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pagesfromthevoid · 5 days ago

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So High School | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reybnolds x Thunderbolts!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Walker being an asshole. Heavy making out and hickeys. General discussion of Bob's mental health

Author's Note: The horny thoughts got turned into feelings because of therapy but alas

Bob Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

It started as a joke.

Sort of.

None of it was technically a lie after the initial lie.

It was more of a “get off my back” kind of situation but then it became a “let’s fuck with Walker” kind of deal because he wouldn’t drop it. And his reaction was…hilarious, honestly. Especially because Yelena and Ava immediately played along, no questions asked.

“How did you not notice?” Yelena asked, giving Walker a look that suggested he was an idiot. “The moment she saw him in the vault, she had heart eyes for him.”

“It was not the moment I saw him,” she argued back, pointing at the blonde. “It was like…ten minutes later, when he called Walker an asshole and laughed. Then it was definitely a ‘oh, okay. Hear me out,’ kind of moment.”

“Okay, fair,” Ava conceded, nodding. “Though, I think it stopped being a ‘hear me out’ bit pretty soon after.”

“Oh, immediately after,” she agreed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know when it was?”

“I swear to God,” Yelena groaned, knowing absolutely what she was about to say. “It was when he was shot, wasn’t it?”

“Oh my god,” she practically moaned, covering her face with her hands. “Listen. I felt so bad. You don’t get it. This poor boy has been shot and he’s not dying and I’m sure he was scared as hell. But did you see him? Those abs? That look he gave those agents? Fuck me, dude. It’s not a ‘hear me out.’ It’s a ‘hold me back.’”

Walker, at that point, was flabbergasted. Yelena and Ava being privy to the whole thing was enough for him to believe it, but he was so confused. Her? And Bob? Of all people? Of all of them on the team?

Bob??

“Then why aren’t you with him now?” He asked, like he thought he could catch her in a lie.

“He’s asleep?” She pointed out, giving him a ‘duh’ kind of look. “He doesn’t sleep a lot. You think I’m going to go wake him up just because I’m horny?”

She paused. Considered what would happen if John were to go ask Bob himself about their “relationship.” Then she decided that she should probably loop Bob in on it –or at least make sure he was okay with fucking with Walker.

“Actually, you know what. That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

And that’s how she ends up in Bob’s room, sitting criss-crossed on the end of his bed, and him sitting mirror opposite of her, confused.

“So you…told Walker that we’re dating…as a joke?” He asks, and she can’t tell if he’s upset by the whole thing.

“Yes. And I would super appreciate it if you played along because for some reason, he’s really confused by it and I really, truly find it funny. But it’s also totally okay if you don’t want to go along with it, and we can shut it down right now. I really –it’s not something you need to go along with at all.”

“I don’t…I don’t really understand, but I like the idea of messing with Walker so I guess I’m in,” he decides, grinning that boyish grin of his. The room relaxes significantly as she lets out a relieved breath. “So uh, what…what do we need to do to make it believable?”

She did not think this far ahead, honestly. She’s kind of surprised he agreed to play along, honestly. “I mean…I don’t know. He is under the impression I came in here to wake you up for, uh,” she pauses, feeling herself flush as she considers how to phrase it. “I told him I was going to wake you up because I was horny, so there’s that.”

Bob sits there for a second, and she briefly wonders if he’s okay. He kind of looks like he’s short circuiting; eyes blank for a moment as he stares at her. Then he drops one of his legs to the floor, sitting half on the bed. “I could give you a hickey.”

She sputters, completely thrown off by the suggestion. She opens her mouth once, then shuts it. Then opens it again and manages to say, “You –what?”

“I mean, I’ve never given one before. But that would be believable, right?”

She’s sort of stuck on the fact that he’s never given a hickey before and now she really wants to get one and give one. How high school –hickeys. Her mom always said they were gross but the idea of Bob putting his mouth anywhere on her is…enticing as hell.

So she nods. That’s all she does, because she truly has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.

Bob’s going to give her a hickey, and she’s kind of…very excited about that.

“Okay, yeah. That’s…that’s definitely a good start,” she finally says, confirming the first step in a very stupid plan.

But he doesn’t move, and she doesn’t either. Because suddenly this is not actually a joke to either of them it feels like. On the contrary, Bob looks like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“Actually, I just…Why was I…I just –I’m curious –,” he starts, stuttering his way through what he’s trying to say. He’s leaning forward some, and she can see the workings of his mind in his eyes. The tug of his brows as he’s thinking about something that’s going to cause him heartache of some kind. And she knows what it is. She just…she knows.

“I swear, I did it because he wouldn’t leave me alone about who I would date on the team. He really wanted me to say him, and I really would rather give myself a lobotomy than even consider dating him.”

“But that…I mean, that doesn’t explain…,” he points to himself, sort of tugging at his sweater. “Why was I the first person that came to mind?” He asks, shifting uncomfortably. She worries now that she’s hurt him with this whole thing.

“Well I –,” she pauses, and considers what she’s about to say.

She could tell him the truth –after all, everything that followed the “Dude, I’m dating Bob. Where have you been?” comment was…well, it was true. She had absolutely thought he was cute in the vault. And she absolutely gawked when he was shot –not only because he was shot and alive and also flying but because of the abs and how he looked in that moment –confused, but confident. Alarmed, but ready to fight. But that is wholly embarrassing for her. The longer she sits there and considers it, however, the more he probably thinks she’s an asshole.

So she confesses, and her face is burning because she really didn’t think she would be confessing any sort of crush on Bob tonight. “Because…It made sense,” she tries to explain. But that sounds stupid so she backtracks some. “Listen…It makes sense because I would totally date you. In a heartbeat. If you were…in a place to do that. But I don’t expect you to feel the same or even want to do that.”

He looks even more confused now. But his cheeks are blooming with blush, and it’s spreading down his neck and just below his collar. And she’s now distracted, thinking that if she could see his chest, the blush would be spreading there too. And now she’s thinking about him shirtless, which is absolutely not the thing to do.

“Oh,” he says. Though that’s all he says as he shifts in the bed, moving to plant his feet on the floor. His hands are gripping the side of the mattress tight enough that his knuckles are turning white.

“I’m sorry, Bob,” she says, looking down at her hands. Trying to will her own blush away because now she’s humiliated and she’s an asshole. “I really wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable –I’ll go tell Walker I was lying. Seriously, it’s not –,”

“Why don’t we actually date then?” He interrupts, looking up at her.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated just because I told you I would,” she quickly counters, snapping her attention to him. “Just because I like you doesn’t mean I’ll stop being your friend if you don’t want to date me. God forbid, that would be horrible of me.”

“I don’t feel obligated,” he argues, taking a beat to calm himself down. His hands relax and the color returns to his knuckles. “I know I’m not…the best,” he says, and she’s about to argue but he continues before she can. “But I…I do really like you. And I’d…I’d like to try to take you out on a date. Probably have to take things slow or something, but if that’s okay with you…”

“‘Or something’ being giving me a hickey to freak out Walker?” She jokes, trying to ease the tension in the room.

He laughs. Actually laughs; not one of his uncomfortable ones. But a real laugh that’s soft and sweet and she can’t help but laugh as well when he nods. “Yeah, yeah…we can fast forward a little to that part, if you want.”

“Do you want to do that?”

He hesitates, and she’s about to tell him it's totally okay if he doesn’t want to. But he nods finally. “Yeah. Yeah, I do, actually. But uh,” he stops, and there’s this look on his face that suggests that he’s really considering his next question. At this point, he could ask her just about anything and she’d probably say yes, though. “Can we…maybe not fast forward through the making out part before the hickey?”

“Oh my god, you’re going to be the death of me,” she laughs, moving across the bed on her hands and knees towards him.

“I hope not,” he says, and he sounds genuinely concerned as she sits beside him.

She reaches up and brushes a lock of hair out of his face. “Metaphorically speaking,” she reassures.

She doesn’t know what to do next, honestly. Not because she doesn’t have any experience, but because she feels nervous for the first time in years over a guy. Which is ridiculous, but at the same time…it’s a good feeling to have.

“Can I…can I kiss you, now?” He asks, but his voice is soft. Trembling. Like he’s afraid she’s going to suddenly change her mind and leave him there, embarrassed.

“I’d really like that, yeah.”

He’s still timid –a little awkward, a little shaky –but he leans in closer, and she meets him in the middle. Their noses brush just slightly before the space between them is closed. It’s slow at first; testing the waters to make sure they both know what they’re doing. Truly, as high school as they could get without actually being in high school. But she presses forward slightly, resting one hand on his knee and the other hand on his chest. He mimics the motion, sort of, and one of his hands cups the back of neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. His other covers the hand resting on his knee, interlocking their fingers.

It’s her who pulls them backwards onto the bed, their legs still dangling off the side. Their entwined hands are up by her head now and the hand on his chest is grasping at the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer as she swipes her tongue across his bottom lip. Bob is half laying on her, the hand in her hair untangling itself to gently run down her ribcage through her shirt. She hums in response, and he tenses some but doesn’t stop. Instead, he pulls away from her mouth, and she sighs as his lips press against her jaw.

The movement is just as awkward at first, but he finds a rhythm as he presses a kiss just below her ear then trails them down her throat. His stubble –barely there, but there enough to tickle –brushes her skin and she sighs in content as she loosens the grip on his shirt and tangles her fingers in his hair. Guiding him, carefully, kindly, to the spot on her throat that she wants to feel him mark. The pulse point that drums her heartbeat for this very moment.

He hesitates again, and this time she’s pretty sure it’s because he actually doesn’t know how to give a hickey. So she forces herself to let go of his hair and taps just below his jaw to get his attention. When he pulls away, his cheeks are bright red and flushed, but he’s got a soft smile on his face.

“Let me show you,” she offers, and he nods, letting her take the lead if only for a lesson.

She pushes him onto his back and takes the same position he had been over her. One hand on his rib cage, deftly moving to run her fingers over his abs as she presses a soft kiss to his lips one more time. He tries to pull her back, but she nudges his cheek with her nose, pressing a light kiss there before trailing down his jaw and below his ear –mimicking the movements he had gotten correct. Then, she grazes just at his pulse –presses her tongue against his heartbeat, which spikes the moment her teeth touch his skin –not a bite. Just a little graze. Then she sucks and the sound that comes from his lips is soft but an obvious moan.

When she pulls away, she admires the handiwork with a soft grin and a quick kiss to his jaw one more time. Then she’s looking down at him, hovering just high enough to see the glossy eyed smile on his face. She misses it, but his eyes shift some –gold flickering through as he returns to the original position and repeats the motions one more time. His mouth on hers in a soft but firm kiss. Then quick, soft kisses along her jaw and down her throat –on the opposite side now of where she left his. He follows her steps to the tee, like a lesson he wants to have perfected, and grazes his teeth along her pulse. When it quickens under his tongue, he hums in excitement, unable to help himself as he marks her as his.

He gets a little carried away, enjoying how she squirms under him as he presses kisses and soft bites to her neck. One hickey isn’t enough, and he leaves several before she’s littered in little bruises all over her throat. He’s about to push it a bit further, confident in his movements for the first in…ever, really, when the glass on his table suddenly explodes.

They yank apart, and she’s got a hand over her heart like she’s panicked. He’s staring at the puddle of water and glass that’s littering his nightstand, his eyes wide. She sees it before he does it –sees him pull away, shrink back behind the wall he’s put up to protect himself and anyone he thinks is in danger because of him. Behind the wall he thinks protects her from him.

“Bob,” she whispers, reaching up to try to get him to look at her, but he fights her, refusing to take his eyes from the splinters of glass. “Hey, it’s okay –we got a little carried away. It happens.”

He shakes his head though, and reaches up to wipe his eyes. It’s then that she realizes he’s started crying, and her heart breaks. She pulls her hands away and shifts, sitting up on her knees and wraps her arms around him from behind. Holds him close, and presses her cheek into his hair as she does so. His hands clutch at her arms, holding onto her like she’s the only thing tethering him to this world and the shadows.

“It’s okay,” she promises. And she does mean that. It is okay. It will be, at least. “It’s okay –think of it this way –you broke a glass instead of a person, and that means you know how to direct it towards non-living things.” She’s not sure that’s actually reassuring, but she thinks it is, personally. There are worse things to have broken over a glass of water.

“It could have been you,” he argues, voice shaking as he tries to calm down the tears.

“But it wasn’t,” she reminds him, pulling him closer against her. “It wasn’t, and we don’t focus on the ‘what if’s’ because it’ll just make things worse. You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t hurt yourself. I would say that that’s a key marker of progress.”

He turns some, finally looking up at her with watery eyes. She pulls the sleeve of her shirt down and wipes the tears from his cheeks, smiling at him softly. Slowly, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close, resting his cheek against her chest. She hugs him back just as tight, pressing a kiss into his hair.

They sit there for a little while like this. Holding onto each other for dear life; grounding each other in the space they were sharing for the moment. Then Bob sniffles and pulls away, running his hands over his face.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, though she’s certain he’s reassuring himself and not her. “I’m sorry I ruined –,”

“You didn’t ruin shit,” she interrupts, pointing at him in a scolding sort of way. But she’s smirking lightly. “You gave me a hickey. Everything else was just…a bonus.”

“I think I gave you more than one,” he points out, then gently pokes each mark on her throat and counts them. “Seven.”

“I suppose I owe you six more, some time then.”

*****

“Wait,” Walker says, slamming his hands on the table. Bob flinches, and she touches his leg gently under the table. “I just…I truly cannot believe this.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says, and Bob takes her hand in his. His attention is focused on the paper in front of him and the spirals he’s drawing. “I told you we were dating.”

Ava and Yelena are both still playing along, though they’re equally as confused. Not by the fact that she and Bob are a thing –but by the fact that they hadn’t actually picked up on it themselves.

“I just –listen. I gotta know,” Walker starts and she’s so certain he’s about to say something stupid. “Isn’t…it’s gotta be weird just saying ‘Bob’ over and over when you’re bed. Like, c’mon. Do you say ‘Robert’? Or ‘Bobby’? Or is it just…literally ‘Bob’? Because honestly, that’s…weird to consider.”

She’s about to argue that it’s weird he’s even thinking about them having sex (which, not that it’s any of his business, but they hadn’t). But Bob speaks up first.

“Her mouth is a little too preoccupied to say anything,” he says, though he’s definitely saying that more to himself than to anyone else.

She chokes, covering her mouth. Everyone else is just…staring at him. He realizes a second too late that he said the inside thought outside. Then he flushes and tries to backtrack.

“I’m sorry, that’s not –I mean –,”

“Bob, you dog!” Alexei cackles, putting a hand on Bob’s shoulder and shaking it some. “Good for you!”

---

Bob Taglist: @ilovemarvel12 @withahappyrefrain (I'm tagging you specifically because you asked me to share with the class and ily)

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #sentry #sentry x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*

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luveline · 2 months ago

Note

angsty request coming!!! hotch taking care of an overworked reader who hasn’t been sleeping!! maybe the team notices r has been a bit scattered or feverish and hotch steps in!!!

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k Hotch knows, technically, that what he’s doing tonight is out of bounds. He just doesn’t care —can’t find it in himself to regret his actions as he shepherds you from the office and into his car. Doesn’t give your wide-eyed surprise any notice, doesn’t offer explanation as he takes you into the department store between the office and his apartment and tells you to choose.

“I don’t understand.”

He nods toward the lines of pointelle camisoles and shorts, gestures to the longer silken trousers, “Choose something to wear.”

You blink hotly. He’s flustered you, but that’s easy lately. “Do they have anything warmer?” you ask.

He takes your arm gently into his hand and turns you an inch, where the jersey material pajamas hang from the wall. There’s a nice brown coordinating set right in front of you. He guesses your size (he knows it from practice), pulling a hanger from up high to offer you. “Yes?” he asks.

“Why?”

“You’ll need them.”

You rub your face. “Okay, yeah. I like those ones.”

He folds them over his arm. He can feel you gaze on the side of his face as he takes you to the register and pays without giving the total any mind. Hotch doesn’t care how much anything costs, he only wants it to be soft. If it weren’t crossing a line, he would’ve found you new underwear, too.

He accepts the bag from the cashier and guides you out again. “Is there anything else you need?” he asks you.

“For what?”

“You aren’t going home.”

“I’m not?”

He shakes his head gently. He isn’t being intimidating, only straight forward. Hotch obviously isn’t in the business of kidnapping women, especially coworkers, friends, he just knows now that this won’t be solved without some tough love. “You’re staying with me, if you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?”

Lethargic, you follow him to the car and get back in the front seat. He turns the heated seats on and watches you sink into the leather, clearly pleased, tired eyes slipping closed every now and then in the ensuing silence.

Regretfully, you startle as he parks, roused from whatever hooks that had finally managed to hold you. Heat, he thinks, is key here.

“I’m making oatmeal and cocoa,” he says as he opens the door, waiting for you to follow suit before he continues, “and you can go and get changed. You know where my room is?”

“Sure.”

“Alright, good. You can make yourself comfortable there.”

“In your room?”

He sends you a loving and agitated look over the door. Really? it says. You and Hotch have been trapped in an excitable will-they won’t-they situation for months, and he’d think by now the obvious answer to it all is we most certainly will. “Honey, yes. Unless you’d be more comfortable in Jack’s?”

“Does he still have the race car bed?”

“Afraid so.”

You hum, and lead the way to the house. Hotch hands you his keys, something in his chest tightly squeezed to see you turn the house key in the lock, to let yourself in, and to hold out your hand expectantly for the department bag. You head to his room like you do it everyday. Hotch resists the urge to call you back and kiss you with your jaw held in his hand —it’s not the point.

He gets a strange pang a few minutes later, stirring the pot of easy-sachet oatmeal, a rare pang of regret. Perhaps he’s being too headstrong, letting his worry guide him like this, pushing you to come home with him and to sleep in his bed. You might be at the same level as he is, but it still feels a little like pulling Spencer home with him and demanding he dress and eat as Hotch likes.

I’ll apologise, he thinks, setting your oatmeal and cocoa on a tray, conscious of the sun setting outside, night swiftly falling. If he really is going to say sorry and have you go home, you’ll be disrupted again. There’s a possibility Hotch has made this ten times worse.

He climbs the stairs and finds you laying on his side of the bed with your nose turned into his pillow, a damp sheen to your skin. You’ve washed your face, and changed into the new pajamas, just a little too big for you where you’ve curled around your hands.

“Honey?” he asks softly.

“Sorry,” you say, twice as quietly as he had, “just, it smells so nice in here.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’ll move.”

“Just sit up,” he says, thinking of you in the office with your jittering and your glass-eyed stare. “I’ve brought you something.”

You nod heavily and do as he’s asked, again. He sets the tray on your lap and you look up at him. It’s the look that does it, really. The half circles under your eyes are nothing to him beyond proof that you aren’t sleeping, the bloodshot in your sclera, it’s all inconsequential. What floors him is the unquestioning trust to be found when you look at him. He doesn't kid himself when he thinks that this could lend itself to love.

“You know why I’ve asked you to come home with me?” he asks carefully.

“I worried you.”

He puts the tray in your waiting lap, gracing your chin with a quick stroke underneath, feather-light. “I haven’t abused my power?”

“Buying me new clothes and making me dinner?” you ask softly, evident delight on your face as you notice the squares of chocolate that have begun to melt into your oatmeal.

“Forcing you home with me and sequestering you in my bedroom.”

“It’s not how I thought it would happen,” you confess, gathering a heaping mountain of oatmeal onto your spoon, “not the first time, at least. I guess I should worry you more often.”

“No,” he says, holding your chin between his fingers until you meet his serious gaze. “You shouldn’t.”

Your eyebrows do something he can’t name, but there’s a word for what it inspires in his chest. “I won’t,” you promise.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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violetrainbow412-blog · 4 months ago

Text

Intoxication [S. R]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

wc: 9.2k

Summary: when Spencer and reader accidentally consume aphrodisiacs, it seems impossible to maintain control of themselves. It all comes down to who will lose their mind first.

warnings: +18, mdni!! alcohol consumption, mentions of weed, unintentional use of aphrodisiacs, explicit descriptions, oral (f receiving) fingering, kissing, porn with plot, p in v, protected sex, no y/n!

It had been just over half an hour since I entered the fraternity building, fully aware that within the first second, I’d feel the need to leave. Attending any gathering wasn’t a regular thing for me. The noise, the crowds, and the multitude of germs everywhere were reason enough to avoid them.

However, that time, I thought, why not? I had never been to one of those university parties and wanted to experience it. However, I never considered the fact that, to enjoy one, you either: a) went with a group of friends or b) drank until you forgot your name and the discomfort you felt about yourself. I didn’t have the first option, nor did I want to do the second. So, after a few minutes of reflection, I decided I would walk back to my apartment and go straight to bed.

The place was huge, and since my postgraduate program didn’t include the benefit of dormitories, I rarely found myself in places like that. I was about to leave when a hand grabbed my forearm to stop me. In front of me, smiling widely, was her. The moment I saw her, I could swear my face lit up.

“Hi”

“Spencer! I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Without letting go of my arm, she came closer, wrapping me in a hug and planting a kiss on my cheek before I could react.

I quickly glanced at her, and in the dim light, I noticed her wearing a fitted, spaghetti-strap dress in a deep burgundy red with delicate floral embroidery that looked hand-drawn on the sheer fabric. The material, likely chiffon or tulle, clung to her figure as if custom-made. I tried to focus on her leather jacket instead because the last thing I wanted was to make her uncomfortable by staring too long.

“I was just about to leave, actually.”

“Why?” she asked, noticing my sigh.

“It’s just... I don’t know anyone here.”

“Well, that problem is now solved,” she kindly murmured.

I didn’t even get the chance to respond when she had already walked over to another girl, whispering something in her ear, probably to let her know she’d be away for a while.

Even though I wanted to decline to stay, the truth was that I genuinely enjoyed her company. Rejecting her would have been too rude. We had met some time ago thanks to the advanced classes she took, which overlapped with mine. She was younger than me, of course, but only by one or two years.

She had always been kind to me, attentive, and one could say she was a friend. After all, I trusted her enough to let her hold my hand and guide me through the crowd, despite my aversion to physical contact… and people.

“It’d be a crime to let you leave so early after finally coming to a party,” she breathed once we were both seated on a tiny couch where the noise was slightly muffled. At least she had been considerate in that regard.

“I don’t even know why I came,” I said, shifting uncomfortably. She was leaning against one side, legs crossed, looking at me with a smile. “I don’t like parties.”

“Do you like drinking?” she asked. I shook my head “Maybe that’s the root of the problem.”

“Getting drunk to the point of losing control isn’t my thing,” I replied.

“That’s not what it’s about,” she murmured almost compassionately “It’s more like… fuel for your social battery, you know? You don’t have to deal with these people. I don’t even know half of them, but the guys in this fraternity are disgustingly rich and just want to get as many girls drunk as possible to sleep with whoever they can. They won’t mind if you drink a little. Enough to have fun, but not so much you end up in some stranger’s bed.”

I thought about it for a second and silently nodded. I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of her by saying I didn’t want to drink because, come on, what kind of university student doesn’t drink?

“I understand your point, and I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but alcohol has a more complex impact than it seems. It’s not just something that ‘fuels your social battery’; it’s a central nervous system depressant, which means it slows down brain and motor functions. That initial feeling of euphoria or relaxation happens because it inhibits the prefrontal cortex—the part of your brain that regulates judgment and self-awareness. So, technically, drinking a little might make you feel more uninhibited or confident, but it can also impair your ability to make rational decisions if you overdo it, even if you don’t notice right away.”

I paused, gauging how much more I should say before losing her interest. Hearing no objections, I continued:

“Additionally, strong liquors, which have high ethanol concentrations, can hit your system faster than diluted drinks. And if you drink too quickly, you could easily exceed your liver’s ability to metabolize the alcohol. The excess ethanol stays in your bloodstream, raising your blood alcohol levels and increasing the risk of intoxication.”

I avoided looking directly at her, partly because I didn’t want to get distracted by her gaze and partly because I was nervous around her.

“It’s not that I want to ruin your fun, but if you’re going to drink, you should do it slowly, alternating with water, and never on an empty stomach. Not to seem smarter than everyone else, but because staying in control can be the difference between a fun night and a situation you don’t want to be in.”

I expected her to look bored, confused, or even indifferent, assuming she’d left halfway through my rambling. But when I looked at her, I was surprised by the admiration shining in her eyes, accompanied by an amused smile.

“All right, genius boy, if you know all that and basically have the perfect recipe for not making stupid mistakes while drinking, why do you still refuse?” she teased playfully. I didn’t know what to say, but luckily, she answered for me “Listen, I drove here. How about we make a deal? We can drink a little, have a good time, maybe dance if you want, and if either of us starts doing something embarrassing, the soberest one will make sure to drag the other to the car and drive them home. Deal?”

She handed me her car keys, and I wasn’t sure if the brush of her hand against mine was intentional or if she had decided to linger a little longer.

I agreed to her proposal, and a second later, she was already off her seat, walking toward where I assumed the kitchen was. No one noticed us entering, too absorbed in their own business to care if we were strangers.

There was every type of alcohol scattered around, and she took the liberty of pouring me a shot of a clear liquid, which I guessed was vodka. She warned me to drink it in one gulp, and when the warmth hit my throat, I barely managed to avoid coughing. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything.

“Tastes like… strawberry.”

“It’s good, right?” she laughed, giving my shoulder a playful nudge.

Our previous seat was already taken, so she opted for us to stand in a quiet corner. I have to admit that, although I still felt slightly awkward, the vodka was having the desired effect; making me feel more animated to talk.

Talking to her was almost hypnotic. Maybe it was the rhythmic movement of her lips, still stained with traces of what had once been red lipstick, or perhaps it was her tone, but it made me feel like I had to watch her. She never faltered when she spoke, always exuding confidence and calm, no matter the topic.

On the other hand, whenever I responded, I completely lost focus. No matter what I said, she kept looking at me with a wide smile, nodding, and even leaning closer when something made her laugh. But her laugh wasn’t mocking—no, it was as if she genuinely found my intellectual jokes or nonsensical remarks funny.

Gradually, my glass emptied, and she guided me back to the kitchen, serving us moderately but consistently. After an hour, all my nerves had vanished, leaving only a normal guy enjoying the terrible background music, unconcerned about how dirty the place was, and utterly captivated by the woman next to him.

“It’s strange, you know? I didn’t think I’d enjoy something like this. Parties always seemed so… chaotic,”

She looked around with a slight smile.

“That’s true. They’re not exactly calm, but in a way, the chaos has its charm. It lets you leave everything else behind for a while.”

“I suppose you’re right. Sometimes, you just need to disconnect.”

“You seem less tense now, huh? Are you sure it’s not the vodka helping with that?”

She moved closer, almost leaning against my chest in a friendly way, and seeing her looking up at me made my face feel hot.

“Maybe. But it’s also largely due to the company.”

She seemed surprised by my sudden boldness and let out a laugh that I interpreted as a sign of approval. We continued drinking, laughing, and soon my stomach demanded food. Even in my slightly tipsy state, I still remembered that eating would help lessen the effects of the alcohol.

I have to admit that the way I held her waist to guide her to the kitchen was entirely intentional. However, she didn’t seem bothered by the contact. By this point, I’d realized that no one really cared about what we took or didn’t take, so we felt free to rummage through the pantry.

“There are chips, pretzels, Cheetos, some cookies...” she began listing, handing me each package she found.

I grabbed a stray cookie, and suddenly, she let out a sigh of admiration.

“What is it?”

“Chocolate,” she murmured happily. It was a half-eaten, luxurious-looking golden package with no label “Do you want some?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Chocolate has properties that can slightly boost energy and mood. Both alcohol and chocolate can be hard for the body to handle, especially with a combination of high sugar and alcohol content. This can lead to stomach discomfort, dizziness, or a stronger hangover the next day.”

But she wasn’t listening. She had already popped a sizeable piece of chocolate into her mouth. Immediately, she offered me a piece, slightly bigger than hers.

“You have to try it,” she moaned.

I resisted, but I have to admit that the fact she grabbed my shirt and pulled me closer caught me off guard enough to let her slip the chocolate into my mouth.

“Hey!”

“You’ll thank me later.”

It was delicious, that’s for sure. Like a pair of sneaky raccoons, we kept scavenging for snacks in the kitchen until we were satisfied. She grabbed a bag of chips, and I took the bag of pretzels.

After our little break, she poured us another round of drinks, and something inside me told me it was time to stop. I decided that would be my last glass for the night.

Let’s dance she suddenly whispered, and once again, I let her lead me toward the crowd.

I didn’t know how to dance; I think that was pretty obvious. But the situation managed to make me forget that fact.

She was patient with me and laughed every time I made a mistake. Even though there was smoke around me, probably from weed, that didn't stop me from staring intently, and even somewhat intimidated, at my friend. Beautiful, statuesque, and drunk friend.

We danced for a long time until something in her swaying movements, in the way she smiled at me, began to make my head spin. It was as if the atmosphere was charged with something more—something I couldn’t identify at first.

She leaned closer, and my pulse began to quicken slightly. Her hands rose to tangle in my neck, bringing a warm sensation that followed: my thoughts seemed clearer, sharper. I wondered if it was the alcohol, but then something different began to course through my skin.

The warmth intensified, not just in my body but in my mind as well. I felt more alert, more awake, yet the calmness of the vodka lingered, balancing the sensation. My skin felt more sensitive, as if every little touch sent vibrations through me in a more intense way.

My eyes focused more on her movements, her voice, and the way the air filled with her perfume. I wanted to get closer, as if there were an invisible force pulling me toward her. And though my body responded with a soft yearning, my mind remained present, conscious of every second.

By the way she was looking at me, I imagined I wasn’t the only one experiencing these kinds of emotions.

“Sweetheart.”

“Hmm?”

“Can we sit down for a moment? I’m completely sweaty, and the smell of weed is starting to bother me.”

“Of course.”

My hands rested on her waist, unsure of where else to go, and we stumbled out of the crowd, finding a couch to collapse onto.

I was sweaty too, and we were both breathing heavily. When I saw her lean her head back against the seat, leaving her neck exposed, something stirred inside me.

“You move well, Reid.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I mean it. You just need a little confidence,” she smiled. Perhaps the alcohol dulled her sense of personal space, which is why she leaned so close to me. “You’re so smart that, with a bit of practice, you’d be the most skilled at a lot of physical activities.”

Did she know how nervous she was making me? My face was already flushed from the alcohol, the effort, and now from the way she was looking at me while twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.

I wanted to say something else, but a voice interrupted mine: a tall, burly guy accompanied by two others who seemed to be flanking him. Probably a member of the fraternity hosting the party.

He specifically addressed her, asking how she was enjoying the party and throwing in a compliment, clearly with ulterior motives. For a moment, I felt disheartened. Of course, she could have gone with him and I would have understood. I was far too used to rejection.

“I’m having a great time—with my friend. Thanks,” she exclaimed, cordial but curt.

“Want a drink?”

“Honestly, no.”

By the uncomfortable smile she gave the men, I assumed she was politely ending the conversation. With some reluctance, the guys walked away.

Suddenly, my breath caught when I felt her hand rest on my thigh, sliding painfully slowly down to my knee. I couldn’t even hear her words over the heat of her fingers on my pants.

“Sorry?”

“I thought you were going to say something, earlier.”

“No,” I quickly replied, smiling like an idiot because of the way she had leaned toward me. “Nothing.”

“I like listening to you. You know so many things, and you don’t make me feel dumb when you explain them. That’s very sexy.”

“Sexy?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, because I’d replied in a voice an octave higher than normal. “You are very sexy.”

Her compliment was followed by a soft, distracted kiss on the line of my jaw, which sent my brain into overdrive.

“Uhm… you… you’re beautiful. Very beautiful.”

My clumsy compliment seemed to please her, and I felt one of her nails, long and painted black, tracing circles on the skin of my knee. Each small movement felt deliberate, as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Did you know fireflies don’t just glow to communicate but also to… attract?”

Her voice broke the silence between us, soft but layered with a double meaning that made me lift my eyes to her.

“Yes, I know,” I responded automatically, my brain switching to autopilot. “Bioluminescent signals are a form of courtship. The light patterns vary by species and can be very specific.”

She turned her head toward me, her lips curving into a lazy smile.

“Of course you’d know that. But tell me something—do you think it actually works? Making someone notice you just by glowing?”

My throat went dry. There was something about the way she was looking at me, like she was expecting a more personal answer than a scientific one.

“I guess it depends on who you’re trying to attract,” I murmured, feeling ridiculously exposed under her gaze.

“That makes sense.”

Her hand slid slightly—barely noticeable—toward the edge of my knee. After tapping her fingers on my pants, she withdrew it.

She didn’t move from the couch, and neither did I. There was something about her posture that held me captive—the way she leaned back against the seat, relaxed yet naturally elegant. Her dress had ridden up slightly along her thighs, revealing more skin than I felt prepared to handle at that moment. I tried to look elsewhere, but it was as if my eyes had a will of their own, always returning to the same place.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with a hint of amusement.

“Yes, of course,” I replied quickly, turning my head in the other direction. Perhaps too quickly, because my neck cracked slightly in the process.

She didn’t say anything, but her suppressed laughter made me feel even more awkward. In the silence that followed, I forced myself to focus on something safer: the empty glass on the table, the flickering lights through the window, anything but the curve of her leg or the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” she commented suddenly, with almost theatrical casualness. Then, without warning, she leaned forward as if to adjust her shoe, causing the neckline of her dress to dip even further.

“Do you think so?” I muttered, my voice raspier than I intended.

She smiled, a gesture somewhere between innocence and knowing.

“Yes, definitely. Though maybe it’s because we’re sitting so close,” she said, glancing around as if she had only just noticed the temperature.

Her words felt like both a slap and a caress at the same time. I tried to keep my gaze fixed on her face, but it didn’t help that her eyes shone with a kind of mischievous intent. Then she lifted one leg, bending it to get more comfortable on the couch, and her knee accidentally brushed against my thigh.

“Did you know you have a very particular way of distracting yourself?” she remarked while toying with the hem of her dress, as if unaware of the chaos she was causing in my head.

“Do I?” my voice sounded weak, almost a whisper.

She nodded slowly, leaning in a bit closer until I could feel the warmth of her proximity.

“Yes. It’s like you’re trying to avoid something but… you can’t.”

My throat went dry. I wanted to say something clever, to steer the conversation away, anything to regain some ground. But instead, all that came out was a nervous, forced laugh.

She didn’t stop looking at me. Then, with exasperating slowness, she smoothed the fabric of her dress over her thigh—a casual gesture.

“You know, sometimes you seem so self-aware. It’s something that can be endearing, but also… well, how do I put it?” she paused for a moment, bringing a finger to her lips as if she were reflecting. “It makes you seem easier to impress.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing, Reid. It’s just me rambling” her voice softened, and I felt the lightest touch on my nose as her finger grazed it. I tried to ignore the fact that her gaze had lingered on my lips “Scattered thoughts I have in my head.”

Without warning, she let out a loud exhale and leaned back into the couch, arching her back as if trying to relieve some muscle tension. I know she probably wasn’t aware of the movement, but it was what finally made me lose the little composure I had left.

“I need to use the restroom. Can you give me a moment?”

I escaped. Cowardly, completely, I got up and practically bolted toward the bathroom, desperate for a moment of peace. As soon as I entered, I realized I had an obvious problem in my pants—I was hard as a rock, and that wasn’t good. I looked at myself in the mirror, surprised at how flushed my face was. My pupils were dilated, my lips dry… What the hell was happening to me?

It quickly became clear that she was the reason for my situation.

The alcohol prevented me from feeling the embarrassment I surely deserved, and instead, I felt like my head was spinning. I placed a hand over the fabric of my pants, letting out a frustrated, pained groan.

I stayed there for a while, trying to think of something that would make my erection go away, but nothing worked. A couple of knocks on the door startled me, and that forced me to leave. Once in the hallway, I walked for a bit until I bumped into someone.

“Spencer! I’ve been looking for you. Are you okay?”

“No! I mean, yes… it’s just…”

I needed to think of something quickly—something believable, but not catastrophic. However, it was hard to concentrate with her body so close to mine, mere inches away from her noticing my situation.

“Did you throw up?”

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s nothing. I think the vodka didn’t sit well with me, uh, maybe I got dizzy from dancing, I don’t know. I think it’s best if I leave.”

“Poor thing,” she murmured, pouting “I’ll take you home right now.”

“I can take a cab.”

“Nonsense. That was our agreement, remember? If one of us was in bad shape, the other would take care of them. Plus, I was the one who encouraged you to drink. I’d feel bad if something happened to you.”

She was already putting on her jacket—she’d been holding it, probably suspecting the situation—and tried to find the keys in her pocket. My outstretched hand reminded her that she’d already given them to me earlier.

When she placed her hand on the small of my back to guide me out, my breathing deepened. The sensation of excitement coursed through me in a way I couldn’t ignore. I realized that something in me desperately wanted her. Too much.

It wasn’t an impulsive desire but a subtle one that had been building throughout the night—with every glance, every gesture. Perhaps the vodka had intensified my evident attraction to her, but whatever the reason, it had turned into something far more palpable.

It was almost as if my body was begging me to stop her right then and there, to kiss her recklessly, and maybe, just maybe, ease the relentless ache inside me.

The cool night air made me feel better, and as the noise faded behind us, I began to calm down. I fervently tried to hide the bulge in my pants, but the truth was she didn’t even seem to notice. Then again, it would’ve been strange to catch her staring at my crotch, right?

“Are you sure you’re in a condition to drive?”

“I’ve driven home in far worse states of drunkenness. Don’t worry,” she smiled.

She looked more lucid now, as if her intoxication had vanished in an instant. I decided to trust her abilities.

The drive home was silent, and I kept shifting in my seat, trying to find strategic positions to avoid embarrassment. I guess she attributed my silence to the supposed discomfort I was feeling, as she didn’t try to start a conversation.

She didn’t say anything when she caught me looking at her through the rearview mirror. It was an innocent glance, at least on my part, simply admiring her. Her lips were driving me crazy, her eyes, slightly narrowed from the lack of light and smudged with mascara, seemed the most beautiful to me. I didn’t know what she saw in me, but I think—no, I feel—that it was something she liked.

“Thank you so much for bringing me home… and for everything.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Quite a lot, actually.”

“We should do this more often.”

“Go to university parties?”

“Just go out in general. To a bar, grab some drinks, a coffee, the library if you’d prefer,” she laughed “The place doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re there.”

Was she implying she wanted a date with me? I swallowed hard and looked at her, trying to decipher what she wanted me to do. I couldn’t figure it out.

“I’d like that, yes. We can talk about that later. Thanks again for the ride.”

A kiss on my cheek marked her goodbye, and I rushed out, eager to get inside my apartment. I was about to unlock the building’s door when the sound of a car horn made me turn around.

“Hey, would you mind if I use your bathroom? I’ll be quick,” she promised.

I needed to get to the shower and turn on the cold water, but I didn’t protest when she turned off the car engine.

Almost no one visited me in the apartment, so I kept the space however I pleased. It wasn’t really messy, but there were plenty of things on the desk and several books scattered around.

She entered, as she had said, rushing to the bathroom. It was only then that I dared to put a hand over my pants, swallowing a moan that was about to escape from my throat.

In my limited sexual experiences, nothing like this had ever happened to me, and I wondered what the cause might have been. Alcohol couldn’t be blamed, of course, but it was responsible for ruining my ability to react enough to find another explanation.

The shirt began to feel heavy on me, and almost out of necessity, I undid the first buttons to let myself breathe. I tried to ventilate my skin by tugging at the fabric with the tips of my fingers, but it was useless. I sighed.

I glanced around the room, just wanting to make sure nothing was embarrassing in view, and at that moment, she came out of the bathroom. She looked flushed and had some wet hair, as if she had washed her face.

“You okay?”

“Yes, just… suddenly felt a bit feverish”

“Let me check”

My intentions were purely medical when I cupped her face with one hand, putting the back of the other against her forehead to confirm or deny my suspicions. Of course, I hadn’t considered how close we would be. Or maybe I had, subconsciously, and that’s why I moved forward.

My choice of words wasn't the best either.

“You’re hot,”

“I don’t think it’s as much as you.”

A daring smile slid across her lips, and I held my breath as her fingers traced up to the line of my collarbone, exposed by my shirt.

“Why are you saying that?”

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s just… I don’t understand it.”

A soft laugh echoed in my ears.

“Well, I think you’re very handsome. Would there be any other reason for that?”

I swallowed deeply. She noticed the movement of my Adam’s apple.

“No… I think… I think not. It’s the most logical thing.”

“Don’t they tell you that often?” she murmured, genuinely confused. I shook my head “That’s a shame.”

Her hand, which had been tentatively caressing my skin, moved up to my neck and pulled me just a few inches closer to her.

“Hey, Spencer.”

“Yes?”

“Could I kiss you?”

A chill ran down my spine. And without thinking, I answered yes.

Her mouth found mine with a softness that contrasted with the whirlwind of sensations inside me. It was a heady contrast: the sweetness of her lips against the intensity of the desire that had been building up in every fiber of my being.

My hands instinctively moved to her waist, hesitating for a moment, as if fearing that this might just be a product of my imagination. But she didn’t hesitate. Her body leaned into me, closing any distance that remained.

Her lips were insistent, demanding, and before I could process what was happening, her hand slid down to my chest, pushing me gently back until my back collided with the wall.

“I’m sorry…” I managed to murmur between kisses, pulling my face slightly away. My voice came out more trembly than I wanted.

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her face toward mine, her fingers now brushing my jawline.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“For this” my gaze dropped quickly before returning to her eyes. “No… I didn’t want you to feel it. It’s embarrassing.”

For a moment, I thought she would pull away, that the spell of the moment would break. But instead, her lips curved into a mischievous smile.

“Embarrassing? I thought I was the only one feeling all this tension,” her tone was low, almost a whisper, but filled with a certainty that made my breath grow even more erratic.

Before I could respond, her lips captured mine again, this time with more intensity. The kiss was everything I didn’t know I needed: desperate, intoxicating, completely consumed by the connection between us. I felt her body press against mine, her curves fitting perfectly as if they were made to be there. And then, all my doubts, all my attempts to hold back, vanished.

My mind was a whirlwind. Every touch of her lips, every time her tongue sought mine, was like a fire I couldn’t put out. My face was hot, yes, but now not because of the alcohol, not even from the effort of holding myself back. It was her closeness, her touch, her condescending voice still echoing in my head.

She knows what she’s doing. And she’s slowly killing me.

“Hey, wait…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you feel okay with this?”

“A lot. Do you want to stop?”

“No. It’s just that… you’ve been drinking. I don’t want you to think I took advantage of you” my voice came out hoarse, full of doubt and repressed desire.

Her eyes met mine, firm and warm at the same time, as if her gaze could completely disarm me.

“Relax. You’ve been drinking too, pretty, and I think if anyone could make that accusation, it would be you. Do you feel like I’m taking advantage of you?”

“No”

“I’m fully aware of everything. I don’t even feel drunk anymore. The only thing that’s making me dizzy right now is you, Spencer…”

I shivered when I heard my name on her lips like that. She continued:

“I’m just as anxious as you are. I’ve been holding back all night, trying not to make this too obvious, but I can’t anymore. Please, don’t doubt me. Don’t doubt what I want. I want you”

Her confession hit my heart like a blow and ignited a spark that set my entire body on fire. My hand moved up her back until it tangled in her hair, while the other rested on her hip. The pull was gentle but enough for her to understand that my inner struggle had ended. I wasn’t resisting this anymore.

I wanted her too. I wanted her now.

“I never imagined…”

My words were barely audible as our lips brushed in a kiss that was both an explosion of emotions and a long-awaited relief. Her mouth was soft, and so perfectly synchronized with mine that I felt like the world stopped at that moment.

Her hands gripped my shoulders, anchoring the connection between us, while my thumb traced a slow path along her jawline, savoring every detail of her skin. It was more than a kiss. It was the confirmation of something that had been lingering all evening.

When we parted just a centimeter to breathe, our foreheads stayed pressed together.

“Did that clear your doubts?”

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say all that,” I replied with a weak smile, the only one my pounding heart allowed me to form.

“Then stop overthinking”

The space between us disappeared again as we kissed with desperation we had both been suppressing. Her low laugh vibrated against my lips, and I couldn’t help but smile. How did she do it? How did she drive me crazy with so little effort?

But now wasn’t the time for questions. It was time to feel.

The whole world had reduced itself to him: his warm breath, his lips that wavered between soft and desperate, and the hands that roamed my waist with a mix of reverence and clumsiness, making me want him even more. Spencer had always been an enigma to me, a balance between restraint and passion that I didn't know how to decipher... until now.

I had waited for this moment more than I would ever admit. Maybe it had been the way he looked at me when he thought I didn't notice, or the warmth in his voice when he said my name, as if it were something sacred. But now, with his body pressed against mine and his doubts finally gone, I knew I hadn't imagined anything.

It was as if the pieces of a puzzle I had been trying to put together in the dark finally clicked into place, and the resulting image was more beautiful than I had ever dreamed.

Wanting to reverse the roles, it was now him who gently pushed me against the wall, and I felt the control he always seemed to have begin to crack. His breath was heavy, his body trembling slightly, a sign that this was as new and overwhelming for him as it was for me.

"Spencer..." I murmured his name again, feeling it resonate in my chest at the same time his lips moved more intensely against mine. "Can I ask you something?"

I received an affirmative exhalation, and to let me speak, his lips moved to the hollow of my neck. Although my mouth was free, the soft and wet kisses I was receiving blurred my judgment a bit.

"Tell me”

"Did you really feel bad at the party? Or was it just..."

"I didn't want you to notice what you were doing to me. Although I think at this point it doesn't matter much, right?"

Contrary to what I expected, Spencer pushed his hips against mine, as if he wanted to prove that it was true. I could even call it a claim, something that said: look what you did to me. And I wanted him to know just how much my body was begging for him.

Carefully, I moved one of his hands from my waist, and before he could protest, I guided it to one of my thighs, dangerously close to my core. I was glad I had thought of lingerie as a great complement to my dress, maybe in an attempt to feel sexy even if no one saw it. But now, he was going to see it.

Spencer understood my silent request. Those long, slender fingers, which seemed made for more than just flipping through the pages of a book or scribbling frantic notes on paper, slid across my smooth skin. I sighed as I remembered the veins tracing a map under his fair skin, like rivers of contained energy.

Until they finally reached where I needed them. And his touch... God, his touch was something else. They were hands made for discovery, for holding, for exploring, but in those moments, they seemed to be made only for me.

Spencer wasn't an overly bold guy, so it didn't surprise me that he just traced shapes above my panties, as if he wanted to diagnose my anatomy before making any move. My sighs at his ear seemed to please him.

Suddenly, he stopped kissing me, and I huffed, since I liked the attention he was giving my shoulder, until I felt his lips drop just slightly. A loud, pathetic moan escaped me when he squeezed my tits while burying his face to leave an experimental kiss.

I was barely processing that when he knelt in front of me and, carefully, took the edge of my dress and lifted it.

My legs trembled with anticipation at the thought of what he was going to do next, and then I felt his lips brush my thigh. He started gentle, kind, but soon he began sucking every bit of skin he could, and in the end, he made sure to leave bites strong enough to make me whimper.

Who would have thought that this man, seemingly so inexperienced, turned out to offer the best foreplay a woman could desire?

I squealed as I felt his kisses trail down to the fabric of my panties, pausing for a moment to lick the length of my still-clothed pussy.

“You’re dripping wet,” he observed. I was too focused on not giving in right then and there to say anything "Is oral something you're into?"

“I don’t know,” I exclaimed honestly. I didn’t care how vulnerable I looked as I confessed that no man had ever dared to give me head “You?”

“It’s an idea that piques my curiosity, yes.”

Gently he slid some of the fabric aside to clear the way for his tongue, and I felt as if my entire body was only aware of the parts he was probing, kissing, sucking. When he raised my thigh to shoulder height, deepening his thrusts, I felt like I was going to pass out.

I lowered my hand to his thick head and tried, in vain, to push him away from me. I honestly didn’t have the strength or desire to do so, much less when he had picked up the pace.

I moaned a sweet nickname out loud and then Spencer pulled away, looking up at me with glossy, swollen lips.

“Take me to bed, please.”

He didn’t need me to say it twice as he immediately stood up and took me by the waist to guide me to said spot. I was able to taste myself on his lips and for some reason that only turned me on.

Once we hit the mattress the way he laid me down was gentle and I sighed at that. How could he be so sweet all the time? I wondered. And worse yet, how much would this little adventure affect my future expectations?

Because if it was about standards, I was finding out that Spencer Reid was the standard.

Seemingly more enthralled now by my lips than my pussy, he continued with the make-out session we were having. With each touch we had, my excitement was increasing more and more. In the midst of it all I managed to unbutton his shirt and take it off to leave it somewhere on the bed; the semi-darkness of the room shielded any insecurities he might be feeling, as well as my own.

“You are painfully stunning, did you know?”

My tone was one of reproach, and he laughed at that, looking down almost embarrassed. Maybe he wasn't used to compliments, but something told me he was definitely enjoying it.

I heard him murmur something under his breath about me, while he took down the straps of my dress. My hands almost instinctively went to unbuckle his belt, and before I could do anything, he pulled away from me. Needless to say, this left me confused.

"Sorry, I..."

“You don't want to?” I murmured understandingly. I thought maybe he wasn't a big fan of these situations, and I understood, but somehow I felt hurt.

"No! Sure I want to. I want it a lot, but..." he tried not to look at me, as if avoiding confrontation "It's just that I don't have any protection here”

A laugh escaped my lips, and I feared he might interpret it as mockery, so I stretched my neck to steal another kiss.

"One would think there are many girls who pass through these sheets."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you. It's cute, actually. It even makes me feel guilty," I murmured, smiling "For a second, I was afraid something had made you uncomfortable."

"No, it's not that."

I hesitated for a second whether I should suggest what was on my mind.

"We could do it like this. It doesn't bother me."

"It's not just about avoiding an unwanted pregnancy..." he began. At that moment, I saw him return to his usual nerdy mode. "Although, of course, that counts. But there are things like sexually transmitted infections, some of which don't even show symptoms at first and could complicate things if not detected on time. I know this doesn't sound very attractive, but believe me, protection isn't just for avoiding future problems; it's also to take care of you now, so you don't have issues later: because sometimes men can transmit diseases we're asymptomatic for, and to be honest, I've never done those kinds of tests. A lot of people don't think about it, but the risks are real. And don't get me wrong, I trust you, but even though you trust me, diseases don't discriminate. And I'd like us both to have that peace of mind. Prevention is never too much."

“You conflict me deeply. On the one hand, I admire how responsible you are; it's very cute. But on the other hand, I just urgently need you to fuck me deep and cum inside me”

Spencer was surprised by my desperate whining and tensed when I placed one of my legs around his waist, trying to persuade him. But I was even more surprised when I felt him pull completely away to stand beside the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"To the pharmacy," he announced, putting a jacket over his bare torso.

"Are you serious?" I laughed widely, sitting on the bed now that my companion had moved away.

"Definitely. I feel like I can't handle it any longer, it’s physically painful, and when you talk to me like that, it just drives me crazy” he groaned, joining in the fun. It was the first time something like this happened, and I honestly thought it was absolutely hilarious “I'll be back in a minute, I swear! Please, don't go...”

"I couldn't," I murmured sweetly. He came closer, and I took the opportunity to kiss him again "Be quick. I'll be waiting anxiously for you."

Something in my tone of voice affected the man, or maybe it was the wink I gave him, but I saw him bolt out the door. I flopped back onto the bed, taking a moment to digest what was happening.

I have to admit that my classmate had always been attractive to me, but I never thought he could feel the same way. Not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would be waiting for him in his bed so that, with any luck, he could ravish me without holding back.

As I reached out my arms, I could feel the fabric of the shirt I had previously removed from him, and then I brought it up to my nose, inhaling without thinking. A familiar scent hit me immediately: the mix of sweet cocktails he had drank during the party and a subtle trace of cannabis, as if the night was still impregnated in him. I could distinguish a hint of wood, perhaps from the furniture in the place, combined with a light scent of sweat that was not bothersome, but rather natural. And then, among all that, there was his perfume: a citrus and spicy aroma that evoked something fresh, but also deep, sensual, as if every molecule of his being was waiting for something more. I breathed harder, feeling that this aroma, this moment, defined him.

I didn't know why that particular night my whole body was screaming for his closeness. I was crazy about him and it wasn't the alcohol's fault, because I'd had too many drinks to know. Neither of us had ever done drugs and for a moment I was terrified by the idea that I could want to be with someone like that, with such fervor that it was worrying.

Still dizzy from the excitement of the moment, I lowered one of my hands to my crotch to get rid of my panties. I thought about him, wondering how skilled he was. Not that I doubted his abilities, but just like I’d told him that night, he might need some practice.

I started to fantasize about helping him through this situation, maybe guiding him or pampering him by just asking him to lay back so I could do all the work. Spencer was the kind of man who invited you to please him, the kind of man you wanted to satisfy because he never pressured you into it.

Playing with myself, I sniffed his shirt again, desperately wishing I could have the source of said scent with me, until my brain was filled only with daydreams in which he was the protagonist and my fingers were replaced by his. That's why I didn't notice when he opened the apartment. And that's why I didn't know he was watching me from the door frame until I heard him let out a ragged sigh.

Being caught in that position made me feel embarrassed at first, but the way he practically lunged at me and kissed me more decisively than before, I figured he liked seeing me like that.

"Busy?"

I was caught off guard by his sassiness and I knew he was proud of it by the smile I felt on my neck.

“I guess you found what we need, right?”

“Uh-huh”

“Have you read any books on female anatomy?”

“Quite a few”

“So I guess you know a lot about sexuality, don’t you?”

“In theory, yes. Unfortunately, I haven’t had many opportunities to put it into practice.”

A smile spread across my face, which luckily he couldn't see because he was too busy leaving a trail of kisses along the top of my torso.

“How unfortunate, considering you’re a scientist. I wouldn’t mind becoming an object of your study, though, you know?”

He subtly slid the straps of my dress and revealed my bra, from which a considerable part of my boobs protruded, which he happily kissed.

At the same time his hand came down to caress me, making me shiver with anticipation, resting on just the right spots. It was the least I could expect from such an intellectual man, one who definitely knew about the thousands of nerve endings concentrated in my clitoris, which he was definitely tapping into to satisfy me.

“May I?” he whispered, looking at the little underwear he still had on.

I nodded immediately and arched my back to make it easier for him to unbutton it, which didn't take too long. He was practically worshipping every inch of my skin, which, combined with his gentle yet firm fingers rubbing me, was driving me crazy.

We both moaned in unison as he pushed a finger into me. It felt just as good as I had imagined.

I had read somewhere that, physiologically, women need more time to achieve an orgasm and although none of my exes had cared about that, this one seemed to know that fact. Maybe that was why he was giving me such attention, which I was undoubtedly grateful for.

“Honey…” I choked out “you’re doing great, really, really good, but would you mind if we replaced those fingers? I want to feel you inside me,” I practically begged.

I never begged, I felt like a fool doing it, but if that got me the intensity of the kiss he gave me, I wouldn't mind starting to do it.

Spencer pulled away from me, searching for the packet of condoms he'd run off to get, and while he unbuttoned his pants I got rid of my dress, which by this point was just a mass of fabric around my waist.

My body wasn't perfect, but I figured that wouldn't matter to him. Besides, I doubt he'd be rude enough to mention it.

“Need a hand?” I joked playfully, noticing that he was struggling to open the silver package.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous,” he said to himself, hoping I wouldn’t mind too much.

I wanted to reward him for treating me so well a few moments ago and I took the package from his hands, placing my palm on his chest until I laid him down against the mattress. Once in that position it wasn't difficult to get rid of the wrapping to place the piece of latex on him, thinking that I didn't have a single complaint about his body.

My hands on him made him nervous and I watched him turn into a mess as I began pumping his cock up and down to make sure he had the condom on properly.

“You don’t have to hold back. I like the sounds you make,” I exclaimed in a velvety tone, trying to sound as genuine as possible “That way I know you’re enjoying it.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to hold out for much longer,” he confessed, as my hand continued to move along his length. Although I wished I could take better care of him, I understood the situation.

“Your wish is my command”

He didn't complain when I put each leg on his sides and he bravely hardened as I teased him for a moment before sinking my pussy onto his dick. I started slow, trying to make him last as long as possible, but with each second it was getting harder to keep up a pace.

I tried my best to ride him, trying to give him the best experience as a thank you for all his hospitality. And from the whimpers coming out of his throat I assume I was doing my job well.

At some point his hands ended up on my hips, guiding me as he pleased. Sometimes he pushed me down, as if he wanted to get to the bottom of me, and other times he manipulated me so that the thrusts were fast.

He wasn't lying when he said he would cum in no time, as the repressed desire added to the previous sexual actions had him on the edge of the abyss. I knew he had reached orgasm when he closed his eyes and his hips slammed against me, in erratic movements.

I kept riding him a little longer, chasing my own climax, and when I got it I put my hands against his chest, arching in pleasure. Spencer, breathing heavily, grabbed my wrists in his hands and then pulled me so that I was against his torso, my lips too close to his.

He placed his palm on my cheek and pulled me in his direction, seemingly asking for a kiss. I granted it.

“Are you satisfied?”

“I am,” I sighed wryly. It was cute that he didn’t know that sometimes girls don’t even make it. “How was it for you?”

“I'm speechless.”

I laughed and, to a certain extent, felt flattered that I had left a man who knew a million ways to express himself in that state.

We enjoyed the high we had just had for a few minutes and waited for our breathing to slow down; when our sighs took the same rhythm, he spoke again.

“You should go to the bathroom. It’s, uh… healthy for you to do it after every encounter.”

I reached for the garment he had been wearing and, trying to protect myself from the cold air, I put it on over myself.

“Do you mind lending it to me?”

“Nu-huh,” he hummed, eyeing me as if I were a cupcake. I would later learn how affected he was to see me using his clothes to slide out of bed.

When I came out of the bathroom he already had his boxers on, probably wanting to maintain modesty, and when he went to attend to his needs I also looked for my panties. It wasn't long before he returned to keep me company.

“Do you want to cuddle? I’d feel like a whore if I just left”

“Yes, of course I want”

He made sure to throw anything that was on the bed onto the floor and patted the pillows to make them more comfortable. I settled into the space next to him, leaning against his chest, right at heart level.

One of his arms was holding me from behind and in some strange way that made me feel safe; protected.

“Your feet are frozen, are you cold?”

"Not much"

“Do you want me to get you some socks?”

“I’m fine, Spencer,” I laughed softly. I brushed my cheek against his skin and tried to snuggle closer to him. “It’ll just get colder if you leave.”

“Did you know that the human body is incredibly efficient at maintaining its temperature? When two bodies are nearby, like… now,” he paused, settling a little closer to me, “heat transfer occurs due to thermal radiation and direct conduction. Essentially, each body generates heat that helps the other maintain a stable core temperature.”

“So you’re like a human blanket”

“That’s right. In fact, in situations of severe hypothermia, sharing body heat in this way can literally save lives.”

I raised my head to look at him and noticed an excited gleam in his eyes, the one he always had when he shared something from his vast knowledge.

“I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what you said earlier, about female anatomy,” seeing him frown, I continued, “No field of study considers one experimentation enough, right? Everything needs to be replicated two, three, four times. Ten times if necessary.”

“Your guess is quite accurate.”

“Say no more. We must give everything if it is in the name of science”

From the smile on his face, I knew that my joke had pleased him and that my proposal seemed to please him. To seal the deal I reached up and kissed him softly. We remained silent for a while, him caressing me over his own shirt and me enjoying the closeness.

“I like you a lot”

“I had a feeling,” I teased, earning a soft laugh from him “I really like you, too."

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and for some stupid reason a blush crept up my cheeks, even though we had just had sex. I carefully placed myself on top of his body and buried my face in his neck, feeling him hug me around the waist.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, I could tell by how calm his breathing was becoming, and I tried to enjoy the peace he emanated a little longer, until, eventually, Morpheus picked me up in his arms too.

@spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @shuichiakainx @gghostwriter @cafters @weallhaveadestiny @your-left-sock @jaeminsmilk @tmrs-basilisk @kristennotstewart @lostinwonderland314 @f4tpo3s @lortheswiftie @dark-unicorn222 @samsienichole @blackholegladiator @gretaandthatsit @cherrysprlte @halfbloodwriter @piercethefic @reidingandallthat @ariel-23-19 @zorrasucia @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat @juluina @kylakins88 @tinainaction @sadroses98 @dumbbunnys-safes @bowerfeithwk @freyafriggafrey

Thank you very much for your interest! I hope you liked it, if you feel like it, let me know what you think :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid spicy #spencer reid imagine

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moonstruckme · 6 months ago

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hello, my love! i cometh to the with a poly!marauders request.

i haven’t fleshed it out in my head, but could you write something revolving around them talking about r while she’s “asleep”? the way it came was in the sh drabble, reader falls asleep on james after the tough convo. i thought of a nice follow-up where the lads talk about ways to support them while they think she’s asleep and she feels so safe and supported and it’s just fluffy and cute.

it doesn’t have to be around sh or anything like that! just something fluffy and cute where they talk about her when they think she’s fallen asleep on one of the lads. it could be about past trauma they want to support her with, a trigger and them discussing how to go about helping, etc. - anything you fancy at all. i could use some soft fluff ❤️

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

poly!maraudes x fem!reader ♡ 796 words

Sirius’ thumb is sweeping a slow back-and-forth over the baby hairs at your temple. You can feel his chest rising and falling beneath your head, hear his heart inside it, smell the heady spice of his cologne. You’re sleepy enough that those things fuzz together, melt into the gooey softness of dozing.

James and Remus are tidying in the kitchen. You’ve been distantly aware of their low, continual sounds, but you don’t register the change until Remus’ footsteps near the couch where you and Sirius are lying, the floor creaking beneath his feet.

“Do either of you—oh.” His voice drops to a hush when Sirius shushes him. “Is she asleep?”

You have the notion to make some small sound, but your mind is sluggish. When Sirius murmurs, “yeah,” before you can, you decide to let it go.

Remus makes a soft tsking sound. You feel the couch bend near your feet. “Should we wake her? She might not sleep well tonight if she does now.”

“I don’t care when she sleeps.” Sirius’ thumb keeps stroking at your temple, his voice as soft as you’ve ever heard it. You think that you may never get past the oddity of being held by him like this. When you first met Sirius, any tenderness had to be disguised as flirting. In a moment like this he would have woken you with sweet, tickling kisses mushed into your neck, growling about how you were too cute to let sleep before making some joke about how if you want to get me into the bedroom, gorgeous, there are quicker ways. And it was all in good fun, you’d enjoyed it and known the real sentiments that lay beneath all his levity. But over time that showy, over-the-top amorousness has morphed into a more sincere sort of fondness, and you like this version of Sirius even more. “Only that she does,” he finishes. “She hasn’t been getting much of it lately.”

“No,” Remus hums. “I’ve noticed.”

There are a few moments of soft, blanketing silence between them. You start to drift off again, but then another pair of footsteps comes.

Remus must make some silent signal, because James whispers, “She’s sleeping?”

Two hums.

“It’s not like her to sleep during the day.”

“We don’t think she’s been getting much of it during the night, either,” sighs Remus.

James makes a low cooing sound. The throw piled by your feet finds its way up to your shoulders.

“James.” Remus’ voice is stern.

“What?”

“Don’t touch her face,” says Sirius.

“Sorry,” James laughs softly. “She just looks so cute.”

“Well, try to restrain yourself.”

“Okay, okay.” But a pair of lips touches down ever so softly on your forehead, and you hear Sirius’ amused chuff. “Why do you think it is that she’s not been sleeping?” James asks.

Remus hums. “M’not sure. I think she may just be a bit overwrought.”

Your chest aches at the caring in his tone. Sirius’ free arm bands across your shoulders, a protective, solid weight.

“She’ll be alright,” he murmurs. “She just needs a little extra help at the moment, is all.”

“Maybe we could bake something tonight,” says James. “She always likes that.”

Remus’ voice is warm with affection. “That’s sweet, Jamie. Maybe something simple, so she can just relax.”

“Like decorating cookies?”

“Do we have the stuff for that?” Sirius wonders.

James scoffs, and you feel Sirius’ chin bump your head as though a forceful kiss has been pressed upon the top of his. “As if you’d have any idea what’s in our pantry. Cute.”

A smile tugs at your lips. You shift slightly to hide it, turning your face further into Sirius’ chest. All three boys go quiet.

Sirius rubs your shoulder gently. “It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, lips to your hair. “Go back to sleep.” Your boyfriends stay silent as you settle, and for a cautious while after that.

“She’s so precious,” Remus whispers, almost too softly for anyone to hear.

James makes a quiet sound of agreement. “I hate when she’s upset.”

“I don’t think she’s very upset,” Remus muses. “Or if she is, she might not know herself. It’s all just a bit much right now, I think.”

“She’ll be okay,” Sirius says again. His hand is moving over your shoulder still. You think he might do it for hours if it kept you from waking, he loves you that much. Your heart feels too big for your chest. “We’ll take care of her. Cookies, right?”

“It’s a start,” Remus agrees.

“James, I swear to god, if you wake her I will fill your shoes with dog shit.”

“I won’t,” James swears. “Relax.” He presses his lips to the tip of your nose, and both the other boys sigh.

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lazyspeedy · 2 years ago

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it’s funny bc he actually did take a polaroid of us lol

#it was two of us and one of me alone 🙃 that was for me but he kept 🙃#and i forgot to ask for them back agian before we had a fallout fight whatever #have u ever had a dude just and tell u that u r the problem lmao #like not like anti hero.mp3 but him put all the blame on u and say u have issues ❤️ but if u wanna sleep together tho 🫣#oh and be condescending to u abt relationships #<< some ppl r polygamous >>#yeah i fucking know that my roommate was poly #anyways he messaged me and i should’ve acted on my racing thoughts last night abt removing him from my socials #why didn’t i block him? idk i was thinking i would appear bitter or something #FUCK #^^

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ponchigg · 9 months ago

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How To Actually Set Intention To Reality Shift.

Original post made by LadyNuggie on the reddit shifting community r/Shiftingrealities. All credits to them.

Setting the intention to shift is one of the most widely discussed topics in the shifting community. A lot of shifters (especially on tiktok) will tell you "all you need to shift is intention." One girl literally said, "all you need to shift is intention, and if anyone tells you otherwise, they're lying." Something about that didn't sit right with me and it took me a while to put my finger on why that statement bothered me.

The thing is, first of all, all you need to shift is intention and the right altered state of consciousness that works for you so you can connect to your DR and detach from your CR. But besides that, let's say all you did need to shift was intention. Well then, how do you set that intention? Because there is a right way to set intention and a wrong way.

Setting intention isn't going to sleep half hoping you wake up in your DR. Some people have literally shifted that way, but that doesn't mean that that is how you actually set intention. The key to setting intention is moving a message, desire or want from your conscious mind into your subconscious mind. Your conscious mind makes up about 5% of what we call "the mind". The remaining 95% is your subconscious and unconscious mind. Your subconscious is comprised of everything you've ever seen, heard, tasted, and experienced. Your thoughts, beliefs, values, and habits all stem from the workings of your subconscious mind. That is why "reprogramming your subconscious mind" is a popular topic in the shifting community.

Now, you set intention by ingraining or imprinting your desire into your subconscious mind. Simply having a thought or want in your head does not mean that the intention has been set. And this is where I explain what prospective memory is.

Prospective memory is when you have a "prospect" or something in mind that you want to accomplish later. Maybe you want to remember to buy more toilet paper the next time you drive by target or you need to remember to pick up your sister from her piano recital. You remember to do those tasks in the future because of prospective memory.

When trying to learn how to lucid dream, one of the first concepts you come across is reality checking, which is basically performing an action multiple times throughout the day so that you get used to it and at some point do it in a dream (because it's been ingrained into your subconscious and has become a habit). So if your reality check is counting your fingers, when the action pops up in a dream, you become lucid because in a dream you could have 8 or 4 fingers on one hand and you realize it's a dream!

Let's say you told yourself that whenever you walk into a room or stand up from a seat, you would do a reality check. That is you utilizing your prospective memory. That way, the action shows up in a dream because your subconscious mind "remembered" to do it!

So how does this relate to shifting? Well, a major reason why sleep methods don't work for a lot of people is because (like me) they have weak prospective memory. You could tell me to clap twice in the next 30 seconds and I'll forget. So it's no wonder that I "forget" to shift when I use sleep methods.

You shift with a sleep method when you set the intention to shift (using prospective memory) to your DR and detach from your CR through an altered state of consciousness (in this case, that would be sleep). When you successfully shift using a sleep method, it is because your subconscious "remembered" to do so!

This is also why a lot of people have dreams about their DR. Because the images, people and sensations from their DR have been ingrained in their subconscious mind, so they dream about it! I've literally had dreams where I walked through a portal to try to shift although I wasn't lucid.

So if you want to use sleep methods, (although this is important for any kind of shifting method) I highly recommend working on your prospective memory by giving yourself little tasks to do throughout the day. You could also start doing reality checks, that way, even if you don't shift at least you could have a lucid dream which you could use to shift anyways.

An Example of a Prospective Memory Exercise for Shifting (can also be used for lucid dreaming):

▪️ The next time I walk into the kitchen I will: do a reality check and remind myself to shift to my DR when I go to sleep.

▪️ The next time I turn on a light bulb I will: do a reality check and remind myself to shift to my DR when I go to sleep.

▪️ The next time I pick something up from the floor I will: do a reality check and remind myself to shift to my DR when I go to sleep.

▪️ The next time I flush the toilet I will: do a reality check and remind myself to shift to my DR when I go to sleep.

Try to do each task 3 times each day. Good luck!

#reality shifting #shifting community #law of assumption #law of attraction #manifestation #manifesting #void #void state #loa

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mind-empty-just-fictional-people · 1 year ago

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Too Many Beds

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

summary: you want nothing more than an excuse to sleep next to dean again

pairing: (pre-s1/s1) dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 2.1k

warnings: none really, language, bed sharing, kissing, mutual pining, idiots in love, brief mention of the death of reader’s dad

timeline: starts slightly before season one, ends near the beginning of season one

author’s note: a spin on the classic 'just one bed, what ever shall we do?' trope lol

You’d known Dean all your life, practically. You met him when you were six and he was eight; two lonely little kids stuck with absent (job-driven) fathers and baby brothers you felt responsible for. Over the course of the last eighteen-or-so years you ran into the Winchesters during hunts enough that you considered them family.

When Sam left for college you were there for Dean and when you lost your dad in a hunting accident Dean was there for you. He actually stayed with you, not wanting you to hunt alone since your brother was off at college too.

So, for the last six months you’d been hunting with Dean (who hadn’t spoken to Sam for over a year).

“One room, two queens,” Dean said to the woman behind the counter, placing “his” credit card on the space between them before sliding it toward her.

“We’re all booked up I’m afraid,” she said.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I was actually about to turn on the no vacancy sign.”

“This is the third motel we’ve been to,” you said, “every one of them has been full—you’ve gotta have something!”

“I mean, there’s technically one room left but the heater’s out and my boss said not to let anyone sleep there because of that.”

There was a silent pause; you and Dean shared a knowing look.

“We’ll pay in cash, your boss ‘ll never know,” you told the woman. She smiled and nodded as you paid her with cash.

“Room 209, my boss gets here at ten tomorrow morning so please leave before then.” She handed you the key and you nodded in thanks.

You had underestimated just how cold the room could be, but when you unlocked and opened the door you understood why the owner didn’t want anyone staying here.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled, following you into the room and feeling the cold air. “We’re gonna freeze our asses off in here!” he quickly closed the door behind him, hoping the icy air hadn’t swept any snow into the room.

“It’s either this or we sleep in the Impala,” you shrugged, “and, no offense to your car, but it’s fuckin’ uncomfortable to sleep in.”

“And there’s only one bed,” Dean sighed.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you told him, ignoring his complaints.

“Are you shivering or crying?” Dean asked.

You rolled over so you could meet his stare; “Shivering! It’s fuckin’ cold in here!”

“You wanna…cuddle up, maybe?” he asked hesitantly.

“Excuse me?” you laughed a little.

“Look, I’m not thrilled about it either, but it’s cold in here and unless we both wanna catch fucking pneumonia we better be smart and share body heat.”

You sighed, weighing your options; “Fine. But we never, and I mean never speak of this again, you hear me?”

“Understood.” He nodded.

You rolled back over as he scooted closer to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you into his chest.

“This okay?” he asked quietly, his lips ghosting the back of your head.

“Yeah,” you mumbled back. “Thank you, Dean.”

You woke up to the sound of Dean snoring loudly. You were used to his snores, sure, but he’d never been this close. He was laying on his stomach and resting on your chest; his mouth open and his hair tickling your neck. Your first reaction was annoyance but then it quickly washed away as you realized you didn’t want to move a muscle, so Dean could continue sleeping.

And the more you laid there, listening to his snores, the more you realized how comfortable you were…even in such a physically uncomfortable situation.

As the time passed and the sun began to rise, you cursed the light that was slowly but surely peeking through the curtain and onto Dean’s face.

“Morning,” he mumbled to you as he lifted his head up. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand before wiping his mouth. “Sorry,” he chuckled, noticing the small spot on your gray sweater dampened with his drool.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled back. “I think it’s your sweater anyway.”

“I thought it looked familiar.”

He rolled off of you and out of bed.

You watched as he padded across the dirty carpet and over to the small kitchen. He turned on the coffee maker and the loud, off putting grinding noise made his face scrunch before he quickly shut off the (definitely broken) machine.

“So much for coffee,” he grumbled. “You gonna sit there all morning or you wanna get outta here? We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“I’m getting up,” you replied. You would usually be annoyed at him for rushing you to wake up, but this time the annoyance was…different. Something about his bedhead, the way his lips were pouting over the lack of caffeine, and how he looked in his brown Henley and baggy sweats just made you wanna hold him again. All you wanted was to pull him back into bed with you and hold him in your arms forever.

You were beyond frustrated at this point. How many stupid fucking hotels had to have vacant rooms with two beds and a functional heating system!?

It had been nearly six months since you and Dean shared a bed and you had been looking for an excuse to sleep next to him ever since.

But the last couple weeks had been different—Sammy was back. Yes, you loved Sam like a brother, but you missed getting to be alone with Dean. You missed sitting shotgun in the Impala and watching him drive.

Sam definitely noticed the way you looked at Dean, but the younger Winchester didn’t say a word. Without being too obvious about it, he tried to do little things that would let you be close to his brother. He’d sit in a certain chair or part of the couch so that you and Dean had no choice but to sit together. Or he’d make some lame excuse so that he got his own room while you and Dean had to share. “I need to do some more research and I need the light, why don’t you two just sleep in the other room?” for example.

“Two rooms, please,” Dean said, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet.

“Unfortunately we’ve only got one room left,” the cashier replied.

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, fucking finally!

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you faked your best frustrated look, of course Sam saw right through that.

“Well, I am not sharing with either or you,” he said with a teasing smile.

“There’s actually a pullout couch in that room, as luck would have it,” the cashier informed the three of you.

God fucking damn it, you thought to yourself.

It was barely after two when you felt the bed behind you dip, and you shook yourself awake.

“The hell?” you asked, still half asleep.

“The pullout couch isn’t working,” Dean mumbled quietly. “You mind sharing with me?”

You smiled a little and scooted closer into his arms, indicating you were okay with him sleeping next to you.

“Of course I don’t mind sharing with you,” you whispered and his grip tightened.

“I’m gonna go get breakfast,” Sam announced. “I’m assuming you want your usual?”

Dean put his right pointer finger to his lips and furrowed his brows angrily. He gestured to you as you slept and Sam got the message.

“Usual is good,” Dean whispered before Sam left.

Dean stayed laying perfectly still as you slept on his chest, soft snores escaping your lips and to Dean they were the sweetest sound.

As you stirred awake slowly, he rubbed your back a little.

“Morning,” you mumbled, a small smile on your lips. “Where’s Sam?”

“He went to grab breakfast,” Dean told you.

You furrowed your brows as you sat up, looked across the room, and realized something; “The pullout bed looks fine? I thought you said it wasn’t working?” You turned back to Dean, who had a sheepish grin growing on his lips.

“So…maybe I’ve just been looking for an excuse to sleep next to you again. Like we did back in that motel when the heat was out.”

“Really?” You attempted to hide the smile trying to find its way onto your face.

“When we were checking in last night I noticed how your face lit up when they said there was only one room left,” Dean admitted. “And I saw that disappointed look you made when they said there was a pullout couch. So, am I wrong, or have you been wanting an excuse too?”

“I really liked sleeping next to you that night,” you said, avoiding eye contact. “And you’re right, I have been hoping for another ‘oh no just one bed, guess we’ll have to share’ situation but…”

“But what?” Dean asked when you trailed off. You looked down at him.

“Dean, you and Sam have been like my brothers for as long as I can remember. I mean, Bobby practically raised all three of us and my actual brother as siblings! Your dad and my dad knew each other basically forever and I guess…I guess I figured our lives are too entangled for anything to ever actually happen between us. We’re family.”

“Chosen family, Y/n.” Dean smiled softly. “Doesn’t mean you have to be my chosen sister, you could be my chosen…you know…”

You leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his full lips.

“That,” Dean finished his previous statement.

“Let’s just keep this between us for now, okay?” you suggested. “If Sam finds out, then your dad will find out, and he’ll immediately tell my brother, then before we know it Bobby—”

“I get the picture, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled before kissing you again. He put his hands on your cheeks as he sat up. He pulled you onto his lap, your legs now straddling his hips. His hands moved to your shoulders then trailed down to your lower back as yours went into his hair. You pulled away from him after a moment, huge smiles on both your faces.

You looked into his eyes, his truly beautiful eyes, and you bit your bottom lip ever so slightly. Your right hand rested on his left cheek, your thumb stroking his skin lovingly.

“You’re awesome, Dean Winchester,” you whispered.

“You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he replied before he kissed you again. “And gorgeous, too,” he added. “You know how fuckin’ annoying it’s been, sleeping without you every night since that one time?”

“I do know, Dean, I’ve been just as annoyed about it.”

Dean kissed you one more time before he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, tucking his head into your neck. You wrapped your arms around him too, pressing your lips to his temple.

You pulled out of the hug so you could once again look at his face. Resting your forehead on his, you smiled before you kissed him again.

“Breakfast,” Sam called out as he opened the door, “is served!”

You and Dean froze for a split second before you hurried off of him.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Sam said, “did I interrupt you two?”

“What?” you scoffed. “Of course not!”

“Interrupt? There’s nothing to interrupt?” Dean added.

“Oh…wow you two are fast,” Sam mumbled, shaking his head as he made his way to the kitchen before putting the food down. “Well, pancakes, eggs, and bacon from the continental breakfast.” He gestured to the food now on the table. “Hope you’re hungry.”

As Sam sat down to eat, you looked at Dean anxiously. Say something you begged him with your eyes.

“Sammy,” Dean started as he got out of bed, “would you mind uh…not telling dad? About me and Y/n…kissing just now? When we find him, I mean.”

“Dad’s never really been invested in your love life, but he’s not an idiot,” Sam laughed.

“So…you are gonna tell him?” Dean furrowed his brows in frustration.

“Dean, he knows you two are together, it’s not some big secret?” Sam replied, shoveling more food into his mouth. “Damn that’s good.”

“Okay, just hold on—what?” Dean asked. “What do you mean dad knows? There’s been nothing to know since like four minutes ago?”

“Wait,” Sam stopped eating and fully turned to face you and his brother, “are you trying to tell me this is the first time you two have kissed?” Sam furrowed his brows deeply as you and Dean both nodded. “So…never in high school?” You shook your heads again. “That prom we crashed?”

“Sam you were there the whole time? When would we have kissed?” you asked.

“Huh,” Sam let out a laugh. “I genuinely thought you two had been a thing since like… ‘98.”

“What!?” you and Dean exclaimed in unison.

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