#:/ damn even in 4k this looks fucking awful

[robin-buckely]

Looks like we weren’t going the wrong way after all.

NANCY WHEELER & ROBIN BUCKLEY Stranger Things | 4.09 “Chapter Nine: The Piggyback”

[tired-biscuit]

how would the boys react to the reader touching herself, thinking she’s all alone in the bedroom🫠🫢(naruto, kiba, shikamaru)

18+ MDNI/fem!reader // mix of modern AU and canonverse, established relationship, reader getting caught in 4k whilst touching herself.

i'm so sorry this took me so long. hope you like it!!

𝙉𝘼𝙍𝙐𝙏𝙊

Naruto hears it before he sees it.

The breathless tone of your voice comes as a surprise for him when you pick up the phone and answer his call with a mere, “Yeah?” instead of the usual bubbly lilt that he’s gotten used to over the course of your relationship.

Out of habit, he’s called you one last time to say goodnight before his head hits the pillow and he snoozes off to dreamland, but the tone of your voice changes that initial plan in an instant. So instead, Naruto finds himself feeling awake and alert now; the upper half of his body propped up with the help of one elbow whilst his fingers fiddle with the crispy white bed sheet that seems to have become a standard for every hotel he spends the night in.

He’s miles away after all; attending a business trip for the rest of the week, and you’re panting while he’s not there with you. He can literally hear the slight tremble of every inhale and exhale you make the moment he presses his cellphone closer to his ear and just listens.

It’s feeble - so very faint - but it’s there. The slightest hitch in the back of your throat, the deeper and longer exhale than usual. Listening to you like this, Naruto wonders what on earth could you possibly be up to at nearly midnight? Come to think of it, it’s so late that he catches himself feeling more surprised that you’ve actually picked up, rather than the way you chose to do it.

It’s the reason why his teeth find home in the inside of his cheek as he asks, “Hey, baby. How come you’re still up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply now, sighing. He listens in as noises that he, at best, recognizes as you tossing and turning on top of the bed he simply longs to be in at that exact moment before you finally settle and speak into the phone again, “How about you, love? Can’t sleep either?”

“Mm, no,” your boyfriend mumbles absent-mindedly, playing around with the two strings of his grey sweatpants, which you’ve packed into his suitcase so neatly just a couple of days prior. You’re still panting; still breathing deeply just like you do every time he races you up the stairs of your apartment complex, or makes you chase after him when he steals your phone like some damn toddler.

All of it certainly piques his interest.

“Aw,” you gush softly now, nudging him back into focus. “How come?”

One string wrapped around two thick fingers, Naruto finally speaks again, “I miss you too much. It’s weird sleeping completely alone, to be honest... I’m not used to it anymore.”

He swears that he can hear you groan now. This soft, little sound that makes his heart race and his blood rush through his veins at a faster rate than normal. That makes him start to sweat and turns his hand clammy in mere seconds as his grip turns tighter around the device he keeps pressing to his ear. Especially as you inhale deeply and utter, “You miss me, baby?”

“Yeah, baby,” he finds himself replying in a tone so hushed he can barely decipher all the vowels and consonants, “I do.”

Nothing but silence meets him on the other line for a couple of short moments. You’re breathing through your mouth now, so much that there’s a literal gasp lacing your voice as you question him further, “How much?”

“Like I’ve said,” he mumbles, fingers still fiddling with the string, “a lot. So much actually, that I can’t stop thinking about you. I mean, I could barely concentrate during the meeting we had today… Shikamaru was pissed because I ended up looking stupid as hell, but all I could think about was how I can’t even remember the last time we’ve been apart like this, and the fact that it makes me upset.”

“Fuck, Naru.” You whine now, and he can’t see it but judging by how deeper your voice turns, it sounds like you’re tipping your head back into the pillow as you speak from your throat: “Why do you gotta say shit like that…? You’re so–... You know.”

So honest.

“Well, you asked,” he says, feeling his brow quirk at your inability to finish your sentence. “I’m just telling you how I feel about you, pretty… I thought you liked that about me.”

“Ah,” you sigh again. “I do! Of course I do… Like it s’much, actually.”

He’s silent again. Just listens to your fast-paced breaths and the little, cutesy noises you make whilst he twirls the string around his fingers. He touches the waistband of his sweatpants at some point as it tightens around his knuckles, forcing him to repeat the action all over again.

But that's not all. Mind full with you now, Naruto is also promptly ignoring the bulge that’s turning more and more distinguishable against the thick cotton with each passing minute he spends playing with the string. Turning a blind eye at the way it twitches when he trails a single fingertip along its length just because he can; he finds it hard to concentrate on proper socialization now.

Christ, just the way you sound is enough to turn his mind hazy and his dick hard. Is he just that easy to arouse, or is his love for you that potent? Might be both?

“Baby?” Still gasping and swallowing all your vowels, you’re nudging him back to reality again as you ask, “You there?”

“Mhmmm,” you hear him hum gently, his voice nothing more but a soft lullaby that nearly strokes your ear now with love and tenderness, “I’m here, pretty. Don’t worry.”

Your heartbeat speeds up at the pet name and how willing he is at reassuring you. At how deep his voice gets whenever he’s oh, so very tired. It makes him drawl on his words in the most appealing of ways, and is nothing like the eager, boisterous way he speaks with you during the day. So you just need to make him keep talking. Need to keep listening to that wonderfully sluggish drawl, because you only get to hear it during times like these.

“What’re you doing?”

Sadly for you, Naruto keeps his answer short and rather bland, “Nothing much, you?”

But his fingertip is still tracing the ridge of his cock as he says it. Lazy, even strokes that he's still deciding on whether to prolong or not. But you don't know that, of course. You just hear his drawl and the sigh he lets out afterwards.

And now you pause whilst you eye your own hand that’s wound up in-between your legs even before he called; as well as the fingers that keep disappearing from view as you keep pushing them deeper and deeper into your needy pussy that isn’t at all satisfied with what you’re doing.

You're so frustrated. Even the vibrator didn’t help. Come to think of it, all of your toys just feel so wrong. And you know damn well what would feel right, however the trouble is that it’s unreachable from how far away it is at the moment.

You’re practically yearning for just two of his digits that’d stroke your demanding walls and curl inside you in a way that would make your toes curl just as intensely. Yearning for his mouth and tongue that love to lap up every droplet of your essence and suck at your sensitivity until you’re outright squealing from pleasure. For his cock, that would pound into you right after you’d cum the first time and would make you gush twice as hard only minutes later. 

Hell, you miss him so darn much that you’d even be satisfied with him letting you ride his thigh until the friction would make your cunt drool all over his jeans. You’re just that sexually frustrated - when he’s away, especially.

And you’re also so sad that he’s not here with you. So much, in fact, that it makes your pussy hurt from how empty it is.

“Also nothin’,” you manage to mumble finally, face blooming with warmth at the little mistruth. Shaking your head, you sink into reality by force. It’s not like he’ll know, right?

Silence greets you again. You spend it by continuing to pleasure yourself and attempting to breathe normally during it.

“Yeah?” he says all of a sudden, chuckling into the phone so darkly that it makes your skin buzz whilst a shiver tumbles down your spine. “You’re sure ‘bout that?”

“Y-Yes!” Your brows knit tightly together as you attempt to curl your fingers inside you in the same way he tends to do it, but to no avail. Even speeding up the little circles your thumb draws over your puffy clit doesn’t help. You’re absolutely drenched; lying naked and sweaty on top of the mattress he loves to fuck you on, and it’s all for nothing.

He pokes at you again, “Absolutely sure?”

“Of course, Naruto.” Irked.

Still, your boyfriend sniggers at the quiet groan of agitation you let out the moment you pull your fingers out and smear the gooey slick all over your clit instead. He doesn't know what you're doing exactly, but he has acquired a vague idea by now. You're not that smooth with it, after all - not smooth at all, actually.

It's why he sounds nearly complacent as he says,

“You don’t mind if I FaceTime you, then; do you, baby?”

𝙆𝙄𝘽𝘼

Kiba smells it before he sees it.

His senses heighten as the scent of your sweet arousal wafts to his nose the moment he steps foot inside your shared apartment. He’s come home late from his mission; finished it two days later than he’d said he would to be exact, but instead of being annoyed with the bothersome delay, he catches himself feeling needy instead. 

Why? He can smell you all over the place, after all. Strong and sweet - the scent of your pussy is quite literally everywhere, because the door that's leading to your bedroom is wide open and the smell seeps right out of it like a heavy fog of sorts.

Kiba's body is blazing. His mouth waters at the sugar as he attempts to swallow down the groan that's bubbling up his throat; sharp pupils dilating sideways until they’re so big he’d be able to see everything in the dark. Even his breathing is getting heavier as his heartbeat accelerates to the point of hurting.

The smell of your yearning for climax is potent enough that it coats his mind with a layer of fuzz that's so thick he can't think straight anymore, and it makes his skin burn hot so fast that even he’s surprised. Only seconds pass and yet his dick is already twitching with immoral anticipation. By the time he drops the heavy backpack off of his stiff shoulders and starts walking down the hall, it seems that his cock is doing all the thinking for him already.

He hasn’t fucked you in a while. And he’s tired; simply exhausted from the stupid mission that’s kept him away from you for so fucking long, but he can’t bring himself to care about that. Not now.

Because as soon as he approaches the doorway of your bedroom and rests one shoulder against its frame, he can’t just smell you, but he can see you as well. 

And he can also hear you panting as he watches you pleasure yourself on top of the bed he’s longed to sleep on for the last three weeks. Your legs are splayed so wide apart that you're completely exposed to his wandering, albeit just as hungry gaze. Holy fuck, you look so pretty like this; all needy and driven mad with lust because you're so clearly aching for him. He’s missed you so much.

And it's rather uncharacteristic for Kiba, but he takes a moment to appreciate the sight. To just take you in; all tender and raw, because in your delirious state, you haven't even managed to pick up on his presence yet.

The reason for it might be because your eyes are screwed shut in visible frustration. He can tell that you’re unable to make yourself cum just by how agitated your little moans sound, as well as the fervour you're fingering yourself with, after all. 

You're knuckles-deep in your pretty pussy, thumb pressing against your puffy clit in clumsy circles as your brow furrows in response to the too-mellow pleasure that never feels right anymore. Gosh, no matter what you do, your digits just aren't enough. They aren't as long and thick as his own are, and they don't curl in the same manner his own can. They don't go as deep. Aren't able to stroke that sweet spot you’re trying so hard to reach now.

And for fuck's sake, he can’t take it. Looking as helpless as you do, he needs to take care of you now. Now, now, now. Fuck you like an animal; all raw and fast and rough.

“Missed me that much, huh, pretty?”

His voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin the moment it meets your ears inside the dark bedroom, but before you can even scream in terror, he's already on you; palm clamped over your mouth so tight that you can’t even get a squeak out.

It takes you long moments to realize who you’re looking at. Nothing but his heavy breathing fills the hot air between you as you keep staring at each other and he slowly moves his palm from your panting mouth when he’s absolutely sure you won’t make noise. The room is so dark that half of his face is covered in shadows but his eyes are still as fierce as ever. All sharp around the edges and messy-haired, he’s nothing short of a brute. That’s definitely your moron of a boyfriend, all right.

“Idiot,” you whisper-shout, “y-you told me you were going to be-”

“C’mon, lemme in,” he interrupts quietly, way too hot and impatient to endure your scolding now. He’s already dipping in to spread your legs further apart when you attempt to protest from how embarrassed you are that he’s caught you in an act so lewd. 

Having him so close, you begin to acknowledge that he smells like the forest he's spent three weeks sleeping in. Like the smoke from the campfire and the moss on the ground, as well as the cheap soap from the inn he's spent the nights bathing in; the musky aroma turns you dazed and soft until you’re resembling nothing but body-temperature putty in his hands.

By the time one slips between your legs to make enough space for his head, you're already drunk on the scent and the path of kisses he’s paving down your stomach. The ends of his chestnut hair tickle your skin so pleasantly that you can’t help but giggle now.

“What's so funny?” His mouth is so close to your cunt that you can feel his warm exhale brush your clit now. Covered in arousal, the breath sends a shiver tumbling down your spine.

“You scared me,” you mumble softly as he places your legs on top of his shoulders and his rough hands find the back of your thighs so that he can manhandle you into position. Goodness, his touch feels so hot that it nearly makes your skin sizzle. “You should have called out, or something...”

“M’sorry. You smelled so good that it kind of messed me up... I couldn't think,” he admits, sounding like he actually means it this time. “How 'bout I fuck you with my tongue as an apology? Yeah, pretty?”

Oh, wow.

𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙆𝘼𝙈𝘼𝙍𝙐

Shikamaru feels it before he sees it.

He’s lying in bed on his side; with his back turned towards you the moment that first hitched sigh brushes his ear and your elbow nudges his shoulder blade seemingly by accident at first.

But accident or not, the brown-haired Nara still stirs awake in an instant at the touch. Parting his heavy eyelids feels like a chore he doesn’t wish to tend to at the moment - or any moment, whatsoever - but he still wills the bothersome weight away by fluttering them open and letting his pupils dilate in the dark as they help him take in his surroundings easier. 

The room is warm. It’s the middle of summer and shadows seep inside the space and dance over the walls only with the late hour which he was supposed to be spending in deep slumber. You’ve both kicked the thin covers off of your sweat-riddled bodies ages ago, he can see the duvet pooling at his feet and over the edge of the bed, but it does nothing with beating the hazy heat that’s dropped down upon you like a thick fog of sorts.

And yet; a certain kind of chill still manages to rush down the entire length of Shikamaru’s spine, despite that the room is so hot that it feels like you’re both stuck inside a fully-working oven. Because now, he feels your warm skin brush his own as the mattress dips deeper from the subtle tossing and turning you’re trying to accomplish, and he experiences that chill again as it trickles down his neck the moment your knee rests on his hip when you spread your legs wider apart.

The sensation rounds the curve of his side and nestles deep inside his gut now. The moment the realization sinks in, it is already taken the form of pure thrill.

You're being naughty.

And so, Shikamaru swallows harshly at the thought to cross his mind. He’s fully-awake now; alert and free from the fuzzy chains of sleep that have a tendency to hold his brain hostage on the norm. The spit he forces down his throat isn’t audible. Or so he thinks. 

Perhaps he’s just incapable of hearing it over the sound of his own racing heartbeat and the blood that’s rushing straight into his ears. It might as well be that.

But he can hear it now, too. These deep breaths that you’re attempting to inhale and exhale through your nose instead of your mouth. The occasional whisper of a naughty word and this lewd, wet sort of sound that doesn’t require a genius to comprehend what it actually is.

For once, he can't stay still anymore. So he sucks in a deep breath and feels your body freeze the moment he exhales that same inhale through his mouth. He groans with content; all deep and raspy whilst pretending to stretch his long limbs that are always so very tired, before he presses his palm flat against the mattress and uses the momentum to flip himself around.

His hair is down instead of being tied up in that signaturely spiky ponytail; the colour dark like ebony wood but smooth-looking like midnight silk. A strand of it sticks to his forehead as he looks at you through sleepy, hooded eyes - reminding you of a thin crack of void in the middle of the pale, porcelain-like surface that is his skin. You lick your lips as you stare at him in the dark now, your own eyes growing wide open.

He grins at you lazily as soon as the eye contact is made, barely showing you any teeth. Even the smile is enticingly droopy just like his entire demeanor tends to be. How enticing.

Still, you don’t say anything despite the warm grin, and Shikamaru doesn’t seem to mind it – just like he doesn’t mind most things that happen in his life. Your boyfriend is as easy-going as ever, and his voice is nothing but a low drawl as it reaches your ears; right after he purses his lips and blows the lock of hair from his face in a single puff, “Mm... What are you up to?”

God, you’re so tense because of the seemingly simple question he presents before you that it’s almost funny in a way. He can literally see the stiffness that overtakes your entire body in the way your jaw clicks shut, as well as the way you just lay there; all straight and still as a plank of wood nobody has bothered to pick up. Every breath you take is ragged. It makes your chest heave quite visibly in that white, thin tank top that you like to wear to bed on hot nights like these.

He can see your nipples poking against the light cotton. Just two pretty numbs that seem to harden underneath his keen eyes in the colour of rich coffee. Oh goodness, you’re adorable.

The smart-ass smirk that is forcing its way onto his lips because of it is hard to hide now. Especially as he adds a rather derisive, “Well?”

“Nothing,” you squeak out at long last, your voice the definition of flustered panic and the nervosity of getting caught. Fumbling with your hand which you’ve still got stuck underneath the waistband of your flimsy pyjama shorts, you’re attempting to ignore the heat of embarrassment that sears your face to almost a painful degree as you attempt to pull it out, out, out.

But Shikamaru works faster than you for once. Cool, slender digits wrap around your wrist the moment the waistband snaps back into place, and your hand becomes free. It’s dark inside the room, but he can still see the glimmer that coats your fingers because of the glow from the street light just outside his window. Can see the sticky arousal that is practically drooling down your finger pads now.

Oh, you really have been so very naughty, indeed.

And the silence is deafening. Your heart is ready to climb up your throat and just knock your front teeth out by this point.

After all, the moment his dark brow quirks in blatantly sinful amusement, you’re ready to bury yourself six feet under. Nothing but a mess of yelps and unfinished sentences begins to leave your mouth as you attempt to apologize and explain yourself for being so stupidly horny.

So much for being sneaky and subtle about this entire ordeal. You should have known better, and now you’re paying the price by listening to his smug chuckle and watching the mischievous glint start to appear in those sleepy eyes of his.

And Shikamaru; sleepy, lazy Shikamaru, listens for a while, just because it's fun. You're pure chaos - nearly teary-eyed, lips trembling, and so sweaty that your entire face is glowing as you beg him to forget about this entire thing. And then, when he's finally had enough of listening to your erratic pleas for forgiveness, he shuts you up by bringing your smaller fingers to his mouth and kissing each finger pad so softly, that it feels like a touch of a feather had just grazed your skin.

He makes the waterfall of apologies outright cease when he wraps his plush lips around one digit and strokes it with the tip of his tongue, then. Just barely there to be considered as present, the feeling of his warm saliva turns your breathing slightly irregular when he repeats the same action with another digit and just sucks them both inside his mouth not a moment later.

He's never done anything like this before. But to be fair: neither have you.

“Sh-Shikamaru,” you whisper his name, voice shaking like a leaf on the surface of a rowdy river, “wh-what are you-...? Nnh...”

“This doesn’t look like nothing to me, darling.” Musing like a curious cat at the shock that crosses your face as soon as his lips part from your fingers with another gentle kiss and flick of tongue, his voice resembles a purr, which you swear that you can feel vibrating inside your very skull. Especially as he turns your wrist to the other side gently, and shoves your fingers into your own mouth so that you can finish the job he’s started.

His lips are right next to your ear as he watches you do it; broad palm already sneaking underneath that tiny top he likes seeing you wear around him,

“And it doesn’t taste like nothing either, now does it?”

[justagalwhowrites]

Lavender - Ch. 9

You've found a new normal in your life in the QZ. Then it all changes. A continuation of Lavender Ch. 1-8, found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller X Female Reader

Length: 4K

Warnings: Nothing major this time but the whole fic is VERY 18+ so minors? DNI :) Mention of past miscarriage. No use of Y/N

Sunday, October 5, 2008 - Five Years Later 

You’d purposely filled up your Sunday. It wasn’t a day you wanted to think about. Having even a few minutes alone sounded awful. Your birthday had always been hell since the outbreak and you needed anything to keep your mind busy. You wished it was just Monday already. Mondays were long days. Sundays, you had to work at it. 

You got an early start, waking up at 6 a.m. and putting on a Joni Mitchell CD you’d found a few weeks back. You’d traded a few ration cards for it, but it was worth it. You French braided your hair, putting ribbons on the ends. They matched the flowers you’d stitched to cover up the patches you’d made on your shirt. You always felt a bit better when you had ribbons and flowers around. You really needed that, on your birthday. 

Breakfast just sounded miserable, so you gathered up the cookies you’d made the night before - splitting them into two groups, the larger pile for the clinic and the smaller for Abe. You headed for the radio first. 

The line was always short on Sunday morning if you went first thing. There were only four people ahead of you when you got there. You normally let your mind wander while you waited, or brought a book, but you’d been so busy trying to distract yourself that morning, you’d left your book sitting next to your bed. Instead, you eavesdropped. 

The person who was in with Abe when you got there had been communicating regularly with their sister in Kansas City. The sister had news about a man she’d been seeing. It sounded good. You smiled a little. It was nice when the radio brought good news. There was so little to be had anymore. 

Abe stepped into the hall where you were waiting to grab the next person and noticed you in line. 

“Sweets!” He smiled, jerking his head at you. “You’re up.” 

“Come on, man!” The man two people ahead of you snapped. “I’ve been waiting!” 

“Start bringing me cookies every week, you can jump the line, too,” Abe snapped. “Sweets doesn’t have to wait.” 

“It’s fine, really…” you began, but Abe cut you off. 

“You don’t wait,” he said. “C’mon.” 

You smiled apologetically at the people in line ahead of you and followed Abe into the radio room, closing the door behind you. You gave him his cookies, wrapped in paper and twine. He opened them, wriggling his fingers at the small pile. 

“I don’t know how you make oatmeal cookies so damn good,” he said, grabbing one and taking a bite, closing his eyes in pleasure. “But damn, do you ever.” 

“Brown the butter,” you smiled. 

“I don’t even know what the fuck that means,” he said. “That’s why you don’t have to wait. What do you need, Sweets? The usual?” 

You nodded. He licked the crumbs off his fingers. 

“I can tell you right now, there’s no news,” he said. “Everyone knows who to look out for…” 

“I know,” you smiled. “But can you double check for me? Need the list?” 

“Sweets, it’s been five years,” he smiled sadly at you. “I don’t need the list.” 

He started, as always, at the Dallas QZ. 

“Howdy Dallas, hope you’re having a good Sunday,” he said. “Got my usual. Looking to see if you’ve had any new arrivals by the name Joel Miller, Sarah Miller or Thomas Miller. Those three would likely all be together. Also looking for a Cassandra Wilson and a Joshua Trumble.” He was silent for a moment. You heard a crackle of sound from his headphones. “What about folks matching those descriptions?” 

He rattled off ages, general appearances. There was a short crackle. He just shook his head at you and moved on to Atlanta. 

It didn’t take him long to get through all the QZs. There was nothing. You weren’t surprised, but you were always a little let down all the same. You held out the ration cards you traded him but he just looked at them. You frowned for a second. 

“Did the price change?” You asked. “I can get more, I have some saved…” 

“It doesn’t…” he sighed, looking at you. “I don’t know that I can keep taking your money, Sweets.” 

“I promise you can,” you smiled. “I hold it out, you put it in your hand, done deal.” 

“You’ve been here twice a week, every week, for five years,” his eyes were sad. “Everyone in the country knows who you’re looking for. If they were out there, we’d have found them. I’m sorry, I think it’s time that…” 

“You’re sweet to worry,” you cut him off. “But I know them. They just… haven’t made it to a QZ yet, that’s all. Joel and Tommy and Sarah especially. They’re probably… I don’t know, living off the land somewhere. They’ll probably end up at a QZ eventually for some reason, right? I’ll find them when they do.” 

You held the cards out, more insistently this time. He sighed and took them. 

“Thanks, Abe,” you smiled. “Muffins Wednesday?” 

“You spoil me, Sweets.” 

The clinic was just opening for the day when you got there, Andrew camped out behind the front desk. You frowned. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked. “You don’t work Sundays.” 

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, not looking at you. “Figured I’d work this Sunday.” You sighed. He met your eyes. “You doing OK?” “Don’t know what you mean,” you smiled tightly, handing him the paper-wrapped package of cookies. “Can you make sure these get around to everyone? I don’t want to bring them home with me…” 

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “Because anyone ever turns down your baking.” 

You smiled a little, drumming your hands on the desk for a moment before heading into the back to set your bag down and grab your supplies for the day. 

When you’d gotten to the QZ almost five years ago to the day, you’d been a mess. Andrew had been the only reason you’d made it alive. The miscarriage had taken a turn. You’d needed him to find abortive medications at a pharmacy to finish it which, thankfully, had been left on the shelves in the midst of other looting. You survived the sepsis because you’d grabbed the antibiotics a few days earlier and you recognized the signs. 

Intake had been rough. You were covered in blood. You hadn’t been able to bring yourself to change. They searched your body over and over. Andrew had been screaming from the next bed but you couldn’t remember what he’d been yelling. You weren’t sure if you ever known. It took a day or two before you were able to really communicate anything with the powers that be in what became the QZ. 

The second they heard you had a degree in biology, had been finishing up a pre-med degree and had started studying for medical school, they sent a military doctor in to talk to you. 

“Still interested in becoming a doctor?” He asked, arms crossed. It was a harder question to answer than it should have been. Were you interested in anything anymore? 

“Yes,” you said eventually. “But I don’t exactly think the MCATs are still happening.” 

“We desperately need doctors,” he said. “I’ll train you. It’ll be hard, med school on steroids, because we need people now. At the moment, we have me and not much else.” 

“How?” You frowned. “This is Boston. There’s Harvard, there’s…” 

“Almost no one made it out of there,” he shook his head. “We need you. I can train you.” 

You thought for a second. 

“OK.” 

Dr. Elias had loaded you down with texts almost immediately, giving you assigned reading and having you shadow him at every opportunity. You were stitching wounds closed in a matter of days. Removing an appendix in a year.

More doctors had arrived at the QZ over time but, by then, you were one of them. You’d never have the degree - not that a piece of paper meant a damn thing in the apocalypse - but you were a doctor. It was the first time you’d felt really satisfied since summer, 2003. The day Dr. Elias told you that you didn’t need to shadow him anymore, you had full privileges, Andrew took you for a drink at the speakeasy. You thought of when you graduated college, Joel toasting you with a bottle of real champagne - one from France - he’d gone out of his way to find. 

Sunday in the clinic kept you busy enough. You had a steady stream of patients, with everything from UTIs to stitches for a kid who jumped off some steps and cut their head open to a guy with syphilis whose symptoms had gotten so bad he finally decided to see someone. The day, mercifully, flew by, not leaving you much time to think. It was pushing 10 p.m. when you realized how tired you were. 

“Hey Teach,” Andrew called to you. “Got a few more for you.” 

“Seriously?” You leaned across the counter, your head down on the desk. “I’m getting too old for this. It’s too late in the day for this.” 

“You are not too old for this,” he teased. 

“I’m 30 now, Andrew,” you lifted your head and propped your chin on your fist. “I’m basically dead.” 

“They say that 30’s the new 20,” he shrugged, leaning back in his chair. 

“Nah, it’s the opposite in QZ years,” you said. “30 is the new 74. I’m an old woman, basically geriatric.” 

“If you don’t take these, you’re going to the bar with me,” he said. You glared at him. He shrugged. “These are your choices, Teach. Not going to let you just go home and be sad and old. You can be sad and old here or sad and old at the bar, pick your poison.” 

You sighed and held out your hand. 

“Gimme the charts.” 

He handed you two folders and you frowned. 

“You didn’t say it was intake,” you said, looking at the tag color. “I’m not… Come on, don’t make me euthanize anyone today.” 

“You really think I’d do that to you?” He asked. “They cleared that part already, they just need to be examined. Make sure they’re not too feral, sounds like they’ve never been to a QZ before so they might be rabid.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“And I guess actually take care of people who haven’t had medical attention in five years,” he said. “That part, too.” 

“Your generation is the reason the world ended,” you said. “I’m convinced.” 

“I’m seven years younger than you, we’re the same shitty generation!” He leaned on the counter. “C’mon. Go treat the patients, then we can go get hammered. I think we need to get hammered. If you don’t want to go to the bar, I’ve got whiskey.” 

“Shitty whiskey.” 

“Does it matter?” 

You smiled a little. 

“It does not.” You sighed, cracking your neck before jogging in place for a second. “Alright, just two more and then this miserable day is officially over. Let’s get this across the finish line.” “Go, sports team!” He gave you a fist pump. You rolled your eyes and opened the top file. 

You almost fainted. 

“Where are they?” You asked. Your hands were shaking. You pulled your eyes from the file and looked at Andrew. “Where are they? What exam room, where are they? Andrew…” 

“They’re in 14, far end,” he said, his eyebrows knitting together. “What’s…” 

You dropped the file and started running. 

“Joel!” 

You were screaming, you couldn’t help it. Your legs couldn’t move fast enough. 

“Joel!” 

The door to the exam room on the far end opened and there he was. 

He was both exactly the same and so different. Still tall and broad and handsome, his hair still shaggy and curly, skin still golden tan. But he looked worn, like he’d been kicked a few too many times. He looked broken. It took him a second to register that he was looking at you. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head, a moment of confusion, then disbelief, then he was running for you. 

You threw yourself against him and he caught you, his arms wrapping around you so tightly you thought he might break you in two and you didn’t care. You took what felt like your first full breath in five years. He didn’t smell like sawdust anymore but it was him. You were sobbing. 

“Joel,” you breathed. Your voice was wet, your fingers in his hair as you clung to him. 

“You’re alive,” he choked out. He sounded breathless. He held you so close. “You’re alive, I thought you were dead, I thought I lost you years ago…” 

He dropped to his knees and took you with him, pulling back from you just enough to look at you. His hands went from your body to your face, holding you gently, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. You held his arms, smiling so broadly it felt like your face might crack. 

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” his eyes searched your face, your hair, looking over every inch of you. “You’re alive…” 

“I’ve been searching for you,” you were shaking, your fingers running over his arms. “I’ve been calling every QZ twice a week every week looking for you, I knew I’d find you eventually, I knew I’d find you…” 

He pulled you back against him and you held onto him. His hand went to the back of your head, holding you close. Tommy emerged from the room, his eyes wide as he looked at you. “Kid,” he breathed, walking slowly to you and Joel, dropping to his knees next to you. He was blurry through your tears but you smiled and nodded as best you could while being held against his brother. “My God, I never thought I’d see you again…” 

“How long have you been here?” Joel pulled back from you again, his eyes searching your own. 

“Five years,” you said, laughing a little. “Almost to the day. We were on our way to Martha’s Vineyard and ran into… Actually, I’m not sure if they were actually FEDRA yet but whatever they were, we got rerouted to Boston. I’ve been here since.” 

You looked between Tommy and Joel and then frowned. 

“Where’s Sarah?” You asked, looking around. “They only gave me two intake files, did someone else take hers? Where’s Sarah?” 

Joel didn’t say anything but you’d never seen him in more pain. He looked like someone had cut open his chest and ripped his heart clean out. You knew. Immediately you knew. Your heart broke.

“Oh Joel,” you reached for his face but he jerked back from you. It was like he wasn’t even looking at you anymore. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

***

Tommy knew better than to say Sarah’s name. Joel hadn’t heard it in years. Sometimes, if he went long enough and had enough distractions, he was able to pretend that she was just somewhere else. That he and Tommy were at work and Sarah was safely at home with you. Just like before. Tommy didn’t bring up Sarah. 

So when you said her name, it wiped him out. In part because, for a moment, the fact that she was gone had left his mind. It was different than when he was distracted or it was the first moment when he woke up every day, before he remembered. The joy, the relief at finding you - alive and whole and well - had overwhelmed him so much that everything else just lived in a separate reality. A different plane of existence that contained everything bad that he’d ever done or had ever happened to him that he’d left behind for a moment. Hearing her name…. 

“Teach?” The man from the front desk knelt beside you, his hands going around your shoulders. “We need to find someone else to do this?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, eyes not leaving Joel. You looked devastated. Like someone had gutted you. “Yeah, I can’t… Ethically, I can’t do this, I’m sorry…” 

The man tried to pull you away from Joel but he held onto you. You gave the man a glance and a single shake of your head and he backed off. 

“I’ll go find Lee,” he said, frowning and searching your face for a moment before he left. 

“Where have you been?” You asked Tommy more than Joel, glancing his way before looking back to Joel. “How have you survived this long outside a QZ?” 

Joel glanced at Tommy who looked back to him. A silent agreement to not tell you the truth of it. 

“Scavenging,” Tommy said after a moment. “Finding what we could where we could. Ended up trading with some smugglers in QZs. Heard Boston wasn’t too bad, relatively speaking. Decided to make our way up here.” 

Your eyes kept running over Joel’s face. You found the scar at his temple, your eyes lingering there. You cautiously reached your hand forward and traced it, lightly, before you held his cheek. His eyes met yours. 

“You’re here,” you breathed. Your eyes were still so sad. His hand covered yours. “That’s all that matters, you’re here.” 

“Mr. Miller? Both Mr. Millers,” A man came out of the back with the guy from the front desk. Joel glanced at him. “We’re going to get you two processed, you’ll have to come with me…” 

Joel tightened his grip on you. He couldn’t let you go, not now. Tommy tugged on his arm but Joel shrugged him off. 

“Mr. Miller,” the man said again. “We need you to come with us…” 

“C’mon,” the man from the desk put his hand on your arm, pulling you gently back from Joel. 

“Mr. Miller. You can see her again in just a few minutes…” 

“No,” Joel said sharply. 

“Joel,” your hand was still on his face. “It’s OK, I’m not going far and neither are you but there are checks we have to do when new people come to the QZ…” 

“Joel,” Tommy’s hands were on him now, too. “It won’t be long. Come on.” 

Joel pulled you against him one more time, holding you to him for a moment before pulling back from you. He let you go then, let the man lead him to a back room. He looked over his shoulder at you as the man from the front desk pulled you to your feet. 

“So that’s the dad…” he said quietly. 

“Yeah,” your voice cracked. He pulled you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you. Joel scowled at him before looking straight ahead, following Tommy and the other man. 

The other man introduced himself as Dr. Lee and started going over Joel with a fine toothed comb. Joel paid it very little mind. He could not care less, he just wanted to get back to you. Being this far from you made him uneasy. Like if you were out of his sight you’d vanish. He watched the door. He could just see the top of your head pressed to the chest of the man from the desk. He was holding you close. He kissed your hair. Joel ground his teeth. 

He still couldn’t believe it was you. You were here, you were alive - fucking alive. He’d mourned you, alongside… He’d felt it. Felt that he’d never see you again, that you were gone. 

It didn’t help that, at first glance, you were the same. Exactly the same. You still braided your hair to keep it out of your way, still put ribbons on the ends - he couldn’t remember the last time he saw a fucking ribbon - still put flowers on the broken things. You looked a bit older but he was sure that, if the world had been like it was before, you’d still have been getting carded every time you ordered a beer. You were still fucking beautiful, so goddamn beautiful. You could have stepped straight out of his memories, been a hallucination. At night, when he couldn’t stop them and he was overwhelmed by thoughts of Sarah and you, you looked almost the same as you did now. The only difference was your eyes. There was a haunted knowing in them now. Like you’d learned the secret of the world - that it was cold and cruel - and been left to reckon with it alone. 

“Can she come back in now?” Tommy’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. 

“Yeah, I can get her…” he went and opened the door. Addressed you as doctor. You all but ran inside, the other man close behind you. Joel glared at him. 

You, however, went straight for Joel, standing beside his exam table and reaching for him cautiously, like you weren’t sure he’d want you to touch him. Your eyes were red. He slipped your hand into his and your fingers laced with his own. He tugged you closer and your other hand went around his arm so that it was pressed against your torso. 

Dr. Lee addressed you. 

“You know the drill,” he began, but you shook your head. 

“Come on,” you said. “There has to be an exception we can use here, I don’t…” 

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head. 

“What?” Tommy asked. “What’s happening?” 

“You’ll need to stay in holding overnight,” the guy from the front desk said. He was watching you, not looking at Joel and Tommy at all. 

“That’s stupid,” you said. “They can stay with me, if anything got missed…” 

“You know we can’t do that,” Lee said. “It’s too dangerous, if there was a false negative read on the infection scanner you’d be dead.” 

“Please.” 

“It’s one night,” Lee said. “Elias would have my ass if he ever found out I let new intakes go home with you and I like being alive, thank you very much.” 

“It’s one night,” the front desk guy crossed his arms, looking at you. Joel wanted to snap him in half. 

“I’ll set you as their orientation liaison,” Lee said gently. “I’ll let the school know you won’t be in tomorrow. You can get them at 6 a.m.” 

“No,” Joel growled. 

“This isn’t the wild west, Mr. Miller,” Lee said. “There are ways things are done here. Best to start adjusting now. We’re going to take you back into holding…” 

“Can I get just two minutes?” You cut him off. “Please?” 

Lee looked between you and Joel. 

“Andrew stays too,” he said, leaving the room. The man from the front desk crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at Joel. You didn’t seem to notice, instead just throwing your arms around Joel’s neck. Joel pulled you against him. 

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” you breathed in his ear. “I promise, I’ll be right back, I love you so much, Joel.” 

It was like his heart cracked. No one had said that to him in so long. His chest got tight. 

“I’ll be here, Baby,” he said softly. “Not going anywhere.” 

Dr. Lee came back and led Joel and Tommy out of the room, Andrew’s hand firmly on your shoulder as you watched them go. Joel felt sick, you being far away from him again. He focused on getting through to the morning. That’s all. He’d been away from you for more than five years, he could do one night. He was sure of it. Just one night. 

He couldn’t. 

[breezybangtanbebe]

Eye On You: Wonho❤️‍🔥

A/n: anyone ever sit back and think about how rich Wonho would be if he had an OnlyFan's account? Just me? 🌚 aw ok well....here you go🥴. I wrote this in like an hour so...

3.75k words

You never imagined you'd be the type to subscribe to one of these websites.

Hell, you barely liked forking over that $9.99 a month for Netflix and a small part of your soul died at the sight of that reoccurring charge on your bank statements.

But this felt different.

It was midday and you were alone in your room, writhing in bed as your body's reluctance to go to sleep frustrates you.

It wasn't as if you needed a nap but sleep was the only thing that could distract you from the insatiable ache between your legs.

So after scrolling on social media for a little bit, seeing enough of a particularly fine man's face and body on your timeline led you to fish out your debit card and open your laptop.

The cursor idles over the pixelated rectangle for what felt like minutes.

You've already created the account and input your payment information.

All you had to do was hit subscribe and an uncensored world of Wonho would be unveiled for your and 120,863 people's eyes only.

When you'd first seen him, you were amazed by the exaggerated definition of his muscles and undeniably handsome face.

Every Instagram post was either him fully clothed and candid, smiling or looking away as if he weren't aware of a picture being taken.

Or he was naked.

Ok, maybe not full-on ass-naked but he might as well have been.

Plump and pert glutes.

Thick muscled thighs.

Massive pecs that could easily fit in a d cupped bra.

Buttered Hawaiian roll-looking abs.

And then there was his....lower half.

No matter what he wore, there was never a reason NOT to look down at the sizable print that bulged in the most provocative way in even jeans or dress pants.

Him wearing a size smaller than his normal fit, no underwear, and sitting wide-legged in every picture didn't help either.

Don't even bother asking anyone what color his hair or his shoes are.

You damn sure didn't know.

All you knew was that when you realized this specimen had a Stream4You account, similar to OnlyFans, it only took a shameful 8 minutes for you to decide to subscribe.

The membership fee wasn't bad.

About as much as your Netflix subscription and you were sure to be much more entertained by this than the thousands of shows and movies you'd scrolled through.

Plus you could cancel any time so...

You click to enter the website and your eyes widen at the array of pornographic thumbnails from past streams.

"My gawd.." you gawk as you scrolled.

Well-lit 4K snaps of Wonho on his black leather couch.

Some of him alone, gripping his thick print in different colored boxer briefs.

Some of him with a woman in various sexual positions.

Doggy style with nothing but their naked torsos and legs in the frame.

Missionary with Wonho's massive upper body looming over a woman much smaller than him, their pelvis' pressed together.

Another with a view of the bare back of a woman kneeling in front of the couch and between Wonho's spread legs, his hand resting on the back of her head with his tipped back in ecstasy.

All of them different races and body types.

All of the gorgeous.

A pang of jealousy struck in your chest as well as deep within your clenching walls.

What an experience it would be to get fucked by such a magnificent man. You didn't even have to watch him in action to know he could fuck.

It was all in his aura.

You sigh, leaning back with your laptop resting on your tummy, scrolling down his profile with a pout.

Suddenly a notification bell pings in the corner of the screen, followed by a drop-down banner letting you know that Wonho was about to start a live stream in 5 minutes.

It's a shame how fast you clicked the link that led you to the waiting room which consisted of a black screen with a countdown, a sidebar with his past live streams in the queue, and a frenzy of comments popping off in a chat on the other side.

You immediately found the 'Turn off chat' option in settings because you didn't want anything distracting you from the main event.

After an agonizingly slow five minutes passed, the black screen shifts to an unexpected view of who you knew to be Wonho's glistening chest and sculpted abs.

He's leaning over the tripod, adjusting the angle from what it sounded like.

A second later, his beautiful face fills the screen.

"Hi guys...." he croons, smiling innocently in that way that reduced his eyes to slits and lit up his entire face.

His voice is deep and soothing, something you'd probably want to hear up close or in your ear first thing in the morning.

Wonho furrows his brow and tucks the soft pink tip of his tongue at the corner of his mouth as he goes back to fiddling with the camera.

"Bare with me a second everyone...I got a new tripod and I'm still figuring it out. This angle is not...ah..there we go." He huffs in triumph as he rights the camera in the way he intended.

He then kneels in front of his infamous leather seat. Not to be confused with his equally infamous black leather couch.

Wearing nothing but some black Adidas shorts and a smile, Wonho seats himself comfortably on the floor in front of the camera. He leans forward, squinting at it for a second before smiling and waving again.

"Can you see me ok? It's in focus?" He asks and you snort at the irony of him speaking so casually considering what he was setting the audience up for.

"Looks like I am. Anyway... Hi again. It's Wonho, your favorite. I hope everyone here is enjoying their day so far. I um....really have no plan for today's stream. I just got back from the gym and showered so I'm at home for the rest of the day. What are you all up to?"

Again, he was speaking to his audience as if they were coworkers or neighbors he say occasionally on his way in or out of his home.

It was...cute. Unexpected but cute.

Your brow crinkles in amusement.

Wonho smirks softly as he stared at what you assumed to be the comments, which were no doubt coming in by the thousands per second. His eyes squinted again as he read them, his smirk persistent at what his paying audience had to say. 

For a second you toyed with the thought of him asking you about your day with s genuine interest. He'd be looking at you the way he was looking at the camera now with expectant eyes and parted lips, hanging on to your every word.

" 'Just got off work.' Cool. 'Just had dinner..' Already? It's dinner time where you're at? I haven't even had lunch yet..'Hi, baby' Hi...' You're handsome' No you're handsome, whoever you are.." he chuckles cutely as he went through more similar comments before leaning back on his knees.

He lifts his arms and runs his hands through his hair, flexing his biceps and triceps unintentionally with the movement.

He then stands to extend his body in a stretch that gave you a godly eyeful of his body. Abs contract and quads flex as he stretched and your gaze falls to the plushy-looking hill that gathered at his crotch area.

He's not even trying.

After satisfying his muscles, Wonho exhales heavily and plops into the waiting seat behind him.

It groans under his weight and you could only imagine the things that chair had to endure being owned by this man.

On and off camera.

"Glad to hear all is well with you all. Thanks for tapping in." He says, resting his head in the nest of his interlocked fingers.

"As I said...I didn't really have a plan. I took a shower and had this urge to jack off but I didn't want to do it alone...."

Your ears perked up at the favorable turn of events and you reflexively push the laptop up to your chest.

"Oh..do tell," you mutter as if he could hear you.

"...So I figured I'd just get comfortable and do that while I chat with you guys until I cum. Or perhaps until you cum. Whichever comes first..." he jokes with a little chuckle.

His corny pun and little laugh alone should be considered a sin. How could a man so burley and huge be so cute at a time like this?

Wonho remains leaned back comfortably in his shorts that hung loosely from his tree trunk thighs, his hooded gaze fixed on the camera.

He lifts one of his hands from the back of his head to rub through his silky black hair again, mimicking the way you wish you could do the very same thing.

Beside him, an iPhone lays face down on the leather armrest and he picks it up, swiping his thumb over the screen a few times before focusing on reading the stream's comments from his own device.

Then he flashes that damned panty-dropping grin.

" ''Good plan' I know right? 'Deal.'  'Sign me up Coach. 'Cum first Daddy. I need frosting for my toaster strudel'...Wow. Nasty. And beautiful. You might have just inspired some future content with that one..." he says in response.

" 'Nice Tits.' Thanks. I work pretty hard on them so glad to hear it. 'Show us your dick please' Well since you're so polite.." he grunts.

Without wasting another second, Wonho lifts his hips to push down his shorts and underwear. They shimmy over his legs and drop out of view, leaving him shamelessly nude for the camera.

"There. That better?" He teases with a light-hearted chuckle.

As he continued to respond to comments, some funny and others nasty, your eyes fixated on the culprit of all of those damned likes on his Instagram posts.

Wonho's dick.

It sits lazily between his attractive man spread, not even erect yet but still impressive.

The fact that he's clean-shaven only allows you to appreciate his full size as you tapped the fullscreen icon in the corner.

Now filling your monitor, Wonho's muscular body and thick manhood captivate you entirely.

You'd never see a man so beautiful in your entire life and maybe it was your hormones leading you to exaggerate but...

"Shit..." you exhale, marveling at his size.

For a moment you wondered why he had so many subscribers. Beyond his good looks and entertaining content, you didn't think 120K for one guy doing normal amateur porn made much sense.

Until he took off his underwear.

Wonho's dick is gorgeous. Similar to his skin tone if he were blushing with a fat mushroom tip that looked like it had been kissed by lips stained pink.

Thick and surprisingly long to be flaccid. He reaches down to cup himself, ringing his shaft between his thumb and two fingers while his ring and pinky fingers rested over his balls.

Which looked heavy and smooth to the touch.

The thought has you nearly drooling on sight

Wonho slowly begins to stroke himself, the velvety smooth skin moving over his veiny shaft.

He readjusts his seating and spreads those massive thighs more for the camera, scooting forward so that the audience has a perfect view of all he was selling.

With his other hand, he holds his phone to read the comments. He smiles at whatever madness you imagined to be occurring in the live chat.

If you weren't already touching yourself, you might have been able to post a comment or two.

At some point the laptop materialized beside you on the bed, giving you the freedom to shuck off your underwear and caress your sensitive folds.

The pads of your fingers pass over your clit and you gasp, repeating the action in a rhythm mimicking Wonho's.

Slow and steady.

Teasing yourself just enough to arouse you more.

It's not long before Wonho's once drooping member is ramrod straight and standing up at its full length.

He's a grower and a shower.

My gawd.

Wonho pauses to reach for something on the floor and sits back up with a glistening glob of liquid from a dispenser off-camera. He drops the phone to clap the substance between his palms, warming the lube before reaching back between his legs.

His large hand encircles the shaft, twirling his wrist slightly on the upstroke that's now much smoother with the help of the lubrication.

Now his dick shined as if it were encased in glass, showing everything in greater detail. He jerks himself with the original hand, using the other to cup and tug his balls gently.

"Ah..shit.." he exhales.

His tongue runs over his top lip as he continued stroking, his chest moving with each breath.

Yours shuddered beneath your shirt as you rubbed over your clit in slow and teasing circles, but the wetter you become, the more stimulating your touch is.

A soft moan parts your lips and you spread your legs wider as if you were on full display for this beautiful man and not the other way around.

Wonho gets lost in his touch for a moment, not shying away from rubbing his perineum as he worked over his dick.

His head tips back and his eyes fell shut for a moment and you wondered what he saw when he did.

What did he think about when he touched himself? It's not like he didn't have a massive collection of savory images to recall from his past experiences.

You wondered what memories turned him on the most...

After a while of the same pace and some of the sexiest soft moans you'd ever heard come from a man, Wonho lifts his head and opens his eyes to gaze straight into the camera.

There was something different in his eyes now.

Long gone was the cute and funny guy with punny jokes.

There was now what you could only describe as a demon. The brown of his irises seemed black now and they hid halfway beneath his eyelids in a sultry stare that makes you clench around nothing with a pathetic whimper to follow.

"What the..." you pause, feeling as taken aback by his expression as you were by your body's reaction to it. 

A little smirk lifts at the corner of the demon's lips before he releases his ballsack. He does a quick wipe over his thigh to rid his palm of excess lube before picking up his phone again.

Wonho goes back to reading the comments, leaning over to rest his elbow on the armrest as he stroked his dick slowly.

His brows go up at something he read but he doesn't respond out loud, only sparing the camera a knowing look briefly with a sly smirk.

He then goes on to read more, his thumb strumming over the screen.

He laughs at something someone said and pauses to switch up his tactic for a moment, focusing just on the tip of his dick and stroking over it with a shuddered sigh.

This makes his eyes roll back and he curses under his breath.

By now, your clit was so hard and swollen that your legs twitched every time your fingers passed over it. Occasionally you'd slide them inside to stroke the ache away that grew from deep.

But you could only manage that for so long before feeling like you were about to cum.

And you know once you did that, it would all be over.

Wonho looks back at his phone and smirks.

" 'Stroke faster' Yeah? That's what you wanna see?" He asks breathily, his eyes never leaving his phone.

He then adheres to the request, most likely accompanied by a cash donation.

The tacky sounds of the lube slicking the motion of his hand kicked up as he jerked himself faster.

It must have felt really good because his smirk melts into him scraping his teeth over his plump bottom lip.

"Ah fuck...mhmm.." he moans, exhaling sharply through his nose.

You match his energy, strumming two fingers over your needy clit, hips rolling and back arching.

You moan louder now,  panting as the heat collecting at your apex mounts.

You were close and so was Wonho.

You could tell from the way he'd abandoned the phone to go back to sitting upright, the other hand groping his balls and rubbing under them. His dominant hand was doing what it did best, pushing him closer and closer with every upward stroke.

He cursed and moaned just as freely as you did and you only bit down on them so that you'd be able to hear him over yourself.

Not that it was an easy task.

Hearing him moan.

Watching his hips canting and his abs contracting.

Spotting the shine of pre cum dribbling from the hole at the center of his rock-hard tip...

You wanted him. You wanted him so fucking bad that it sparked tears in your eyes knowing it wasn't him fucking into right now.

Wonho's eyes lift and lock onto the camera as it had done a few times before and for a moment it felt as if he were actually looking at you.

Through you.

Straight to your soul.

"You're about to cum aren't you?" He asks and you hiccup amidst your moan in reaction.

You lift your head from your pillow and blink away the blurriness to inspect your screen.

"Yeah...Im talking to you. I've got my eye on you...I've had it on you this whole time.." he rasps, now stroking his dick as if her priming a weapon ready to fire at any moment. 

His mouth goes slack for a second and his eyes roll back a little, but he resists the urge to look away from the camera.

From you...

"Oh fuck..I wish I was there. I bet you feel so good..fuck I bet you look so sexy right now. Are you touching yourself for me? Hmm?" He continues, this octave lifting to a gentle coaxing tone that has no will to resist responding to.

"Yes." You whimper, rubbing and swirling over your bud with the sole intention of getting yourself off.

"Good....keep going. And don't you fucking stop until you cum, you understand me?" He commands with a lifted brow.

"Yes..yes. Oh god..." you cry out, tearing your eyes away from the screen to shut them.

"Yes, baby! Like that...just like that...Im about to..." Wonho grunts and you open your eyes just in time to watch the thick spout of pearl shoot from his tip. Some of it hits his chest, drizzling over his sternum as he kept milking his dick for more. It was like it would never stop.

Your mouth hung open in a silent cry as you give in to the impending explosion as it sizzled down your spine.

Your breath hitches and your fingers pause over your clit at the memory of his intense gaze and throaty moan of release, and it's enough to send you hurdling over the edge and into a heart-stuttering orgasm.

Your climax hits you like shockwaves, making your muscles tense and relax as it passed over your body.

Hooded and lust-drunk, Wonho exhales finally and slows his strokes to rid himself of any remaining drops of cum he had left before sagging against the coach.

"Fuck...that was good...shit..." he pants, talking more to the ceiling than to his audience.

You lay limp in your bed, staring dazedly at your laptop with your now exhausted hand resting over your pussy.

That was good. Better than you'd expected for sure. You felt that same liberating tingly sensation all over that you always felt after an intense orgasm.

But this felt different.

Even though this was what he did for a living and thousands of people watched him exactly as you had...

And even though you knew there was no way in hell that this man could see you when he looked into his camera...

In your own little bubble of horny delusion, he was looking at you.

And that is perhaps what makes him so popular. The way he connects with his audience. The way he just doesn't set up a camera and act as if no one is watching him. He engages and puts on a show well worth the $10.99 a month.

Knowing and feeling that made this monthly subscription feel less like an expense and more like an investment.

Wonho's hand still rested around his dick, which was still stiff in his grasp but not as erect as it was seconds ago.

He sighs and leans up from the back of the couch, the sound of his sweaty back pealing from the leather surface making him cringe.

"Alright guys...that was fun but looks like Im gonna have to take another shower.." he huffs humorously.

You watched him in silence as he reached off-camera for a small washcloth he must have prepared beforehand.

Wonho cleans himself casually, wiping his cum from his chest and abs as if he spilled food on his shirt or something, and it makes you smile weakly.

He then wipes his hands thoroughly before tossing the washcloth aside. The cushions squeak beneath his bare ass cheeks as he scooted forward, lifting briefly to detach the device mounted by the tripod.

Now carried in the hand he just used to jerk himself off, Wonho held his audience and lifted them so that he was looking up at the camera in selfie mode.

"I hope you enjoyed our time together. I know it was quick but I didn't want to interrupt your day for too long. I have a lot of cool content planned for the month so stay tuned. Subscribe to get notifications and become a platinum member for exclusive videos. Until next time. Come back and see me. Bye..."  he winks and gives the camera a quick wave before the screen goes black again.

And just like that, the stream was over.

I miss him. I miss his random IG posts of his bawdy. I miss his smile. I miss his laugh. I miss his dorky shimmy when he’s shy or embarrassed or happy over his food. I miss his daily vlives (dammit Vlive why’d you have to go!!? *waves fist)

*sigh* anywho..🌚 I think im gonna do more onlyfans wonho stuff

[desired-misery]

Snippets from the many many Resident Evil wips I have been working on

...

The drips of iodine on the surgical cloth are dark as blood, but on his skin it is more of an ochre color. Layered over the green marks on his skin, it turns his guides black. Easiest step done— the first, which starts the whole process. He can still take a moment to breathe because he isn't bleeding, he hasn't opened up his own chest yet—

[Luis removing La Plaga, ~4k, about 70% done]

...

Why is Adam yanking him around like this if he’s not going to do the damn job himself? Why even bother talking to him if that’s all he is going to get?

When Adam doesn’t say anything, Leon tries again. “I thought, since you called—”

“Keep it professional, Kennedy,” Adam cuts him off, cold and firm.

Leon curbs his instinct to snap back, smoothing his anger out just enough to count as humor. He pushes because he always pushes, even though it pisses Adam off— especially because it does. "Jesus, did someone kill the Queen or something?"

"Or something," Adam repeats, drier than a rock. But Adam doesn’t scold Leon for his smart mouth, which means that whatever stick is up Adam’s ass isn’t Leon’s fault.

[RE4R "missing" scenes, focused on survival and all the bullshit Leon and Ashley (and probably Luis) survived, ~16k, about 10% done]

...

Leon’s sharpness is not limited to his humor. He tilts his head to catch Chris’s gaze again and touches Chris’s wrist next to his head. 

“Are you uncomfortable about complements and want me to stop, or are you just really shy?”

“I am not shy,” Chris protests, for his reputation’s sake. 

“Yes you are,” Leon says, catching the obvious lack of heat in Chris’s answer— and the implied permission to be allowed to continue. The glint in Leon’s eye that is more than just teasing. “You look like a greek god, Chris.”

When Chris’s flush turns into a burning across his face, Leon grins.

"Easily embarrassed, then.”

“Shut up.” Chris leans down to do it himself because he doubts Leon will. Leon laughs in his mouth.

“It’s cute!” Leon says in between kisses.

“I am not cute,” Chris pretends to gripe.

“No, you’re handsome as fuck,” Leon replies. His hand comes to the back of Chris’s head to take control. Chris doesn’t have the capacity to turn even redder because Leon’s tongue is in his mouth and there is nothing else worth thinking about.

[Chris meets Leon at an event, they hook up for a few days, ~10k, ???% done]

...

"Holy shit!" Nivans yelps over the line— and Chris thinks that Jill is going to be right, the kid is gonna freak—

until the large BOW falls, the side of its pelvis blowing out in time with the crack of Nivan's rifle.

"The hell is that?!" Nivans demands, still sounding horrified, but not blind with panic. "What is that?!"

"Bio-organic weapon— all good, they die if you shoot them, so just keep doing that." Jill says, steady and casual in her way that will hopefully keep Nivans focused. "Headshots are the best way to stop one, if you don't mind."

Nivans laughs a little, breathless. "God—"

The echoing crack of his rifle cuts him off. The downed thing's head explodes.

"Good work," Chris praises immediately, "You're doing great."

"That's awful!" Nivans says, but he keeps lining up his shots so Chris makes sure he and Jill stay clear of the alley they are funneling them down.

[How Chris (and Jill) cross paths with Piers and how he gets recruited to the BSAA, ~1.5k words, just a fragment of a fic]

...

Piers has to remember to call late enough that his mom doesn't worry about him losing sleep, still believing that he is in a completely different time zone. Lying to her leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but not bad enough that he wants to tell her what is really going on. He does tell her to hold off on sending any care packages under the guise that he believes he is going to be moved to a different base and doesn't want it getting lost in the logistics of trying to track him down while he is being transferred. She responds in less than an hour, email full of relief that he is doing okay and excitement that he'll be calling so soon. That makes him feel worse than shooting people ever did, and that night he spends over an hour trying to fall asleep, wondering if she will be able to tell if anything has changed about him.

[Piers before he gets recruited to the BSAA, stuck stateside when he should still be deployed, ~4k, ??? who knows how this will fit in? maybe with Chris's POV?]

[sideroachblog]

Hey y'all here's that AleRoach WIP I promised!!

~4k words. Dry humping at the end (mostly build up), Alejandro being OOC because this was a bit of a daddy issues fic, Size Difference, Unfinished.

There will be TWs under the cut. They're pretty heavy because this is an offshoot from my fic Outside Looking In, where Roach was rescued after being a POW and experienced *severe* trauma. This WIP doesn't go into detail, but it doesn't mince words and it investigates how Roach's experiences are fucking with his current relationships. Additionally, there are heavy spoilers in here for OLI and it reveals more of Roach's perspective of his relationships with the team, particularly Ghost and Soap.

@youredyingthatsallthereis bc I was asked to tag <3

~~

TWs:

1. References to SA Roach endured while captive

2. Roach still being underweight from torture

3. Referenced Cheating

4. Internalized homophobia

5. My awful attempts at Spanish and writing realistic dialogue for someone who speaks English as a second language. In other words: Alejandro sounds corny as fuck. This man on the damn cob.

~~

TRANSLATIONS

Flaquito = An endearing petname. Flaco means skinny and the suffix -ito makes it smaller/cuter/etc

¡Está bien! = It's alright!

Cuate = Buddy/friend/etc

Mierda = Shit

Cariño = Honey/sweetie

No puedo dejar de pensar en ti. = I can't stop thinking about you.

Tesoro = Treasure

--

“Awfully thin for a member of the 141. How do you run drills? I dunno why they brought you here; you don’t even have a call sign yet.”

Roach looked up from the table where his nose was buried in gun parts, one of the team's assault rifles completely disassembled for cleaning. Colonel Vargas filled the doorway.

Before he could stand to salute his superior waved a dismissive hand and said, “Don't bother. Keep the energy, heaven knows you need it. At ease, flaquito.”

The nickname was a surprise when Roach expected to be addressed by rank. No clue what it meant, though. Halfway up from his chair he hesitated, then plopped back down with straining thighs and a groan. He quipped, “Maybe I'm just too good to leave behind, Sir.”

It was impossible to relax again, on edge and unfamiliar with the man’s temper, bracing for an inevitable smoking. He sat stiffly, spine straight as a board.

The Colonel double checked the safety on his own rifle before resting it in the corner then meandered across what was one of the safe house's bedrooms, now stripped of furniture save for folding tables and gun cases. The space was designated for weapons storage and maintenance. A lone yellow bulb hung from the plain room’s ceiling and offered sufficient lighting—enough to complete duties, not enough to help locate dropped screws or runaway pens.

“You’re in danger,” Vargas said matter-of-factly.

Roach squirmed. “Aren’t we all?”

“You especially. The stairs up here winded you. You have thin bird wrists and negative muscle mass like a frail old lady. What if we’re raided?”

He frowned and said, “I either prove my gun skills or perish, I guess.”

“That isn’t a price I’d expect your Captain to chance paying. Sacrificing fresh meat who needs more time to train, especially when you could put others in danger, too. I’m well-acquainted with John and well-experienced weighing risk versus reward.” The man pulled up a chair and settled in on Roach’s right. “Point is, I’d never send someone so underweight on an operation like this one, even if they stay cooped up in here. Not a newbie. Not in a million years. For Price to make that call, he knows more than he’s letting on.”

“What are you getting at, Sir?”

“You don’t have the eyes of a new recruit.”

He monitored the Colonel in his peripheral for any threatening behavior and swallowed hard. “Just joined the Special Air Service, Sir. If you think he’s hiding something, I think he’s the bloke to ask.”

Alejandro Vargas sat there like a brick wall: an athletic, imposing man of great importance to the Mexican Special Forces, more so than Captain Price was to the taskforce. Only now, with broken ribs where a bullet slammed his plate carrier, was he confined to the safe house in brief recovery. Roach felt like chump change in comparison to his weight lifting build, about six inches shorter and only half the kilos, stuck doing upkeep rather than assisting in the field. Even at his peak, before everything, before Makarov’s Ultranationalist animals held him captive, Roach wasn’t nearly as strong. He reminded himself that he was still healing, still gaining muscle, still making progress on top of how far he’d already come.

…So far, he’d only managed to gain about ten kilos. Ten more and he’d reach a ‘normal weight,’ again, still so unbearably skinny, still far from the size and strength his job required.

Their power imbalance seeded discomfort in his abdomen. Their differences in strength only amplified what stemmed from the subservience a sergeant owed a colonel. It was too similar to Russian prison, Roach beaten and abused by guards double his size who commanded him around like a mule. He tensed without meaning to, leaning away when Vargas’ thick forearms rested on the table, muscles rolling beneath their skin as the man fiddled with a hand guard from the disassembled gun.

The sight left him conflicted. Vargas struck fear in his heart, but struck it in other ways, too. He was attractive, certainly Roach’s ‘type,’ especially considering his confident, benevolent demeanor and how he cared personally for each of his men (at least from an outsider’s perspective). Tough love, but love nonetheless. However, the timing of Roach’s trauma was tragic—happening before he had the opportunity to explore his true sexuality. His thoughts were a muddled mess.

“I just cleaned that, Sir,” he stated. “You’re smearing finger grease all over it again.”

Vargas grabbed a damp cloth and wiped his hands down before using it to tidy the mess. “We’re not on an op. I’m not even your colonel. No need for the formalities right now, Smith.”

Smith. Garrett Smith. The new name was still foreign to his ear, so accustomed to ‘Gary Sanderson’ that he nearly corrected people on occasion. He went to say ‘yes, Sir,’ then truncated the title, hissing, “Yess-s—”

The slight lisp from Roach’s missing teeth made it all the more embarrassing. His cheeks turned pink.

“I’m dead serious about those eyes. Have you seen yourself? Permanent dark circles, thousand yard stare. Even now, you look passed me rather than at me.”

“Mm. I hadn’t noticed,” he lied, sounding as unbelieving as possible. “Interesting observation.”

Vargas angled his wide body to watch the Sergeant work. “Yes, very.”

Roach shrunk into his shoulders when the Colonel leaned forward, into the small uniform shirt that hung baggy enough to have him dress-coded anyway. He prayed the man didn’t notice.

No such luck.

“Not everyone in the world is out to get you. I don’t know who taught you we are. Price wouldn’t put you in harm’s way.”

He shuddered at the memory of Shepherd and replied, “I’m well aware there’s people on my side, Sir.”

“I’m one of them. No need to act like a scared dog.”

What if Price was wrong again? What if Alejandro were schmoozing him, attempting to—Roach gritted his teeth, trying to allow his respect for the Colonel to overpower his panic. “I know.”

“Then relax; I won’t bite.”

His legs screamed to bolt before something terrible happened, old pain from Ultranationalist hands resurfacing. Cuts, punches, yanked hair. Having his head shoved underwater until the bubbles nearly stopped.

When he was first captured, their medics begrudgingly treated his burn wounds with as little care as possible (and he had no idea why they didn’t leave him to die). They ripped off the dressings as if peeling stubborn wallpaper, debrided his skin without anesthesia, re-mummified his writhing form as agony lingered. The worst came later, towards the end of his imprisonment. It happened once. Fingernails digging into his thighs, forcing his legs open. Wrists bound so tightly with fraying rope they sustained nerve damage. Bodily intrusions he longed to forget. Thankfully, his attacker was not gifted in certain areas; however, the bastard compensated with violent thrusts that tore through Roach anyway, mentally and physically, leaving a cloud of disgust surrounding his body even months later. Worse still, the fact that Roach had dreamed of those same activities, gentler, involving trusted individuals. These fantasies were tainted, of course. Everything about him felt rotten after his assault was said and done.

He knew that wasn’t true. The thoughts surfaced regardless.

With a deep sigh, he did his best to loosen up.

“Good,” Vargas praised when Roach visibly shoved down the tension. He plucked a rifle scope off the table and worked the cleaning cloth up and down its length in long strokes, wrist twisting as he did.

Roach watched momentarily, then gazed up and found the man already looking back. He said, “You don’t need to help, if you’re busy. I’m sure you’ve more important duties to tend.”

“More important…? It’s break time. I’m striking up conversation. You intrigue me.” A gleam in Vargas’ eye betrayed the true extent of his interest: Roach was a mystery to solve. A broken man still piecing himself together in the line of action, ‘freshly recruited,’ although it was clear the Colonel knew better.

Roach offered a weak smile. “There’s not much to know.”

“Ah. I see. Hate small talk?”

“Always have, S-sir.”

Vargas replaced the scope and began polishing the other hand guard. “There’s beauty in the little things, you know. Much to be learned from interactions you wouldn’t think twice over. Puzzles made from smaller pieces are more intricate by design.”

“They take longer to assemble. Not much time to spare in our line of work, is there?”

“I’ll spare my time for you.”

As sure as he was the Colonel meant nothing of it, Roach’s face flushed anyway. Even though the thought of Vargas picking out the truth made him queasy, his eyes opened wide, dry lips parting delicately.

“Oh,” he chuckled nervously, “thanks.”

The corner of Vargas’ mouth raised in amusement. However slight, the expression managed to reach his eyes with sincerity.

“Of course. We kinda… left you here toiling alone. I wasn’t expecting to be stuck here as well. I can only assume you feel swept under the rug, maybe a little useless,” he said, wiggling one hand like a balance. “I know I do. But you’ve been lightening the load on our shoulders when we return from missions, though. So don’t feel bad. We appreciate having maintained weapons and an organized living quarters after. Your work at the base is invaluable.”

The words struck a cord in Roach’s heart, feeling more understood than he had in ages. With the 141, he was merely doing his best. His accomplishments were stepping stones in recovery. He wasn’t capable of anything more until healthy, and even afterwards his achievements would be overshadowed by the unspoken thought that he managed them despite everything.

Roach became inseparable from his suffering.

He nodded. “No problem.”

The Colonel clapped a massive hand on his bony shoulder. “Don’t be so shy. I appreciate your hard work, lugging around heavy gear and checking ammo supplies. It hasn’t gone unnoticed, and I’ll be sure to mention it to Price.”

Again, he nodded, unsure of whether to give thanks once more.

“You’re doing great, Garrett. You deserve recognition.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Roach’s eyes. He blinked them back but ultimately failed, and two tiny droplets escaped down his cheeks in white-hot rivulets.

Vargas was taken aback. His brain caught up to speed as he exclaimed, “¡Ay, está bien, cuate! Don’t cry. What’s wrong?”

Roach let him rub circles into his upper back, resting his eyelids as the movement swayed his body. Vargas cupped Roach’s jaw in a warm, calloused palm, encouraging him to turn without force, fingers long enough to hit his sideburns. It felt great to be appreciated, even better to be touched without being handled like glass. In their efforts to help him feel safe, the 141 did the exact opposite of his captors. Instead of treating him like rubbish—like a fleshlight—he became a priceless heirloom that would shatter under a funny look. Intentions aside, he still felt like an object.

Alejandro touched him like a person.

“What’s wrong?” He repeated.

“You—you’re so nice,” the Sergeant whimpered, laying a hand over Vargas’ own on his face. “I dunno what to make of it.”

“Are your teammates not nice to you?”

“They are! They are. Just… Not like that. They don’t say things like that. I f-feel like a dead weight.”

“You’re not. And I mean it.”

Roach cried harder. Vargas stood and opened for a hug, which he lunged into wholeheartedly, draping himself onto the man’s chest as those strong, angelic arms wrapped around him. Breaths heaved Vargas’ sturdy pectorals and Roach along with them. It felt secure. His thoughts calmed to a trickle for once.

Suddenly, a warm kiss pressed into his temple, short circuiting his brain. He sighed as safety eased through him. Roach had never been kissed for himself. Hannah kissed him selflessly, mistakenly. She loved him; she wanted to kiss him for their sake, not knowing he'd never feel it as intended but unconsciously aware something was wrong as she floundered to fix things. It was through no fault of her own, having a coward of a husband who feigned heterosexuality to avoid family drama, and she eventually stopped trying. It hurt, seeing her sneak around with Mike. Gary ignored it, figuring she deserved someone able to cherish her entirely.

Gary did love her though, and Roach believed he always would no matter his identity. There was a reason he chose her to marry. Playing the part was easy with her kind heart and dark, witty jokes. She’d been his best friend, high school sweetheart, and first kiss—supposedly his last and only, if not for Simon coming along.

Simon.

Simon kissed him greedily when he needed reassurance.

‘Are you still here with me?’ He asked wordlessly when they were alone, boxing Roach against the wall in one final measure of security. He was aware of Hannah, his kisses selfish, self-aware, and sorry. ‘I need to mean something to you. I don’t care what, lieutenant or lover, just care for me.

Be there for me.’

Gary wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He orbited Simon because of their difference in rank, never falling in love because they were battle buddies and he was a married man. However, he couldn’t let his Lieutenant in as a brother-in-arms—not when he dreamt of holding him each night. Of fucking him stupid in the supply closets. No, Gary acted selfishly, too, devouring the only male attention ever thrown his way and giving Simon false hope, accepting kiss after undeserved kiss. Simon was kind while Gary was awful, returning the gentle reassurance of his lips despite never fully opening up, caught in Cupid’s purgatory where he lied to his commanding officer and wife simultaneously. Garrett could be better, if Simon would have him. If he could bear putting his damaged self on display for someone who loved him when he was whole.

A thumb wiped the moisture from Roach’s cheek.

This was different. Vargas put comfort in the gesture. It was Roach’s turn to be reassured, promised he was welcome in their embrace. Vargas didn’t need anything, didn’t want anything more than to learn who Garrett was now, and it was similar to Soap’s appeal—except Vargas was less skittish and unsure of what he himself had to offer, unbiased by the team’s grief-stricken reminiscing or the knowledge of Roach’s assault. Most importantly, despite all this mushy emotional crap, Vargas’ touch remained impersonal. Impermanent. Roach could safely make mistakes because he'd either die recapturing Los Vaqueros’ headquarters or return to the UK after the operation concluded.

“Colonel,” Roach whispered, pulling back to scan his face.

“Please. No one’s here. Call me Alejandro.”

“I couldn’t—”

“Really, do it. You’re not one of my men. We could be friends at the end of all this. You need more of those.”

“I’ll be too far.”

“I’ll make time to call.”

He hesitated. His arms snaked away from Vargas’ neck until his hands fell to the man’s chest, stabilizing himself on the broad ribcage waiting there, further examining the man’s expression for hints of annoyance. He found none.

Roach’s eyebrows furrowed and more happy tears begged to flow freely as he asked, “Do you mean it?”

“Absolutely, I do,” Alejandro replied. His grip slid to Roach’s hips to accommodate how the Sergeant repositioned. “Christ, Garrett, you’re even skinnier than you look. I can’t believe Price would… Never mind.”

He was right. He engulfed Roach. Only now, rather than make Roach feel lesser, freakish, and scared, it had him weak in the knees. Roach shivered and flicked his eyes to Alejandro’s lips, starving to feel them tenderly elsewhere, ashamed to desire such attention from the first man to give him understanding and selfless touch.

A Russian accent floated through his mind, dark with arousal and aggression. Maybe he was ‘just a worthless whore.’

“Please,” Roach asked, knowing exactly what he wanted yet not how to phrase it.

“Please, what?” It was an honest question, not a flirty tease.

Roach wanted more than friendship at the moment. A relationship wasn’t the goal; physical intimacy was. To get fucked out of his mind by someone harmless.

One of his hands drifted to the back of Alejandro’s neck who, thankfully, took the hint and leaned forward until their foreheads clunked.

“Please. I’m Roach. When we’re alone, I mean.”

He tilted his head and asked, “Roach? Why that?” sounding pleasantly confused yet excited at the prospect of an answer.

“It’s my old call sign. Don’t tell anyone. Not a soul.”

An answer and a secret, and a clue about Garrett’s past. Alejandro’s face lit up like he’d won a hundred quid. “Okay,” he grinned. Then, the serious tone in Roach’s voice transferred to his. “Okay. Sure. Anything you need.”

“Anything?”

“Anything I’m able to do, I will. I’m a man of my word.”

Alejandro was a stranger he’d known less than a month, but his kindness and sincerity were unending thus far.

Roach chewed his lip and said, “Kiss me again. Kiss me more. You did it right.”

He pulled back, gazing at Roach while one of his hands returned to the Sergeant’s jaw. His smile grew until his cheeks squished his eyes into crescents. “Mierda… How could I say no?”

Turning Roach’s head to the side, Alejandro’s lips reconnected with his temple, then stippled across his cheekbone and down the crooked bridge of his nose. Request granted, the Sergeant closed his eyes in contentment and hummed, reaching up into Alejandro’s hair. Heat rushed to his face and coiled in his belly as the Colonel traced kisses along one of his smile lines, planting a final one at the corner of his mouth before pausing.

“Am I still doing this right, cariño?”

His knees were quaking and his hands gripped Alejandro’s shirt for dear life. Even if he let go, he knew he’d be safe. “Yes,” he said, voice wavering.

“Want me to keep going?”

“God, yes. I’ve never had someone do this before.”

Alejandro frowned. “Not ever?”

“No. I’ve only ever been…” he struggled to think of an appropriate term, “…touched by people who wanted it from me. I’ve never had someone do it because I needed the attention.”

“You have mine now. You caught it the second we met.”

“…Why?” Roach asked.

“None of the files about you line up with who I’m holding in my fucking arms. I’ve met a different man than the recruit I approved on paper—I need to have a chat with Price about that. No puedo dejar de pensar en ti.”

“What does that mean?”

Alejandro grinned and whispered, “You’re peculiar. Mysterious.”

“There’s no mystery,” he insisted.

“Whatever you say, Roach. Even if I don’t figure you out, I'll enjoy learning what I can.”

“You’re too much. Shut up and keep kissing.”

He caught Roach’s chin and guided the Sergeant’s lips into his own, making no attempts to part them or shove his tongue in between, maintaining comfortable pressure that broke briefly between smooches. His exhales blew hot. His stubble tickled when he trailed up Roach’s jaw and planted one below his ear.

Roach shivered and moaned behind his puckered mouth, savoring the way Alejandro curled over his body in response, now looking up so their lips remained connected while the man cradled his head and the small of his back. When Alejandro relented Roach groaned in protest, attempting to pull him back by the collar.

He chuckled. “I was going to ask if you’re still enjoying this. I think I got my answer, th—”

Roach cut him off with an open-mouthed kiss, hoisting himself up on tip-toes instead since Alejandro was immovable and took too long closing the gap of his own accord. It elicited a surprised gasp that Roach swallowed whole, using it as an opportunity to press his tongue against the Colonel’s teeth. Fingers tangled in his hair, offering comfortable encouragement rather than balling into a fist and yanking.

Then, Alejandro moaned.

And the sound rolled as deep and powerful as an ocean current,

And it flowed up the arc of Roach’s spine slow and sweet like molasses,

And Roach couldn’t take it anymore.

“My legs are tired,” he complained, limbs shaking, “and my ass hurts from the chair.”

“My lap is pretty comfortable.”

Just what he wanted to hear. He grinned, winded, huffing desperately through closed teeth, “I dunno if can I just take your word for it.”

“Aw, don’t trust me?”

“What can I say? I’m a skeptic,” Roach laughed nervously. Having little experience, flirting wasn’t his forte. “Can we move to that couch in the sleeping quarters so I can find out for myself?”

Alejandro blessed him with a look of surprise that bloomed into a beaming smile. “Lead the way.”

Roach took his wrist (and was allowed) to drag him. They burst through the door, Alejandro flopping onto the aforementioned futon with creaking springs. Roach straddled him immediately and the Colonel’s hands returned to his hips, untucking the baggy shirt from his loose pants, slipping under its hem. It felt electric. It had him shaking like a dog.

“You alright?”

“Just nerves,” he assured.

“Relax. I’ve got you.”

Unbuttoning his own fly, Roach cursed at the pre-cum already forming a wet patch on his boxers.

“Already excited, cariño?”

“Sorry. Y-you’re very attractive.”

Their half-hard cocks throbbed together.

“You’re one to talk,” Alejandro said and lifted Roach’s shirt, mouth gaping at the exposed fuzzy skin beneath.

The shame of having a body surged in Roach’s mind. “I used to have more definition. I was hotter before…”

Those hot, rough hands roamed further under Roach’s uniform, ghosting over his ribs. Alejandro said, “I want you however you are.”

“I’m doing much better than in September.”

“Good,” He replied and leaned in for another slow kiss.

Roach moaned into it as fingers tweaked his nipples. No matter the pleasure, he put his own hands over Alejandro’s and pulled them off. The man detached at the first hint of resistance.

“Hm? Don’t like your chest played with?”

“No, I do! I just… was curious if you’d stop when I wanted.”

Alejandro’s eyes widened. He was intelligent; he read between the lines before Roach finished writing them.

The Sergeant continued. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

Pulling him in tight, Alejandro buried himself in Roach’s neck and whispered, “Tesoro. If you want me to stop, tell me! It would kill me to know I hurt you.”

“I will,” he smiled, leading the man's focus back to his nipples, who immediately resumed toying with them. “You know, for a bloody colonel, you sure do love to follow my directions.”

“A good one knows when to stop commanding and listen. Competent sergeants know what they need. Besides, it’s still break time. I’m just Alejandro. You’re just Roach.”

Before Roach could reply, Alejandro leaned forward and sucked a nipple into his warm, wet mouth while flicking the other, earning a gasp at the tongue teasing it and wriggling hips searching for friction. Their cocks pressed together as Roach ground his pelvis down, then again, driving the rhythm of their dry humping as fast as he could. Unfortunately, in his affected state, this wasn’t that fast.

He growled in frustration, the pleasure simultaneously too much in his inexperience, yet too little.

“What’s wrong, hm?”

“I want it harder!”

Alejandro tested the waters, applying gentle pressure as he bit Roach’s pectoral.

His reply was somewhere between a whimper and yelp. “Nn!~ Not what I meant!”

The man simply soothed it with his tongue, reaching up to caress Roach’s head.

“The grinding, that’s what I mean.”

With a slow grip on Roach’s waist, giving him time to realize and protest if desired, Alejandro used those massive muscles to rock him back and forth.

[thealogie]

so here's a little rant & i wanna gauge your opinion on the matter. i just finished watching civil war (it's finally available digitally) and... it doesn't look like ass. not that i expected it to but you know how everything looks overly HD right now and it's just awful? well it wasn't like that. and that got me wondering what's really happening with camera/lenses quality right now because i was beginning to think the move to everything looking overly crisp and awful was kinda forced by the way they make camera equipment/technology now, but there are many things that still look fine, not 80s-mid00s amazing, still a bit too HD for my taste, but fine. meanwhile there are things like good omens that look so bad it's legitimately triggering some kind of ocd for me and physically hurts my soul. like apart from lighting/director decisions it's just so damn sharp, it makes MS and DT look grotesque (even though they are objectively good looking, or at least on the nice side of normal looking, guys). do you have an opinion / some technical knowledge on the matter? why is this happening?????? if select movies can still get their cinematography looking nice then what's the deal with all these other productions being offensively ugly looking? i don't get itttttt. like obviously one assumption would be budget differences but you'd think then they would get older equipment that's not ultra HD shit. or is ultra HD shit cheaper. help me out here because i honestly can't watch most things made post-covid they are so terrible looking. iwtv is another example of something that looks too HD to me btw, just so you don't think my issue is like with bad direction (but rather image quality? idk how to put into words my hate of ultra HD in technical terms)

I had the same reaction when I watched challengers yesterday!

It’s film v. digital. I haven’t watched civil war but even to be untrained eye I could guess that challengers was shot on 35mm film, not digital. That’s why it has that beautiful warm grainy quality. I would say 95% of movies and tv shows are now shot digitally - it is much cheaper overall. No risk of the film being damaged or worrying about the literal cost of physical film you’re burning through. and in digital you can choose a lot of your setting when you’re shooting.

Now within digital, you have 2k and 4k (ultra high def) as you call it. And this is where we reach the limits of my technical knowledge because like…better call saul was mastered in 4k and it still looks fucking fantastic!! This is why I will still blame light design/directing because we have proof that 4k can look good. It’s just the way everyone else is color correcting/lighting the scenes that’s the problem

[djarinbarnes]

me recordarás - four

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Pairings: Javier Peña x female reader

Rating: Mature - explicit themes

Word count: 4k

Summary: summer has come to an end. you find yourself thrown into a whirlwind of emotions, difficult choices and more adversity, like you’d never believed possible. someone is there to pull you out of it - but it’s not someone you’d ever imagined.

a/n: … I'm sorry for the wait on this chapter. again. my computer kamikaze’d itself, so I wrote the majority of this on my f-i-l’s computer 😂

SERIES MASTERLIST

Read it on ao3 here

previous chapter

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“Eddie? My boy, what are you doing here?” Javi was taken aback and confused. Very confused. Here he was, desperate and longing to see you, and there was his nephew. The same nephew he hadn’t seen in years, even though he was the closest family he had.

It suddenly dawned on Javi just how much he’d missed. Here was his nephew - all grown up, looking like the splitting image of himself some 20 years ago. Somehow, it was a wakeup call for Javi. Eddie was merely 13 years old the last time he’d seen him.

It’d been 12 years since he’d seen his nephew, and if that weren’t a shock to him, then he didn’t know what was. He felt anxious and resentful about himself. He loathed his choices right at that moment.

He’d been running away for way too long. Running from what really mattered to him, all because of something as simple as a longing for acceptance and success. Well, he’d certainly gotten some respect over the last couple of years, just not from the people he wanted it from the most.

“I, uh, my, uh, friend lives here.” Eddie stuttered out, and Javi looked over his shoulder. Everything in the apartment just screamed you. Javi didn’t know exactly what he’d expected, but the apartment instantly reminded him of you. He felt a pang in his heart from just how much he’d missed you.

He could smell the perfume you usually wore lingering in the apartment, the same perfume you’d worn every day in Colombia, the perfume that was keeping him from changing his sheets and washing his shirt you’d worn after your first night together.

The dress you had worn on your first date to the lake lay scattered on top of a pile of clothes on the floor. He could pick it out anywhere. The sight of you in it was burned into his mind. The way he’d made you come on his lap that very first time. The way your mouth hung open as you gazed into his eyes, your pupils dilated with lust.

Then he recalled how you’d undressed in front of him, letting him see all of you before you’d stood together in the lake. Before he’d made you come on his fingers, right there in the water. Javi felt awful, here he was, imagining these things about you in front of his nephew, your best friend.

If Javi had known, he would’ve never touched you, nonetheless put his hands on you. But here he was, feeling like the biggest asshole in the world for coming face to face with his own damn blood, and letting his nephew down. Somehow. It certainly felt like it.

He was silently waiting for you to make your appearance in the doorway, yet you never came. Eddie and Javi simply stood there and looked at each other, waiting for the other to open their mouth and actually speak.

“Your…. friend,” Javi quipped, and Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Is she... home?” Javi looked down at the postcard in his hand, and then back up at the makeshift nameplate hung by your door. It was your place. Eddie looked at the postcard Javi held in his hand as well. And then it dawned on him.

“Holy fuck, it’s you.”

A few moments pass between them, where none of them speak. They’re both taken aback by what was happening. “It’s… me?” Javi asks, unsure of what his nephew meant. Eddie let Javi into your apartment, and he shrugged off his jacket and hung it over a chair, before sitting down on it.

“You’re the guy. She told me about you.” Eddie says, sitting down opposite of Javi. Javi feels his ears reddening and the heat flaring up the length of his neck. He raises an eyebrow, urging Eddie to continue. “She told me about your weeks together.” Javi feels heat blossoming in his cheeks. Well, that was awkward.

“Uh… alright.” Javi folds his hands over the table. He contemplates on saying something, anything at all. He decides on just going with it. “I… I’m sorry, Eds. About the whole family thing. I never wanted to leave you and our family like that.”

“I don’t need your apologies. Mom… mom told me about it a few years ago. About you and Lorraine. I know it wasn’t her place to tell, but I missed you. I blamed you. For so many years.” Eddie sniffled a bit, and it hurt in Javi’s whole body.

He really did feel like he left his whole family behind. “How is Juliana and Elisa? Gramps?” Javi asks, interested in hearing how his family was doing. He’s put off calling his father for too many years. He wonders if his old man is still running around doing way too much on his farm.

“Mom’s doing alright. Her and dad are going through some stuff. I’m not seeing them much since I moved out here to Florida. Elisa’s going to college soon. She’s been talking about Stanford, and I know she has the qualifications to go there.”

Javi nods, feeling a sense of pride flow through him at his niece’s success. And his nephew’s, of course. “Gramps is gramps. He’s just… hanging around his farmhouse. I think he’s building a new fence around the barn for the horses.”

Eddie licks his lips as he watches the older man opposite of him. “And… What about you?” Javi watches his nephew, not surprised that he was interested in hearing about his life in Colombia. Well, where should he start?

“Well, it’s usually pretty boring around the embassy, but I’ve been on leave for the past few weeks because I was shot in the shoulder.” Javi starts, and Eddie’s mouth drops open. “No need to worry. It’s okay. Anyways, I’m starting to grow tired of it. Like I always do. Maybe I’ll be moving back to the states soon.”

There’s so much Javi wants to tell his nephew. About everything that has happened the past years where he’s been absent. He wants to tell Eddie about the interesting life he’s been living - on the edge of everything legal - and the excitement it’s given him.

“It’s been some wild years,” Javi starts, and bites his lip before he continues. “I got promoted not long after I moved, and then it was no longer desk work and coffee breaks,”

Eddie nods. Then he hears the front door being pushed open, and the two men simultaneously look over to find you in the doorway. You freeze when you see them, and your skin goes pale, like you’ve seen a ghost. You swallow past a lump in your throat, before shutting the door again, shielding yourself from the two.

“Ma, ma, ma, ma!” The soft cooing of your ten month old son made you look down with a smile. He’d found a small chicken plush, which he desperately wanted to show you. He reached up and grasped onto your shoulder before rising to his unsteady feet.

He took a few short steps forward, until he was closer to you. “You’re such a good boy, bubs,” you urged him and he smiled at you. His two big front teeth glinted white at you, and you mirrored his expression. “Such a clever boy.” His deep brown eyes glinted with pride.

You leaned in and kissed his forehead, and he giggled. Then he was off again, crawling with all his might towards the box of toys that stood by the couch. He rummaged around, pulling out close to every toy in the box before he sat in the middle of the pile, lifting the toys and putting them in other places.

You watched as headlights lit up the living room before turning off, letting you know your husband was home. You felt your heart skip a beat. It was funny, really - you were just as in love with him after four years as you were when you’d first met him. “Daddy’s home,”you smile at your son, and he instantly understands.

“Dada?” he coos, and your smile grows wider. Your son was definitely intelligent, and way ahead for others his age. He’d started crawling about when he was six months, rising to his knees when he was eight, and now he was almost walking.

You hear the door open, before his honeyed voice fills the whole house. “Honey I’m home!” His voice made you quiver, and you rose to your feet, your son crawling over and extending his arms towards you. You pick him up happily, and he hangs onto you like a little monkey.

“Where are the loves of my life?” You hear him tread his shoes off and hang his jacket, and you meet him halfway through the house. “There you are!”

You lean up and give Javi a kiss, before he leans in and places a kiss on your son’s temple. “Hi mijo,” you hand over your son as he leans over into his father’s touch, and you give Javi another kiss. “Missed you hermosa,” he breathes and you smile against his lips.

“I missed you too, my love.”

No matter how desperately you wanted to stay in your dream, you were unable to. The lights were blinding as you opened your eyes slowly. There was a slight, numb pain in your stomach, and your hands instantly sought down there.

You felt a few plasters on your skin, and you dared to look down. Three small incisions covered by small bandages was the sight that met you, and you threw your head back against the pillow as you silently came to terms with what had happened. You’d lost it. You’d lost your baby, and you’d had no say in the matter.

You realized, in that moment, that you’d actually wanted to keep the baby. You had actually wanted to try and make a life with Javi, to build a family with him, no matter the challenges. A few tears warmed your cheeks as they fell from your eyes. But why the plaster?

In the same moment, a doctor pushed open the door to the small room you were laying in. She offered you a small smile, before walking up to the side of your bed. She checked your vitals momentarily before she faced you.

“Hi, my name is Dr. Adams, I’m the doctor that operated on you earlier today,” You gave her a short nod before she continued. “I’m sure you’d like to know what happened, and I’ll tell you, of course, but first I need to ask you a few questions.”

You give her another nod, not really trusting your own voice at the moment. “Were you aware that you were pregnant?” She asks, and you tell her yes. “Did you have any pain up until last night?” You think it over before you answer.

“Well, I’ve had some uneasiness over the past few days… Like a nagging pain in the abdomen. I figured it was normal. But last night was different, it… it felt like something ruptured inside of me. It hurt so much.” you take a deep breath, recalling the feeling you had. It sends shivers down your spine.

“Well, your friend was quick to call an ambulance for you. It probably saved your life.” She looks over the clipboard in her hand and you’re desperate to know what it says. “We performed an ultrasound on you, and it unfortunately confirmed our suspicions. It was an ectopic pregnancy,” the doctor watches your reaction, taking a moment before she continues.

“An ectopic pregnancy occurs when an egg is fertilized outside of the uterus. In your case, it was very close to the uterus, but just far enough into the fallopian tube.” You feel numb. You can’t even explain what kind of emotion you’re feeling. You feel sorry for yourself. You feel sad for yourself. And you feel so damn angry at Javi, who got you pregnant, even though it was none of your faults.

“There was a small rupture on the fallopian tube, and we had to surgically remove the tube in question.” Well, that explains the plasters. You felt the pull of a stitch as you raised yourself further off the bed, into a sitting position.

“What does it mean?”

“Fetuses in ectopic pregnancies are never viable. This experience will be heavier on the mind than on the body. But you will be able to conceive in the future, with your remaining ovary.” You nod, trying to understand all the information you were given.

“Do you have someone to come home to? It’s important you aren’t alone after an experience like this.” She says and you think it over.

“Maybe I do. I don’t know, really…” Your voice is small, and you feel just as small. You wish you could just disappear into the mattress under you.

“Well, you’re free to go when you feel alright to do so. I have some folders for you regarding the aftermath of a miscarriage.” She hands them to you, and you look them over before thanking her. You rise further, really wanting to ask a personal question.

“Um, how about… intercourse?” You ask shyly, and she nods.

“You can have intercourse. But I would be careful for a few weeks to make sure you heal properly. Protection is always a good idea.” You nod and thank her again. You watch as she takes her leave, before you rise from the bed.

You find your clothes and get dressed, before you find the reception and ask them to call a cab for you. You don’t know how long you wait, but you desperately want to go home, so it feels like hours. You miss your bed. You miss the silence of your apartment, where you could disappear silently.

When you’re finally standing outside your complex, you hesitate. The ride from the hospital has given you much to think about, even though it was a mere 10 minute drive. You hand over the required amount of dollars, silently thanking Eddie that he remembered to bring your purse to the hospital in the hurry.

God, Eddie. He must've been scared out of his mind. You wondered where he was. Your keys were missing, so you figured he was at your place. You trod up the stairs and find your floor, shuffling down the hallway before you push your door open, and stopping dead in your tracks.

Were you seeing double? Holy fuck. There, at your dining table was your best friend, and across from him were the man you had been missing for the past two months. They both gape at you, mirroring your expression. You close the door again, and take a minute outside your apartment to compose yourself.

What the fuck just happened? 

You turn around to face the wall opposite the door, and take a few deep breaths. You hear your door open behind you, yet you don’t dare looking at the man exiting. You close your eyes just as you’re turned around, and you feel yourself being pulled into a warm embrace.

You relax instantly, immediately recognizing the arms holding you. You lean into Javi’s body, before sobs wrecked through your own. You hear him shushing you quietly, just holding you in his arms as you cry. “It’s alright, hermosa,” he breathes and it makes you cry harder. “I got you. It’s all gonna be okay.”

You finally wrap your arms around his middle, and he hugs you tighter. Your tears stain his shirt, yet he doesn’t mind. He lets you calm down, until the tears are silently running down your cheeks. You can’t even make yourself look at him. You’re embarrassed by the whole situation. You have so many questions as well.

“Javi…” It’s just a whisper, but he hums a confirmation, urging you to continue. “I’m so sorry.” you start sobbing again, your whole body tensing up, and he hugs you a little tighter. He holds you gently, and you feel yourself being engulfed in the scent of the man you had been missing for what felt like a lifetime.

“Don’t be sorry, mi amor.” He speaks lowly, and you relax again. Javi definitely wasn’t blaming you. Thank god. “Your… mother called me. Right after we talked last week.” You freeze. That bitch. “She told me. I…”

“Javi, I lost it.” You blurt out as he speaks, and you feel Javi tense up against you. “I lost it. It’s my fault.” It’s just a whisper, but it hurts just saying it. You feel his hands stroking your back, his touch warming you.

“It’s not your fault, hermosa.” He kisses your temple, and you sigh. You finally pull back to look at him, his eyes meeting your red, bloodshot ones. You look at each other for a second, before Javi is leaning down.

You close your eyes with anticipation, and feel the hairs of his mustache tickle your upper lip. You’d forgotten what it felt like, but you were instantly thrown back into the haze you’d found yourself in, while you were still in Colombia. Your lips barely manage to meet his, before a throat is cleared in your doorway. You both freeze, and after a few, short seconds, you both look at Eddie in the doorway, who looks like he’s about to faint.

“Okay, will someone please explain to me what the fuck is going on?” Javi lets you go, like he has burnt himself on you. Or like he was suddenly embarrassed to be seen with you. You push your way past Eddie, his eyes following you before they dart from you to his uncle.

“I really wanna know what the fuck is going on as well.” You speak, and you find some clothes that are fresh and clean, that don't smell sterile and like a hospital. You look between them as you make your way into your bathroom, speaking over your shoulder. “Javi, I need to talk to Eddie first. Alone.”

You shut the door before you change out of your gross clothes, taking a quick shower to at least feel a little like yourself again. You carefully avoid touching the plasters, and you take extra care in cleaning yourself properly. It still felt like you had blood everywhere, the stickiness getting uncomfortable.

When you’ve changed into your clean sweatshirt and loose pants, you make your way out into the living room. Eddie is there alone, and you thank the heavens. You didn’t mind Eddie seeing you with someone else, he was only your best friend after all, but it was awkward when he actually had a family relation to the man you had been fucking for a month.

You sit down at the table opposite of him, and thank him as he pours you a cup of tea that he’s made. You take a deep breath, and neither of you speak for a few seconds. You have so many questions, and you can feel many lingering in the space between the two of you.

“Just… Start at the beginning.” You try, and watch as the gears turn behind Eddie’s eyes.

“Javi… Is my uncle.” Eddie begins, and you close your eyes with a sigh. Fuck. You’d heard about Eddie’s absent uncle, but for some reason, you never expected to actually meet the man. And certainly not like this. “I haven’t seen him since I was 13. He just upped and left one day.”

You knew the story. You’d heard him tell it to you a few times, more or less connecting everything together by yourself. Most of the story was told while Eddie was intoxicated - it was no secret that Eddie blamed his uncle - Javi - for the way his mother had started distancing herself from the remainder of the family.

“I had no idea it was him you had met. I just knew he lived in Colombia, but not where. I have barely spoken on the phone with him more than 10 times that I can remember. I just know he didn’t care about us that much.”

You felt bad for both of them. During one of you and Javi’s pillow talks, the main topic had been his family. And you knew of the constant regret and the continuous love Javi had for his sister and his niece and nephew. You knew he missed his dad, and that he wanted to go back there one day, and live the rest of his days there.

“He does care about you, Eddie. About your mother and your sister too. He told me that much, while we were together.” Eddie winches slightly, but you don’t miss it. You don’t know what caused that reaction.

“I will never get used to you saying that. That’s just gross.” Eddie snorts, and you see the fun in what you just said. The situation was so unlikely, and it truly was laughable. “I will never get used to the thought of you and my uncle together. Romantically.”

You nod and fold your hands in front of you on the table.  “Eddie…” you try to find the words, but he beats you to it yet again.

“There’s something I gotta tell you.” Eddie watches you as he speaks and you offer him a nod. “Your mother called while you were admitted. I picked up the phone because it rang. I didn’t even get to say anything, and she thought I was you.” you watch him as well, seeing the way his features softened as he spoke.

“She said that they weren’t going to be paying for the apartment anymore, and that you had to be out by September.” His voice drops as bit as he says the last words, and you feel the sadness blooming in your stomach again, and he reaches for your hand.

“That’s in less than three weeks,” you whisper, and Eddie nods. You don’t even know what emotion you’re feeling. You had no idea your parents were just going to put you out the street because of an apparent inconvenience. “What am I gonna do?”

Eddie shrugs his shoulders, and you bury your face in your hands. “I gotta make a fucking list at this point.” you breathe, your nostrils flaring. “One, talk to Javi.” You hold up your fingers as you count. “Two. Find a new place.” Eddie watches you. “Three. Figure out if I even want a Javi.” You did. “If he even wants me.”

“I’m sure he’ll still want you. But... Don’t you think it’s a little too early to find a new place after everything you’ve been through?” Eddie watches you as you raise your head, your eyes squinted as you look at him.

“Does it look like I have other options?” You scold, and Eddie raises his hands in defeat. “Besides. My parents are leaving me with no other choice. Do you have a magic place where I can live until I get a job?” You question, knowing Eddie was living in the dorms at uni.

“The last time I checked, the dorms were affordable and a good solution.” Eddie speaks, as right as he always is. “As a matter of fact, in most cases, having a roomie isn’t the worst thi-”

“I don’t care. I know you’re used to living with someone, but I’m not.” You roll your eyes at him. You were feeling irrational and agitated. “I don’t even have a job. Soon, I won’t even be able to buy a fucking cup of coffee.”

Eddie laughs, and you laugh with him. That too, has been an inside joke between you - and you always felt distanced from uni since you weren’t living at campus. You often talked about moving to the dorms, but it was tough in the middle of the semester.

But as of the moment, it was actually possible. You had the possibility to move to campus, and you knew your trust fund would be sufficient enough to keep a roof over your head for the remaining two years.

With a sigh you rest your head in your hands. “With that said, I need to go on with my life, and pretend like the baby never happened. Because to others, it didn’t. No one besides you and Javi… and my parents knew. And I’d like for it to stay that way.”

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next

[blindrapture]

I have been in full-on Recluse Mode lately. in the interest of communicating a little more, let me share with you what games I have been playing lately:

MyHouse.wad (finally! had been meaning to play this for years. I have gotten the default ending and might maybe try to look for more branches of the maze when I feel up to facing all those monsters again.)

FAITH: The Unholy Trinity (fuck, finally, someone made a good horror game. I have gotten the best ending in chapters 1 and 2 and have made it to the final boss of 3.)

I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream (ah! wow! this is not my kind of horror game. it's honestly a kinda average adventure game but one that has subject matter that makes me feel gross and depressed and not want to play it. which probably means other people will like it a lot more than me, as I am coming to terms with the fact my tastes *are* weird.)

Who's Lila? (oh wow... I was so curious about this one but it's *also* a kinda average adventure game? albeit with a Mario Party minigame permanently attached to the screen that you have to keep playing. the Easy Mode just gives you a lot more time to do that, which is a sign that the developers were simply unable to balance it properly and had to give you a bandaid solution. I may have to just watch some YouTuber play this one, as the story *probably* gets good!)

Cyberpunk 2077 (I found a surprisingly cheap PS4 at a local pawn shop and picked this game up with it. the PS4 is good for watching blu-rays, even more convenient than a dedicated player. for gaming it is *comically* bad. I may have a bias against PlayStation, the fucking failure of a brand whose first-party properties have serious "AI-generated corporate brand" vibes.... but I thought I was just being stupid! but no! the PS4 cannot game. the controller feels like cheap plastic, and the console itself has a cooling fan with the volume of a jet engine and it will *shake my entire bedroom* if I want to play any game, any game at all. even doom 2016, which it should be more than capable of running. the *menus* on doom 2016 push the PS4's fans into overdrive, there is no refuge. in cyberpunk I can at least pause the game every 30 seconds and wait 20 seconds for the fans to go silent, before unpausing and playing for another 30 seconds. ....it's fucking awful. gaming with a permanent headache, my whole body assaulted with noise and vibrations. .......but uh, Cyberpunk itself honestly seems like fun. I don't really give the slightest shit about the aesthetic, but to my surprise they buried a perfectly good game under there. can't say the same about Sony and any perfectly good gaming consoles, though. the PS2 was the last competent console they released, and that's the one I have a *grudge* against, because It killed the Dreamcast. for what!! for decades of garbage consoles afterwards?? get a damn Xbox. or, when you want to actually play games for real and stop fucking around with these childish insecure "GAMING FOR ADULTS" aesthetics, just get a fucking Nintendo, like god intended. mic dropped.)

Doom 2, in QuestZDoom. (in VR. I have the first three Dooms just.. permanently installed on my quest 2, along with Half-Life. this is admittedly still one of the coolest things ever, that I can just play these games in VR whenever I want. anyway, I have never actually played through Doom 2. never done it. never even tried to. so my first playthrough is in VR. I average about 10 maps a day, on the easiest difficulty because I have no shame. I did not know just how troll-y Doom 2 was. I also did not know everyone was just *wrong* about the city levels, I'd always heard the city levels sucked! but no! they're the best part!! I had a blast with the city levels!! god I LOVE mazes!!!)

oh yeah, also, Starfield. (I managed to find a mod that forces the game to not use 4k textures, and that actually solved most of my performance issues. it still stops to load every now and then, but it hasn't crashed to desktop in a long time now. so I went and finished a quest. I do *kinda like* Starfield, I like the promise of freedom, and I automatically love anything that's first-person. I wouldn't mind actually *playing through* Starfield. I already like it more than any Fallout game-- that's just a bias, I find mass media's fixation on Wasteland Post-Apocalyptica to be boring as hell, to the point of ruining whatever good there is to find in the media itself. but it is not as good as Skyrim. maybe it could *compete* with other Bethesda games if it.. was actually optimized properly? but then it wouldn't be a Bethesda game.)

and yeah, I think that's it.

will get back to you when I play more video games.

[lunar-eclipse-things]

A Late night Out With Logan

Ships: Platonic or romantic analogical however you want to look at it

Genre: Fluff or Tooth-rotting fluff idk

TW: Swearing

Word count: im sry i don't really know but i think it’s around 3k-4k

Notes: credits to @⭐️cayy⭐️ on discord without them I wouldn’t even be able to post this (I’m sorry cayy if I got your pronouns wrong) and grammar @Lazzy the Lizard (he/ they) on discord for giving me the prompt and @Ax3_E0nS on discord helping me think up silly words for logan and lastly logicality shipper on discord For also helping with general grammar (I’m sorry I know this is a long intro but it’s almost over I promise) this is my first ever fanfic so don't judge me and lastly I legit had to look some of these up.

Summary: Logan gets frustrated over trying to write his flash cards late at night and Virgil helps Logan get some sleep.

“Ok um what does shawty mean ok aw man my pencil ok now shawty means like a hot girl so maybe like damn shawty ok next.”

“Fuck around find out um so its a threat what do i say for this um maybe just say fuck around and find out no thats to basic, ok how about "Keep testing my patience and see what happens, yeah thats good.”

“Ok what's next Pimp ok so basically a male, hmm, maybe uh i wanna pimp you out' no what about um,' pimp me up 'no that's not good either um what about 'i wanna see you pimp it up' ughhh c'mon why can't i fucking think of anything .”

A wild anxiety appears.

"Logan it’s 2 in the morning what are you doing still up?" Virgil ask.

"Well I could ask you the same thing Virgil." Logan replies sassily.

"well for your precious information i was using the bathroom and saw a light coming from the study.”

Fair enough.”

"well pocket protector what are you doing up?"

"Well im trying to write out my flash cards."

"But Logan you need to go to sleep.”

“I know but i just need to write one more."

"Okay fine what is the one you’re writing right now."

"It’s pimp and i can't fucking think of anything."

"Well what about I think it just got a little easier out here for a pimp."

“Oh that’s a good one Virge.”

"Now will you go to bed, please?”

"but I have so many flash cards I still need to do."

"No Logan you need sleep."

"But my flash cards."

"Bou can finish them tomorrow."

"But the flash cards."

"Tomorrow."

"Finnneee."

Virge, why are you following me?"

"So I can know if you actually went to bed."

"Im not a child."

"Yeah, but you're stubborn."

"No I'm not I’m perfectly logical."

"Ok then go get in bed and go to fucking sleep."

"fine."

"goodnight Virgil."

"goodnight Logan."

The End.

Tysm to everyone who helped me make this as good as it could be it without everyone it would’ve been a hot mess.

Again this is the first ever fanfic I wrote so pls don’t judge constructive criticism is different from just pure out hate

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Chocolate." Buddy Swanson X AFAB! Reader.

The divorce is hard but Triple X Bexxx works harder. Have some Buddy Swanson comfort fic! You and he cooking, baking and fucking, a classic date night in! Enjoy it! I’ve wanted to write this one for too long.

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 4K. Buddy Swanson X AFAB! Reader. Warnings: Softness. Domesticity. Fluff. Cooking. Baking. Alcohol Consumption. Couch Sex Vaginal Sex. Pre-Mature Ejaculation. Praise. Confessions Of Love. Eating Out, Mild Overstimulation. Slight Pain Play. Hair Pulling. Buddy Is So Soft For You. Established Relationship.

—

You had a hard day. A very long, very difficult day, the kind of day that makes you doubt everything, how you got here, the job you are in, every single small action that brought you to this fucking awful day. It was so bad that when work was done you didn’t even go home, you had one place you wanted to be and knew just one thing you wanted to do.

Buddy was off tonight but he wasn’t supposed to be, an unexpected issue at the restaurant, the pipes in the bathroom burst and was being dealt with via an emergency plumber so he was at his apartment. He texted you to let you know what went down less than an hour ago, and you responded with a simple, “Perfect.” and a half hour after that there was a knock on his door. 

He answered it to find you at his front door still in your work clothes, bags in your hands as you say with a tired smile, “Hey.”

He returns the greeting in kind, “Hi.” 

You then ask as you raise your arms slightly, shaking the bags, “Date night?”

The response comes with a wide smile and his eyes crinkling at the sides as he confirms with a nod, “Date night.” 

He lets you in and takes the bags so you can get your shoes off, you trail behind him to the kitchen and he sets the bags on the counter and you start to rummage through them, “I bought stuff to make dinner, I assume you haven’t eaten?”

“I have not.”  You figured, he normally ate late, making himself something at the end of his shift and eating after that so it being the regular dinner hour right now means that you can have the rare time of eating not only together, but at a reasonable time. 

“Good! I was thinking tonight we could cook together.” You begin to pull out items from the plastic and that surprised him, a warm grin as he asked, “Really?”

“Really! You cook for me all the damn time, but why not make something together?” When you showed up on his doorstep he wasn’t expecting this but man was it the best possible thing that could have come from this. He hadn’t cooked with anyone who he didn’t work with at his job in years, not in a casual context, never with someone he dated but you were his first real and serious relationship.  

“That sounds great.” He sighed with a smile, one hand leaning on the countertop and you glanced up at him as you say, “I thought you’d like it. I hope you like the menu I planned.” 

He is so used to taking the lead on this front that you making this effort without the smallest prompting from him means more than he can say. A smile and a raise of his eyebrows as he asked, “You planned the menu?”

“Well, I came up with a basic framework but I still wanted to leave room for us to improvise and come together on it, you know? So it really is a collaboration. I know you got a lotta stuff in here that we can jazz this up with.”

You were going to kill him. 

“You are perfect, you know that?” He asked as he moved, a hand snaked around, rested on your hip, fingers having hooked into your pants belt loop, tugging you a hair closer to him, you tell him confidently, “I know.” 

You stay like that for a moment, him holding your hip, happy to have you in his place, in his kitchen about to make a meal together. The items you got were as follows: a few large russet potatoes, a whole chicken, green beans, and a rather nice looking bottle of white wine. 

“Oooh, alright, I must admit, a versatile spread.” He praised you and you said, “Thank you! And I went to that small time grocer you love-” 

“On third?” He asked, grin brightening, and you said, “Yeah! You always talk it up, I went and got only the best for this.” 

You say “for this” but really it means “for him.” He picks up on the meaning even though you don’t say it explicitly. 

Before he can add a thought or express anything you interject and say, “So I am thinking we spatchcock the chicken.”

The grin splits his face now, his teeth show and he says jokingly, “Dirty talking? In MY kitchen?”

“Oh c’mon you know what spatchcocking means.” You sigh with a roll of your eyes and he cuts in, “I am just surprised, you know what it is.”

“You think I dunno how to break down a bird?” You ask incredulously and he says genuinely surprised, “I just didn’t know you could! Not like I usually doubt you but I am still unconvinced.” 

You scoff and reach forward, you pick out a knife from the block and say with a sideways glance, “Watch and learn Swanson.” 

He takes a step back, you wash your hands and set up the cutting board to your liking and then with sleeves rolled up and apron on, you set to work. First paper towels are gotten, you pat dry the chicken and then is the next step, you can feel Buddy’s eyes on you the whole time. You upend the bird, the spine is facing you and with the knife you place it to the left of the tail and at the base of it’s backbone before moving down quickly, you cut down, separating the small and weak rib bones that connect to the back.

You switch to the next side and do the same thing. You remove the spine and set it side before flipping the bird over and cutting into the soft cartilage, your pointer finger digs in along the cut and you use it to separate the meat from the main breast bone and then fingers gripping it tight, you pull it out. Next you cut out the ribs and then once all the bones excluding the wing and leg bones you ask, “You want to keep these to make stock I assume?”

It was the first time you looked at him in the less than three minutes it took for you to de-bone the chicken to this point. His face betrayed his true feelings. Brows raised, mouth open, eyes filled with pleasant shock and affection. You nudge him with your elbow as you asked, “You good?”

He cleared his throat and closed his mouth before he said trying to sound casual and unaffected, “Yeah, totally cool and yes, I’d love to make some stock with this.” 

He turned and got out tupperware, you put the bones into it and he closed it up and put the container into the fridge. You asked next, “What kinda seasoning you are thinking?”

“Hmm. Not sure, you got a jones?” He asked and you said, “Classic kinda vibe? Salt, fresh cracked pepper, that smoked onion paprika you got, garlic powder, rosemary?” 

“How very classic Sunday dinner. I love it.” 

You talk further about how you want the rest of the menu to go as a butter herb mixture was made, you spread it heavily onto the meat, making sure to get under the skin and then into a roast pan, on a rack, went the seasoned and broken down chicken with lemon halves, celery, carrots and onion in the base working as your aromatics. The oven was preheated while you both stood shoulder to shoulder and started peeling potatoes. 

“Your stance on mash?” You asked casually and he said, “Oh love it. A good mashed potato is a staple, a timeless side dish that never goes out of style.”

“Versatile too, right?” You ask and he nods, “Sooo versatile it is insane.”

“What do you like to do?” 

The question you posed had him responding with, “Butter, half and half, salt, pepper, parmesan, parsley.”

“Amature hour.” You sigh and he asks with a smile, “Oh okay, and how would you do em?”

“First off, cook them in chicken stock for added flavour, then, mash with butter, buttermilk, garlic powder, salt, pepper, paprika, and cream cheese.” He responded with, “I give it up that sounds so good but you gunning for a heart attack before fifty?”

“Uh, yeah, obviously. Live fast, die young, leave a hot corpse.” You joke and he laughs before you add on, “C’mon Swanson, live a little, have the decadent mashed potatoes from time to time.”

“Twist my arm.” He shakes his head with a fond expression and you said, “Tempting, tempting.” 

Chicken broth is boiling as you put the peeled, rinsed and cubed potatoes into the pot. The chicken is in the oven and next you set onto the green beans. Oil is heated in a pan while you wash the green beans thoroughly in a strainer, they are tossed in and you fry them as Buddy preps the buttermilk mix for the mash, you both talking easily as you push beans about the pan with a spatula and he gets the spice levels just right. “So then what happened?”

“She told me she had prepped the app station and when I went over she didn’t have any cheese pre-wrapped at all! No cake was cut for desserts later and the salad dressings were barely half full.” He vented and you shake your head, “What a fucking idiot. Like did she seriously think you wouldn’t check?”

“Apparently!” 

“What a fucking idiot.” You repeat with a sigh.

One might assume, incorrectly, that Buddy didn't like to cook with other people, far from it, he loved to, so long as the people didn't step on his toes and had common sense and skills to back up their big talk. That was part of it, he didn't know you even HAD these skills, you kept it hush hush, it was humble, this air to you even now that you just knew what you were doing, not showing off, just confident in yourself. It was endlessly attractive to him. Sharing his kitchen, in his home, to make a great meal with you, he doesn't think there is a better date possible.

Buddy got the mix ready for the potatoes and then you added the prepped garlic, green onions and chilli paste into the pan. A few minutes later came the soy sauce, rice vinegar, sugar and chilli flakes. A couple more stirs and two minutes later it was done, the potatoes were mashed and the chicken was just about done which led to one of the best moments in Buddy’s opinion of your whole relationship. He got the plates, you got the silverware and you both set the table without speaking a single word to each other.

An intimate dance of comfortable domesticity and familiarity. Glasses were gotten, napkins too, candles lit, all without having to say a thing and while you were simply going through the motions, Buddy kept stealing glances to you, setting polished silverware down, lighting candles, the warm light playing off your face, Christ he had it so bad for you. 

The only thing that pulled him out of his reverie was the oven clock timer going off before he could make a move you say, “Oh let me.” 

You know just the drawer, you pull out the mitts, slip them on, the oven is open, you pull out the chicken and set the roasting pan on top of the stove next to the finished pot of covered mashed potatoes and the frying pan of chilli garlic green beans. You turn to him with a smile and ask, “The chicken has to rest for twenty minutes at least, wanna make dessert now?”

“More than anything.” He admits and you grin, a small question of, “Brownies?”

It’s brownies you want? It is brownies you will get. 

The oven temperature was changed, ingredients got out and soon Buddy was having a moment that somehow topped the setting the table one in less than ten minutes. You were whisking together eggs and vanilla into the already creamed together butter and sugar mixture while he was right behind you. His hands on your hips, chin resting on your shoulder, his chest to your back, holding you as you work. 

“Awfully quiet there Swanson.” You tease and he hums before placing a kiss on top of your head, “Just happy.” 

“Yeah?” You asked and he responded in a tone that tattled on the smile on his face, “Yeah, very.” 

Your hair askew, sweat on your brow, still dressed from work and wearing one of his aprons as you and he make brownies together and you look more beautiful than he had ever seen you.

"I'm happy too."

The pan is greased, the mix finished and brownie batter is poured into the pan, chocolate chips are thrown on top and then the finished product is in the oven before you plated up and he poured the wine. 

He is sitting across from you in short order, starting to cut into the chicken, knife slicing through the tender meat as if there was no resistance at all and the taste once the end of the fork passed his lips was divine, it had Buddy wanting to suppress a moan. You did this, together, both of you, and he couldn’t be happier. He could get used to this, he is sure that you could live together no issue, to get to do this much more regularly is a dream come true and one he hopes can become a reality soon. He hopes that you would say yes, when should he ask-

But you are talking and all thought stops. He hangs off every word, watches the smile spread on your face as you excitedly start to talk about how good the meal came out and he enthusiastically agreed. You were always so good at that, pulling him out of his head, instead of feeling stuck in the past or thinking of the future, you tether him to the moment, to now and allow him to totally indulge and enjoy. 

“So, verdict on the mash?” You asked and he had already almost finished his portion and was debating getting another scoop which should have been enough to tell you his thoughts but he still communicated them, “Amazing. Making me think we need to do better at the restaurant.” 

 “Oh stop, are you serious?” You asked and he set down his fork and took your hand as he said with a soft smile, “As the dead themselves, I'll bring it up Monday when we are talking the seasonal menu change.” 

You believe him.

He removed the brownies from the oven and they were set on a wire baking tray to cool as you both continued in on your dinner. The wine was mostly gone, the conversation lively and Buddy felt insanely good. He made sure to save some room for dessert and with dishes soaking in the sink you cut a few brownies and put them on a small plate to split, the pair of you ended up on the couch, sitting side saddle and facing each other. 

Buddy has craved this kind of thing, domestic life, a serious relationship, real connection and romance, someone who got him. But even when he pined for all that he would see couples who feed each other and thought that it was too corny to ever be possibly enjoyable, even with the right person.

And yet.

Just like with many things throughout your time together, you had proved him wrong. You were holding out a warm piece of brownie between your fingers, almost crumbling from how moist it was, melty chocolate chips studded throughout and a nearly unbearably crispy top, the perfect dessert held out and offered in the hand of his favourite person, a dream.  

“You gonna just look at it or are you gonna eat it?” You ask in a teasing tone, a joke harks back to one of your first dates where he ended up admiring you soaked and exposed self before going down on you for the first time. It broke the tension and made you both laugh until his tongue was halfway inside you and that was replaced with a series of moans and curses.

Currently however, he scoffs before he leaned in and took a bite, this time he does moan indulgently, the flavour, the texture, he thinks he has never made a better dessert. He is sure it is because you did it together.

“So?” You ask, excited and extra hopeful because you insisted you use your recipe and he nodded, a swipe of his pink tongue over his plump bottom lip to catch the stray mess of chocolate before he said, “Astounding. You sure you don’t wanna open a bakery?” 

“Pffft, and you do know we would be on even more opposite schedules than we already are right? When would we see each other?” You ask and he said like it was plain as day, “I’d come work for you, duh.”

“You think you can work under me, Buddy?” You ask and he says, “On top of, under, beside, however you want me.” 

You giggle and he has taken the plate and is holding out a piece for you and you take him up on it. You bite down and holy shit yes they came out so good. You might have worried he talked them up or oversold to spare your feelings but they were fucking incredible. A hand covering your mouth you say, “Wow you weren’t bullshitting!”

“You think I was bullshitting?” He asked a bit too loudly with a sly grin and you shrug and say, “I mean, you’ve been known to bullshit.”

“I have dabbled in bullshit, true, but never with you!” The admission is very sweet and yet you crave more sugar still, insatiable you take another bite and notice the smears of melted chocolate on his fingers and without a second thought your tongue laps some of it up. The response is immediate, eyebrows raise, smile falls just slightly as his breath catches and you pull back, you hold up your hand still full of delectable dessert, “Before it gets cold Buddy.”

He nods with a laugh and leans in, holding your gaze he takes another bite and just like you there is mess and he just like you, moves to dutifully clean it up. But unlike you he is more thorough, his portion is mostly done, all that is left is sticky spots and crumbles of crumbs, in his haste and eagerness over how delicious it was he finished his square much faster, meaning he sets to properly tending to your fingers. His non-messy hand is on your wrist, holding you still as his tongue lathes up one finger before sliding down the other side, he draws them into his mouth, he sucks, he indulges in you until you are clean and he is high on you and the brownie in his hand is back on the plate before it is shunted to the coffee table next to the couch. You and he are kissing, the taste of your shared effort from baking passed between your lips and tongues. The soft moans radiate into the space between heated kisses and it gets much messier from there. 

How he used his mouth on you while staring into your eyes had such a strong effect on you, not dissimilar from how it is when he meets your gaze while he is touching you, his hand in your damp underwear. His tongue on your fingers shouldn’t do that but it does, it makes your clit throb, when he sucks it makes you clench around nothing and you break up the heated make out to beg, “Buddy, need you-”

That is all he needs to hear. 

You get your pants off, throw them aside and he helps with your shirt before you do the same, his own t-shirt discarded and his comfortable sweatpants are yanked down so they are around his knees before you are straddling him. You slide him inside yourself with one solid downward motion and you share a moan. You are slick, tight, so hot. His hands go to your back, his hand still messy from before is leaving smudges marks of sweetness against your skin but you need him far too much to complain or care. You roll your hips and he does the same, arcing up into you, fucking upwards to meet your downwards strokes, the pace slow and deliberate.

He is looking up at you, the way your head tips back, exposing your throat, the rise and fall of your chest, he revels in the feeling of your nails biting into his shoulders as he moves with you. It isn’t so much outright fucking as it is a series of slow grinds with your whole bodies, you lead it, abuse your sweetest spots with perfect precision, just the right angles to find your bliss, he is transfixed by you. All the moans, sharp breaths, shudders and trembles. 

“Oh my God.” He breathes and you hum, eyes opening halfway he meets your gaze, his hands draw you closer, nearly chest to chest, so much skin on skin contact he tells you, “You’re fucking stunning.”

You laugh lightly, “Thanks Buddy-” He cuts you off, his mouth latches onto your neck, he kisses fervently, overtaken by the moment and his feeling for you, he gets out between kisses and nips against your sensitive skin, “No I mean it, you’re gorgeous. I fucking love you-”

He rolls his hips harder, he hadn't counted on the first time he said it would be while he is inside you, but it feel right, he doesn't regret it. You cry his name out and he feels it bares repeating and so he does, the three words matching the pace of his thrusts, every time he bottoms out another moan is dragged from you, “-I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

You pick up the pace, harder, faster, matching him, heart hammering, slamming yourself down on him quicker, you gasp out as you clench down on him, just as swept up in the moment, you return the sentiment, “I love you too!”

It sneaks up on him unexpectedly, he curses, his head thrown against the back of the couch he moans your name, a final push upwards of his hips he buries himself all the way inside and he cums. It is one of those climaxes that he feels down to his bones, it sits in his marrow, makes him curl his toes in the living room carpet and bite his bottom lip so hard he might make himself bleed. It lasts longer than usual, your hands locking around his wrists and lifting his hands so he isn’t holding you down into place you ride him, bounce up and down, just so half of him is slipping in and out, quick, swallow, forcing yourself to clench all the while to draw out his orgasm and his eyes squeeze shut as he groans before finally when he starts nearly whimpering from overstimulation you relent. 

You sit with him buried inside of you, still once more and his hands reach out, coming to the back of your neck he leans forward and tugs you to meet him in the middle. He kisses you deeply, his tongue slips into your mouth and he no longer tastes like the treat you made, he just tastes like him. You return the affection, breathless and when you clench on him once more he gasps and his head jerks back and you laugh, “Awe, what’s the matter?”

You make yourself do it again and ask, “This?” And he groans, “Yes! That, fuck, s’ almost too much.”

“Oh only almost?” You ask with a grin, your hands slip up from his shoulders, up his neck and into those soft and sweat soaked curls. You tug and pull him nearer, you kiss him and he gives you just as much energy in return.

This time you break it and ask, "So. You love me?"

"I do. I love you so fucking much." He admits and you reaffirm. I love you too."

The moment hangs and he wants to linger in it always until you ask, once again pulling him into the current moment with you, “So what now?”

He shakes your hands off, they come to your waist and he pulls you up, he slips out of you with a wince and sets you down onto the couch next to him before he starts to move. You were about to question before he started to slide down, his knees resting on the floor, his hands on your inner thighs, fingers stroking affectionately. Your gaze follows his, coming to land right between your legs, to your well fucked but still unsatisfied cunt and he tells you just want he wanted to do. “I wanna clean up.”

His hands move so they are high enough that his thumbs spread open your lips, showing off the leaking mess and mix of you and him, he curses and then leans down, his tongue laps up you from hole to clit and you arch with an ample moan. Your hand ends up back in his curls, “You always make such a mess Buddy.”

He hums in acknowledgment, his eyes falling closed he focuses on the two fold task at hand of disposing of the leaking mess and making you cum, he pulls back only briefly, “Not the only one I’m plannin’ on making tonight but you know me, I always clean up my messes.” 

That was true. Dishes could wait till later on, right now you just wanted to indulge with him and as he sucks on your clit sloppily you are confident you don’t have the ability to do anything but just that very thing. 

[philaet0s]

Fanfic Year in Review

I saw someone do this and thought it would be fun lol

My fics from 2022

The Incident (2k)

It Was Consensual! (1k)

Bloodsucker (16k)

Toothache (5k)

A Perfect Disaster (4k)

Falling in Love in the Cruellest Way (182k)

Teacher's Pet (7k)

When the Feeling Sinks In (237k)

Thirteen Days to Fall in Love With Your Worst Enemy (147k)

Inadequate (9k)

To Live for the Hope of It All (8k)

Snow White and Cinderella (8k)

You Could Call Me Babe for the Weekend (‘Tis the Damn Season) (22k)

Live and Die For Moments That We Stole (235k, WIP)

Best/worst title?

Best: To Live for the Hope of It All, no explanation needed, it's Taylor Swift, it can only be good

Worst: Snow White and Cinderella; it's TERRIBLE but I didn't know what to title this story and wanted to post it so...

Best/worst summary?

All my summaries should be worst summary, I'm awful at them

Best/worst first line?

Best: "Wanna know one thing that doesn’t feel good? Getting a text from your ex that you’re still in love with after a shit day at work."

it just opens the story so well

Worst: "My phone lights up with a notification from Dev"

boring

Best/worst last line?

Best: "I’m not fucking teething, Snow!"

I just find this one hilarious

Worst: "That's what I do"

It's meh compared to the other ones

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

More actually, when I was scrolling through AO3 for this, I was surprised by how many fics there were lol

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

Nothing really? the only thing that made me step out of my comfort is my historical fic, but I have been planjing it for a while so I can't say I would never have predicted it

What’s your favourite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

Probably the long distance fics they were SO fun to write

texting fics <3

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

Probably the long distance fics as well

Story most underappreciated by the universe?

Live and Die I am BEGGING more people to read it I've been so excited for it for so long and it's a gigantic flop compared to other stories of mine even though it's the one that has required the most work lmao

Story that could’ve been better?

A lot of them tbh

Saddest story?

Live and Die, 100%, that thing is going to be heartbreaking I can't wait (it's already angsty... but it's going to be MORE angsty lol)

Most fun?

The Incident. Can't believe I wrote an entire fic with the premise of 'Simon chokes Baz with his tail'. It's brilliant. I love it

Story with the single sweetest moment?

I couldn't say I don't remember everything that happens in all my stories but the sweetest overall is A Perfect Disaster

Hardest story to write?

LIVE AND DIE, GOD THIS STORY WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME (I'm obsessed with it and it is my baby)

Easiest/most fun story to write?

THE LONG DISTANCE FICS <333333 especially the first part as it had a lot more texting and texting is the single best thing to write

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

No? I write the characters pretty much always the same way so

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

I guess writing a fic set in the fucking 1910s is a risk. It's awful. Bring me back to writing things I could write without doing research every five minutes

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

Finishing this fucking WW1 fic. I love it but I really want to see it end, just to see the absolutely insane word count that it'll have lol

[justasmallbloginabigklainefandom]

@sohereswhatyoumissedlastweek replied to your post “@sohereswhatyoumissedlastweek replied to your post...”:

Gosh yeah predetermined dlc sounds awful!! And microtransactions and being online to play... No. I also hate that playstation makes you pay monthly to play online. You pay for the game, like 70 euros or so. And then every month another 10 euros to play it!!! That's insanity. They were making a the last of us multiplayer but it's now canceled. And I was kinda excited to it's a bummer but also... My wallet will be so greatful??

​€10 A MONTH???? I already find €10 a year an annoyance lmao. Mostly because I know what it's like to not have to do that. I mean, I was always aware that NSO was seen as the "cheapest" of all these shitty subscriptions, but damn. Heck, even if I paid for NSO+ outside of the family bundle, it's €50 a year, aka €4 or something a month.

ALSO I GUESS I AM NOT DONE WITH MY RANT

You know what I also hate? Non-finished games. Like, that's also become a standard thing now. A lot of games aren't entirely finished by release. They get shipped while being full of bugs. And it's now the norm because devs will go "oh, oh, no worries, we'll patch it up!" and I'm like.... "you should've prevented this". I am not necessarily talking about a Day One Patch, because they are, as the name suggests, shipped on the day of release. I still think games should aim to release even without a Day One Patch, but it's at least fixed on the day of release. Pokémon does this a lot.

But no it's become way too common for games to release with (sometime game breaking) bugs and then they take a while to fix them. My First Wedding Stories is still broken, 2 years later, even after some patches. Mineko's Night Market still runs terribly on Switch, or so I have heard. Patches are supposed to be for little fixes and adding some extras, not so that devs can publish games in these states. And small bugs happen, that's fair, but there's a difference between one or two bugs that got overlooked, or a handful of bugs.

And these are just bugs. Sometimes games are straight-up unfinished. And no, I don't mean like Early Access. With Early Access, you willingly pay for an unfinished product. That's the point of Early Access. You are "part of the process" and again, if done well, it's great. Hades releasing Early Access was a stellar idea. The Day Before releasing Early Access was just part of the scam. Cause yeah, it does give devs an option to get money for an unfinished product, but IF DONE WELL, it works.

But I am talking about fucking My Time At Sandrock. Ine, I wanna play that game so badly. On Switch. YES ON SWITCH EVEN THOUGH EVERYONE SAYS PC IS THE BEST CHOICE. The portability of the Switch is just such an A+, but "it doesn't look that great on Switch", I don't care, I don't care about gamers interest in super hyper realistic graphics in 4K or whatever, or "it doesn't run as well on Switch", which is indeed a stronger argument, but I am willing to trade in some performance for portability and I have survived My Time At Portia, which has ASS loading times. But it turns out it just straight-up isn't finished on Switch? WHAT? I get consoles sometimes need more time. Stardew Valley also always needs some more time, but here they just didn't really communicate it enough while also already putting out pre-orders and special editions etc? UGH.

VIDDY GAMES.

[tom-whore-dleston]

Versace on the Floor

Pairing: sugar daddy!Simu Liu x f!reader

Genre: smut

Warnings: PWP, daddy kink, semi public sex, dumbification, wall sex, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), spanking, gagging, slapping, pain kink, scratching, dirty talk, tit worship, (almost) mirror sex, overstimulation, fuck ton of teasing, Simu calls reader S word (again), Simu at the Oscars (that shit is a whole warning fr), Simu speaking French, reader almost getting caught in 4k, Benedict Cumberbatch being a true G

Summary: Simu takes you as his plus one to his first Oscars and there’s more to celebrate than him presenting an award.

Word Count: 2.6k

Beta Read: s/o thot squad x3000

Notes: I’ll save the chit chat til y’all read this 2.6k of straight up porn o.O Remember to reblog and comment if you enjoyed what you read 😊

photos: @/simuliu - IG | banners: @maysdigitalarts | dividers: @firefly-in-darkness

You stood in front of the mirror for what felt like eternity. To say that you looked like a million bucks was nothing more than an exaggeration. It was the truth. You wore a flashy gold dress designed by the Donatella Versace. It was definitely a lot to unpack. All you could do was stare at yourself in awe, and you couldn’t even begin to process how breathtaking Simu looked.

Your beau was dressed in an all red suit with a black bowtie and gold accents to tie his look together. Ms. Versace originally suggested that he go shirtless under the suit, but she took your flustered expression and silence as disapproval. Little did she know, you were secretly daydreaming about leaving hickies all down his torso while still sporting the suit. Of course, Simu could read you like a book and teased you the rest of the night for it. Shirtless or not, Simu looked delectable, which only fed into your dirty thoughts about him.

“You are so beautiful, my honey baby,” Simu hummed, slithering his arm around your waist. His other hand moved your hair away to expose your neck, pressing gentle kisses from your shoulder to the top of your neck. You melted under his touch, watching him in your reflection. His eyes met yours in the mirror, causing him to smirk against your skin.

“Oh, I see,” he chuckled and then kissed behind your earlobe, causing your knees to almost buckle. “Baby like watching Daddy make her feel good in the mirror, huh?”

“Simuuuu,” you whimpered, your pussy already pulsating as hard as your heartbeat. This only egged him on. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flat against him so your ass could grind against his hardening cock.

“Do I turn you on that much, baby? Is it the outfit that’s making you horny?”

You moaned as you rubbed against his groin and continued to do so while he talked.

“Aww, I know, honey. I know you try to be so innocent, but deep down, you’re undressing me and imagining my big cock down your throat. I bet you want me to take you right now so everyone outside those doors can hear how dumb you get when I fuck the shit out of you. I know damn well you wanna watch me fuck you in the mirror like the little slut you are. Is that right, honey?”

Before you had the chance to open your mouth, came a knock against the door. You held your breath as a voice announced it was time to leave for the Oscars. Simu cleared his throat and yelled back a ‘yeah’. Simu and you locked eyes through your reflection, his dark eyes still gazing over you.

“We’ll continue this later. We have the Oscars to attend. Let’s go, honey.” With that, he slapped your ass before heading towards the door.

The night hadn’t even started and you were already wrapped around Simu’s finger. You could only anticipate more teasing from there.

During the whole car ride, Simu crooned over how gorgeous you looked and how both your outfits complimented one another. He called you his lucky charm and he couldn’t have been where he was without you. While you curled up next to him like a kitten, he would stroke your thigh and kiss the top of your head. You spread your legs in hopes he would touch you where he wanted you most. Simu tsked and shook his head.

“Dirty girl. Just can’t help herself when Daddy touches her.”

You pouted and gave him a pair of sullen eyes.

Simu smirked. “Don’t worry, you’ll get what you want in time. As much as I love getting you all riled up, I gotta focus right now. You know how important this is to Daddy, right?”

You nodded.

“It’ll only be a few hours so just wait until then. Can you do that for Daddy?”

You nodded again and he interlocked his hand with yours.

The show finally started and you sat amongst a number of other celebrities you admired. They welcomed you and Simu with open arms and gushed over how cute you both were together. Simu did all the talking while you just took in the fact that you just hugged so many famous people. You couldn’t wait to tweet about how Benedict Cumberbatch and his wife just called you relationship goals. It was only fair that you did since Simu already tweeted about Ben before his career took off.

Simu was currently onstage, alongside Tiffany Haddish to present an award. Somehow the conversation ended up in Simu speaking French and everyone in the auditorium staring in shock. Then, Tiffany started openly flirting with him, causing Simu to laugh timidly while biting his lip. Normally, you would’ve been upset if someone openly flirted with him in front of you, but after meeting her at the party before the show, you understood she was only milking out her role as a presenter.

The more shy Simu got while onstage, the more he bit his lip. Perhaps it was because you were left high and dry twice, but you found yourself aroused by him biting his lip. You subconsciously squeezed your thighs together and shifted in your seat. Luckily, the other stars were busy with the show to notice you . All accept Benedict fucking Cumberbatch.

“You alright?” He asked in concern. “You seem uneasy.”

You shot him a toothy grin to hide your discomfort.

“Yeah, I’m fine! Just really happy for him, you know.” Benedict smiled and nodded before turning his attention back to the stage. By the time Simu escorted the winners off stage, you had managed to control your arousal before he returned to your side.

Simu huffed a long exhale. “That was, uhhh-”

“Amazing! Oh my gosh!” You caressed his face and pecked his lips. “I’m so proud of you, baby!” Simu kissed you again, making sure everyone around him had their eyes on you both.

“Told you I couldn’t have done it without you.” He snaked his arm around you, glancing down at the cut in your dress that accentuated your breasts. Simu leaned into you, lips barely brushing the shell of your ear. You can smell the lingering sweetness of wine on his breath before he purred slowly, “voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

Remembering the little exchange he had with his co-presenter, you quirked the corner of your mouth into a sly grin. “Oui,” you paused awkwardly, “uhhh…Daddy?” Simu snickered at your cute attempt at a French accent and pressed his lips to your cheek.

“Come with me. There’s something I wanna show you.” Before you knew it, Simu yanked you out of your seat and dragged you out of the room.

“Simu, what are you doing?” You yelped, catching up to him. Your heels did not help you as Simu took bigger strides towards his destination. People around you stared in confusion and you just smiled awkwardly at them. Simu stopped once he reached a hidden area of the theater. You raised an eyebrow at him, expecting an answer from him.

“I found this little spot while backstage.” He reeled you closer towards him until you were pressed against his firm body. “Now, you and I can finish what we started.” Simu tilted your chin up before stooping down and catching your lips with his. He cornered you into a wall, trapping you between his warmth and the cold surface. You wasted no time in shoving your tongues in each other’s mouths, making wet, lewd sounds in the process.

Simu unzipped your dress, allowing it to fall to the floor and reveal your naked figure. He immediately started kissing down your body, whispering your name against your soft skin. Once he reached the valley between your chest, he grasped one of your breasts while swirling his tongue around your taut bud. Your hand clasped over your mouth while the other held his head in place as Simu lathered your nipple with his spit. His name fell from your lips as he repeated the same process to your other boob and with more greed.

His lips traveled down your stomach, stopping right where you wanted him most. You attempted to rut your hips forward, but Simu pushed you back against the wall with his hand right above your pelvis.

“Daddyyyy,” you whispered as he peppered kisses along your inner thigh. The closer he got to your center, the more intoxicated he became by your scent. Your pussy was absolutely soaked and Simu could no longer wait to taste you. Simu peered into your lust filled eyes, making sure your focus was on him only. Without breaking eye contact, Simu dove in between your legs like a starved man.

“Oh, fuck yeah, Daddy!” you cried softly as he licked up and down your folds. “Yes, Daddy, eat my pussy like that! Yesss!” Without warning,Simu removed his mouth from you and spanked your clit, causing you to yelp. He spanked it again with more force.

“Quiet down, honey,” Simu warned before shoving his face back into your core. He suctioned your labia into his lips and shook his head from side to side. You threw your head back against the wall, rolling your eyes until your vision went fuzzy. As he ate your pussy, Simu yanked his pants down to stroke his erect cock. He pumped himself faster as he fucked you with his mouth, his brown eyes growing needy for your nectar.

You clenched your jaw and teethed on your bottom lip to prevent a scream from escaping your vocal cords. His growl against your pussy made you rut your hips against his face, pushing you closer to your finish. A sinful chuckle from Simu caused pulses of electricity to course through your body. He threw your legs over his shoulders as he knelt straight up. Then he lifted you in the air with the wall and his shoulders as your only support. No other sexual experience could possibly top Simu eating you out while carrying you over his shoulders. It was the hottest shit to ever happen to you. And Simu knew it by the smug look on his face.

“C’mon honey, I know you wanna cum for Daddy. Cum all over my mouth, baby girl, but you better fucking be quiet.” He stuck his tongue out for you to ride your wetness against while he jerked his cock until it turned a glowing shade of red. You fucked his tongue until pleasure exploded inside your body. You muffled incoherent sounds into your sweaty palm, smearing your lipstick all over your face. Simu held back from coming undone since he wanted to save that for when he was inside you. He licked up the sweet juices that smeared all over his mouth and chin, humming at the addicting taste of you. Realizing the mess that dripped onto his outfit, he removed his button up to reveal his washboard abs.

Simu didn’t give you much time to recover before he helped you to your feet. Your legs were jello as he slapped his dick against your sensitive hole. You gasped at the stimulation, leading Simu to undo his bowtie. Once it was off his neck, he gagged your mouth with the fabric.

“That should keep you quiet, yeah?” Simu spat, patting your cheek. You closed your eyes, relishing the feeling of his hard hand on your skin. He raised one eyebrow inquisitively.

“You like that, honey?” You nodded enthusiastically. Without warning, he lightly slapped your face. The way your pupils dilated, on top of your melodious whines, unleashed a familiar darkness in him. He hooked your legs around his waist, lining up his tip at your entrance.

“We can save that for the after party, baby. I need to have you right now.” Simu thrusted his hips forward, groaning as your warmth engulfed his shaft. You were lucky that his bowtie kept you gagged, otherwise you would have broken glass with your high pitched cries. He mercilessly pummeled into you, fervently growling into the crook of your neck. The way he stretched you, along with his feral sounds, caused you to claw at his back and biceps.

“God damnit, gonna scratch up my back again?” Simu grunted in a low, condescending tone. “You love when I fill you with all this cock that you just turn into a little slut for me, don’t you?” You wailed into the balled up fabric in your mouth as he pounded into you harder and deeper. Not even the gag could drown out the pornographic noises that erupted from your throat.

“Aww, my poor honey baby.” He mocked you with a fake sad face while pistoning his hips inside you. “Such a slut for Daddy that not even his bowtie can keep you quiet.” Simu licked up the side of your neck, chills creeping up your spine at the wet sensation. The more he fucked you, the more you coated his length with your slick. The squelching noises that came from in between you and Simu sounded like music to his ears. “Fuck, even this pussy is so wet and loud for me. I think you want us to get caught, huh? Imagine all of Hollywood finding out how much of a dirty slut Simu Liu’s sweet little girlfriend is. Is that what you want, baby?”

You nodded frantically, murmuring into the fabric.

“Too bad. No one is allowed to see you like this except for Daddy.”

As if a light switch was flipped, Simu lost control of his strokes. His moans were breathy and desperate as you were reaching your second, and most likely not final, orgasm of the night. It didn’t take long for him to announce he was about to cum and that he wanted you to cum with you. His hand flew to your clit and flicked it feverishly as he gave you a few more hard thrusts. Right as you were tipping off the edge, he removed your gag and enveloped your mouth with his. You soaked up each other’s moans as he shot his load inside you and you creamed around his girth.

After calming from your highs, Simu broke your kiss and slipped out of you, watching the mixture of sex seep from you like juices from the sweetest fruit. You leaned against the wall in bliss, not caring about the cum dripping from your hole.

“How’s that for baby’s first Oscar?” You commented breathlessly. Simu huffed out a jagged laugh, lazily pecking your forehead.

“Can’t say much since there’s still an hour left.” You both hurried to get your clothes back on until you noticed Simu abandoning his button up shirt.

“Hey, what about your-”

“Well, remember when Donatella wanted me to go shirtless? Whatever Donatella Versace says, must go!” Your boyfriend winked at you, causing you to gulp as he put the red suit jacket back on. He spun you around to zip up your dress and then traced your collarbone with the tip of his tongue. You shivered, already overstimulated from cumming twice.

“Don’t tell me you’re all fucked out now. We still have the after party later tonight.” He spanked your ass, a subtle reminder of his teasing from back in the hotel suite. Before you could react with a smart comment, Simu was already heading back to the auditorium. You followed him like a lost puppy, praying no one would be suspicious of your absence.

Turns out you really were Simu’s lucky charm since no one acknowledged you both disappearing for almost an hour. However, when Benedict Cumberbatch noticed Simu without his white shirt, he glanced over at both of you in a suggestive way. You shrugged your shoulders and Simu laughed nervously. He nodded knowingly and flashed an approving wink at you two before spinning back towards the stage.

This truly was an Oscars to remember. Even if the night was still young for you and Simu.

Navigation | Main Masterlist | Simu Liu Masterlist | Honey Baby AU

[neopuppy]

Dive Into You: Part 4.(M)

Preview: “What brings you into confession today?”

Pastor Lee’s voice sounds through the small wooden booth around you. Uncomfortably shifting in your seat when the reality of confessing your sins to the one who brought them into this world settles.

“Pastor… what does the bible say about pre-marital sex with two brothers?”

“At the same time?!” Pastor Lee spits out abruptly, gagging on his words.

“Separately Pastor!”

Pairing: brothers Jeno/Haechan x female reader

Word Count: 4k

Genre: pwp, church boys AU, smut, love triangle, brothers nohyuck, a little angsty

Warning: sacrilegious themes, explicit language, master manipulator Haechan, innocent Jeno, corruption, cheating, religious innuendos

Smut Warning: dry humping, fingering, in public setting

Intro—>

Part 1–>

Part 2–>

Part 3–>

“Oh my gosh goodness, that woman is old enough to be his mother!” Your mother gasps, hand over her chest. Haechan strutting into mass with, quite frankly a woman old enough to be his mother. Scantily clad in a tight skimpy hardly there dress. Arm securely draped around her waist. Your jaw falls open following where he leads her into a pew. Both Mark and Jeno sharing looks, back and forth between you and Haechan. Mumbling whispers erupting throughout the crowd of church-goer’s gathered.

“Isn’t that woman just a bit too mature for Pastor Lee’s son?” A voice behind you whispers. Conversations sparking around faster. Pastor Lee awestruck at the podium, slack jawed similar to you and others questioning what Haechan is doing. Your mother scoffing eavesdropping in on everyone muffling their words.

“That is just disappointing. Such a promising young man, wasting his time with an old whore like that.” She lets out a sound in dismay. Never noticing how you hide your face behind the scripture for today's mass. If you muted everyone's speaking enough, sure enough, you’d be able to hear your heartbreaking this very moment. Blinking away hot tears threatening to pass over the rims of your eyes.

Your mother may have not noticed, but that didn’t mean the altar boys missed the way you sunk into your seat. Sadness taking over your features as Haechan relaxed in the pew across from you. Arm around this woman’s shoulders, large smirk displayed. Jeno and Mark gave you many warnings, too many. Your stubborn fault for not listening…always insisting to do things your way. Maybe this was how life worked? How could you have expected a guy like Haechan to want you for more than sex?

Your eyes lift to the ominous cross hung above the altar where you let Haechan commit sin with your body. This church becoming more like a place to drag your mind through hell than anything. Ah, but what was really the point in letting yourself get upset over this? He used you, like some brainless naive idiot you danced along to the pied pipers fiddle.

With a few rapid blinks you return to stare at the floor until this dragging mass ends. Catching Jeno’s gaze before you land on the dirty brown itchy carpet. His lips part open, surprised when your eyes lock on each other. The question passing through his mind all too obvious in his stare. A silent ‘are you ok?’ that you didn’t even deserve from him.. Forcing a smile, your eyes end on the floor, defeated. What if Jeno was the angel on your shoulder that you turned a muted ear to? Turning the volume up for the devil on your other side. Consequences, that’s what the bible was all about wasn’t it? Learning your lesson and living with the aftermath.

Eve bit into the apple of temptation, you were no different.

——————————————————————————

“Father Lee insisted we provide fruit along with baked goods. Health is wealth!” Your mother slaps an apple in your palm. Turning to greet approaching bodies with a shining bright small. Like a wire hanger was propped in her mouth.

“Watermelon! My favorite!” Mark’s brows wiggle, picking up a plate of vibrant fruit. “The fruit of salvation. You know fruit represents, pleasures.. overindulgence, temptation.”

Mark holds up a slice of bright red watermelon. Pale light in the bible room dimming it’s flavorful beauty. Admiring it as if it’s the best thing in the world. He takes a large bite, avoiding seeds. Juice spilling down his chin, speaking between chews- “Can’t always agree with the bible I guess.”

“That’s shocking coming from you..” you look at the apple in hand. Thumb rubbing over a bruise developed on the red yellow coating.

“Nothings perfect right? Only God is perfect. Look at that apple, bruised but still serves a purpose. Sort of like us, we have our flaws but we’re doing our best.” Mark shrugs, devouring the rest of his watermelon.

“You’re pretty logical when you’re not quoting Samael 6:66 all the time.” You smile, earning the jaw drop from Mark as expected.

“Now that is just blasphemous, you little harlot!” Mark scoffs. Damn finger waving about in front of your nose. “Jesus said..”

“Save the quote, I’m not seeing the gates of heaven anytime soon.” You quietly interrupt Mark. Setting down the apple with the other fruits. Some more pristine then others, none perfect. How could perfection be defined anyway..

“I’m pretty sure my invitation to the sky above got revoked years ago.” Perfection spoke up. Jeno standing by, catching the tail end of your conversation. Hands shoved into the pockets of his tight black jeans. Form hugging black t-shirt tucked in. Defined trimmed waist leading down to sculpted long legs. Physique of a God if you’d ever seen one.

“Gods for sure not the only perfect being..” you mumble under your breath. Mark and Jeno’s eyes both lifting to you curiously. Smiling, shrugging off a response. “Well I’m sure you redeemed yourself with all that bible camp stuff. God loves shit like that.”

“Does he now?” Jeno’s arms cross over his chest. Forehead wrinkling in surprise. Mark muttering into another bite of fruit how you needed to stop cursing all the time.

“He doesn’t communicate with me, but I’d imagi-…” Haechan’s loud laughter cuts your speech off. Entering the room with that woman old enough to be his mother. Pulling them closer to the table filled with coffee, pastries, fruits. Shifting side to side anxiously as they near, stomach bubbling in.. embarrassment? Was it because Mark and Jeno knew?..or could at least assume very well.

“Aw nono, you already changed out of your cute little altar boy get up? Wanted to introduce my girl to my cute innocent little brother. Now you just look like hot topic threw up on you or something.” Haechan pokes at Jeno. Smirk plastered across his face. Jeno’s ‘fuck off’ reply coming in like garbled words.

My girl?! My girl? All of a fucking sudden? Hag. Haechan wasn’t even sparing you a glance. If he was trying to make it clear there was nothing between the two of you- he didn’t need to try much harder. Accepting the situation the best to your abilities or not wasn’t going to stop the rush of tears attempting to streak down your face. A quick spin had you racing out of the church, Jeno’s neck snapping catching sight of your back exiting.

“You’re such a dick Haechan.” Shoving past his older brother, Jeno pushes past a few bodies. Running out of church behind you.

“I didn’t watch the porn because there was a watermelon in it…BUT there was a watermelon in it…” Mark’s eyes lift expecting to see you and Jeno. Too engrossed in his favorite snack. Haechan staring at him dumb founded.

“This is exactly why I don’t believe in God.” Haechan’s head shakes, teeth clicking. Nudging the woman at his side to agree with him. “He’s my distant cousin. Emphasis on distant.”

——————————————————————————-

“Hey! Wait up!” Jeno catches up to you easily. Long legs sprinting out faster than you were moving. Hand wrapping around your arm, revealing your wet tear stained face with a turn. His face instantly falling, chest moving up and down returning to a regular breathing pace.

“It’s ok..” hands lift covering your face. You should be accustomed to this sensation of embarrassment by now. Hunching in, sobbing harder the more it settles in. Humiliating deeper because it wasn’t some secret you could live with. Jeno knew exactly how easily you walked into his brothers trap.

His hands shook, staying still in the air near your head. Internally resisting the immediate urge to comfort you. Arms dropping, hands flopping down by his sides. Lips pursing annoyed he couldn’t bring himself to even touch you. The fact was- you weren’t interested in him. You were another broken girl, crying at his feet over Haechan. Ignoring the stinging pain in his chest, from watching you break down. From knowing why you were in such pain. Who knew either way, Jeno wasn’t going to admit it.

“I can.. take you home..”

His delicate rasp reaches your ears past muffled cries. Pouting, rubbing your palms across wet heated cheeks. Reminding yourself in the back of your mind how you probably looked like shit. The last way you’d prefer for Jeno to see you, not that it mattered.

“Don’t wanna go home..” you sigh into your hands, shoulders shaking trying to control yourself. “Dad’s home..”

Jeno looks around, eyes falling on his bike under a large tree. Shaded from the bright daytime sun. Mouth lifting to one side, he could take you to the diner? The book shop was closed on Sundays to prioritize mass.. or maybe..

“I got a place..” Jeno pulls your wrist. Sad face reveal causing another type of tight clench in his chest. “Come with me.”

Gently leading you toward his bike, unclasping the helmets attached along the back. The memory of riding attached to his back still drawing impure thoughts to your mind. No idea who you even were anymore. Riding around on the back of an attractive boys motorcycle. Losing your virginity in church of all places.

Arms circling around his flat stomach. Jeno smelled nice, clean and fresh. Nothing too strong, your nose tempted to dive in with a deep inhale. Opting to rest your chin on his broad upper back where it dipped down the middle. Not bothering to question where he was going to take you, grateful he even cared.

He cared.

“What is this place?” You cautiously stepped forward. Looking down the ledge of the cliff Jeno had brought you to. Setting the helmets back on the bar attached at the end of his bike.

“I guess I come here to get away.” He shrugs, moving to stand by your side. “Small town, not many places to go. It’s hard when you’ve lived here all your life, everyone thinks they know you..”

“Yea..” guilt gnaws away at your gut. You were no different from everyone else. Like your mother looking at Jeno with preconceived notions, judgement. “It’s hard when you’re the town pastor’s son, I can only imagine..”

“Pft.. cause he’s so innocent. Somehow brain washed everyone into forgetting he cheated, knocked up my mom while still married to Haechan’s..”

“Oh…” scuffing your boots nervously against dirt. Sparing glances Jeno’s way. Chiseled jaw having you ready to swoon like some sad teenager passing her crush in the hallway. Mind so far away distracted, screaming at yourself that Jeno’s trying to have a deep conversation with you. “I didn’t uh…know that about your dad.”

“He just lucked out my mom didn’t tell anyone about the church intern fresh out of high school that she filed divorce papers over..” Jeno says, removing his jacket. Holding it open for you with a questioning look. Your eyes widen, immediately caving in a moment of weakness. Allowing him to drape the material around your shoulders. Fresh scent engulfing your sense of smell.

“You’re really.. nice Jeno. Considering everything, I have to admit I expected you to be more like Haechan..” you express, pulling the jacket around yourself tighter.

“We aren’t that different, growing up together will do that. Someone has to be the scapegoat, unfortunately it’s always me. Typical younger sibling syndrome right?” Jeno rubs his exposed arm, muscle tank revealing bits of tattoo. You nod to his words, unable to picture Jeno and Haechan getting along like two loving brothers.

“Your tattoo… your dad doesn’t know about it right?” You inquire, returning to topic back to Jeno. Ready to forget his brothers existence, at least for the time being.

“Oh yea..he’d probably ship me off to Jerusalem, peace core or some shit.” Jeno laughs, pushing the loose cut off sleeve up. Further exposing the evil creature blaring into your vision.

“Why a demon?”

“Why not right? I lost my faith in religion when my dad kept coming up with new excuses for why his sins were forgiven. God isn’t real anyway.” Jeno finishes. Eyes narrowing, expecting a reaction from you.

“I think you’re right actually..” you nod, softly smiling. Awestruck eyes staring into yours, satisfied. “..I should probably get home. Didn’t even tell my mom I was leaving. She’s gonna be so pissed..”

“Ah yea..can’t have that. She’s pretty intense huh?” Jeno scratches his throat anxiously. The voice in the back of his mind yelling at him to do something now. “..I’ll take you home.”

You take languid drawn out steps together. Tension surging between your bodies like electric shocks. Jeno reaching for his helmet. Fingers hesitating to open the clasp.

“Can I ask you something?” he looks away, teeth digging at his bottom lip. Was that nerves?

“Of course” you promptly respond, bouncing on your toes.

“If Haechan..hadn’t.. I don’t know, gotten to you first..” Jeno cringes. Focusing his eyes on the ground. Ending his curiosity there, struggling with his hope that you’d ever like him.

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrow, moving in, closing the space between your bodies. Jeno’s eyes meet yours, giving away the intent behind his question. “..you..why are you asking? You don’t..”

“It’s nothing, forget it.” Jeno’s head shakes, realization hitting you. Guys like Jeno never gave you the time of day..

“Would you have?” Boldly your hand lands on his, pulling fingers away from the helmet. Still wearing his jacket, could you be more oblivious?

“I wanted to..” those words are all it takes. Pushing up on your toes, lips smashing on his. Fever like heat raising your confidence to go for it. Jeno’s been good to you- the cold demeanor a cover up for how painfully shy you make him.

Hands find your hips, pressing you against the seat of his bike. Ass digging into the warm leather, jacket falling from your shoulders. Jeno kissing you back needy, full of desperation, loud breaths passing through his nose. Finger nails scraping the material of your dress, gathering the fabric up. Skin rubbing on the sun kissed bike under you. He presses in, tongue flicking out, asking for permission to enter. Fisting the cotton shirt on his chest in a wrinkled mess. Mouth parting so fast, too fast. Wet tongues eagerly meeting, rolling against the roof of your mouth.

Jeno’s groans are hot, raspy and deep. Affecting you quickly, sinking back on the bike when his hips roll between your thighs. Hard on tenting angrily in tight jeans. Grinding against your soaking core.

“God I..” Jeno mumbles on your lips, lapping spit across your mouth. His own pouting out cutely, blood tinted lips shining in outdoor light. “I really…whoa..fuck..”

“Jeno..” your arms lift, wrapping around his neck. Bringing your bodies together impossibly close. Pained moan trapped in his throat, thrusting in anguish. Craving to bend you over on his bike, slap your ass and fuck you until you can’t even remember his brothers name.

Jeno’s thumb shoves between your wet mouth, tongue swirling around. Groaning louder with another crushing thrust. Cock screaming for release, working up a faster speed. Demanding movements bouncing you on the bike. Eyes falling shut sucking at his thumb, picturing the length prodding at your walls sitting heavy in your mouth instead. Both of you growing needier with each dry hump against each other. Calves finding Jeno’s hips, lifting yourself up writhing against the hard fabric of his worn jeans.

“You feel so good..fuck..” Jeno captures your upper lip, sucking harshly. Hips growing furious, thigh muscles flexing tightly. Dragging sweet panted moans out of you, thumb opening your mouth. Saliva drooling past both of your lips messily, chins coated in each other.

“Please..” you whimper, pleading. Unsure what you could be begging for. Jeno nods reassuringly, gripping the back of your neck. Hand falling from your mouth, finding space between your legs. Drenched underwear shoved aside, sliding long fingers up and down. Catching your wetness, palm covered, landing loudly on your mound. Jeno finding your clit, pressing down hard. Surprised scream releasing from your chest. Tongue covering your exposed neck, nipping at dips.

“Can I?” Jeno’s fingers prod your opening up entrance. Head nodding rapidly, eyes wide. Gliding past your convulsing walls. Groaned curses repeating from his lips, finding way deep inside of you. Slender pretty hands working you to a heightened pleasure. Jeno continuously licking around your jaw, catching parted lips in bites. Hard enough to leave you a swelling pained mess, lips pursing out asking for more.

He lets your neck go, face dropping, forehead hitting his shoulder. Tattoo coming to life so close up, licking the expanse inked skin. Jeno grits his teeth, whimpering with squeezed eyes. Hand squeezing your hip, fingers jabbing in and out. Thumb circling your clit with expertise, nothing innocent in his touches.

He squirms on your thigh, member begging to fuck you open. Resisting to need for himself, fully focused on getting you off. Enjoying the way your eyes roll, tongue hung out letting your mind succumb to his touches.

Your hips jump up, wriggling into the thrusts of his fingers. Reaching far deep within, hitting every delicious spot. Lips landing together in a bruising sloppy kiss, muffling strained moans. Jeno’s thumb pressing down just right on your clit, precise fingers hitting where you need him in repeated motions. Trembling around him, walls gripping tightly. Jeno’s motions slowing down, letting the climax high wash over you. Softly tracing kisses atop your burning cheeks, staggering down to your neck. Soft nips turning into hard bites, leaving marks of himself behind.

“I..” Jeno’s forehead rolls over yours, skin dragging against his. Nose nudging gently at you, nerves still clouding his sense. Hard breaths landing on your face, eyes finding yours, mind returning back to you. “I want.. I like you.. I need…..I want..to take you out, like…date out...”

You nod a bit too excited, nose hitting his. Jeno’s stressed words making you clench up around his fingers yet again. Another pained groan blended into a sigh sounding around you. “I want that so bad Jeno.. I really want you.”

—————————————————————————-

“What brings you in to confession today?”

Pastor Lee’s voice sounds through the small wooden booth around you. Uncomfortably shifting in your seat when the reality of confessing your sins to the one who brought them into this world settles.

“Pastor… what does the bible say about pre-marital sex with two brothers?”

“At the same time?!” Pastor Lee spits out abruptly, gagging on his spit.

“Separately Pastor!” You shriek out. Fingers stopping your lips, wondering if Pastor would recognize your voice. It’s not as if you spent time speaking to each other much..

“Well..” Pastor Lee’s throat clears, adjusting the collar tightening around his neck. “That’s..good to hear. Are you planning to wed one of these men?”

“Wed?! Like marry?” Your forehead creases, thinking it over. It was way too early to even consider such a thing. “I’m not pregnant pastor!”

“That’s…that’s good news my child.” Pastor audibly swallows. Sweat gathering at his hairline. “You..wish to know what the bible has to say about this?

“Am I going to hell if I choose to…have intercourse with both of them? I’ve only slept with one..”

“Only?” The pastor sounds flabbergasted. Gulping down another loud breath of air. “You won’t go to..hell over this. You need to repent for your mistakes none the less. God is good, and forgiving.”

“So, I’m not going to hell right?” Your frazzled tone sounds around the booth. Growing frustrated the longer he skirts around your questions.

“Yes my child, of course God does, but!-…”

“….God forgives all right? Like…God will love and forgive me even if I do happen to…somehow…you know..fornicate with uhm..” you chew on your thumb nail, catching yourself ready to say- ‘your sons’. “..siblings?”

Pastor Lee becomes frantic on the other side of the confessional booth. Fingers quickly turning through thin pages of his bible. Murmuring sounds of ‘uhm’ between, buying extra time to find an explainable excuse for why you absolutely should not do such a thing.

“Now my child.. yes God loves you, of course. I cannot say he would approve of you doing this! What about the brothers bond you could end up destroying?? That would be greed and lust! Those are sins child, sins!” Pastor Lee exasperates. Patting a handkerchief along his sweating forehead. Small towns hardly ever brought him confessions this extreme.

“Pastor, did you not have sex out of wedlock once too?.. more than once! With two different women! Does God approve of that?” You sit up straight. Hand slapping over your mouth after speedily replying. Shit, God probably didn’t care much for this conversation, that’s for damn sure..

“Child of God! now..” the pastor continues, avoiding your accusations. “Are you going to go through with this regardless of what excerpt from the bible I give you?”

“Yes father…I believe so..I really like this guy..” you timidly say. The thought that the pastor could have you in mind making your stomach turn.

“Well then..” with a heavy dissatisfied sigh, Pastor Lee continues. “Twenty hail Marys and Fifty our fathers should do it.”

“Fifty?!” your mouth falls open, disbelief stricken by the idea of sitting here for the next three hours repeating prayers.

“Make that seventy child. Ten for each seven deadly sin.”

You pause for a moment, hand on the door knob ready to exit. Mouth gaped considering asking what the bible says about losing your virginity in church. A minute of contemplation later, you decide it’s best to add another fifty hail Mary’s.

“Thank you so much Pastor Lee!”

——————————————————————————

It felt a little scary, but fun, getting ready for your date with Jeno. Of course you still wanted to leave an impression, even with his confession.

Repeating it in your mind over and over again: A. Date. With. Jeno.

Holy fucking shit. What alternative universe had you stumbled into moving to live here. Maybe the best way to get over someone really was by getting under someone else…younger brother and all. God had to be real if this was how your love life was playing out.

Walking up to Jeno, he was a complete vision. Black messy hair pointing different directions, as if he just ruffled it and said ‘good enough’. Leather jacket all too tight over his defined rippling biceps, like a second skin. Silver chain necklaces shining under the sunset across the orange red sky behind him. Hoops adorning his ears making the sparkle in his eyes come to life. The large steel ball chain necklace catching your eye against his pale thick neck. Imagining him on top of you coated in a sheen of sweat. Cold chains dangling down on your skin..

“Isn’t this… your brothers car?!?” Your eyes nearly bulge out of sockets asking the question. Drawn out of the quick fantasy you’d almost drifted into. The cherry black trans am practically glowing behind Jeno.

“It is, isn’t it..” Jeno’s smile lifts into his eyes. Fingers waving around a set of keys mid-air. “Who do you think Haechan learned how to pick pocket from? Still no match to the king.”

Jeno unlocks the car, opening up the passenger door for you. Surprising you first with his tattoos.. now this. Maybe he wasn’t the innocent cute younger brother you’d perceived him as all this time.

The engine sounded alive, Jeno pulling out of your driveway. Better looking than any heart throb you’d see on some terrible basic cable teen drama. Arm reaching around the space between your bodies. Other stretched in front of him. Long fingers attached to pretty veins flexing around the spinning steering wheel. All he had to do was grab your thigh to set you bursting up in flames. Stealing subtle looks at him picturing the tattoo adorning his perfectly sculpted shoulder.

“Haechan doesn’t know you borrowed his car I’m guessing? Won’t he be mad?” You wonder out loud. Jeno’s smile spreading into his cheeks. Eyes squinting under the low sun coming through the windshield. Relaxed in the drivers seat making way down the empty road. Arm closest to you splaying out, fingers wrapping around your exposed leg. Shivers shooting up your heat from where his large palm covers the majority of your visible mid-thigh.

“That’s the plan.”

Final—>

taglist: @seuomo @unknown5tar @sunoosi @nabi-nono @ahsshilee-me @safariria @nctlover94 @underjeno @nanascupid @jenorenle @scruffiejelly @mel-yjh @winwiniee @count-your-shadows @sunflowerhae @johnjaespeach @nctflix @notsooperfect @skrtbeepbeep @lanadreamie @nctstrawberrycow @meonlightuniverxse @sunshinedhyuck @haechanswhore @n0hyuck @kpopmultiifandomm @d1nne @neobanguniverse @pewpewpwe00 @abitofafan @haechansworld @born5sos @bockhyun @jen0zen @xuyiyangstan @alexameliamg @negincho @na-na-nakita @jeon-jungkook-is-actually-god @xwanna127x @heyitsbreeeeee @melaninjhs @cacaubs @multifandombtvh @kyngaji @whlplazh @eleanorfreakingchan @classic-antifood @sheytanni @player23 @wavetease @nahyuckk @doyoungssouthernbabygirl

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Love Sick

Masterlist

Summary: A story about how Spencer’s worst decision ever somehow ends up being his best.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day, my loves! This fic is loosely based on a request I got about Spencer faking an illness to keep the reader from going on a date.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: swearing

Word Count: 4k

Spencer has done a terrible, awful thing.

He wants to argue that he doesn’t know what came over him, but that would be untrue and he’s already met today’s quota on little white lies. Spencer knows exactly what possessed him to call you up at seven thirty on a Saturday night, and it wasn’t so that the two of you could discuss the weather or the recent upward trend in the stock market. Spencer’s spontaneous (panicked) phone call to you was a brazen attempt to abate the green-eyed monster that had been whispering dreadful things in his ear for the better part of a week.

To put it simply; Spencer is jealous, and he’s dealing with it rather poorly.

So poorly that he’s resorted to sabotage.

As he sits on his couch and worries at a hole in the bottom of his designated lounging sweatshirt, Spencer attempts to justify his actions. His tiny fib won’t hurt anyone . . . except, perhaps, one annoyingly perfect and stupidly handsome veterinarian. But Spencer can live with that. Potentially scorning an animal care specialist isn’t the thing that has his stomach in knots. That, he can live with. Spencer doesn’t even have pets, so there’s no longterm consequences as far as the vet is concerned. The notion of lying to you, on the other hand? 

Spencer is positively sick with nerves.

He’s not sure why. Spencer’s gotten rather good at lying to you. Several months of pining for you from across the hallway of your shared apartment complex has turned him into quite the master of deceit, after all. He was a sucker from the moment he opened his door and lay his eyes on you, arms outstretched and wielding a plate of homemade sweets. The cookies were lovely, but the breathtaking smile on your face is what really did him in.

Since that first day, Spencer’s gone out of his way to ensure that he’s on the receiving end of that smile as often as possible. His efforts are never in vain; for reasons unbeknownst to him, you seem to enjoy spending time with him just as much as he did you. This mutual fondness results in most of Spencer’s off days being spent in your company. Spencer was certain that, with time, he would work up the nerve to ask you out on a date. He’s halfway to convincing himself that you might even say yes when your cat makes the unfortunate decision to steal a brownie from your plate and gulp the whole thing down.

Enter, aforementioned veterinarian.

The sound of your door opening from across the hall has Spencer breaking out into a cold sweat. His hand is halfway to his forehead, ready to wipe away the perspiration when he pauses. His body’s anxious reaction might just help him sell his story. Yes, Spencer thinks, this is a good thing. Authenticity, and all that.

Several soft footsteps are muffled by the door that separates him from you, and then his doorknob jiggles as you struggle to fit your key into the lock. A jolt of adrenaline surges through Spencer and in the blink of an eye he’s on his feet and sprinting to his bathroom in the name of authenticity. If he wants to keep up this ridiculous façade, and he really, really does, Spencer is prepared to fake it until he makes it. The alternative is far too mortifying. Failure is not an option.

Spencer cringes when he lifts his eyes to meet his reflection. He’s been told more than once that he’s an absolutely terrible liar, and the wide, guilty eyes that stare back at him confirm this. All it will take is one look at him and you’ll know something’s amiss. Perhaps it isn’t too late for Spencer to come clean. It would be embarrassing, yeah, but no less embarrassing than it would be an hour from now when you call him on his shit. But then again, there is always the possibility that you will get angry with him and leave, and Spencer isn’t willing to risk you walking away from him. Not tonight.

Spencer barely has the time to splash some cold water on his face and dive to the bathroom floor before you’re pushing open the door to his apartment and calling out his name. His brain, the part that isn’t rendered useless in his panicked state, reminds him of just how many germs can be found on the average bathroom floor. It’s enough to make him pause, but only for a moment. He takes a deep breath before slumping over against the toilet.

Showtime.

“M’ in here,” Spencer calls out in his croakiest voice. It comes out exactly as he intended, all rough and pitiful. Maybe he can pull this off, after all.

The soft pitter patter of your bare feet makes his heart rate increase exponentially. Spencer steels himself, recites a reassuring mantra in his head. I can do this; I can do this.

Spencer’s poor, overworked heart gets a much-needed rest when you step into the doorway. In fact, he’s almost certain it stops completely at the sight of you in a tiny red dress. A tiny red dress that leaves very little to the imagination. Spencer can’t even see past his mounting panic to enjoy the way you look. That damn red dress serves as a brutal reminder of why he’s sitting in his bathroom floor, clutching his toilet bowl and damn near drowning in a nervous sweat.

The thing is, Spencer hadn’t intended on sabotaging your date with the vet. He had every intention of staying in, wallowing in his sorrows and waiting up for you. Spencer even said this to Derek, who was kind enough to call him and remind him of how big of a jackass he was. Spencer didn’t need the reminder. He was well aware.

But then Derek said something that made Spencer’s blood run cold.

“And what exactly do you plan to do if she doesn’t come home?”

So, really, it’s Derek’s fault that Spencer promptly ended the call and dialed your number. It’s also Derek’s fault that Spencer is about to give the most convincing performance of his entire fucking life.

“I’m sorry I called you, but I didn’t know what else to do. I just feel so awful.” And he does feel awful, just not in the way you think.

You’re quick to close the distance between the two of you, dropping to your knees and brushing stray pieces of hair away from Spencer’s clammy forehead. His skin sings where your hand grazes it. If he didn’t have a fever before, he will if you don’t stop touching him.

“Don’t ever apologize, Spence. I wish you’d have called me sooner,” you murmur. Warm, concerned eyes drag across Spencer’s bedraggled appearance. “How long have you been feeling sick?”

Spencer gulps. “A few hours, I guess. I ate my leftovers from last night for lunch. Maybe that’s what’s wrong.”Lies, lies, lies!

Your brow furrows. “That’s strange. I ate mine, too, and I feel fine.”

Spencer doesn’t really have an argument for that, so he fakes a pained groan and rests his head against his arm. He closes his eyes and prays the intro to theater class he took in high school will pay off.

You must deem his act convincing enough because you press a soft kiss to the top of his hair and stand. Spencer hears the sound of a cabinet opening, followed by the sound of running water.

The tender touch of your hand on his shoulder has him raising his head and looking up at you, inquisitive. You place a cold washrag to his forehead, and Spencer melts into the touch. It feels heavenly against his hot skin.

“Do you think you could manage to take a shower?” you prompt, earning a feeble nod from Spencer. He doesn’t even have to fake the way he trembles as you run the damp cloth down his neck. “I think I have some broccoli and cheddar soup at my apartment. I’ll go change and grab it while you shower.”

Elation spreads through Spencer, pouring from his heart until it reaches the very tips of his extremities. He can’t believe his scheme hasn’t blown up in his face already.

With the help of your outstretched hand, Spencer rises to his feet and braces himself against the shower door. You make no move to remove your hand from his, and that gives him the courage to ask his next question.

“What about your date?”

You shrug and an easy smile spreads across your face. Spencer feels faint. He blames it on his imaginary illness.  

“Don’t worry about that. The only thing I’m concerned with right now is taking care of you.”

Spencer bites down hard on the flesh of his cheek to keep a smug grin at bay. This is a victory he’ll have to celebrate at a later date.

--

Spencer enters his living room, freshly showered and donned in clean pajamas, to the sound of your voice speaking quietly into your cellphone. He halts just before he enters his kitchen, straining to catch a snippet of your conversation. As he leans closer to the sound of your voice, Spencer halfheartedly chastises himself. First, he deceives you, now he’s resorting to eavesdropping. Rock, meet bottom.

He’s just about to wrench himself away and retreat to the couch, when:

“I really am sorry about cancelling, especially on such short notice.” A short stretch of silence follows. “Next Saturday? Oh. Um, yeah, I’ll let you know, okay?”

Spencer is very much like a popped balloon; the earlier feelings of elation leave him in a harsh gust. Next Saturday? He barely managed to derail this Saturday’s date! No way he could get away with it a second time.

In the midst of his inner turmoil, Spencer misses you exchanging goodbyes with the vet before collecting Spencer’s bowl of soup. He’s still standing there, absolutely crestfallen, when you round the corner. You nearly collide with his chest, narrowly avoiding it by skidding to a halt in front of him. Your eyes run up his frame, assessing him, until they rest on his face.

“You scared me, Spence,” you chuckle. You cock your head to the side. Spencer imagines his expression is none dissimilar to that of a disgruntled frog. “You feeling okay? You’re not going to puke again, are you?”

Honestly, he might. The idea of you rescheduling your date with the vet is about as vomit inducing as it gets.

“I’m fine,” Spencer says on an exhale. Funnily, it’s probably the biggest lie he’s told all day. “The shower helped.”

His delivery is flat, but you don’t seem to mind. You smile up at him, relieved, and Spencer’s chest aches.

“I was thinking you and I could watch a movie?” you offer, and Spencer nods his assent. He can’t fathom turning you down. Not when you’re wearing an old sweatshirt you stole from his closet and a pair of fuzzy socks with little hearts on them. The ache intensifies.

“What are we watching?”

You plop down on the couch and look at him expectantly. He follows in suit, settling in beside you.

“I was thinking that you could choose,” you murmur as you place the bowl in his hands. Spencer shoots a teasing smile your way as he raises the spoon to his mouth.

“You mean, you’re actually going to let me pick the movie? I should get sick more often.”

His cheek earns him an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter. “You always pick the movie.” 

He can count on one hand the amount of times he’s gotten to pick the movie.

Spencer is about to launch into an impassioned rebuttal when the feeling of your fingers scratching against his scalp renders him speechless. His eyes dart to your face as you concentrate on scrolling through the TV guide, seemingly unaware of the effect the simple act has on him. Meanwhile, Spencer’s brain is short-circuiting.

You begin to read off a list of potential movies to him, but Spencer barely hears you. He’s practically purring as you twirl his curls around lithe fingers, his eyes threatening to flutter closed as an intense feeling of euphoria washes over him. Maybe it’s because he’s touch starved, or maybe it’s because it’s been so long since someone just looked after him. Whatever it is, Spencer embraces it wholeheartedly.

“-heard it’s pretty good. So, what do you say, Spence?”

Spencer pulls himself back to the present, blinking lazily at you. You’re looking at him, expectant, and Spencer’s eyes flit to the TV. His eyes skim its contents, reading briefly about a movie in which some family moves into a haunted house.

His face breaks out into a grin and he nods, because Spencer’s known you long enough to recognize that watching a horror movie usually results in you pressed tightly to his side and clinging to his hand. He also knows that nine times out of ten, you choose to watch a horror movie over anything else. No wonder he always lets you choose.

And sure enough, not even ten minutes in, Spencer is ditching his bowl of soup and pulling you into his arms. Once you’ve draped a blanket around the two of you settled in, you glance up at him.

“How are you feeling, Spence?”

Spencer responds by saying that he’s suddenly feeling much better. 

Spencer Reid - 1, Veterinarian – 0

--

Spencer’s not sure at which point he fell asleep. All he knows is that he certainly does not remember sprawling out across your body, nor does he remember tucking his head into the crook of your neck. But this is how he finds himself when the sun begins to pour in through his windows the next morning, and Spencer can’t bring himself to care about how he came to be there.

Spencer guesstimates that it’s no later than seven in the morning. You’re still fast asleep underneath him, your chest rising and falling rhythmically with every breath. It’s early, and it’s Sunday, and Spencer can’t think of a single reason to wake you. Instead, he snuggles in closer, because he’d be a fool not to enjoy this while it lasts.

Unfortunately, the shrill sound of Spencer’s ringing phone shatters the serenity. He prays that it won’t disturb you, that you’ll remain oblivious and continue to sleep, but that hope is shattered when you begin to shift underneath him. Spencer makes quick work of peeling himself off of you before dashing to his kitchen and snatching his phone off the table.

He’s prepared to verbally assault whoever has the audacity to defile the sanctity of lazy Sunday mornings when a quick peek into the living room finds you still fast asleep on his sofa. He smiles, soft and fond, before pressing the accept button and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“I was beginning to wonder if you were still alive.” Spencer’s smile transforms into a grimace. Apparently, Derek Morgan doesn’t believe in lie-ins. “I was preparing myself for a rescue mission.”

“It’s seven in the morning. I was asleep.”

Derek lets out a low whistle. “Who pissed in your Cheerios, Pretty Boy?”

“You, when you decided that it was acceptable to ring me before eight,” Spencer whisper shouts. He knows that he’s being touchy, to say the least, but who can blame him? Five minutes ago, he was cuddling with the most beautiful girl he’s ever had the privilege to lay eyes on. Now, he’s shooting the breeze with a colleague. Obviously, Spencer would prefer the former to the latter.

“Jesus, kid. I’m going to take a wild guess and say that girl of yours didn’t make it home, after all. You okay?”

The guilty feeling returns and Spencer cringes. “Uh, define ‘okay.’”

Derek curses on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, kid. Try not to beat yourself up about it, okay? There’s plenty of fish in the sea, you’ve just gotta put yourself out there. How’s this; you and me will go out next weekend and bar hop. I’ll teach you some Derek Morgan tricks of the trade. Soon enough, you’ll have forgotten all about her.”

“I don’t know, that might be hard.” Spencer scratches the back of his neck. “She’s asleep on my couch right now.”

A long stretch of silence comes from the other end of the line, and Spencer thinks for a moment that the call dropped. Unfortunately, he isn’t that lucky. A booming laugh erupts from the speaker and makes him jump out of his skin.

“My man!” Derek laughs, incredulous. “I didn’t think you had it in you, I’ll be honest.”

“It’s not what you think-”

“How did you manage that? Did the Good Doctor make a grand romantic gesture? Damn, I really hate that I missed that.”

“No, there were no gestures. And it’s not-”

Derek cuts him off. Again. “How’d she take the news? I’m assuming she took it well, if she stayed the night.”

“I didn’t tell her anything!” Spencer spits out, frustrated. “I… I told her I was sick. She came over to take care of me, and we fell asleep on the couch.”

Spencer’s proclamation is met with another long silence.

“So, you sabotaged the date?”

Spencer winces. “I did not sabotage it. I just… manipulated the situation a little.”

“Oh, you certainly did,” Derek chuckles. “How did you pull that off? I’ve seen you try to lie. That shit is laughable.”

Spencer opens his mouth to defend himself, but the pitter patter of socked feet approaching him from behind has his mouth running dry.

“Yeah, Spencer. How did you pull that off?”

Spencer had been correct in his earlier assumptions. The inevitable moment in which you called him out on his shit has arrived, and it’s every bit as mortifying as he expected. So mortifying that he can practically feel the blood drain from his face. And the thing is that he knows he deserves whatever you’re about to throw his way… it’s just that the thought of you being angry with him kind of makes him want to cry. And that would only add to the mortification.

He turns around slowly, his body rigid, until he’s met with the adorably rumpled vision of you with your arms crossed and your hair sticking up in all directions.

Spencer’s never seen anything quite so mesmerizing, and it hurts because he knows he’s ruined everything. He’ll never get to watch another scary movie with you tucked neatly against his side, or wake up in your arms again. He’ll never get to kiss you.

And the worst of all; Spencer will never get to tell you how he really feels. It’s a crying shame, because he thinks he could have been really good at loving you.

“Hey, Derek, I gotta go.”

Spencer presses the end call button and immerses himself in what has to be the most awkward stand-off of all time. You stand there, arms crossed, head cocked to the side with one hip jutted out. Spencer isn’t sure how you manage to look intimidating and endearing at the same time. He supposes the fuzzy socks are to blame.

Minutes pass, but they feel like hours. Spencer is approximately three seconds away from dropping to his knees and groveling when you finally speak.

“You sabotaged my date.”

Spencer lets out a strangled laugh. Perhaps humor is the way to go? It couldn’t hurt to try. In his opinion, the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse. “I think sabotage is a strong word. I prefer the term obstruct.”

You let loose a laugh of your own, but this one holds no humor. “And I prefer keeping the company of people who don’t lie to me.” Okay, maybe it can get worse.

Spencer visibly deflates. It was a stupid idea. He’s never been a funny guy.

“I am so, so, so incredibly sorry.” Sorry for lying to you, that is. Spencer isn’t in the least bit apologetic for ruining your date. Given the chance, he’d do it again - in a more tactful way, of course. Preferably, in such a way that didn’t involve him laying in his bathroom floor. 

Spencer attempts to take a step forward, only to be rooted to the spot when you fix him with a look. He’s not funny but he is smart – smart enough to know better than to push it. 

“Why did you do it?”

Spencer was really hoping you wouldn’t ask that.

“I-I…”

Apparently, an eidetic memory doesn’t stand a chance when it comes to confrontations involving pretty girls. One quirk of an immaculately plucked eyebrow and Spencer loses the ability to recall a single word of the English language. It’s tragic, really.

“Spit it out, Spencer.”

“I didn’t want you to go on the date.” It’s like ripping off a band aid, the way the words tumble from his lips. It’s painless at first, but then the sting sets in when he realizes what he’s done. 

Your lack of reaction doesn’t help. Your face remains passive, as if he didn’t just offer himself to you on a silver platter. Spencer squirms uncomfortably.

“Why didn’t you want me to go on the date?”

God, this is excruciating. You’re clearly out for blood, and the twinkle in your eye shows just how much you’re enjoying this. Spencer would have never taken you for a sadist.

“Because…” Spencer trails off and allows his eyes to drift closed. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it his way. With his eyes closed, because he can’t bear the thought of looking you in the eye when you reject him. “B-Because I like you. A lot.”

Spencer hasn’t had a lot of practice at being wrong. In fact, he’s spent the majority of his life being right. It seems the universe is making up for that now, because he can’t seem to get a single goddamn thing right today.

You laugh at him. You actually laugh in his face. Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

“You like me.” It isn’t a question.

Spencer keeps his eyes shut tight.

“Y-Yeah.”

You know how they say if you take away one of a person’s senses, all of the others are heightened? Spencer couldn’t disagree more. In the midst of his despair, he’s completely unaware that you’ve crossed the room and are now standing directly in front of him until you speak again.

“Well, that’s rather unfortunate,” you sigh. Spencer inhales a sharp breath when he realizes you’re close enough to touch. Still, he keeps his eyes closed.

“Uh, why is that?”

Spencer nearly jumps out of his skin when your hand reaches up and caresses the side of his jaw.

“Because, Spencer,” you murmur, silky and sweet. “I was hoping you just might love me.”

Spencer’s eyes fly open and he’s greeted by a lazy, contented smile. It’s similar to the one that greeted him when he opened his front door on that very first day, but it’s better somehow. Later reflection will determine that it’s better because it’s the kind of smile reserved just for him. And that’s all he’s ever wanted, really.

“W-What?”

“You heard me.” You tilt your head up and rest your palm on Spencer’s chest. His heartbeat is erratic, thundering hard against his ribcage. He’d surely be embarrassed if he wasn’t about to faint from shock. “Do you love me, Spencer Reid?”

Spencer doesn’t even have to think twice.

“More than anything.”

“Good.” Your thumb brushes across the apple of his cheek, eliciting a full body shudder. “I was beginning to think you would never catch up.”

Spencer must be hallucinating. That, or this is all a dream and any second now his alarm is going to go off. He subtly pinches himself on the thigh to test the theory. You can imagine his surprise when nothing changes. He doesn’t wake up in a pile of his own drool, and now the skin on his thigh stings.

“You . . . You like me, too?”

You shake your head. “No, Spencer. I love you, too. Why do you think I bake you cookies and spend all of my free time in your apartment?”

“Because my couch is better than yours?” Spencer deadpans.

“I mean, that certainly doesn’t hurt. But it’s not the only reason.”

“What about the vet?” It must be his guilty conscious talking, because Spencer cannot conjure up any other reason he has for asking such a moronic question. He, personally, could not care less about the vet. Full offense intended.

“Cameron is a nice guy, sure,” you trail off. Spencer doesn’t miss the way your eyes drift down to his lips before returning to his eyes. “But he’s not really my type.”

“And what is your type, exactly?” A giddy grin finds its way to Spencer’s face. He’s notorious for being chronically clueless, but even the master of imperception himself can see where this is going. 

You snort, and it’s adorable. “Liars, apparently.”

It’s impossible to determine who moves first, but that doesn’t really matter. What does matter is the end result of Spencer’s lips colliding with yours. It’s earth-shatteringly lovely; slow and sweet and tentative. There’s no rushing, no frantic fumbling of hands. Just the reverent drag of your lips against his, warm and intoxicating. 

Spencer eventually regains the use of his limbs and when he does, he’s snaking one arm around your waist as the other entangles itself in your wonderfully unruly hair. 

You sigh a happy sigh against his lips and Spencer’s heart soars. In a completely unforeseen turn of events, the possibility of more lazy Sunday mornings is now back on the table. Thank God he’s better at lying than he gave himself credit for. 

God, and Derek Morgan’s meddling ass. 

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