark in here, then we'll all be in trouble."

Remy obediently stowed the card back up his sleeve while Johnny rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever," he sighed before making for the door. “See you later.”

"Where are you going?" You called, watching him retreat.

"I'll be around," Johnny answered, shooting you a smirk over his shoulder. "I always come back, don't I?"

You didn't get a chance to respond before he was gone. You always worried about Johnny when he went on his little trips around the Void. He swore he would be careful not to run into any of Cassandra's goons, but you knew all of your days were limited. Whether it was Alioth or Cassandra or one of the many rogue Deadpools wandering around, it was only a matter of time before trouble found you.

Remy stood up and placed the half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of you. "Just this once," he allowed with a wink. "You appreciate that, though, you hear?"

"Thanks," you muttered before reaching for the bottle.

You spent the rest of the day trying to block out the dream while you trained with Laura.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn't realize you had company.

"Damn, what's got you so riled up?"

You turned to look at Eric, surprised to see him standing there. You then realized your knuckles had split open and you had trashed the makeshift punching bag you had made out of an old blanket and some sand.

"Nothing," you deflected, half-tempted to go invisible just so no one could see you. Even though he was wearing sunglasses, you knew you had his full attention and you didn't want another lecture on leaving your past behind.

No one on your team was good at that, but you were arguably the worst at letting your pain go.

You always hated when you dreamt about Logan. His last words to you echoing in your mind over and over. You hadn't been enough for him, but Jean? Jean was everything he wanted. You supposed your powers paled in comparison and you would never measure up when all you could do was conjure forcefields and become invisible. Logan had been in love with her from the first moment he laid eyes on her, but you had never seen that look on his face when he looked at you.

It was a pity that you had given Logan everything only to be cast aside for the one who truly held his heart.

If Johnny were there, he would have told Blade to mind his own business, but he still hadn't come back.

"Again," Laura prompted, drawing your attention towards the punching bag. It was half-demolished, but you figured you still had some fight in you.

You noticed her shake her head at Eric as you turned away and focused all your hurt into your fists, watching the bag fall apart.

Johnny hadn't returned by the next morning and you were starting to worry.

You considered everyone your family, but you had a special bond with Johnny. He had been the first person to welcome you to the resistance and you, specifically your powers, had reminded him of his sister. He opened up to you about how much he missed his team, his family, and you told him about the heartbreak you had endured in your universe.

"I'll tell you what, if I ever get my hands on your Logan, I'll light the fucker on fire."

You felt a laugh bubble out of you. It was the first time you had laughed in ages and it felt so good to know you could still find joy in things. "He'd just regenerate."

"Not when I'm done with him," Johnny promised. "I'll cook him 'til he's just a heap of ash and then you'll dance on his remains."

You shook your head, but let Johnny carry on with his elaborate plan for revenge on your behalf. Johnny would never meet your Logan and you knew you would never actually see him again. Everyone in the Void was forgotten and there was no escape.

"You worried about Johnny?" Elektra wondered, coming to stand at your side.

You were keeping an eye on the horizon, searching for any sign that Johnny was coming home.

"It's not like him to be gone this long without some kind of message he's okay.

"He's gotten this far, hasn't he?" Elektra pointed out, shooting you a reassuring look. "He'll be fine."

You nodded your head, but didn't budge from your spot.

"You plan on staying out here all night?" Elektra asked.

"If I have to," you admitted with a shrug of your shoulders. "What if he's in trouble?"

"Then you won't be any help to him sleep-deprived," she answered.

"I've had worse," you deflected with a forced grin.

Elektra sighed, but didn't try to dissuade you again.

You had a pair of binoculars Laura had scavenged and you were doing your best to keep an eye on your surroundings. You were surveying a forest when something caught your attention. You focused on the sight, wondering for a moment if Elektra had been right and sleep deprivation was messing with your mind.

You pulled the binoculars away and blinked a few times before looking through them again.

"Ah fuck," you groaned when you realized that what you were seeing was real.

"What's wrong?" Laura asked, startling you.

"Shit," you hissed, nearly dropping the binoculars. You handed them over and pointed towards what previously held your attention. "You see that?"

"Is that--?" Laura cut herself off before shooting you a disbelieving look. "It's him."

"With a Deadpool," you confirmed with a nod of your head.

"We should get them before someone else does," Laura suggested, handing the binoculars back to you.

You hesitated, knowing she was right, but hating the idea of seeing him again.

"I can go alone," Laura offered. You knew she also loved her Logan, but he had been like a father to her up until his final moments. Your Logan had managed to bring you nothing but pain and insecurity.

"No," you told her with a firm shake of your head. Johnny had gone off alone and now it had been almost two days since the last time you saw him. In the Void, that was as good as a death sentence. "I'll go with you."

You let the others know you were off to rescue two new recruits to the resistance and helpfully left out the fact that one of those people was a Logan variant.

Laura led the way and you followed in her tracks. You kept yourself invisible, knowing that if anyone came after Laura, then you could use your presence as a surprise. You had also learned to use your forcefields as a weapon as much as a defense and you were ready if anyone tried to attack.

Once you got to the station wagon, you let yourself become visible again. You slowly approached the car while Laura investigated the clearing for any signs that you might have been followed. You could see the Deadpool variant wrapped up in the seatbelts, but you couldn't help but let your focus stray to Logan.

He was different from your Logan, but seeing his face hurt all the same. Your Logan had taken everything from you and given nothing back except for pain. This Logan was a stranger, but he still brought up familiar feelings. Love and confusion and agony.

"Is he yours?" Laura wondered, finally joining you in your study of Logan.

"No," you assured her. "Mine would've never been caught dead in the yellow suit," you admitted with just the tiniest hint of relief. You never wanted to see your Logan again, but you couldn't help but admit to yourself that didn't mean you never wanted to see any other Logan. You were scared, terrified of the pain he might cause you, but you hadn't been able to let go of the love you held for him. You were sure, even in that moment, that you would love Logan in every universe. It was too bad he wouldn't love you just the same.

Although, you supposed you didn't really have a Logan. You never did, since the one from your universe was never yours in the first place.

Doubt and wariness began to creep in and you started to herd Laura towards the Honda you were half-sure belonged to the Nicepool variant. "You drive," you prompted, opening the passenger door seat and carefully sitting among the wreckage and blood that was practically painted on every surface of the car.

Laura started the car and you glanced over your shoulder, waiting for the two backseat occupants to stir, but they were both still knocked out.

"They really did a number on each other," you muttered, your gaze already back on Logan.

Laura was silent for long enough that you thought she was ignoring you. "It's not your Logan," she reminded you after a couple of minutes. You realized you were still watching him and finally forced yourself to turn around in your seat.

"It's not," you confirmed, studying your hands in your lap. You let them shift in and out of visibility, a nervous habit you had when you were torn between fight and flight.

"Then he's not the one who hurt you," she continued, keeping her focus on the path in front of you.

"He's not the one who saved you," you shot back. The way she looked at this Logan like she was seeing her savior miraculously alive all over again had felt like a punch in the gut. You were both mourning and the source of it had just dropped right back into your lives. "He might be worse," you pointed out.

"He might be better," she argued with a quick glance at you. "He might not even know us."

"Yeah," you sighed, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, silently apologizing for being so defensive. "Eric's right," you conceded with a grimace. "I need to let it go."

"Hard to let something like that go," she allowed with a soft smile at you. She was the only one who knew the full story. Johnny knew most of it and the others knew enough, but Laura had loved her own Logan like family. She knew what it was like to lose him, albeit in a very different way.

When you got back to the hideout, Laura helped free Deadpool while you formed a forcefield around Logan and used it to lift him out of the car. Charles had claimed it was a form of telekinesis, but you always told him you were just controlling the forcefield. Whatever was inside it just happened to move with it. If you dropped the forcefield, then whatever was inside it would fall.

Laura dragged Deadpool inside while you let Logan hover through the air and into the hideout. Laura left Deadpool on the floor, but you were careful with Logan and let him hover just over the bed you used before letting him go.

Laura shot you a bemused look before going to let the others know you had company.

You weren't really sure what to do with yourself, so you settled for pacing from one end of the room to the other. You were halfway across the room when you heard a rustling noise behind you. You half-hoped it was Deadpool waking up, but when you turned around, it was to see Logan squinting up at the ceiling.

You froze, not daring to move a muscle. Logan blinked a few times before he began to sit up. He stopped and then tilted his head up, sniffing the air. You had always found the way he used his enhanced sense of smell adorable, even if no one else did. He suddenly turned and buried his face in your pillow, pulling in deep breaths. He reached up to clutch the pillow in his hand as he sat up, keeping it pressed to his face.

You weren't even really sure what was going on, so by the time he finally lowered the pillow and met your gaze, you were staring at him completely dumbstruck.

Several emotions warred for control on Logan's face when he saw you. Grief, despair, heartbreak, hope, disbelief, and relief. Finally, he seemed to pull them all together into a neutral expression.

"Y/N," he started, taking a step towards you.

You instinctively took a step back. You knew that this Logan wasn't the one who hurt you, but it was hard to let all of that go when someone who looked exactly like your Logan was staring right at you.

"You're alive," he tried again, taking another step, as if he was drawn to you.

"I am," you answered, your hands clenched into fists at your side. You couldn't handle the way Logan was looking at you. He looked at you like you were his whole world. You would have killed to get your Logan to look at you like that. But having it now, from a different Logan, felt equal parts thrilling and unsettling. "Who am I to you?" You asked, needing to know what you were dealing with now. You had assumed maybe you were part of Logan's team in his universe, but he was hopelessly in love with Jean and didn't give a fuck about you. The way he was looking at you told an entirely different story.

"You're--," he started before he looked down at his left hand. You could see a wedding band around his ring finger. "You're my wife," he finally admitted as he balled his hand into a fist. "You were, at least," he added with a grimace. "And me? What am I to you in your universe?"

You didn't know whether to tell the truth or lie. But Logan had always known you way too well and any story you spun would unravel as you told it. "I loved you," you finally confessed. "But you left me for someone else," you continued, noting the way Logan's expression tightened, rage flashing in his eyes.

"Who?" He growled, advancing on you.

It was your biggest shame and worst heartbreak, so you faltered over the name for a moment. But you weren't even in the same universe as her or him anymore and it was time for you to stop running from your pain.

"Jean. He left me for Jean, alright? It didn't matter that I loved him and it didn't matter that we were together. Scott died and Jean needed someone and apparently that couldn't be anyone but him. He told me it was nothing, but I knew. He never looked at me the way you just did. He looked at her like she was the only person he cared about and when he left me for her, I ended up here," you hissed, finally walking towards Logan. "And I bet neither of them ever gave a fuck that I just up and disappeared. So, seeing you now has brought up all the shit he put me through," you snarled, reaching out to push at his shoulder.

"Y/N, I--," he started, reaching out for you. His expression was nearly reverent as he let his hand fall on your shoulder.

"Don't," you said, pushing away from him. "I'm not your wife," you snapped, hating the way his expression closed off and was replaced with that look he got when he was trying not to feel anything at all.

"And I'm not him," he shot back. His gaze drifted to the side and he reached out to grab a bottle of Remy's whiskey. He popped the top off the bottle and took a long swig.

You heard someone groan before you looked over at Deadpool. He brought a hand up to his head and Logan turned to watch him. He took another drink, keeping the bottle close to his chest, as he approached Wade.

"Ugh, what's with the angry bear staring me down?" Wade wondered, finally sitting up. "Also, where the hell are we? Are we about to be skinned and used as decoration for some post-apocalyptic lair?"

"Do you ever shut up?" Logan growled, taking another drink.

You knew it took a lot to get Logan drunk, but at the rate he was going, he would end up there by nightfall.

Deadpool finally scanned the room and noticed you. He got to his feet and pointed a finger at you. "Oh, holy shit. You're Y/N! You're a big part of this guy's tragic backstory, I can tell ya that, so what are you doing here?" Wade reached out to clap a hand to Logan's shoulder and got brushed off.

"That's enough!" Elektra called before walking into the room.

Wade looked shocked to see Elektra, but his eyes went wide at the sight of Blade striding into the room. Gambit then made his entrance before Laura took up the rear of the group.

Introductions went around, before Wade started in on Gambit and his accent. You could tell Remy was reluctantly amused, but he was distracted by something else.

Remy dismissed Wade and focused in on Logan. He shot you a quick, concerned look before he began flipping a card as he studied Logan. "Well, we've never had a Wolverine up in here before. Not sure we've ever wanted one here before," he said with another look at you. "I can tell you now it's just a common courtesy to at least ask before you go drinking up all my liquor."

"It's a good thing I don't give a fuck," Logan responded before taking another drink.

Remy's eyes burned red as he muttered an insult under his breath. He let the card in his hand go, letting it slice the bottle of liquor in half. Glass and whiskey rained down on Logan's boots, but he looked unbothered. He reached out to grab another bottle before pulling the top off and taking a drink.

"Oh, you sure are an asshole, aren't you? I'm starting to see why you hate this one," Remy continued, aiming the last sentence at you.

"You hate him?" Wade asked, whipping his head back and forth, from you to Logan and back again. Wade gasped and turned to point an accusing finger at Logan. "You and you," he pointed to you, "aren't a you in your universe?" He pressed his hands together, letting his fingers interlock. "What'd he do? Was he too busy practicing his brooding in the mirror? He try to slip you a little adamantium surprise in the bedroom? Did he--"

"Shut up," Logan snapped, tightening his grip on the bottle in his hand.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," you admonished Wade.

Wade held his hands up in surrender, but he reached out to put a hand on Logan's shoulder. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, my friend," he consoled before he approached you. He held his arms out as he walked towards you. "Come here, baby bird, and tell Papa Deadpool all about it," he said as he wrapped his arms around you.

"Get your hands off her," Logan growled, unsheathing his claws.

You brought a forcefield up between you and Wade. It was big enough to encompass his chest and abdomen and you used it to forcefully push him back. You slammed him into the wall, easing up, just to slam him into it again.

"Alright, alright," he coughed out, holding his hands up in surrender. "Don't piss off the Invisible Woman, got it," he conceded as you let your forcefield drop.

You rolled your eyes before crossing your arms over your chest. "That's not what they call me." The reminder of Johnny's sister brought up the worry you had for him. "Where the hell did you two come from?"

Wade did most of the talking and explained about the TVA, Cassandra, and their near-miss with Alioth.

"No one's ever made it out of Cassandra's clutches before," Elektra observed with something verging on respect in her tone.

"No one alive," Eric interjected with an unimpressed glare at Deadpool.

"Well, she is quite terrifying and a little grabby," Wade allowed with a nod of his head.

"One of ours has been missing for two days," you told Wade, carefully not looking at Logan. Logan had been watching you the whole time and you knew he was only mourning a ghost, but you hated how much you liked finally having Logan's undivided attention. "His name is Johnny. Did you see him?"

"The little flameball might've made an appearance, sure, but he's not with us," Wade explained with a flippant wave of his hand.

"Yeah, because you fucking got him killed with your big mouth," Logan snapped at Wade.

"Johnny's dead?" You asked, not wanting to believe it. You loved the others like family, but Johnny had practically been a brother to you. Sure, he let his mouth get him in trouble half the time, but he always managed to get himself out of it. "What the hell happened?"

"Cassandra decided she liked his insides on the outside," Wade answered, "because she's a megalomaniacal, psychotic asshole. Johnny’s words, not mine."

"Well, we've all been knowin' that," Remy said, idly shuffling a deck of cards in his hands. "But what're we gonna do about her, huh? She's got an army and we've just got us."

"Look, you've all been forgotten by your universes, but we can still take her if we team up. You got a Magneto here?" Wade questioned, hope in his voice that you knew was about to be crushed.

You moved to sit down at the table while you listened to the conversation carry on. There was a lot happening all at once and you didn’t know how to process any of it. Wade was desperate to get back to his own timeline, but Logan only seemed resigned. You didn't know how to accept the fact that Johnny was dead and you didn't know how to ignore the fact that Logan was still watching you.

When a plan was made to go after Cassandra and use Juggernaut's helmet to block her powers, you reluctantly agreed that it had some merit. If only because you wanted to get any type of revenge on Cassandra that you could to avenge Johnny.

The others were all on board and you knew most of them wanted nothing more than to bring Cassandra down as well. It was a suicide mission for most of you, but you figured if it meant stopping Cassandra and saving someone's universe, even if that someone was Wade Wilson, then it might be worth it.

"I'm in," you found yourself saying.

"Like hell you are," Logan cut in. "You'll just get yourself killed again and I can't--"

"I'm not dead," you pointed out, aware that the others were watching the pair of you. "I'm right here, because I'm not the one you lost."

"Well, I sure as hell don't want to go losing you again. You can't tell me you think this whackjob's plan is actually going to work out? He’s an idiot."

“Sticks and stones,” Wade muttered, rocking on his heels as he looked at Logan. “Sticks and stones.”

"You can do whatever you want," you told Logan, finally standing from your seat at the table. "But I'm going and if I die? Then at least I die doing something that's not just hiding and waiting for my inevitable end. At least I can help someone, even if it's a Deadpool," you said, gesturing towards Wade.

"Thanks?" Wade tried, sounding torn between flattered and insulted.

You didn't give Logan a chance to reply, because you left the room, opting to walk outside to get some distance from him.

Later, you heard from Remy that you were heading out first thing in the morning. You agreed to be ready by then and spent the rest of the evening invisible. You wanted to be alone, but you also hated the idea of losing one last opportunity to talk to Logan, even if he wasn't yours.

He was outside, staring into the fire he started, and steadily drinking Remy's liquor. You approached him as Laura was leaving his side. Even though you were still invisible, she seemed to know you were there, and walked around you.

You stayed a few feet behind him, watching him frown into the fire.

"I know you're there," Logan called out, turning to look over his shoulder. "You were never good at hiding from me."

You let yourself go visible before you continued to walk towards him. "My Logan didn't really give a shit about me, so I guess he knew where to find me, he just didn't care," you observed with a sigh. Having this Logan around was only showing you what you had missed out on in your universe with your Logan. You reached out to grab the bottle from Logan before taking a drink and handing it back. "You know, I wanted nothing more than for him to love me back. But I wasn't enough for him. And he knew, he knew everything I felt for him, but he never felt the same. I was just someone to warm his bed while his thoughts were with someone else."

Logan was quiet for a few moments before he held the bottle back out to you.

"You've made it clear you're not my wife," he started, keeping his gaze on the fire. "But I don't think you get that I'm not him. I see you and, God, I wish I could keep you safe. I wasn't able to save her. I wasn't able to save any of them and it's my fault my team, my family, my wife are all gone. I walked away and they died because of it," he admitted and you could see a tear begin to slip down his cheek. You had never seen your Logan so vulnerable and you didn't know what to do with this one. "I don't want to lose you again. I know you're not her, but I don't want to walk away and know that you died because of it."

"Then don't walk away," you whispered, moving until you were right beside him. You could feel the heat emanating off him and it sent a shiver down your spine. You had felt the chilling sense of isolation for so long that feeling Logan again felt like you were coming back to life.

"I know I wasn't happy to see you," you allowed with a grimace. "But since you got here, you've done nothing but remind me that I could have had what I wanted all along, but I was stuck in the wrong damn universe. And maybe it was possible for my Logan to love me all along and I just wasn't enough."

"Your Logan is a fucking idiot," he growled, finally looking at you. "You're here in this shithole because of him and you're ready to sacrifice yourself for someone you don't even know. He was the one who wasn't good enough. I guess I'm more like him than I would want to be."

You took a chance and reached out to grab Logan's hand. You were both grieving different people and you knew you weren't his wife, but you wanted to offer him comfort all the same. You also couldn't deny that the feeling of Logan's hand in yours felt like a balm for the pain you had been carrying around since falling into the Void.

His hand tightened around yours and you saw some of the tension leave his shoulders.

"You're enough, Logan," you assured him. "And I believe in you," you confessed. "You don't have to go tomorrow, but I'm going to be there. And if this is the last moment I ever get with you, then there's one thing I want to do."

Logan furrowed his brow in confusion before his expression smoothed out into surprise. You had leaned forward, just barely letting your lips brush his, waiting for him to either lean in or push you away.

You waited for a beat longer, sure you were making an idiot of yourself, before you felt Logan's hand at your hip. He pulled you closer, practically into his lap, as he returned the kiss. It was passionate and tender and in turns aggressive and searching. His tongue was twined around yours and his teeth were nipping at your lips and your head was beginning to spin from the rush. Logan let out a whimper and his hand clutched your hip tighter, and you knew you were going to have a bruise there by the next morning, but you didn’t mind that there would be a reminder of this moment.

You reluctantly pulled away, meeting his eyes and noticing how Logan looked like he was ready to drag you back into another kiss.

"Thank you," you whispered, reaching up a hand to brush your thumb over his bottom lip. You let it drag down briefly and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to it. Your Logan had been rough and demanding and uncaring, but the love and want this Logan had poured into the kiss had shown you what it would have been like for the love of your life to love you back. Maybe, with that memory, your death the next day would be a little sweeter.

"Y/N," Logan started, but didn't continue.

You offered him a sad smile and started to stand. "I should try to sleep. I've got a big day tomorrow."

You moved to leave, but Logan reached out and grabbed your hand. He reeled you back towards him, causing you to drop down into his lap, but he caught you by the hips. He wrapped his arms around your waist and trailed his hand up your back before it was resting against the back of your neck. He pulled you down into another kiss, this one just as intense, but less frenzied. Logan kept you in place with just the slightest pressure of his hand on your neck and you let him pour everything he had into it.

By the time you pulled away, you were breathless and speechless, reluctant to leave now that you had another taste of him.

"I'll see you in the morning," Logan promised, finally releasing you from his hold.

It took you while to shake off your daze, but then you realized what he was telling you.

You felt a smile tug at your lips before you got off his lap.

"See you in the morning," you agreed before leaving Logan in search of your bed.

The drive in the Honda Odyssey was cramped, but Wade insisted if it could house an all-night brawl between a Deadpool and a Wolverine, then it would hold the rest of you just fine all the way to Cassandra's lair. And then he started spouting off something about safety features and cup holders and you started to wonder if following his plan had been the dumbest thing you had ever done.

You found yourself sneaking glances at Logan at the rear of the car. He was watching you the whole time and every time your eyes met, a little spark of heat shot through you. Maybe he wasn't your Logan, but he had helped you begin to heal all the same. And now you were starting to fall for an entirely different Logan who was likely leaving the Void while you stayed behind and died to get him out.

Life had never been fair to you, but you hated that it was downright cruel to you as well.

By the time you were arriving at Cassandra’s, you were starting to wonder if there had ever been a happy ending for you in store or if it was just supposed to be one tragedy after another.

You lined up with the others as you faced down Cassandra's henchmen. You could see Azazel popping in and out of view and Psylocke trailing through the crowd. Juggernaut was staring down the group while Toad perched high above, a smirk on his face. There were dozens of them and you had no idea how you were going to pull it off, but even if you did die, at least it was to save someone's universe, even if it wasn't your own.

"You know how long I've been waiting for this? Ooohuee, I'm about to make a name for myself here," Remy boasted, eagerly bouncing on his feet while he began to charge a card.

"I don't think any of you walk away from this," Logan pointed out, sending a quick glance your way.

"You just make sure they know what happened here today," Remy continued, not seeming to care that he was staring death right in the face.

"We'll watch your six," Blade told Logan and Wade. "You get up there and we'll get you that helmet."

Before he could follow Wade, Logan turned to you and pulled you close. He pressed a kiss to your lips, one full of longing and grief. "I don't want to leave you," he murmured into the kiss.

You pulled back to meet his eyes, ignoring the fact that you felt like you were losing him all over again. "What you're fighting for is more important," you told him. "Maybe we'll meet again in another universe."

"Maybe," he agreed before kissing you again.

This one was brief, but it left you wanting more.

You watched Logan follow Wade before you were caught up in the fight between your friends and Cassandra's lackies.

The fight was terrifying, because the stakes were so high. You flickered in and out of visibility as needed and used your forcefields to protect your friends or attack your enemies. You used a forcefield to gather rocks and then propelled it into someone just to turn invisible to avoid someone's knife.

You were exhausted as the battle waged on and you knew that circumstances were beginning to look dire for you and your friends. Most of you were hurt and bleeding, and the fight was beginning to drain out of you.

You got distracted by Laura taking Juggernaut out and managing to get his helmet up to where Logan and Wade were no doubt dealing with Cassandra despite Psylocke intervening. You moved towards them, but you felt a searing pain in your side and you looked down to see the end of Azazel’s tail sticking through your flesh.

He jerked you back towards him and a blade sliced through his tail, freeing you. You were quick to form a forcefield around Azazel before he could escape and you began to press in on the sides, shrinking it down so he had nowhere to go. You could see him trying to teleport out, but it wasn’t working, and a look of panic flashed across his face.

You kept pressing in until his skin started to split and blood began to pour. All at once, you swept the sides in, watching as Azazel was crushed. You let the forcefield go and watched as his remains fell to the ground with a splat.

“You squashed him like a bug,” Eric observed with a nod of his head, cleaning Azazel’s blood off his blade. “Impressive.”

“Thanks,” you smiled at Blade, glancing down at the gash in your side.

“Keep your head,” he warned you just as someone rushed at you. You went invisible and stepped to the side, letting them impale themselves on Eric’s sword.

The battle took twists and turns, but after getting stabbed in the shoulder and nearly losing consciousness when someone hit you on the back of the head, you realized that the bodies were starting to drop, but your friends were still standing.

You figured your victory would be short-lived when the skies began to darken and Alioth showed on the horizon.

“He’s looking for a meal,” Elektra grunted, avoiding a hit to the side before using one of her twin sais to bring someone to their knees. She finished them off with a strike to their neck before she turned to look at the rest of you. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

You were distracted by a portal opening up in the air above you and you looked up in time to see Logan and Wade jumping through it.

Someone grabbed your arm and you instinctively moved to hit them, but you realized it was Elektra.

"Come on!" She yelled over the roar of Alioth and pulled you to cover inside Cassandra's lair.

"That was a close one," Remy said as he helped Blade into the makeshift shelter.

"But they got away," Laura pointed out with a small, satisfied smile.

"And we got to kill the fuckers that've been making our lives hell," Remy added with a grin. "Any of you see that one trick I pulled? I got the cards charged up and then guy went boom."

He looked so pleased with himself that you couldn’t stop the helpless little laugh you let out. The past few days had felt absurd and surreal, and you couldn’t even tell if it was all some fever dream. Maybe Remy had spiked his liquor to keep unsuspecting people out of it and you were currently back in the hideout, riding out one terrifying trip.

But when you twisted to the side, you felt like your side was splitting open all over again and you let out a gasp. Elektra knelt at your side, studying your wound with a frown.

"So, what happens now? Are we just stuck here until we know it's clear? We go back to our hideout and wait forever? Half of us need some kind of medical attention,” she pointed out, searching around her until she found a discarded jacket. She pressed it against your side and you let out a hiss of pain.

"Well, we didn't die, so at least there’s that," you offered with a shrug of your shoulders. "I figure we've earned some retirement. Even if we're still stuck here," you allowed with a wince as you pressed a hand to your shoulder. The wound was deep and still bleeding, but you figured you had suffered worse before. You were going to need stitches and painkillers and some more of Remy’s liquor, but at least you were still breathing.

You weren't sure how long you waited for the storm to pass, but by the time you got back outside, it was already dark. Most of the bodies were gone, consumed by Alioth, and you leaned into Elektra’s side as she helped you navigate the various body parts left behind.

"Think the car will make it back?" Remy wondered, surveying the Odyssey with its crushed sides and flat tires. It was practically drenched in blood and viscera, nearly indistinguishable as a vehicle.

"Why don't you start it up and see?" Eric prompted, looking at Gambit like he thought he was a special kind of stupid. “Maybe we can ride one of your little cards back to the hideout. How far can you throw them?”

"That won't be necessary," a voice interrupted, startling you.

A portal had opened up to your left and a woman had walked through it. She had soldiers behind her who were wearing uniforms with a TVA logo stamped on the right arm.

"Wade Wilson struck a deal for all of you," the woman continued, surveying the group. "It's time for all of you to go home."

“Home?” Remy repeated with a skeptical look at the rest of you. “What if we don’t have a home?”

“Then wherever you’d like to be,” she amended. “With conditions, of course.”

It turned out that Wade and Logan not only saved Wade's universe, but every universe. Cassandra had wanted nothing to exist except for the Void where she reigned and both of them had managed to stop her.

You never considered that your fight with Cassandra’s minions wound end with anything except for your death. You certainly never thought you would have the option to leave the Void.

You definitely didn't want to return home, so you asked if you could stay in Wade's universe. Logan and Laura had opted to stay as well and since your variant had never been born in Wade’s universe, you were welcome to stay. It felt like you were getting the opportunity to carve out the kind of life you wanted all along. One where you knew you would be welcome and wanted without fearing that you would be abandoned for someone else.

Now, you were sitting around a table with Wade's family and the beginnings of a new one for you. Laura was sitting to your left and Logan to your right and you couldn't help but feel like this was where you had belonged all along.

Logan had admitted that he wasn't allowed to try to save the people in his universe, but he wanted to be whatever you needed or wanted him to be in your new one. You knew that was a daunting order for someone like Logan, so you settled for telling him that you wanted to start at the beginning.

You wanted to get to know this Logan, because even though you already loved him, you knew that you wanted a clean slate. One where you weren’t comparing him to your universe’s Logan and one where you gave him every opportunity to show you that he was better. You also didn’t want him to just see the ghost of his wife in you, so you wanted him to get to know you.

You soaked up the love and laughter that flowed through the room and met Logan's gaze. You weren't even surprised to see that he was already watching you. You reached out to grab his hand, delighting in the way he immediately welcomed your touch.

You no longer felt forgotten and hopeless. Everything you had yearned for, fought for, in your old life had quite literally dropped right into your new one and you couldn't have been more grateful for another shot at happiness.

From the way Logan smiled at you and brought your hand up to kiss the back of it, you knew he was just as appreciative at the opportunity to turn his life back around.

"Thank you," you whispered to him, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder.

"Nothing to thank me for," he answered before dropping another kiss on the crowd of your head.

You wanted to argue with him and tell him that he had saved you, but you figured you would tell him later. For now, you were going to enjoy the feeling of belonging you felt and look forward to the fact that there would be a later with Logan.

Edited To Add: I am writing a sequel! It's going to involve Cable (even though he didn't test well) and Logan getting payback on reader's original Wolverine on her behalf and a whole bunch of other fun surprises!! If you want to be tagged, just let me know!

The sequel is HERE for anyone interested!

This is now a whole series! Main post for the series is HERE.

[leighsartworks216]

You make me feel like a fool (Waiting for you)

Sylus x gn!Reader

Thank you @comatosebunny09 for encouraging me to keep writing this fic!! I'm really glad I was able to finish it. That being said, I have not proofread it at all so lmk if something is weird or messed up 👍

Title from "Fool" by Frankie Cosmos

Warnings: fluff, light angst, kissing, sleepiness, literal sleeping together, established relationship, cuddling, injury, bruises, soft + kinda clingy Sylus

Word Count: 1,418

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form (fill this out to be tagged in future fics)

You’ve been away on mission after mission for almost an entire month. You have had no time to look at your phone; any spare moment you can find goes toward sleeping or eating a protein bar. Messages go unread and unanswered.

When the day finally comes that you get to go home, you have to put what lingering remnants of your energy into remembering how to live in your apartment again. You’re battered and bruised, worn to the bone, physically and mentally exhausted. It’s all you can do to drag yourself all the way to your bed before you pass out, fully dressed and all.

You wake up to insistent knocking on your door. You have no idea what time it is. It could be extremely late, or absurdly early. Time is a concept for people who can process it, and you definitely cannot.

You stumble, wincing the whole way, to the door. The knocking is really starting to give you a headache. You’d be shocked if it didn’t wake anybody else up.

You’ve barely unlocked the door when it’s being shoved open, and suddenly a mouth is slanted firmly over yours.

Sleep vanishes for the moment to provide stark clarity to what’s going on. The flurry of white hair and the leather gloves that hold your face assure you that this isn’t some random guy off the street. Sylus’s lips press against yours desperately, passionate but not heated, like he needs to just feel you there. Before you even get a chance to respond, he pulls away. His hands fall from your face in favor of holding your waist. Red eyes scan your body, latching onto every inch of exposed skin; he frowns deeper with every bandage and bruise he sees.

“You look like hell, sweetie.”

You blink up at him. “So, you’re just not gonna tell me what that was all about?”

You catch a glimpse of a smirk as he turns away to shut the door, clicking the locks into place to play off the rampant energy that vibrates in his entire body. “Mephisto said you got back. I just wanted to check up on you.”

“Some check-up,” you giggle. He faces you once more with a soft grin. How he missed that sweet sound. “Is my mouth okay?”

“With that sharp tongue of yours? I never had any doubts.” He lightly touches a butterfly bandage on your forehead, observing the cut underneath. “The rest of you could use some attention.”

As the fear of his entrance wears off, the exhaustion begins settling back in. You’re suddenly aware of the tremble in your legs, the weight of your arms, and the chill in the air. You hum noncommittally as you lean into his body for support. He hugs you to him without question. “What time is it?”

“Almost 9 in the morning,” he answers. “You didn’t notice?”

He rests his cheek on top of your head. His hand cradles your neck, affectionately thumbing at the baby hairs there. You feel more of the cold apartment air as he lifts the hem of your shirt (definitely not suitable for sleeping in) to reveal more of the dark purple marks littering your body. He covers it back up when he feels you shiver.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime…?”

“All the more reason to take you to bed. Can you walk?”

You nod against him. His shirt is cold from the drive. He smells like gasoline and open roads, undoubtedly from riding his motorcycle. You smell like sweat and disinfectant. A shower is not feasible right now when you’re so precariously two seconds from collapsing.

He gently pries you from his body, just to turn you around and tuck you against his side. His arm wraps around your waist, trying his best - and failing - to avoid your injuries as he keeps you standing. He leads you deeper into the apartment. “How much time off did they give you?”

“Couple weeks, I think.”

He scoffs, sounding offended. “Ask for more time. They’re going to bury you in the ground if they put you back into the field so soon.” With all the familiarity of someone who lived here - as opposed to someone who’d only been allowed to visit enough times to count on one hand - Sylus pushes open your bedroom door and helps you over to the bed.

You wince as you slide under the covers. He supports your back to ease some of the pressure off your spine, and slips it out from under you once you’re laid down. You sigh heavily. “I didn’t break anything this time,” you mutter.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Your glare is harmless with the exhaustion dulling your eyes. You watch through the growing haze of sleep as Sylus strips off his jacket, boots and gloves, leaving them in a pile by your desk.

“You’re gonna sleep in those pants?”

He chuckles, smirking at you as he rounds the bed. “I figure we should both have some modicum of discomfort, given you’re still in your uniform. Besides,” he continues as he slips under the blankets, head propped up on his elbow, “I wouldn’t want to give you any ideas with the state you’re in.”

You giggle stupidly. You can’t be embarrassed right now. Your blankets block out the cold air as you draw them weakly up to your chin. Your pillow cradles your head just how you like it. And if you shift your legs a foot to the side, you bump into his, that tangle and trap yours, socked feet keeping yours warm.

“What if I asked you to kiss me like that again?” Your words are slurring with exhaustion. You’re fighting to stay awake, to keep looking at him even though he has no intentions of leaving anytime soon.

“Any time, sweetie,” he answers surely, seemingly unaffected by his own sleep schedule catching up to him. Not that you could tell in this state, anyhow. “Just say the word.”

You flick a smile back his way. “Right now?”

Sylus’s smirk is softer than usual as he adjusts his body to lean over yours, arms on either side of you to keep him from crushing you under his weight. His face hovers just over yours, the perfect position to admire you in.

You can barely keep your eyes open even a sliver, and here you are asking for him to kiss you again. If you were conscious enough to feel his heart since he stepped into your place, you’d be amazed over the effect you have on him.

Truly, this month has been agony. He knew of your missions, knew why you weren’t answering his messages, and yet each day stretched on into an eternity just waiting to hear a word from you. When Mephisto saw you get back, he’d, frustratingly enough, been in the middle of important negotiations with the territories surrounding the N109 Zone. He would have been here much sooner if that weren’t the case. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have been so overwhelmed with relief when you opened the door that he could have contained himself behind a smirk and a teasing remark.

Though, if that were the case, he wouldn’t be here, would he?

“Of course,” he whispers.

Your eyes slip closed when his face gets close. His breath caresses your skin as he watches the flutter of your eyelids, as he gently kisses your upper lip. That minor caress alone draws out a quiet sigh from your mouth. It’s an addicting sound, reaching deep into his chest and strangling his rapid heart.

Your lips part, welcoming him in further. He breaths his own sigh, trembling at the edges as he finally allows his eyes to close and fully slots his mouth with yours again.

It’s languid this time. There’s no need to rush, no need to let his desperation or fears take a hold of him. He adjusts his weight to cup your jaw with one hand, to greedily keep you there, to selfishly steal more time to savor the warmth of your mouth and the heat of your body beneath him.

He pulls away slowly, reluctantly. He opens his eyes again, and chuckles to himself.

You’re fast asleep. Maybe you have been since he first leaned in, or maybe it was in the middle of the kiss. It doesn’t matter. He brushes his nose against yours with a smile, then leans down to brush one last, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Sleep well, kitten.”

---

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