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fuckyeahdindjarin · 7 months

Text

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, pure fluff, mentions of baking and food, meet cute, some sexual tension but very mild stuff compared to my other fics, single dad!Joel being a sexy menace, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has an accent similar to Joel, very lightly edited, not my best work, but I'm in my writing for fun era 💁🏻‍♀️

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: It's here! This was an exercise in speed writing, and just putting words to paper without overthinking anything. I really enjoyed writing this sweet little piece, this is dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who has been the biggest cheerleader for this idea since day one. Happy birthday to our favourite single dad who never lived through a cordyceps outbreak ❤️

September 26, 2003 was supposed to be a good day.

It’s Friday, after all. Not that the weekend is relevant to you anymore, with Saturdays and Sundays being the busiest days for business. But you have a date for once tonight, and you’re determined to enjoy it.

If you can get the goddamn security shutter to close, that is.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull futilely at the bottom of the metal shutter with both hands, but it refuses to budge. You lament the sweat seeping through the fabric of the nice dress you changed into, the hem reaching almost indecent heights on the back of your thighs where it’s climbed up. And you don’t have to look at your reflection to know that stress has already smudged the edges of the eyeliner you hurriedly painted on as soon as you got the last customer out the door.

You can be forgiven for not noticing the wash of yellow headlights over the windows of the shop front and the sound of rolling tyres as a truck pulls up on the curb outside the bakery, until a gravelly voice pipes up behind you alongside hurried footsteps.

‘Ma’am, please tell me you’re still open.’

You tap on the ‘Closed’ sign through the window without turning around, determined to wrangle the shutter into submission. ‘Bad luck buddy, come back tomorrow. We open at nine sharp.’

‘No I can’t, I’m so sorry, but I need a cake now.’

Curiosity turns your head, and over your shoulder, you find a broad-shouldered man in a dark tshirt and casual jeans standing a respectful four paces away. Under eyebrows sloping downwards in a pleading angle that matches the slant of his moustache, his warm and imploring eyes are on you.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to go,’ you say. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

‘Look, I’ll do you one better. I’ll fix the shutter for you for free - if you sell me a cake.’

You purse your lips, the prospect of saving on what looks like an inevitable repair bill tempting. ‘You can fix it?’

‘I’m a contractor,’ he replies, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a battered looking wallet. ‘Here’s my card, if you think I’m bluffin’.’

Miller & Associates is printed in bold across the top, and underneath, is presumably his name and cell number. Glancing up at him, you say, ‘Look, Mr. Miller, I really want to help, but I’m late for a date, and I’m all sold out of cakes today -’

‘I’ll take anything you got. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever you have left,’ he cuts in, then apologises in quick succession, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry to be so pushy - I’m not, usually - but I promised my daughter I’d bring something home, and by the time I remembered, this is the only place I could think of. Please.’

You feel the exact moment your resolve crack, and then fold like a goddamn lawn chair. What can you say, this contractor really knows how to work those puppy eyes, and you can never say no to a man who refuses to let their kid down.

Especially when the man looks like this.

Shooting off a text to your date to push back your dinner plans, you nod towards the door. ‘Alright. C’mon in, Mr. Miller.’

‘Nice place you got here,’ he remarks politely, hovering by the entrance as the fluorescent lights flicker on, his manners impeccably southern.

‘You don’t have to flatter me, I’ve already let you in,’ you joke, lips quirking at the way he flusters. ‘But I appreciate it. You been here before?’

When he smiles, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. ‘No, but I know I’ll be comin’ back.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I was out of ready-made cakes,’ you tell him, holding the door open to the kitchen so he can come in after you. ‘But I have some cake layers in the fridge so I can put together something fairly quickly.’

He ducks his head in a manner that tells you he’s not used to demanding things, and protests, ‘I don’t want to put you out. I meant it, if you just have some cupcakes or somethin’ -’

‘Listen, you promised your daughter a cake, didn’t you?’ you interrupt.

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

‘Well, as a baker, ‘mfraid I can’t let a cakeless birthday happen on my watch, Mr. Miller,’ you insist, opening the fridge door with a flourish. ‘Let’s see what we have here. Cake for three, I assume?’

‘Two, actually.’

Hopefully you’re as discreet as you think you are when your eyes drop to his left hand - his fourth finger is conspicuously ringless.

Interesting.

You hum, considering the mismatched options in your inventory. ‘It’s gonna be a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster of a cake, if you don’t mind. How does chocolate and vanilla layers with cookies and cream frosting sound?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he answers without skipping a beat. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

You shake your head, hands full of cake rounds wrapped in cling film as you nudge the fridge close. ‘Please, call me Bri, Mr. Miller.’

‘And you can call me Joel,’ he says in return. ‘Is Bri short for somethin’?’

Laying the cakes on the work surface, you reply, ‘Yeah, Bri for brioche, like the bread. It's a silly nickname.’

The single dad surprises you with a low whistle. ‘Can’t say I saw that comin’.’

You grin. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Joel.’

You don’t often have an audience while baking, and you find yourself talking Joel through the steps while you prep everything for assembly.

Swirling a spatula through the tub of buttercream you made earlier that day, you explain, ‘I just need to whip up some of this frosting so that it’s nice and soft for putting the cake together. You wanna help me break up some Oreos so we can make it cookies and cream?’

‘I’m all yours, chef,’ he says, one corner of his mouth curling into a teasing smile that has no business warming the apples of your cheek as it does. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

While your Kitchenaid whirrs to life, whipping air into the buttercream, Joel wields a rolling pin, smashing a generous helping of Oreos into crumbs in a Ziplock bag. The almost exaggerated care with which he moves speaks to inexperience in the kitchen, and you muse that either his kid makes up for it in that department, or they live off takeout.

Eventually, he picks up the bag and looks at you in a question. ‘I think I’m done?’

You smile and tap the lip of the mixing bowl. ‘That’s perfect. Why don’t you tip in the crumbs straight in here?’

Before you can step back to allow him space, Joel’s taken two strides towards you, and his arm brushes your shoulder when he lifts the bag and tilts the contents into the frosting. He’s warm and solid, and damnit, he smells good - like sawdust and sweat.

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

There’s a lull, and only when you feel the weight of eyes on you do you realise that you missed his question.

‘Did you say somethin'?’ you squeak, embarrassed.

‘I said, is this ok?’ he repeats, nodding at the mixing bowl.

You nearly stumble over your words. ‘Yes, yes it’s perfect.’

He watches you closely, a touch of concern in his brown eyes. ‘You ok there, honey?’

‘Yup,’ you chirp, far too cheerfully. ‘Just need to mix it all up now -’

If you had your wits about you, you would stir in the crumbs first and set the machine on low. But this man somehow stole said wits by sheer proximity to you, and you accidentally start the Kitchenaid on high, an indignant yelp escaping you when Oreo dust flies aggressively out of the bowl along with a splatter of white buttercream that lands squarely on the front of your dark knit dress.

‘Oh shit!’ you cry out, frantically turning off the mixer. ‘Shit shit shit!’

Over your panicked mantra, Joel is calmness itself. ‘Hang on, honey, I gotcha.’

He makes a beeline towards the sink, grabbing a tea towel and wets it under the tap with a bit of dishwashing liquid. It all screams competent single dad, and you find yourself staring at his unfairly large hand, mapped with thick veins, holding out the damp towel for you to take.

‘Thanks,’ you stutter self-consciously, the tips of your ears hot while swiping at the stain. ‘That was a rookie mistake. I promise I’m actually a good baker.’

He gives you a wink to put you at ease. ‘Don’t worry, I believe you.’

Starting over, the mixer hums as it gently incorporates the Oreos until the buttercream is a speckled grey and doubled in volume. ‘Looks like it’s ready. You wanna taste, Joel?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘D’ya have a spoon or somethin’ for me?’

‘You can use your fingers,’ you reply, and it's too late to take it back.

You feel the back of your neck heating up when he shoots you a meaningful look, just a touch of mischief in the tilt of his lips.

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

You try a nonchalant shrug that probably comes off as painfully awkward. ‘This batch is just for you, I won’t tell the health inspector if you don’t.’

Joel chuckles, his strong shoulders quaking. And so you watch, shamelessly, as he raises his right hand, index and middle fingers at the ready, before diving into the metal bowl, scooping up a generous dollop of buttercream. There’s a peek of his pink tongue when his plush lips part, and then he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a gratuitously loud moan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he turns to you with a pained expression on his face, maintaining eye contact all the while licking an errant streak of frosting off the side of his middle finger, you gape at him for a whole five seconds before you manage to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

‘You betcha, honey,’ he declares, then adds, ‘Mind if I double dip?’

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know it, but a hot flush runs through your body and you swallow thickly. ‘You can do whatever you want, cowboy.’

You don’t think you’re imagining the wicked glint in his answering stare - you’re getting yourself into trouble, and don’t you know it.

Clearing your throat, you attempt to thwart your mind's dangerous descent into the gutter by changing the subject. ‘So, I can do somethin’ really snazzy that I think your daughter would like - do you know what a piñata cake is?’

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘Hardly,’ you chuckle. ‘It’s a cake filled with sprinkles, so when you cut into it, it’s a sprinkles surprise!’

He lets out a playful sigh of relief. ‘As long as there’s no whackin’ involved, it’s good by me.’

You gesture at him to follow you across the room. ‘And here’s the fun part - you get to choose the sprinkles.’

Joel whistles at the reveal of your compulsively organised sprinkles cabinet, each shelf sorted by colour, shape and size. He quips, ‘Is this what the inside of your brain looks like, honey?’

You grin. ‘Pretty much. What’s your daughter’s name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

Now that everything is ready and waiting on the work surface, you pull out a lazy Susan and plonk a cake board on top of it, dusting your hands dramatically. ‘Alright, Joel. Ready for the magic to happen?’

Making himself comfortable next to you, he leans on his elbows, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his tshirt stretches and strains over his back. ‘Go ahead, I’m ready to be impressed, honey.’

Filling a piping bag full of the cookies and cream buttercream, you ask, ‘You wanna get your hands dirty?’

He raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll leave it to you, I don’t want to make you any more late for your date.’

You’re used to working with much bigger cakes, so this one doesn’t take you long. With a cookie cutter, you carve out a small circle from each cake round, then you stack and fill the layers with buttercream. After loading the shaft in the middle with all manner of pink sprinkles, you stopper the top with the cake cut-outs.

‘How old is Sarah turning today?’ you ask conversationally while you spin the cake around, smoothing on the crumb coat.

Joel looks up, surprised. ‘Oh, it’s my birthday today, not hers. ‘

‘Wait, what?’ you cry, throwing your hands up. ‘I made this cake with Sarah in mind - it will literally be vomiting pink sprinkles!’

‘I’m a girl dad. I like pink,’ shrugs Joel easily.

You huff, using an icing smoother to make sure the buttercream is even all over the cake. ‘I would pop the cake into the freezer to firm up before adding a final layer of frosting if I had the time, but this will have to do.’

‘It looks great,’ Joel assures you as you put the finishing touches to the cake, with buttercream swirls all around the top and a final baptism of sprinkles.

‘There, all done. Lemme box it up for you and this bad boy is ready to go.’

‘Amazin’, thank you so much,’ he grins. ‘Please, lemme do the washin’ up while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, Joel, you can’t,’ you protest, but he’s already grabbed the mixing bowl and all the bits and bobs stained with buttercream. ‘You’re the birthday boy!’

‘Least I can do,’ he shoots back over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink.

‘Well no, you promised to fix the security shutter for me, remember?’ you call after him.

‘Damn, I was hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.’

Joel cleans up with a practised air, humming under his breath as he waits for the water to heat up and the soap to lather. You watch him from the corner of your eye while you secure the cake inside the box, throwing in a birthday candle for good measure. You’ve just tied a nice ribbon around the cardboard box when he puts away everything in the drying rack and wipes his hands dry.

‘Didn’t expect you to be good at that,’ you tease, moving towards the door.

‘Sexist much?’ he jokes, no real bite in his retort. Then by way of explanation, he tells you, ‘I work late, so Sarah usually cooks and I wash up afterwards.’

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

Joel helps with the lights and locks the door, and you stand to one side when he grabs the security shutter and forces it into submission by brute force. You can’t help but stare when the bottom of his tshirt rides up, revealing a soft sliver of belly underneath, his biceps bulging and back rippling as the shutter is finally forced shut in a metallic ripple.

You give him a smile. ‘Well, happy birthday, Joel.’

‘Thanks again for the cake.’ He looks around, as if looking for your car, but the sidewalk is empty except for his truck. ‘How are you gettin’ to your date?’

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

‘No, you ain’t,’ he nods towards his ride. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Oh, no, it’s late, and you should be getting back to Sarah -’

‘I spoiled your date, so please, let me,’ he insists, holding the door open on the passenger side. Hop in.’

Joel takes the cake off your hands and puts it in the backseat carefully, putting the seat belt over it while you climb in. Glancing over your shoulder, you see toolboxes and newspapers on the floor, and it smells like paint and wood dust.

‘Sorry it’s a bit messy, occupational hazard,’ he apologises as he straps himself in. ‘So, where are we goin’?’

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

‘Vaguely,’ he replies, pulling smoothly away from the curb. ‘It sounds fancy.’

‘You been?’

‘Nope, I barely have time to go anywhere nowadays. It seems like I’m only ever in bed, or at work, or in my truck.’

You turn to smile at him, admiring the way his his thick fingers around the top of the steering wheel, making it look so small. ‘I feel you. Small business owner, am I right?’

‘I hear ya,’ he shoots you a smile. ‘So - what’s the deal with tonight? First date?’

‘Fourth, actually.’

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Fourth date? You know what happens on a fourth date, honey.’

‘I don’t, actually. Tell me, what happens on a fourth date?’

He blows out his cheeks, and admits, ‘Honestly, I can’t tell ya. I haven’t been on a fourth date since 1991.’

You burst into laughter at his unexpected answer. ‘You’re such a dork, Joel Miller.’

When the truck rumbles to a stop outside the steakhouse ten minutes later, he looks at his watch and announces, ‘Here we are, only fifteen minutes late.’ Squinting through the windshield, he points at a man smoking outside, an impatient frown on his face. ‘That him?’

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ you nod, but you stay put in your seat, in no hurry to make a move.

Joel nods, tapping his tidily trimmed nails on the steering wheel. ‘So I’ll swing ‘round tomorrow after work with my toolbelt? ‘Round six thirty?’

‘A toolbelt? What a sight to look forward to,’ you rib, slowly reaching for the seatbelt and unbuckling it.

‘Hell yeah, it’s got a special clip for my Nokia and all,’ he adds mischievously.

'You must fend off the ladies by the dozen,' you tease.

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

You probably shouldn’t have, especially not with the guy who you’re supposed to be on a date with glaring daggers at you through the windshield. But there’s something cackling in the air between you and this man you just met not an hour ago, and the way the streetlight filters through the window, backlighting his messy curls and scraggly beard, that has you throwing caution to the proverbial wind.

Impulsively, you lean across the gear shift, your left hand finding purchase on his knee before pressing your lips to the side of his whiskered jaw, your kiss fitting right into that little heart-shaped patch on his beard.

You’re not sure who’s more taken aback, but you don’t have time to find out.

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

He smiles after you as you hop out of his truck.

You’ve just sold your last cupcake of the day when the bell over the bakery door rings. And sure enough, it’s Joel Miller crossing the threshold, right on the dot at six thirty.

‘Hey, Bri,’ he waves, hovering half-in and half-out of the shop, a slight awkwardness having set in overnight.

But it's ok, you're happy to pick up where you left off. Putting your hands on your waist and a cheeky grin, you quip, ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding about that toolbelt, huh?’

Your chest swells as you watch him thaw with an easy smile, and he banters back, ‘I’m a man of my word, honey. You ok with me gettin’ to work now?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be cleanin’ up back in the kitchen, I’ll join you when I’m done.’

Joel shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Great. I’ll grab the ladder and get right to it.’

When you emerge fifteen minutes later, he’s on the fourth rung of the ladder, tinkering the rolling mechanism with a screwdriver and a studious frown on his brow. He looks like he’s wearing the same thing as yesterday - you can believe that he’s a man who buys the same tshirt in bulk - and he smiles at you when you duck out of the shop.

‘Did Sarah like the cake?’ you ask in casual conversation.

‘She went nuts over the piñata surprise,’ he replies. ‘And the cake was delicious, there were hardly any crumbs left when we were done with it. She says we’re definitely ordering a cake from you for her birthday.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘How was your evening?’ he asks, glancing down at you from his perch. ‘Did you find out what happens on a fourth date?’

You let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I did, actually. He dumped me.’

Joel freezes, a scowl darkening his countenance. ‘Oh shit, what? Why?’

You shrug, leaning your weight on the ladder as you look at the ground. ‘I mean, I did show up an hour late in some other guy’s truck. And I guess probably shouldn’t have kissed you on the cheek right in front of him.’

You startle when Joel’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘Honestly, you don’t look that sorry, Joel Miller,’ you joke.

He cocks his head to one side. ‘Well, I can't lie, I think you deserve better than him.’

‘Do you now?’ you prompt. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

Joel peers at you from under long lashes with a half-smile that's almost shy. He dodges your question, and says instead, ‘I didn't mean to ruin your night, let me make it up to you, honey.’

‘How?’

Deftly, he climbs down the ladder, landing squarely on two booted feet, his presence comforting as he looms over you, his eyes warm. ‘Can I buy you dinner?’

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

You can’t help the dig. ‘And you were just sayin' you haven’t been on a date since...?’

He flashes you a smirk, and you shiver when his hand brushes your waist. ‘Since 1991. Tough sell, I know - but I thought I’d give it a shot.’

Running a finger along his sharp jawline, softened by the endearingly untidy beard, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from giving away too wide a grin. ‘Why, I think I have a good feelin’ about you, Joel Miller.’

Catching your wrist in his fingers, he presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles, the rough graze of his stubble chasing goosebumps across your skin as his eyes smile at you. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, honey.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this sweet little oneshot 🥰 I really leaned into the fluff and I have no regrets. Comments/reblogs/asks are much appreciated as always! I don't have plans for a second part right now, but a smutty follow-up is always a possibility...

The adorable dividers are by @firefly-graphics 👩🏻‍🍳

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller imagine #no outbreak au #joel miller oneshot #the last of us oneshot #fuckyeahshorts

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ahhhwomen · 2 months

Text

Nothing really matters.

Vampire Empire

Part 3

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: Well this was depressing to write... Anyways, enjoy!

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), also this is not a Carol positive fic (I have nothing against her, but I needed a villain), death Minors DNI 18+

Summary: You feel numb, what does it matter anymore?

Word Count: 2.1k

Taglist: @thinking1bee

The next time either of them sees you is in one of Natasha’s business meetings a few weeks later.

Back in Carol’s possession, you kneel in the corner of the conference room while Carol raises her voice at anyone with a slight attitude toward her idiotic ideas.

After half an hour, the constant bickering between the blond woman and Natasha’s respective staff members had become background noise.

There is a crinkling of paper as Natasha scuffles her documents around for a moment while deep in thought. The paper is smooth and high quality, her golden rings glide against the white surface, and she traces black lines of information she can recite in her sleep.

To Natasha’s surprise, you had seemed indifferent to her presence, you didn’t even glance at her once during the introduction to today’s meeting.

Following the same line back and forth, the ink smudges and blurs after the seventh round of Natasha's thumb gliding gently on top of the unimportant details.

She had to give credit where credit was due. You were poised and unbothered.

She could not say the same for herself, however.

Ever since she could smell you getting in the elevator with blondie, she kept glancing toward the door, waiting for your arrival. And now, she continuously spares a glance in your direction when she thinks someone talks too loudly or expresses themselves with broad gestures.

It doesn't take long for her to understand you a little better.

Carol changes you.

Your eyes are cast downward, and you hold your head low in a display of obedience. You are sitting on your heels with your hands just out in front of your knees. Your back is strung tight to form a perfect line and the muzzle is only for show. But whereas your posture and attitude would be considered perfection, your eyes are empty.

Natasha’s chair creaks and groans as she rocks back and forth, the leather cushion softens the knockback as her leg bounces against the flooring, unfitting of her usual characteristics, she can’t seem to keep her calm and collected demeanor.

Small tears and wrinkles form, as Natasha tightens her hands against some case report she wrote half-heartedly before bed the previous night. She inhales sharply, her nostrils flaring.

You are still covered in bruises.

They are healing, and so are the once red and angry lines, they are now pinker and more muted. But it’s clear some of them were fresher, it had been close to a month since she had seen you last, yet the color of some were as fresh as a daisy.

Specifically, your face seemed to have been put through the gutter.

Though it was clear that whatever transpired that day hadn’t been repeated, she could still sense in you that Carol wasn’t very light-handed.

She tells herself it is because she pities you for having to go through the blonde’s rage, but there is also something about the two small puncture wounds on your neck that aggravates her.

Her fingers drum against the table in annoyance while she thinks it over, her nails clicking against the resin top of her newly polished conference table.

Pinching the skin between her eyebrows she sighs loudly. Enough so, that the man currently presenting stutters and has to loosen his tie before continuing with a slight tremor to his hands.

She can’t figure it out.

She huffs and readjusts her posture to show she is listening.

Never mind, the little mystery you are, she has business to attend to. With one last glance, she emerges herself back in the matter at hand and makes sure to fix Carol with a hard glare whenever something becomes too heated.

You are sitting on an old wooden bench in the garden.

The flowers bloom around you and rustle in the fresh, spring, wind. If you close your eyes, you can almost smell the rosebush across the tiny plot of land. The birds sing in a tune you are not familiar with, but it’s nice. Lilies hug your legs, all colorful and fresh, there are tiny little droplets atop their pedals, it must have rained before you got out here.

That would explain the chill that settles deep in your spine.

There are dogs around, you hear them bark and growl at each other on the other side of the fence, but you don’t mind.

Because you are in the garden. With a fence between you and them.

Until one of them jumps the fence.

You have been staring at the ground with a slight tremor lacing your every move for the better part of an hour. She seems like a calm dog, but she’s big, bigger than you, and there is this presence to her that you don’t know what to do with.

She smells like the flowers around you, maybe that’s why you don’t flee. No matter how much you want to, you are frozen in your seat as the big hound stares at you.

She licks her snout and blinks slowly while you sit there. It feels like she is mocking you, almost as if daring you to move.

The wind picks up every now and then, the howling of the other dogs growing louder and more concerning, but the big dog doesn’t bat an eye. She growls deeply, but you can tell it isn’t directed at you, and then the other dog’s calm.

Maybe she is a nice dog, but it doesn’t matter.

A dog is a dog.

The fence opens with a piercing screech. Even as you close your eyes in hope, the big dog does nothing. She doesn’t run away, but she doesn’t help either.

She just watches as Master drags you away. You don’t know why you thought she would do anything else.

Master is right.

Master is always right.

No one will help.

You don’t deserve it.

When the meeting commends, Carol drags you out of the room quickly, she has other matters to settle tonight, and she can’t be bothered to stay here too long.

Your knuckles rasp against the expensive flooring of Mrs. Romanoff´s office. The tasteful tree-work makes your bones ache, and your tag jingles repeatedly as bone connects with fifty thousand dollars worth of Brazilian rosewood. The blond woman tugs at your leash impatiently.

“Carol. Wait a moment.”

Please don’t.

Master halted her movements just before she passed through the elevator´s door, effectively also halting yours.

“There is some paperwork James wants you to finish up before you leave.”

Natasha waves her hand around with a roll of her eyes, showcasing false annoyance she knows the blond will eat right up, “Something about an unsettled bank record?” The redhead squints in the blonde’s direction, displeasure hidden not so greatly on the CEO’s face.

Natasha has to work extremely hard to not showcase how disgusting she finds the woman in front of her to be.

The woman beside you tenses up. She bunches her eyebrows and sighs before nodding slowly and releasing the tight clutch on your leash.

A pointed finger comes into view as Carol shifts her body towards you and tilts her head downward to face you. “Stay here.” Her voice leaves no room for arguing, it’s a clear command, you know she only does it to showcase her power over you. You couldn’t talk back even if you wanted to, the clinic made sure of that long before you even knew Masters hard angles.

Nonetheless, you bow your head and place your rump back onto the cruel flooring, somehow it feels even stiffer than the concrete inside your familiar slammer.

There is a long and rather awkward silence before Miss Romanoff clears her throat and breaks the stillness.

“Are you in pain?” Natasha gestures towards her own face as if you need a hint to understand what she means.

Just a few months ago, Romanoff acknowledging you in the slightest would send you through a rollercoaster of fear and wonder. Now you merely play dumb and tilt your head in confusion.

Of course, it hurts.

That was the point, wasn’t it?

“You smell different.” Carol scrutinizes you from afar.

If it weren’t for the years of experience you have with this sort of thing you would give yourself away immediately by tensing up and begging for her mercy, instead, you remain impassive.

The blond woman studies you carefully, waiting for any telltale that you heard her.

It’s easier than you thought.

Maybe it’s from the emotional drainage these days have been, but you barely feel anything as Carol looks you over. No matter how much she has hurt you, her eyes hold nothing compared to the power that the Maximoff clan’s leader has in hers.

You can hear the familiar crunch of rough concrete beneath a heavy army boot.

Master moves closer, but still, you feel nothing.

It’s been three days since that day. The first night you sobbed your sorrows, your pain, your fear, everything that has been building up and suppressed throughout the years all expressed in a puddle of tears and blood.

You don’t know what the women wanted, but something about them had made ancient wounds reopen, and the floodgates that followed were inevitable.

You don’t even remember falling asleep, you find it more likely that you passed out from dehydration or exhaustion.

The other days had passed in a blur.

It’s like you have been stuck in a trance where nothing really matters anymore.

Then the smashing of keys came back, and still, you were inconsolable. You didn’t even acknowledge her when she ran her hands over your bare body. Didn’t blink as her hands took a threatening hold of your collar.

She was testing this new side of yours; you could tell it angered her that she didn’t affect you.

You ruined her little power trip of the day.

She grips the back of your neck and forces you to face her. “Look at me when I am talking to you!” Spit sprays on your face as she talks through gritted teeth.

You don’t care, you just stare at her through hooded eyes, looking but not seeing.

Her hand connected hard with your face; you could feel the vibration inside your skull. And yet, all you could think about were them.

The feeling of concrete pouring through your veins wasn’t so scary anymore.

*slap*

You wonder what would happen if she went all the way…

*slap*

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they killed you.

*slap*

“LOOK AT ME!” Carol screams into your ear, but it is fuzzy and unintelligible to you.

*slap*

“CAN’T YOU TELL I AM TALKING TO YOU, YOU STUPID BITCH!?”

*slap*

“Look at me?” Her hand strokes your chin lightly, but you know her…

*slap*

Your head bounces against the pavement.

*slap*

Your vision becomes blurry and unfocused.

She hit you a total of twenty-four more times, before finally relenting and stomping away.

From that day forward you decided to play into it, pretend like what took place with the powerful women never happened to begin with. You were sure it would anger them.

If this is what Carol does when you ruin her little high.

Maybe, they will return and finish what they started if you ruin theirs.

Natasha scratches the nape of her neck as you sit there staring into nothingness. Your brows are slightly raised, and your eyes are wide, to Natasha, it seems like you are in a completely different world.

She leans against the wall, her shoulder squishing against the glass panel, and she crosses one leg over the other. Relying solely on her right leg to hold her up, she looks down at her dress shoes.

Her question was stupid, she knew as much, but what else was she supposed to say?

She wanted to talk to you.

Nat knows she should just leave you be and return back to her office, but when you were being led out of the room earlier your eyes had connected with her, it was a mere millisecond. But in that moment Natasha had felt a chill run down her spine.

Something was definitely wrong.

However, she didn’t expect you to completely shut down after just one simple question.

You are unresponsive to any stimuli while you sit in the hallway with Natasha’s presence close by. The older redhead tries to tap her foot or grunt obnoxiously, just to get a response, but nothing.

It’s not until you can hear Carol’s heavy footsteps that you quicken up and bow your head down.

Carol nods in Natasha’s direction before she passes her and collects you. Her gruff hands slide up and down the expanses of your leash until she finds the position that will yield her the most amount of control over your movements.

If the circumstances were different, Natasha would kill Carol on the spot.

Yet, as Carol takes ahold of your leash and steers you both into the elevator, Natasha lets you go.

Convincing herself it’s for the better. Again.

#wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x reader #dark!natasha romanoff #vampire!natasha romanoff #vampire!wanda maximoff #dark!wandanat

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popquizhot-shot · 11 months

Note

STOP I LOVE YOUR PLATONIC!MIGUEL FICS <333

would you be okay with writing smth where teen!reader makes him something?? like maybe reader loves making things out of paper (like paper flowers, butterflies, tiny stars, etc.) so they decided fo make smth for miguel?

and maybe reader is nervous he won't like it?? :(

I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS<333

Origami and Suit Malfunctions- Miguel O' Hara x teen!spider!reader

See, the thing with being a part time employee of the spider society meant that you had a lot of free time compared to other spiders. Normally anyone would go back to their own universe, but yours was sadly destroyed.

Sad. Anyways, it meant that you had a lot of free time. Free time to annoy Miguel, to conspire with Lyla, to practice your techniques..... and to hone your previously horrendous origami skills.

Like, no joke, you had absolutely no talent when it come to folding paper into intricate shapes. But hey, bored and borderline insanity works wonders for the brain.

So, slowly but surely, you taught yourself to make paper stars and flowers and boats. But you wanted to make something for Miguel. Why?

Who knows? Like I said, boredom does things to the brain.

Miguel wasn't exactly an open book and he'd probably die of a heart attack if you gave him flowers. You didn't have time to make hundreds of little paper stars so that was ruled out-

"What're you thinking about?" the older man's raspy voice reaches your ears.

"How to get your suit to malfunction." you quip back.

"Why must you torture me so?" he replies in a monotone voice as he sits on his seat, opposite you.

"I'm your employee, it's my job."

"Your job is to be a pain in the ass?" he raises an eyebrow.

"Precisely." you stick your tongue out and he rolls his eyes.

After a few seconds, you clear your throat, "Hey, uh, what's your favorite sport?

He's silent for a while and you can see his eyes gloss over, his reply is shaky, "Soccer."

You nod with a thumbs up, "Thank you Bossman Bosserson."

"You call me that again, I'll throw Lyla at you." he threatens as you go to leave the office.

"Jokes on you, I'd love that!" you shout back you walk out.

-----

Finally, he thinks, Finally this mission is over. Now he can go have a hot shower and a good meal and some of the amazing chai you make and he'll be in a somewhat good mood.

When he enters his office, he stunned at the silence.

Normally he can hear the sound of your feet tapping against the floor or your humming and the the fact that he can hear nothing is unnerving.

"Kid?" he calls out, Answer me.

He swings to the top of the platform, and you're not where you normally are. You're not sitting there, zoned out with your foot tapping incessantly like a little child. You're not where you're supposed to be.

"Miguel, your heart is racing, you okay?" Lyla asks him.

"Where's my kid?" he asks her.

"Oh baby Mig's hanging out with Hobie!" she says cheerfully.

"What?" he all but growls.

"Hey! Chill! She's fine! In fact, " the AI smirks and nods towards his desk, "She left something for you."

He turns and his heart skips a beat.

There's a little paper soccer ball on his desk.

It's tiny in his palm, but it has your initials and a post-it stuck on top.

"You said you liked soccer, so this is for you :D. I would never try to screw with your suit, don't worry ;)"

The ink smudges as a tear drops onto where you've signed the post it.

"God, this spider, I swear." he grumbles and wipes his eyes.

"This spider...what?" he jumps and turns at the sound of your voice. You're standing behind him with your hands behind your back and a sheepish smile on your face.

"This spider is my kid." he pats your cheek softly, "Thank you, this means a lot."

You nod with a smile, "You're welcome."

He narrows his eyes at you, "What have you been up to? Why are you being so nice?"

You slowly back away, "Pfft, what are you talking about? I've done nothing wrong"

A hologram pops up and Miguel watches as the T-Rex bellows at Pavitr's retreating form, and his head whips to you.

"Bye! Love you!" you shriek and jump off the platform, disappearing as he tries to follow you.

With a start he realizes what you just said.

"I hate that kid." he groans and then notices that he's grinning like an idiot.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #atsv #atsv x reader #mini miguel<33

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megistusdiary · 1 day

Note

If Arlecchino sees you as a replacement for her childhood friend (Clervie) and you accidentally find out, it makes you very sad and when she finds out she is next to comfort and prove Show you how much she loves you, not see you as a replacement by feeling guilty about you. 🤭

i think you guys are obsessed with hurting me

angst with arlecchino

arlecchino x fem!reader

warnings: angst (hurt + comfort), suggestive at the end

it was a mistake to look in her journal. you should've known better than to pry into her personal thoughts. that journal was for secrets, and as she always said, things she kept secret from you were better that way.

the only way she even knew you read it was the singular teardrop left on the corner of the page. it irreversibly smudged the ink, leaving a permanent addition to her writing that spoke louder than any of the words on the page.

"let me explain." she answered you, finally managing to corner you as you lay in your shared bed, tears in your eyes.

"explain what? that i'm just... some replacement for someone you lost?" it's obvious you're hurting, and so is she. while she wishes you would've never set foot in her office, she also knows her own internal thoughts are the problem.

she approaches the bed, gently kneeling down at the side, wrinkling her neatly pressed pants. "please listen." and you can hear the desperation in her normally cold tone. "i never meant for you to see that journal."

"but i did."

"what you read was something i've kept bottled up. you are not clervie's replacement, you are my wife." she tells you firmly, reaching over to hold your hand. "i saw good in her, good that i knew i couldn't possess myself. i am cursed, after all. it's the same good that i saw in you." she pauses, looking up at you. "i see things that remind me of her in you, not the other way around."

"what difference does it make? you'll always compare me to a girl you keep alive in your memories alone." you sniffle, wiping your eyes.

"i won't deny that clervie will never leave my memories. she was the only friend i've ever had until i met you." she rubs her thumb across the back of your hand. "i fell in love with you not because of clervie, and it takes me time to see the resemblance. it is no surprise i would seek out someone so... kind-hearted."

you stay quiet and she pulls your chin to look at her. "i have no intention of lying to you like this. i can say that i love you over and over until my lips bleed, but that won't change a thing in your mind, will it?"

"no. i suppose not." you frown and she cups your cheek.

"then let me prove it to you. i hope you know those words were written in a... particularly troubling time for me. they brought me comfort... to see that i have you. to think she would be happy for us."

she slides into bed with you, bringing you closer to her chest and wiping your tears. "you're not a replacement. you're my wife. you are the most important person in my life at all times." her lips press into your forehead as you snuggle into her.

"prove it." you mumble, half-teasingly, but you yelp when she rolls you over, looming over you instead. "arle-"

"peruere. that's my name, and i am aware you know, so say it."

"peruere." you breathe out softly and she sighs, looking troubled.

"i haven't heard that name in ages. it brings me... discomfort, but coming from you, it's almost like it means something loving again." she hums, leaning down to kiss your throat. "let me show you how much you mean to me." she offers.

you smile up at her, nodding as she kisses away your tears and slowly descends your body, taking gentle care of you for the night.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #fem reader #genshin wlw #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #💌─𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘭! ༊*·˚#✎─𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 ❛ ༉‧₊˚

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indouloureux · 2 years

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘

summary: your best-friend’s pretty. really fucking pretty. especially when he’s got his eyeliner smudged all over his eyes from crying too much, or when he’s got scratch marks over his inked skin, or when his begging moans make him hotter than hellfire

warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI. 8k filth, sub!eddie kinda, mommy kink, overstimulation, protected sex, oral (m receiving), degradation kink(slut, whore), dirty talk, dacryphilia, biting, ball sucking (hehe), praise kink, maybe mean!dom reader, rough sex, aftercare??? multiple orgasms lol MINORS GO AWAY (not proofread. rushed)

a/n: idk man, this took a long time to write for some reason but i hope you guys like this because it took a long time okay! and ball sucking. tumblr got me horny for eddie munson's ballsack so i put it in here. enjoy. also thank u for 4k mwah mwah i love u all!

— proofread by my mi amor jess <3 (@cordiformity)

MASTERLIST

The sound of the car turning on makes the both of you raise your hands in a farewell, Wayne Munson’s silhouette inside the tinted window waves back at you and Eddie, pulling out of the driveway, wheels scraping on the gravel road outside of your home.

“Bye, Uncle Wayne!” you yell, hands cupping your mouth for a better volume. Eddie waves still, arm stretched out in the hot air, rings clinking and glinting in the hot sun as he hovers you. “I’ll miss you! You’re the better Munson!”

“Asshole,” Eddie jabs your ribs. You poke your tongue at him, turning around to go back inside your home, a hand hovering behind you as he leads you through the door before he follows and shuts it behind him. “You invite me over and you’re saying I’m the worse Munson?”

“I’m basing off the truth, dungeon master,” you bump your hips with his, leading him to the stairs. His dirty sneakers thump on the creaking stairwell, hand dragging up the rail as you look back at him. “Who’s got the working car? Who’s got better morale?”

You sigh in contentment, feeling the cold air blow the sweat off your bodies in a strong surge. Eddie wipes the sticking hair off his forehead, eyes lazily watching you sit in front of him on the broken chair, legs spread.

“Alright, Eds.” You offer your hand, rings shown that matched his – the same skull on your ring finger, a snake coiled around the middle, and a daintier one connected to your bracelet through a chain. He vaguely remembers being with you when you bought it, having to be too distracted with something else he also can’t remember. “Whip it out and let’s suck.”

Almost fooled by your racy insinuation, Eddie lifts his ass up and searches for the ziplock in his pocket, tongue massaging his upper teeth as he pulls the plastic out and shows you what you’re asking for. “You’re still paying for that.”

You scoff, snatching it from him before you pull out a crumpled twenty from your pocket. “You know I always do.”

“You always do?” he sits up, forearms behind him. Eddie’s curls loose the sticky perspiration, now flowing behind him when he shakes his head at you. You slap the bill on his palm. “(y/n), you owe me like, fifty bucks. Minus ten because you beat that sicko from the band auditions.”

“It was supposed to be a gift,” you whine, throwing your head back. “I thought we were friends, Eddie?”

“We are,” he kicks his shoes off, and he half thinks he might have already lost them in the pile of clothes. “But I need money, too. No money, and we spend the rest of our life being driven back and forth by my uncle. And you know he hates it when we smoke.”

“Which is why I keep on telling you to convince him to smoke weed,” you open your drawer. “That way you can at least emancipate the stress you give him,” you jest, searching beneath used notebooks until you spot a crutch. “I- fuck I kind of forgot how to roll a joint. Can you do it?”

Eddie sniffs, side of his finger rubbing his nostrils. “You’re gonna do it now? That’s like, a half ounce. You finish it way faster than I do,” he sits up. “Just smoke a cig with me instead.”

Your hands drop to your sides, giving him a dismayed look before you’re opening the drawer once more and tossing the ziplock and clutch back inside, making sure it’s hidden beneath a notebook.

“I’d rather not,” you slump your head on the table. “I wanna get high. That’s why I invited you here in the first place.”

Eddie huffs. “That’s the third time you’ve hurt me, (y/n).”

He sits up, the veins on his forearm catching your attention. Tendrils bulging against the tattoo on his skin, blood pumping in the same beat your heart does as you stare at them with a watering mouth before they drive down to his clenching hands that reach for the boombox, toying with the antennas before Eddie looks at you.

“You still got the tapes? Or you sold them just to pay me?” he snickers, kicking your foot. You sneer at him, kicking him much harder that simulates a groan from him. “Please tell me you have at least Judas Priest in there. I’ve had enough listening to a-ha. I have the lyrics stuck in my head that I forgot the chords to Master Of Muppets.” You glare at him. “You know? Take on meeee…?”

“Yeah. I know what that song is,” While eyes impishly glare at him, you reach for the bag beneath your desk, black almost gray from the specks of dust surrounding it. Eddie watches your hand dig into the filthy bag, looking as if you’re carding through a literal trash can before you pull out three mixtapes that he gave you a couple months ago, Kate Bush and Foreigner falling to the ground as you pull them up.

“Blizzard of Ozz,” you smack the cassette in Eddie’s open palm, a stinging clap echoing around the corners of your small bedroom. “For the one and only Osbourne wannabe.”

“Kate Bush, huh?” Eddie opens the cassette player, shoving the tape carelessly inside. “Red tell ya to listen to it?” he asks, slamming the cassette holder shut and turns the volume louder, like you hadn’t received complaints from the loud ‘satanic’ music; you don’t care, anyway, it’s music nonetheless. Your friend spins in a riveting twirl, hair spinning cavalierly into the air-conditioned wind, before he stops to face you with a thespian look, mouthing the lyrics.

You yell over the music. “Max says she could change the world!”

Eddie snorts. “People look at me and say ‘is the end near, when is the final day?’” He takes a brush from your cup holder, holding it like a microphone. You guffaw at him, watching as a hand comes down to his chest before he runs around your room, stepping on the discarded clothes and crumpled papers on the ground. “What’s the future of mankind? How do I know, I got left behind.”

“Hey!” you shout at him through the zeitgestical piece of joint electrical guitars and drums, his feet taking him to your mattress sunken, exhorting him to jump up and down like a giddy child. “Get down!”

“Come on, bats,” his hand’s still up as an offer. “Ozzy wannabe wants to make the most metal concert ever inside your garbage bedroom.” Eddie air guitars like a loser, fingers mimicking the same chords of the song and imitating riffs as if he was in a metal concert. “Don’t just sit in the crowd. Be a part of the show.”

“Do you often say that to five drunks?” you quip. “I’d rather stay here than break my neck, Eddie.”

“Fine,” he jumps off, landing right on his feet where you see his left one bending the slightest at the hard impact. His inept body refuses him to sit still, and is now telling him to touch the items on your desk as you sit and watch him poke and prod like he’s shopping. “Let’s do something else that doesn’t make you so boring.”

“I’m not boring!” you exclaim, gawping at him. “I’m fun! Sorry for making sure you don’t die in my bedroom. Because if you did, I’d leave you here to rot with the rest of my clothes. Then I’ll steal your car and drive away to California.”

“You just worry too much,” Eddie pulls on your hand, indolently limp in his touch. “Sing with me, bats. Ozzy Osbourne awaits.” when you shake your head, he sighs disappointedly; almost in a way that’s so dramatic that you think he’s not actually sad about your refusal. “Alright. Then, let’s do something that you think is fun other than using me for getting high.”

You pout at him, now clasping at his forearm for forgiveness. “Aw. Eds, I don’t use you. You’re my best friend.”

Best friend.

Two words that compress his chest so tight he feels the pain ricocheting in his inked limbs. Eddie plasters this pain he doesn’t know why he feels when you call him your best friend by a short laugh, biting his bottom lip. “Yeah yeah. Think of something before I go find somewhere else fun.”

“Don’t you just wanna lay down beside me while we listen to Ozzy Osbourne? You used to do that!”

“Bats,” he bends, face leveled with yours as his lips disappear into his mouth, forming a straight line. “I’m extremely bored without my van. I need to do something before I lose my mind entirely. I mean, you wouldn’t like seeing me—” his fingers join together, both hands placing them on either side of his head before he mimics the sound of an explosion, fingers splaying apart. “—all bloody and open headed, right? I could just drop my blood down to your carpet. Or, well, what used to be a carpet.”

You kick a few items away to show your dark cerulean carpet. Eddie’s upper lip curls up in slight disgust. “The color’s always…like that.” you wave it off. “I clean it like, once a year? I dunno. I’ll clean up my shit after you leave.”

“You should,” he scratches the back of his neck. “Now find something interesting to do.”

“Fine,” you grunt. “I have something in mind. But if you don’t want to do it, then it’s your loss.”

In the last seven years of your friendship, not once have you imagined sitting on Eddie Munson’s lap.

Sure. Maybe you’ve hugged. But it’s just a hug. All friends do that. Friends snuggle when they’re stoned, they kiss each other’s cheeks as a rushed farewell. Maybe talking about masturbation was another thing but it was normal. You’ve seen each other half-naked — he helped you pick your bra before a date, and you got him a decent pair of underwear before girls would blow him. It’s a normal best friend thing.

Sitting on each other’s lap? It’s become romanticized in cheesy rom coms. And you see its point. With the minimal space between your bodies, crotches almost on top of each other, and the air so thick with unearthed tension that you’re wary and nervous at every move you do.

The liquid kohl paints his pale skin, a flawed darkness that mends conveniently into his eccentric vogue that he possesses valiantly with pride. Eddie’s eyes bore into you, scanning each pore, or the light hair above your top lip. Mostly into your eyes that don’t directly look into his — the way your pupils dilate and shrink every so often; and sometimes he’d cheekily glance down your lips, where the tip of your tongue would poke out, which gallops his blood all over his body into an intense heat. And fuck, how long is this going to take?

His hands grasp your waist tightly, keeping you in place. Your thigh on his, drawing around his vast eyes that perceive. Ozzy Osbourne sings from the mixtape Eddie changed—your mixtape that he made for you, a mechanized voice bringing you into the stage instead of the crowd — makes you feel like you’re in a show playing house with your best friend. It makes Eddie squirm gently in his seat, almost letting you muck up what you’ve done.

“Sit still,” your hand grips his cheeks, harshly forcing him into looking at you and keeping his face pliant beneath your touch, making his lips pucker a little. “You’re gonna make me mess up.”

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “It kinda tickles.”

“The brush?”

“Yeah,” his nails scratch your back slightly. “It’s like a feather touching my eyes or something. How long is this going to take?”

Eddie sees your eyebrows furrow in slight frustration at his impatience, your hand shaking in the slightest. “Almost done, Munson.” you mutter, lips parting the slightest that shows just a sliver of your pearls.

The situation is familiar, albeit it’s not him that you’re sitting on. Eddie’s mind varies through a manifold of haunting memories, until it settles on the one that bestows him a roll of undefined covetousness. It makes him grip your waist tighter as the memory of you sitting on another boy’s lap fills his mind, in this exact activity. Eddie feels this confusing jealousy run through him when he remembers you kissing that boy with his eyeliner all smudged up.

You sense his sudden rigidness, the hitching on his breath. “What’s wrong?” you murmur, brush stopping on the outer corner of his eye.

“Nothing,” he widens his eyes a bit. “Just…remembered something.”

“What is it?”

He watches you move again, feeling the cold brush on the crinkles beside his eyes, curving upward. “When- when you and Harrison Mcline were in the back of the classroom making out,” he laughs gently. “You were putting eyeliner on him too for the school play. He looked a lot like David Bowie with it, though. But I bet I look way cooler than him.”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “Harrison Mcline is a douchebag,” you claim, nail digging deep into his cheek he thinks he’ll see a crescent indent on his flesh. Eddie looks into your eyes, full of annoyance at the sudden memory, before it shifts into embarrassment. “He’s an arrogant dickhead who trusts his pulling out ‘skills’ and kept insisting he was allergic to condoms just so he could fuck me raw. And also, you do look better.”

Heat waves through his cheeks and ears as Eddie laughs out of sympathy, but mostly to make fun of your unfortunate encounter. “Told you you shouldn't have gone for him. You’re planning on fucking Mcline? Cheer squad says he’s got a dick the size of an eraser.”

“Well, it’s not like I have any options, do we?” you snicker, brushing his eyelashes with the side of your finger before you’re back to painting the inner corner of his eye, tainting his opal skin black. “What goody-two-shoes of a man would want to fuck a girl who’s part of the ‘satanic panic’?” you wave your hand to gesture to yourself. “And I did not know that.”

“Jason Carver’s been eyein’ you lately,” he teases, eyebrows wiggling the slightest. “As well as Steve Harrington when we’d rent a shitty movie. Even Gareth!”

“Jason Carver is with Chrissy Cunningham, and he keeps on insisting that this whole metal thing is just a phase. Steve Harrington only eyes me because I’m with you. And I’m older than Gareth! It’s disgusting, he’s like my little brother.” you tilt your head at him, Eddie wincing at your thoughts about your friend. “This pious town doesn’t fuck with, and I quote, cult members. I can't even find a decent one out there.”

In a drunken momentum, his eyes trace the v-shaped column of your neck that connects to your collarbone, prominent as his irises desecrate the components of every imperfection on your skin, minus the tattoos — the unorthodox stygian tattoos so unsaint, skulls and horns sinking deep into your flesh you might as well be the Devil’s little wayward angel. The hand behind you traces the waistline of your jeans, feeling your skin that’s exposed when your shirt has risen up from your back being slouched to hover over his head.

Eddie kicks a shirt out of his way — a cut tank top with the painted devil from the Hellfire Shirt to appear more punk (one he remembers you wore when you snuck into the community pool, jumping into the chlorine water with nothing but that shirt and a pair of denim shorts, gave him a goddamn boner when your bare tits poked out). “There’s some decent guys out there.”

He wants to say ‘me’, however not in an amorous way. Simply the mind that hasn't seen any cunt for the past month, and he’s desperate to the point he’d literally fuck his best friend. But maybe hidden beneath that word could mean something deeper, something he’s chosen to deny and decides to forget about. Eddie knows it’s wrong; to imagine you, his dear friend for ozzy knows how long, all bent and spread for him to fuck because he’s horny. But who wouldn't?

“Easy for you to say,” you scoff. “You almost fucked that mom from the community pool back summer. And that junkie who blew you when she came to your show and thought a blowjob was enough of a payment for weed.” He feels the rough pad of your thumb rub a spot beside his eye, stinging slightly.

“She gives really good head,” he nods slightly. “ ‘m just saying, sweetheart. You just need to look hard.”

“Oh yeah?” you take your eyeliner away from his eyes, snapping the cap back in place before your hands rest on his shoulders. “Like you? Because I think that your little friend—”

Your finger drags down his chest, movement sedated and teasing, nail scraping on the printed typography before they press deep into the thick flesh of his torso, trailing down like you’re exploring uncharted territories. They come across his thighs, hard and thick, short nails scratching the denim before you tease and sink deeper, feeling up the sudden rock in his pants that presses right onto your crotch.

Eddie blames you for the hard on in, had you not been subtly grinding on it for the past minute or so when you were applying eyeliner, acting nonchalantly when he felt so constrained in his tight jeans. His bottom lip feels so raw from all the biting he’s done just to not moan out loud. And it feels sick — perverted — to have a boner when your best friend sits on your lap.

“—kind of agrees with me,” you trace his bulge, unevenly round and thick, your hand wanting to squeeze but you spare him the insanity. “He’s been poking out ever since I sat on your lap. I think he wants you to say that you need some help.”

“And I think I’m the only one who can know what my dick says,” he sneers, his hand coming out from behind you to grasp your forearm and run his thumb on the inked bats on your skin. “And he says he’s perfectly fine staying inside until he gets home and feels the love of my hand.”

You tut, pouting as you brush the hair out of his face and tuck it behind his ears, bangs unruly on his forehead that it almost pokes his pretty eyes. “Shame,” you pop the eyeliner back on your cup, chastely placing your hands on his shoulders instead. “Would have been happy to help.”

His saliva sticks to the walls of his throat, blocking the next words from coming out because holy fucking shit, you’re flirting with him. Or he thinks you’re flirting with him. Because friends don’t flirt, right? Best friends, as you so proudly say to others. Best friends don’t flirt, or offer to get rid of someone’s fucking boner; he shouldn’t feel this proverbial hunger towards you, like the words that had rolled off your tongue was a drop of water that rolls down his throat, still leaving him thirsty.

“Tsk,” he chuckles dryly, palms running up and down your bare thighs. You expected him to say something else, but it seemed like he’s at a loss for words whenever you graze his bulge when you adjust your seat to remove the numbness of your calf. You feel like the senile chair would snap it legs and drop you into this void of just him and you, left alone to be stubborn and in denial.

“I could, though,” you murmur, fingers grazing his slightly coarse hair. “I can h-help you. With your problem. I don’t mind.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie sighs heavily, his hot breath fanning your face. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re forced to just because I got a boner while you’re on top of me.”

“It’s not that,” you grip his shoulders tightly, trying to stop yourself from grinding again. Because god, fuck, if you had a dick of your own, you’d be as hard as him. “It’s just a friendly offer. Both of us hadn’t had fuck since last month and, well, we’re here now, are we? Might as well just…get on with it.”

It’s atrociously fun, your offer. Because even though you’d agree to forget about it in the end, both of you would certainly not forget about it. Eddie knows nothing would be the same if he agreed, if he acted like he’s wanted to fuck you for ages. You’d know with the way he’d act, with the way he speaks, that he’s always yearned for it, and he’s afraid it would cause a strain to your friendship. But fuck—you’re offering it yourself; and he’d cut his own dick off if he ever denied the chance.

Giving in into having sex with you just because he hasn’t had a decent fuck in a while? Was it selfish, maybe, even if he knows it’s going to change everything. But hey, the chance is right in front of him.

Eddie’s silence deludes you into thinking that he might have been disgusted by your offer. You don’t see the way his pupils widen and shrink ever so often, and it makes you remove your hands from his shoulders and sigh. “You know what? Forget about it. I don’t even know why I said that,”

“Hey,” he reaches out to clasp your wrist when you stand up to leave. Your right leg’s on the ground, the other still bent beside his thigh. Eddie looks up at you with unsure eyes, thumb running along your pulse point. “I was…going to say why not.”

Your lips part. “Really?”

“Yeah,” his eyebrows furrow and his nose wrinkles as he says it, urging you to sit back on his lap by the gentle pull on your hand. “I mean, you know, it’s just a one time thing, right? We can- we can act like it never happened after. Unless, you don’t want to.”

You don’t know if he’s saying all of that to spare your feelings, or if he wants the same thing you do—being fuck buddies, and whatnot, until you’d both come to terms that you actually like each other. But maybe that’s just your fantasy that he felt the same way you did, and that Eddie’s only saying yes because he’s just as deprived as you are.

“We don’t have to think about that now,” you sit gently on his thighs. The hand that he doesn’t hold tugs on the thread hanging on the bottom of your shirt, fingers twirling and pulling slightly. “We can just have sex. Then, let’s think about it after. That way we can see if- we can continue it or…not.”

Eddie’s looking directly into your eyes, right where you can see the specks of concupiscent dust glaze his brown eyes. And somehow, your faces are so close yet so far, with the way you feel the very tips of his eyelashes graze your cheeks ever so softly when he blinks.

“Great idea,” he says. And his hand hovers like he debates on cupping your face or holding your waist again.

“You can hold me,” you take his hands, placing them on your waist. “I’m not gonna bite,”

“Oh, I know you won’t,” he chuckles, sighing deeply when you bite your lip. “‘Y too soft to bite.”

You pull away, though still your faces are still close. Eddie’s bemused by the incredulity on your face, the way your parted lips etch into a feigned offended smile. “I’m too soft to bite?” you repeat, nails scraping on his exposed arms before you suddenly tangle your hand in his hair and pull harshly; lo and behold, he whimpers. “Aw, look at that. He made a sound.”

“That’s because it hurt,” he snaps, chest heaving against yours. “How would you react when I pull on your hair?”

“The same thing,” your other hand pushes his hair behind his ear, pouting at him. “I would have moaned like you did,”

Eddie’s nostrils flare, eyes darkening. “Fuck you.”

Leaning in to whisper in his ear, you tug on his hair again and fuck, he whimpers. “No, I fuck you.” Your nails scrape his scalp, Eddie digging his own at your skin. “What, you think just because I offered I’d let you use me? That’s not how it works, sweetie.”

You pull back, your hand still in his hair before you lean in to kiss him hard on his chapped lips.

It’s sultry, in that exchange of hot breaths between open mouths and teeth clashing. Eddie grunts against you when you coincide with your hip rolling each time your lips close around his. Judas Priest replaces Ozzy Osbourne’s yelling rasps, Love Bites deep thrumming like the chime of a bell cascades the ambience of the moment. You’re bold when your tongue slips past his lips to tackle his, sinking deeper that your nose bends on his cheek.

It’s new and it’s scary to kiss your best friend with the crisp trepidation of the future of your friendship. Because yeah, a simple kiss can change everything. It’s not chaste, it’s not for comfort, it’s not by accident; you’d both agreed to it, and it's unbeknownst to the both of you what the kiss truly meant to either of you. It’s driving you insane.

Your mind buzzes in delirium as you feel his shirt, wrinkles and damp from the sweat. He’s humming and he’s grunting with the wet clicks of your rapacious lips. And Eddie’s had enough, his hands coming down to grip the back of your thighs tightly, standing up from the chair and wrapping your legs around his waist. You fall heavily with him, your back landing on your crumpled sheets, his crotch immediately grinding against yours like a payback.

You moan, tugging on the hair on the nape of his neck. “Fuck,”

“What’s that, bats?” he taunts. “You fuck me? Say it again, sweetheart,” he rolls his hips deeper, bulge pressing right on you. “Say it. That you’ll fuck me. If you can, I’ll let you. If you don’t,” Eddie bites gently at your bottom lip, letting it go and watches as it pops right back. “Guess I'll have to be in control.”

Unpleased by his teasing, you push on his shoulders. Eddie falls back, body pinned to the mattress when you straddle his stomach, your hands gripping his wrists. “I fuck you,” you repeat, jaw clenching. “I’m in charge, you hear me?”

You don’t wait for his answer, because your hands are bringing themselves down to tug on his collar, pulling them apart until the weak shirt rips in half. Eddie’s eyes widen at the rip, lifting his head to press his chin on his neck as he looks at your damage. He laughs. “You’re lucky that wasn’t my favorite shirt,”

“I can get you a new one,” you say quickly, placing your palms beneath his chest to admire the tattoos on his fair skin. You lean back down to kiss him on his lips, gently this time, before you drag your lips down to his red cheeks, to his jawline where the faintest of a stubble begins to grow. Eddie exhales, the faint touch of your finger enough to send heat all over his chest. The Demon stares directly at you when you scrape your nails on the black art, punishing and guiding. “This still creeps me out, by the way,”

Eddie looks at the tattoo, frowning. “It’s still cool,”

His eyeliner smudges a little, making his eyes almost caliginous in his own wanton abyss. You press your lips right on the tattoo, coming down to teasingly nip at his nipple before your hands cup his pecs. And you grind on him again, your ass on his crotch and your covered cunt on the flat of his stomach as you let your hand drive up to splay across his chest.

“Christ, (y/n),” he groans impatiently. “Stop fucking dry humping me.”

“Yeah, well, what is it, Eddie?” you cock your head at him. “Who are you telling that to, hm? Christ or me?”

He sits up, hips jutting to yours that elicits a hushed moan from you. Eddie’s hands prop him up from behind, leaning up to kiss you feverishly again. “You,” he answers, shaking his head at you. “But I think (y/n)’s too formal. ‘Bats’ is too sentimental. I like to…spice things up. There’s a reason why I never call you by your name during DnD, sweets,” he lets one hand go, taking your cheek into his palm. “Whatcha say? Let’s try something new other than bats. Like…like mommy.”

Your rutting slows down a bit, uneven by surprise. You turn your head to him, and he almost comes undone with the way your eyes almost blacken by the dilation of your pupils—the way little glints of arousal light your eyes. Eddie bites his lip when the hand beneath his collarbone nears his neck until you're digging your fingers on either side of his neck.

“Mommy, huh?” you deride. “I like the sound of that,” you bounce lightly, and you smile when he moans lowly. “You gonna let mommy do whatever she wants? Because I think it was fucking filthy of you to get a boner when I was on your lap,” Eddie lays back down, his hands gripping your ass. “And mommy wants to punish you for a bit, is that alright?”

He nods. “Y-yes.”

You crawl down slowly. “Yes what?”

Eddie whines softly, his palm resting on the thin layer of sweat forming on his forehead. “Yes mommy.” he grunts. “Still gonna call you bats, though. Feels uncanny,”

“Commit to it,” you unbuckle his jeans, handcuffs clicking as you do so. “Don’t be shy and naughty, Eddie. You wanted it.”

He lifts up, helping you tug his jeans down. Eddie could care less if you lose his jeans in the pile of clothes on the ground, because you’re beneath him. You’re not exactly kneeling—a sight he’d kill for—but seeing your face hovering over his cock hidden by his briefs was enough to make his mouth water and suppress a loud moan. Eddie breathes heavily when you press a kiss on top of his bulge, looking so cherubic and innocent it’s driving him insane.

Now you are mine, In my control. One taste of your life, and I own your soul

You sing it against him, exhaling at each worth that your hot breath makes him jolt. Eddie whines, looking down at you to see that you’re hooking your fingers on the band of his briefs, tugging them down until his feet slip past the holes and you’re throwing it aside.

Amused by the sight of your tongue licking your lips at the sight of his hard cock slapping against his happy trail, a glob of precum leaking down to land on the coarse hair above his dick. Eddie’s hand comes down to brush your hair out of your face. “‘S not fair that I’m naked and you’re still clothed.”

“Patience,” you scoff, leaning back to shed your shirt. You shiver when your bare tits feel the air conditioned air nip at your exposed nipples, but you smirk when Eddie gawps at the sight of you being bare chested and kneeling at the end of your bed right in front of his cock.

Not once did he imagine the sound of a zipper going down could excite him this much, but fuck, your removing your shorts and tossing it at him. Eddie catches it, shamelessly bunching it up in his fist and digging his nose into the crutch point, where he whiffs at the faint scent of your arousal.

“I can imagine just how wet you are,” he throws it aside. “I can fucking smell it on your shorts.”

You’re standing up, right where the exploration of his eyes land on the black lace that covers you, shows well your bumps and the askew imperfections on your thighs. Its floral folderol craves him for the exposure, and it has him tracing the other integrants of you—the matching bat tattoos on your forearm that you’ve both gotten when you turned 18, your Cockatrice dragon to his Wyvern on your other arm; your own demon on your waistline inspired by Gene Simmons, the coiling snake beneath your right breast, and a bell right between your collarbones. It makes Eddie sit up.

“That’s new,” he points to the black bell. “When’d you get that?”

“Last week,” you drag your finger across it. “Metallica’s growing on me.”

For Whom The Bell Tolls. That’s hot.

Eddie bites his lip when you sway your hips side to side as you leisurely get rid of your black lace, your head lifting to gaze coquettishly at him. “Wanna know how wet mommy got, Eddie?” you hum. He nods his head, muttering a low fuck yeah, his lips all swollen from the lip biting that he eases the pain by licking his lips.

His cock throbs at the bare sight of your cunt, not fully exposed but he sees the small triangular bush on top. Eddie stops himself from touching his length right there and then as the lace slips past your knees and soon your feet, tossing it at his face that he clumsily catches. You gasp when he sniffs every inch of it, licking the crotch with the flat of his tongue before he’s flinging it somewhere in a corner.

“Smell good, bats,” Eddie growls. “Fucking delectable.”

You come back to kneel at the end of the bed, right between his legs before you're laying on your stomach. Eddie watches with a parted mouth as you trail kisses up his thigh. And you waste no time to spit on your hand and wrap your hand around his shaft, pumping him in an adagio manner. He lets out a moanish sigh, taking two pillows to rest his head all while he watches you tease him.

“Think you deserve my mouth?” you drawl, biting gently at the fat of his thigh. “Tell me, Eddie. Do you deserve mommy’s cock? After being so naughty? I wonder what other girls would think of you having a boner when you sit on their lap. ‘S like you’re a poor little virgin.”

Your thumb traces the slit of the bulging mushroom head, and it’s taking all of his strength not to thrust up. Your touch is burning, only on his cock but felt tactile like the blaze spreads through his veins like a wildfire. Eddie whines. “Please,” he begs. “I’ve been good, mommy. Jus’ couldn’t help it. You looked hot.” you look up at him. “So fucking sexy sitting on my lap, bats.”

Giggling, you shake your head and press a short kiss on his tip. “You’re lucky flattery works with me.”

A loud moan, louder than Rob Haldford, leaves Eddie’s valiant mouth when you sink your head down his cock, your throat opening to welcome his tip that gags you, your nose grazing the bush of curls. It was a sudden suck, the way your cheeks enclose greedily around his length that makes his legs shake. His fists curl your sheets as you begin to bob your head.

You slap his hand away when it comes down to the back of your head, pulling out and squeezing his shaft. “Keep your hands to yourself, slut. And stay still. If you so much as thrust up my face without my permission, I’m leaving you here all wet with your balls blue.”

He definitely almost came. “Fuck. I’m sorry, m-mommy.”

When you take him into your mouth again with glaring eyes, Eddie thinks of the other girls—a wrong moment to do so, but he remembers how incompetend they were at making him feel so good by the simple touch on his dick. They didn’t send shivers up his spine, they didn’t bear the same dominancy you did; didn’t make him submit indigently the way you made him to. He’s never felt this good in a long time, and it’s just your fucking mouth around him.

“Your cock’s so big, Eddie,” you press your palm on the vein beneath his shaft, kitten licking his tip. “Taste so fucking good, too.” like the way I imagined, you almost say. But you don’t want him to know that; it’s embarrassing to make him think that you’d hump a pillow and imagine fucking his face.

“Feels s-sooo fucking good—shit…bats,” he pants. You close your lips around his helmet, hand on his shaft pumping him as you bob your head around his tip but never fully taking him into your mouth. The feeling was still unexplainably stupefying, your tongue pressing flat on the throbbing flesh of his tip, hands fast and gyrating around his slick shaft that he hears wet sounds against your palm and his sensitive skin.

His grunts and loud moaning sends a hot pool between your legs that it’s starting to drip down your legs to the bed, sticky and sweet and painful from the lack of touch. You take your vacant hand down between your body and the bed, fingers reaching blindly for your clit. And when you rub the swollen nub, you moan against his head that sends vibrations.

“Shit!” his ass clenches, stopping himself from bucking up. Eddie looks down to see your arm wedged uncomfortably beneath you, and he feels his orgasm build up to the edge of the wall when your eyes close as you rub your clit and suck on his cock. “Are you- touching yourself?”

You hum around him, head bobbing in rhythm to the music. You pull away from his cock, to kiss your way down to his heavy balls. Eddie mewls, whining when you rub your clit faster as you lick his balls. Everything feels overwhelmingly good when you suck on his balls, tongue lifting his heavy sack and enclosing your lips around the dark flesh. Eddie’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throwing his head down to his pillow and covering his eyes with his forearm.

He feels the eyeliner transfer to his sweaty skin, his sweat taking the liquid kohl and dripping down his temple. But it might have been the tears that threaten to spill past his eyes that sets the makeup off down his face, because your sloppy sucking and quick pumping, it felt so good it renders him an almost sobbing mess beneath you.

“Mommy,” he heaves. “I’m close,”

“Hold it in, then,” you order. “I’m not done. You can touch my hair now, by the way.”

You capture his sack with the most pure look you could muster, as if what you're doing isn’t so fucking unholy. Like you’re at the gates of heaven proving your innocence. Your hands leave him and yourself to push on the back his thighs, letting his feet plant on the mattress, pushing them wide apart to give yourself better access. Eddie moans, almost a scream ripping out his throat and it’s when the tears slowly start, your hand coming back to pump his wet cock loudly, your muffled moaning like music that comes with the squelching of his cock.

“Such a pretty dick,” you tease. “So pretty and good. Wonder what it would feel like to have you inside me. I’m gonna fucking milk you dry until you’re crying and in pain.”

Eddie pats your head, running his fingers through the tangled mess as you look up at him, eyelashes wet and curled, mouth full of his balls that you suck greedily. His missing orgasm is painful, and he finds himself begging embarrassingly. “Bats, can I cum, please? I’ve been good. Fuck—I’ve been such a good boy for you. Please let me cum.”

Your laugh is sardonic and mean, pressing a kiss to his heavy sack before you’re licking up from his balls to his shaft and tip. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Vampishly, you sink your head down his cock again, gagging around him that a string of saliva drips down your neck and the valley of your breast. Eddie mewls, and with a couple more closed cheeks, head bobbing and sucking and licking, he’s shooting his seed at the back of your throat. His warm delicacy coating the walls of your throat.

You don’t stop until he’s milked, sinking your head deeper and deeper until his cum starts to drip out your mouth. Once you’re done, you let him go with a pop. Your finger scooping up his cum and pushing it back into your mouth.

“Mother of Ozzy,” he whispers, watching you suck on your fingers, his legs dropping down. “S-shit. Come here, bats.”

You come back to sit on his lap, his dick still hard but bends down when you grind your cunt against him. Eddie’s (and your) moans are muffled when you kiss him, taking his face in your hands as you kiss him with fervor, slowly grinding on his shaft like you did earlier. Eddie wraps his hands around your back, keeping your chest flushed against his as his tongue evades your mouth.

“You taste like my cum,” he murmurs.

“Tastes good,” you giggle. “Aw, your eyeliner. I worked hard on that.”

Eddie pouts. “You give the best fucking head, bats. Couldn’t help it.”

Tracing his jawline with your finger, you smile at his praise. “Think you can handle one more? Or you just want to lay back and watch me touch myself?”

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head. His answer dies in his mouth when he looks up at you—and Ozzy, you’re fucking beautiful. With your lips plump, eyes glazed in mutual titillation. Like you’re not just fucking, like you didn’t just suck him off just to replenish your venereal hunger. But he doesn’t know what it is, and so do you (though only because you try to ignore the real reason you can’t fathom).

“Me? I can handle more. Fuck me in the ass if you want, bats,” he presses a quick kiss. “You got any condoms?”

With a hand on his shoulder, Eddie keeps you in place as you lean across the bedside table and clumsily open the drawer. You pull out a pack, splayed out in the wooden cabinet from its box, holding it between your middle and index finger as you wiggle your eyebrows at him. “I got twenty more.”

“Easy there, mama,” his voice is low and almost growling as he looks at your lips. The mixtape whirls as you rip the package open with your teeth. Seek and Destroy by Metallica starts playing, your fingers taking the condom from the foil and placing it on your mouth, lips around the plastic ring before you bend down to wrap the condom around his cock. “Fuck.Where’d you learn that?”

You take him fully in your mouth again, cheekily sucking before you pull out and push your hair out of your face. “Steve Harrington. Junior Year,” Eddie gawps. “Right after Nancy Wheeler dumped him.”

“Holy shit,” despite the panging jealousy, he laughs in shock. “You’re something else, baby.”

Baby.

Heat brushes your cheeks, makes you laugh shyly as you take his sensitive cock in your hand. “Lay back down.”

Eddie complies with the help of your hand pushing his back to the bed. You kneel, hand grabbing his cock and straightening it until his tip’s prodding your entrance. You keenly breathe in when you sink, his thick girth splitting your wet pussy open. He lets out a moan that’s almost painful, greedy hands coming to palm your waist to help you sink.

“Shiiiiiiit,” you gasp. “God, you feel fucking amazing, Eds. So fucking big.”

“That’s it mommy. God, so tight,” Eddie’s eyes drip heavily. “You like my dick?”

His neck stretches when you choke him, his head falling back. “Fucking love your fat cock,” you mewl, throwing your head back. Eddie removes his hands from your waist to palm at your tits, feeling his mushroom bulge in your stomach once you’ve fully sat.

Barely a minute after he’s fully in, you begin moving. The wet sound of your pussy dragging up from his length makes you even wetter, dripping down his navel, his happy trail all sticky. Your hand leaves his neck to scratch on his chest, watching as slanted, red marks paint his skin and his tattoos before you drop down.

Eddie moans, his feet planting up the bed once more to rest your curved back. “You look so pretty,” he pants. “Riding my cock. Touched myself every night to the thought of this. And I know it’s wrong, bats, but I couldn’t fucking help it. I’d—I’d bend a pillow and fuck it, thinking it was your pussy. And all along I thought you’d let me have my way with you. But I was so wrong.”

You grind and bounce at an adequate pace, your walls clenching around him, your ass slapping against the skin of his thighs everytime you come back down. Eddie relishes in the blissful haze hailed upon you, your eyebrows scrunched and raised, jaw slack as you let out mewls with the same volume as his. Almost to the point that the loud music can’t even drown out your euphoric cries.

The tears began forming from the stinging overstimulation, his cock twitching immediately and he feels so raw. His vigor shredded and he submits himself to you, laying and moaning beneath your sedulous fucking.

And he knows, even with the rubber separating his flesh to yours, that everything has changed. No one else could fuck him the way you do, the way you sucked him off, the way you ruled over him and his body. Eddie’s tears choke his moans, the ebony makeup spilling down to your white sheets, your nails scratching all over his tattoos as you bounce faster.

“Jesus. You fucking whore,” Your eyes roll to the back of your head, eyes slamming shut as you bounce. You glow with the sheen layer of sweat coating your body, breathtaking in all your pulchritudinous galore. Eddie traces the stretch marks on your thigh and thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful than the rare sight of you all pleasured and his. “God, Eddie, you feel so amazing.”

Your head ducks, a sob coming out of you. Your heart palpitates, the shattering sensation of being fucked open by your best friend gives you blindsiding revelation that you would rather be with him than anyone else. Because the touch of his hands is nothing but comforting after your cruelty.

You bounce faster on his cock. Eddie’s tears are stained with gray rivulets, coming up to sit and push your chest against him so he can hug you. Your hand tangles itself on his unkempt hair, nails scratching his back, whereas he’s muffling his growls by biting on your shoulder. Eddie kisses his way to your neck, sucking and biting a love bite in.

“I’m close, bats,” he pants against your sweaty flesh. “I’m gonna fucking cum. I can’t hold it in.”

“Okay,” you nod, pulling away to press your forehead against his. You exchange breathy moans, your bounces now with the help of Eddie as you slowly lose your energy. “F-fuck. All this time I’ve been searching for some rando to fuck. Should’ve just gone to you.” He wedges his hand between your bodies, his fingers dancing across your clit that makes you bump your forehead harder with his. “Fuck, Eddie. Cum. I wanna feel you cum.”

Eddie keens on his orgasm, and so do you. Sobbing and mewling into each other’s mouths as your grinding slows down, feeling his warm cum fill his condom, your own climax covering the rubber. He runs his hands up and down your back, before they come up to your shoulder and cup your face, pushing your hair aside so he could kiss you.

A kiss sweeter and more innocent than the first one. Eddie takes your wet lips into his, soft with his pants and his touch. And with his lips still yours, he helps you kneel up to pull his softening cock out of your gaping cunt. You hiss lightly, a tear coating your eyelashes that he wipes away as he sits you down on his thigh.

“That’s it, mama,” his voice is raw and croaky, you rest your head on his shoulder, hands leaving you momentarily to pull his condom out. You watch as Eddie tiredly ties the condom, reaching the bin beneath your bed and throws it inside before he’s hugging you again, fingers rubbing your jaw and thigh. “You did good, bats. Tired?”

You nod your head. Eddie urges you to lay on the bed, where you lay on your side and prop your head up with your hand, He wipes the eyeliner off with the side of his thumb, eyes never leaving you.

“So,” you scratch the column of your neck. “That was intense. Didn’t know the Dungeon Master had it in him to call me mommy but, I wouldn’t complain.”

“Shut up,” he pushes on your shoulder, mimicking your position. Eddie’s fingers trace the curvatures of your waist, hovering over your stretch marks. “I didn't know you had it in you. Did you suck Harrington like that too?”

You laugh, hiding your eyes. “No. No, I never blew him. He’s very eager with giving head, it's insane.” Eddie smiles. “But he’s really good at it. He’s got a bit of a breeding kink. Kept whining about condoms but.”

“At least he’s good at giving head,” his rings are cold against your skin. Scooting closer, Eddie nestles his cheek on the side of his elbow. “So I know we literally just finished having sex but…are you still up for another?”

“Jesus, give me a break. I’m not a machine y’know,” he laughs.

“That’s not what I meant,”

You bite your lip nervously, taking his hand into yours and staring at the difference of its sizes. Your fingers were more slender than his, but his hand in general was bigger. “I’m still up to play house. I really liked the whole mommy thing.”

Eddie smiles, seraphic and pretty. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you brush the curls away from his face. “Uncle Wayne wouldn’t be here for a couple hours. My parents are still out. So we can fuck for as long as we want.”

Your offer excites him. Eddie takes your cups your face and kisses you once more, deciding to worry about what would happen after all this later.

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oneforthemunny · 1 year

Text

you make me feel so young |older!dilf!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: older!Eddie spoils you for the night.

age gap. reader is 25-26 and Eddie is 42. everything is consensual. if this isn't your thing, don't read plz.

thank you @eddiemunsons-missingnipple for the edit!!!!

contains: lots of filth so minors DNI. age gap relationship. older!dilf!Eddie. oral fem receiving. fingering. mature themes. alcohol. language.

He greeted you at the door with a bouquet of red roses, just like he did the first night he took you out. A full bouquet that mimicked the blush on your cheeks, rising up your neck and leaving you swooning under his brown eyed gaze. Cleaned up in a black button down, black blazer, and matching black slacks that hugged his thick thighs in the most delicious way, dressed to impress- and oh, did he ever. The top two buttons were left open, hints of the inked skin poking through- your mouth watered.

"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing?" Eddie winked, pulling you in by your waist to kiss you, deep and sloppy. “Look so pretty, bunny. Get dressed up like this for me?” You huffed in protest, muttering something about your lipstick smudging, but he didn't listen. His lips slotted over yours easily, savoring every waxy, lipstick stained kiss.

"You look beautiful, baby." Eddie whispered, his own lips stained with the faint red tint of your lips.

Your head reeled, licking the pad of your thumb to clean him off. He grinned, kissing your thumb with a wink. You blushed, rolling your eyes lightly at him, trying to ignore the throbbing between your legs.

When he asked you out a week ago, you didn't expect your date night to be quite so fancy. It had been a long week for the both of you- your schedule filled with parent teacher meetings and long shifts at the cafe. Eddie insisted you let him treat you- spoil you for the night. You deserved it, he insisted, and he deserved to spoil you.

His hand held onto your tight clad thighs, pad of his thumb rubbing against the delicate pattern. Rough calloused hands that always left you reeling, so close to your center that it had warmth pooling in the pit of your tummy. You shivered, fighting the urge to clamp your legs together at the sensation.

The restaurant was nice- definitely above your teaching budget, in a city on the outskirts of Indianapolis. Chic and trendy with white table cloths and expensive wine. The kind of restaurant you saw in movies, the ones your exes could never afford to take you- wouldn’t want to take you even if they could.

Eddie pulled your chair out for you, pressing a kiss to your cheek when he pushed you in, leaving you all blushy under the candlelight glow of the table. Always a gentleman, always so good to you.

"You didn't have to do all of this, Ed." You said, looking over the menu to him, eyes batting in his direction, hoping the leather bound menu might hide your blushing cheeks.

Eddie grinned. "'Course I did, baby," He purred, low and smooth across the table. "Had to spoil my best girl." His hand reached for yours, over the linen tablecloth, palm upturned to grab onto your hand. You slipped your hand into his, letting him rub your knuckles gently.

He ordered you your drink, a dry red wine that left you swooning and warm with every sip. You let him order it for you. You liked that he did that, took care of you in that way. “It goes really good with the pasta, bunny.” Eddie winked.

You'd shared dinner and even dessert, stayed at the table too long as one glass turned into two and three. You’d propped your head in your hand, eyes glassy and dizzy from the wine- lovestruck at the man in front of you. You didn’t let the questioning looks from the staff and others bother you, you knew they’d judge.

You told Eddie about your week, his large hand reaching across the table to hold your delicate one, fingers tickling your palm. Droned, wine soaked words, soft smiles, fluttering lashes and love filled glances. Eddie talked about his week in between slow sips of red wine, lips pressing together to collect the flavor. He told you about work, about Brie, about how much he missed you.

Your head was fuzzy, dreamlike with the effect of the wine. Your tight-clad foot crawling up his leg under the table. Eddie laughed, looking around with a blush. "I'll take it, you're ready to go home then?" He asked, a wicked grin on his face, lightly grabbing your foot with a gentle playful squeeze.

You nodded, squealing lightly at his hands, ticking your foot. Pulling it back under the table, slipping it into your heel while Eddie flagged down the waiter.

Eddie paid the bill, his hand on your waist, pulled tightly into his side when you walked out. He gave you his blazer to keep you warm while you walked to the car, stopping before he opened your door, kissing you long and deep under the streetlights. His lips tasted like the wine he’d been sipping, rich and woody- sweet, tasted just like him. Left you blushing and blistering the whole way home.

And when you got back home? It was magical.

Eddie made a big show of taking off your tights, slow and precise, leaving you shivering and mewling with his touch. He was teasing you, fingers hooking under the nylon and pulling slow, slow, slow all the way down to your feet. His hands returned to your bare feet, giving them a tight squeeze in his large hands, tickling your soles playfully.

"Be patient, babydoll." Eddie whispered, pressing sloppy kisses on your bare thighs, calves, all the way down to your ankles as he revealed them. “Gotta be patient f’me. You can do that, can’t you? Be my good girl?”

You nodded, a high pitched, nasally whine. “I can be good.” You nodded. “I’ll be good for you, please, Eddie.”

Your head tipped back, strangled gasp caught in your throat when Eddie's hands pushed your thighs open, adjusting them so they rested on his shoulders. Wet, lewd kisses trailing up and down your thighs, placing a gentle, delicate kiss to your core. Your body shuddered, whining and grinding down towards his mouth.

"You're a greedy girl tonight, aren't ya?" Eddie grinned, hooking your panties around his finger and pulling them down slowly. You huffed in response, pushing up on your arms to look down at him.

Eddie chuckled at your pout, plump lips jutted out and brows furrowed. "Don't worry, sweetheart." Eddie cooed, pressing a hand down on your sternum gently. "I'll take care of ya tonight."

Eddie pushed your thighs further back and apart, tongue running over one lip, agonizingly slow, then the other. Your back arched, eyes pinching closed as he finally swiped his tongue, flat and long through your folds and over your clit. He knew you loved it, when he took his time like this. Enjoying every piece of you.

Eddie's tongue went back, circling your hole slowly, beard scruff prickling and tickling the sensitive skin, nose brushing into your clit. You ground your hips into him, his large, strong hands gripping the meat of your hip. He worked his way up your folds, swiping over your clit before latching onto it entirely.

A moan tore through your chest, hips writhing in pleasure. His lips captured your sensitive button, suckling, flicking his tongue, opting between the two while your orgasm built. Closer and closer towards the edge of pleasure that he was taking you to, you were so close, and he could see it-feel it. Feel it in the way you gripped into his hair, your legs squeezing around his shoulders, hips rocking against his mouth.

Eddie pulled back, circling his middle finger around your hole, sinking it in as you cried out, back arching even further when his mouth went back on you and finger curled inside.

You gushed all over him, white hot pleasure consuming your body, mind, soul. Eddie didn't stop until you came down, whimpering and sensitive, lying back on the bed.

Eddie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and lust blown when he looked down at you. Your thighs clenched, a dull throbbing tearing through you again. His hair pulled back with your scrunchie, curly salt and pepper tendrils framing his face. Tattoos littering his thick, strong arms, some faded and some new. Beard glistening with remnants of you shining in the low light.

You sat up, pushing yourself to your wobbly knees, palming him through his boxers, soft hands pulling him out. Eddie groaned, but shook his head when you started to pump him.

"No, bunny," Eddie rasped, grabbing your hands gently in his, bringing them up to your chest. "Let me take care of you tonight, alright?"

You pouted. "But-"

Eddie jutted forward, lips covering yours and tongue slipping into your mouth. You throbbed at the taste of yourself still on his tongue, damp facial hair smearing over your own face.

Eddie grinned through the kiss, fingers trailing down to your breasts, rolling the pebbled nipples in his calloused fingers. "I'm gonna take good care of you tonight, sweetheart." Eddie whispered, wisps of hair tickling your neck when he kissed the shell of your ear. His other hand moved back between your legs, smirking when you jolted, still sensitive from before.

"Just lay back for me. Let me take care of you. You deserve it."

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ectologia · 5 months

Note

have you ever tried a makeup smear fic? one where the yandere makes her wear like lipgloss and eyeliner then smears it over her face like she’s lowkey a whore lmao

♱ ˖ ࣪࿐ 𝒫𝒜𝐼𝒩𝒯𝐼𝒩𝒢 ؛ 𝓀𝒶𝓉𝓈𝓊𝓀𝒾 𝒷𝒶𝓀𝓊𝑔𝑜𝓊

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 ؛ dubcon ﾉ noncon ﾉ humiliation ﾉ mocking ﾉ forced cunnilingus ﾉ name calling ﾉ bullying ﾉ crazy bakugou ﾉ mean bakugou ﾉ profanity

“Awh, look at you..” Katsuki coos, popping the cap of your eyeliner and holding it between his teeth. Your eyelids are pulled back to the hilt by his thumb, leaving you a teary mess as he oafishly free hands a string of ink across your lash-line. He pulls away with a triumphant grin, admiring his handy work as you blink away the black seeping into your pupils. The dainty pen is snapped in his fist, discarded onto the floor much like the rest of your make-up, shades of pink and brown left crushed into your carpet with their cases in fragments.

“Who’s a pretty girl?” He sneers, ruffling your hair with a big palm before taking hold of your bound ankles.

The metal clinks as he tugs the chains over his neck, allowing your trembling feet to rest on his shoulders, gracing you no escape.

“Wish I could say the same about this filthy little muff though..” Katsuki tuts, pressing your pussy-lips down to inspect your distorted hole. He slides a finger through the sticky webbing, flicking off at your clit. “Tsk.”

You don’t get a chance to reply before he’s dipping down, snorting like a pig. Engulfing with teeth and a fat tongue as he sticks it to your wet slit. Immediately, he’s shaking his head side to side, nuzzling his creased nose into your swollen bud as he sucks on your cunny hole with an unjust violence.

You cry out an incoherent plea, writhing in the stained sheets smudged with concealer and lipstick, the same colours he’d just finished caking your face in previously.

His head bobs up and down, routinely hacking a glob of foamy saliva onto your folds only to slurp it back up again.

“There we go...” He scrubs his chin of any fluid, sniffing his fingers as-well in a subtle fashion. “Nice ‘n’ sloppy.”

He stays preoccupied with slapping his heavy cock-head against your twitchy clit, even as you snivel into your shoulder, wincing and jerking beneath the heavy weight of his tip spanking your puffy pussy up and down. Pearly teeth bare at the wet splatters that jump from where you connect, spitting back up at him.

“You gonna’ behave?” He questions, leaving his stiff erection to flop onto your stomach as he raises two hands towards your face. Your skin is rolled and tugged on by a set of invasive digits, smudging black clouds of ink from your eyelids to your ears. “You gonna’ be a good little prostitute for me?”

You can’t feel your toes where they’ve gone numb from their ascended position, kicking up into the air as he sheathes his length into the pocket of your choke-hole.

Even as you scream raw from your throat, he can’t help but froth at the pair of pink glossy lips crying out for him. All shiny and glistening in the light, specks of glitter jumbled about inside the glass-like coating that paints them corner to corner. It turns him on, the thick globules of transparent gloop looking all to familiar to something else.

He’s compelled to spread the stickiness around, creating an exaggerated ark over what would usually be your smile, leaving a stripe of gloss in it’s wake.

“Awh..” He chuckles through his nose. “Such a lil’ cutie, you like getting your pussy fucked? Yeah you do, look at that smile.”

“Ngh.. ‘suki..” You keen, jostling the chains keeping your leather-cuffed wrists pinned to the headboard.

“Oh, ‘suki! ‘suki!” He mimics you as you sob, turning his mouth down and squinting his eyes in the same pitiful way you do, only without the crystalline tears dragging pounds of blush and bronzer down your cheekbones. “Please make love to my pussy harder!.. Yeah? ‘s that what you’re tryna’ say you little bitch?”

Even as you shake your head, he ignores you. To busy flicking at the artificial eyelashes he’d shoddily stuck to your lash-line, dramatic and bold like butterflies, nothing you’d ever dare to wear yourself, were it your decision.

“Please Katuki! It hurts, you’re hurting me!”

Your attempt to reason with him falls on deaf ears.

“Oh, I’m hurting you am I?” He only responds by pressing your knees back further. “Good.”

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 1 month

Text

Now It's Always Summertime

History Professor!Reader x Student!Natasha Romanoff x Student!Wanda Maximoff

Summary: You're just trying to get your thoughts together for the upcoming semester, but there are a few distractions.

Word Count: 850

Warnings: Mentions of getting high, student professor relationship, age gap everyone is over 18.

A/N: I watched a Tik Tok that had the right vibes and this came to mind so here you go. A little treat.

You poured the black liquid from your stove top coffee maker into your glass mug. Your favorite mug with a world map on it. The steam bellowed from both the maker and your now full mug. The overhead lights of the office were off leaving the strings of fairy lights that adorned the bookshelves behind you and the warm glow of your desk lamp as the only sources of light. A Golden pothos falling over the sides of the shelves like waterfalls.

The leather bound notebook sat on your desk with coffee ring stains from setting your mug atop of the blank page. You always thought it gave the page character when one found its way to a page. You transferred your thoughts from the newest edition of the history text book you received for this upcoming semester.

Going over your previous semesters lesson plan and improving on it with the new text book in mind. You taught a few different classes and with the short summer semester coming to an end only to pick back up. Before you'd have time to do anything it would be Autumn with a chill in the air worthy of the hot cup you sipped on.

A knock against the open doorframe brought you from your thoughts. Looking up over your glasses, hair slipping past your ear as your head moved. Your two favorite students stood in your doorway, Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff. Neither were history majors, but you seem to have captured their attention as they've now taken two of your classes. Your Western Civ I class along with your Mythology class. The two were already in your schedule for the Fall semester for Western Civ II and Wanda somehow snuck her way into your Norse mythology class.

“What can I do for you girls?” You asked setting your pen down and picking up your mug, refilling it once more before taking a sip. The two girls stepped in and closed the door behind them. Natasha coming around to beside you and looking at the notes you took.

“Is this for next semester?” The redheaded Russian asked as her finger ran over the words, a small smudge coming at the bottom where the fresh ink resided. You took her hand in your own after setting the mug down. Much like a mother would you licked one of your own fingers and used it to wipe the mark away on her finger.

“It is and I'd appreciate if my notes could stay intact. My thoughts are jumbled enough without you smudging them Tasha.” You looked up at the red head with a smirk plastered on your face and hers adorned a blush as Wanda came to your other side arms wrapping around your shoulders.

“We wanted to know if we could help you with anything?” You felt her breath on the shell of your ear. Your attention moving from the Russian to the Sokovian.

“I'm sure you two could be studying for your finals instead of coming to ask if I need help.” You raised an eyebrow to the brunette, the smirk still on your face as her forehead found your cheek.

“Need some stress relief.” She murmured against you making a chuckle bubble up from your chest. Wanda let out a whine in protest of your chuckle.

“Well she needs a stress relief. I'm getting high later.” Your head spun back to the redhead.

“Without me? Rude.” Natasha started laughing along with you.

“Well I can bring it if you say we can come over tonight and then we can all have a good time.” Natasha wiggled her eyebrows and tugged on your hand that was still in hers. Another whine falling past Wanda's lips is what made you give in.

“Okay. Okay you two can come over. We'll get high and have some stress relief from finals for everyone's sake.” Both girls became excited at the thought of getting to come over.

You lived a ways away from campus so you never worried about anyone seeing the girls come over since the three of you started up this throuple of yours at the beginning of the summer semester.

The classes were smaller and the two girls had already caught your eye. Since neither was a history major you figured once they got their history credits you'd never see them again. The campus was huge and the history building was nowhere near where these two spent the rest of their day. Yet when you saw their names once more you knew you had to say something. So as the old saying goes; one thing led to another and here we are.

You wrapped and arm around Wanda, pulling her into your lap where her face now buried its away into the crook of your neck. Natasha just leaned against you. More than content to have you against her stomach. You never thought this is where you'd be when you started teaching here, but you couldn't be more happy, more full, more loved than you are with these two in your life.

#ley writes #ley speaks #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x you #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x female #black widow #student!wanda #student!natasha #professor!reader #professor!au

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cambion-companion · 6 months

Text

Curled atop Raphael to thaw.

@sky-kiss put it in my head how nice it would be to use Raphael's hellish body heat to unfreeze after a cold day. Actually, she's mentioned it several times. So of course I had to make a drabble. This is the softest Raphael has been or ever will be haha

(Also remoras are the fish which attaches to larger fish to "clean" them.)

“I feel like I just trudged through the snows of Cania.” Your teeth chattered, making it difficult to speak. Huddled as you were by the inn’s paltry fireplace, the flames were doing very little to thaw the bone chill.

Raphael looked up from where he reclined, perusing a long scroll of parchment. His hellfire gaze swept over your shivering form, arching a brow in amusement. “I did warn you not to venture forth. Yet you remain intrepid and stubborn as ever.” He cleared his throat and resumed reading the contract he’d been editing since your return.

You glared over at the devil on his bed, not that he saw. You shuffled off your heavy coat, the fabric stiff and just as frozen as the rest of you.

On numb bare feet you crossed the small room at a slight run,and hopped up next to where Raphael reclined. He gave you a look that you recognized as a sign his patience was slipping. “I don’t share my bed with little frozen mice.”

“Good thing I’m not a mouse, then.” You snuggled close to his body, his skin the shade of ripe cherries and giving off infernal heat. “Indulge me.” You repeated the words he’d spoken to you days previous, accentuating your accent to mimic his own.

Raphael tutted and, with a tug, moved his wing away from where you rested on it. “Your body has the appeal of a corpse. Get yourself hence ere I remove you.”

“Hurtful.” You didn’t budge, instead pressing yourself closer and sighing as the heat radiating off him began to seep beneath your clammy skin. “Please, Raphael.”

The cambion stilled, his hand holding the parchment still outstretched to keep the fresh ink from smudging as you moved yourself as much on top of him as possible. You felt him sigh beneath you and smiled, sensing victory.

You did not expect the pressure of Raphael’s hand upon your hair, stroking once before resting against your upper back. He waited for you to stop moving, finding a comfortable position half-curled atop his torso.

“What are you willing to do in exchange for my constant lenience?” Raphael’s breath stirred your hair. He rested the parchment back against the top of your head and seemed to be only half interested in your reply.

In response you made sure to tuck your ice block feet against his thighs. Raphael’s muscles twitched in response, and he gripped your waist hard in retribution. “You’re telling me you don’t enjoy this at all?” You asked, your sense of self-preservation long since fled.

“I’m reminding you everything has a price, my dear.” Raphael murmured. “I shall let you ruminate. For now, be silent, I have work to do.”

You found no issue with that, feeling the rise and fall of the devil’s breath beneath your body as he warmed you. Your eyelashes fluttered with a sudden wave of drowsiness.

Raphael’s wings curled around you both in a sort of cocoon, increasing the feeling of being thawed. Soon you were enveloped in a haze of red and heat, every so often hearing the sound of paper rustling and the scratch of a quill.

You stretched, hooking one of your legs over the cambion’s waist and wrapped your arm around his chest.

Raphael looked down at your relaxed body, curled atop his. He smiled slightly to himself moved his long fingers through your hair. “What a soft, pliant creature you are. The errant remora seeking refuge, fully knowing it’s within the jaws of a shark.”

#Raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #bg3 drabble #raphael x reader #raphael baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #fluff I guess lmao #There has to be that underlying sinster sense or it wouldn't be our lovely cambion

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heich0e · 6 months

Text

choso/f!reader

The light from the signs that line the street around you makes a dull, irritating ache throb behind your eyes.

It’s a migraine. Or exhaustion maybe. Regardless of the cause, the pain carves its way through you like rot. You lower your eyes to the pavement, hoping that by averting your gaze from the fluorescents you may find some temporary reprieve.

It doesn’t help much.

You fish the little paper packet of cigarettes out from inside the small purse you wear over your arm. There are only three left in the pack, but you swear there should be more. You’d only bought them that morning—no, wait, yesterday morning, since you’d gone a night without sleep. You suck a little hiss of disappointed air in through your teeth, plucking out one of the last lonely cigarettes from inside the pack and then retrieving your lighter too. Though inadvisable by anyone medically qualified, you hope that maybe the hit of nicotine might help the headache while you wait.

Cigarette between your teeth, you lift your little yellow lighter to the end. Pressing down on the safety that covers the spark wheel you draw it quickly back, but the tiny flame that appears momentarily flickers out just as swiftly. You repeat the motion, pressing and dragging your thumb to light it, but you find no more success than you had upon your first attempt. Your lips pull into a tighter line, pressing into the spongey filter of the cigarette in frustration. You shake the lighter a few times, hoping that whatever meagre amount of fluid left in it might suddenly decide to make itself known.

You light it again.

Nothing.

“Here.”

You glance up.

Choso stands before you, his arm extended in your direction with a lighter in his hand. It’s green—a less neon shade than your own lighter—and has something scrawled across it in smudged ink that you can’t make out in the night. Your eyes meet, a momentary look passing between the two of you. Recognition. Greeting, maybe.

You don’t take the lighter from his hand. Instead, you steady the cigarette between your lips in the V of your fingers and lean towards him. He understands without it needing to be said, clicking his own lighter to life and holding it to the end until the cherry flares red on your inhale.

Your eyes meet again as you angle yourself into his space, closer now than before. The same street signs and their glowing lights that had been so irritating to you catch in his glassy brown eyes, framed by long lashes that flutter in a blink.

He looks tired. But he always looks tired, and you’re sure you’re not faring much better—so who are you to judge?

You pull away once your cigarette is lit, taking a drag and then blowing the smoke into the wind.

“You’re late,” you say quietly. Not a hello, nor a thank you.

“Sorry,” he replies. “My little brother had cram school. I had to wait to make sure he got home safely.”

Itadori Yuuji—15, a high school student, not his brother by blood.

You nod a little bit, dismissive more than it is accepting, and take another long drag from your cigarette.

Choso watches you raptly, his eyes following every movement. After some time passes, you hold the cigarette out to him in offering, though it’s mostly burned away.

“No, thank you,” he refuses you politely, dipping his head.

You finish the cigarette off, and then drop it to the ground and crush it under the pointed toe of your high-heeled shoe.

There’s a mint in your coat pocket, and you quickly pop it into your mouth to chase away the lingering taste of tobacco. You love the nicotine rush, but you still hate the bitter flavour that lingers on your tongue even after all these years. Choso watches that too—his eyes following your hand until the little white pastille slips behind your lips.

Your gazes meet.

You take a step towards him, wrapping your hands around his arm and tucking yourself against his side. It’s natural. Familiar. Easy. He smells like soap, and this close to him you can see the way his dark hair—down today, and tucked behind his ears, rather than in the two twists he often wears—is faintly wet, like he’s only just showered.

“Let’s go.”

Inside the shabby lobby, there’s only one person lingering—a man, standing behind the counter—who pastes on a small but notably insincere smile when you and Choso step through the door.

“Good evening,” he greets you with a slight bow.

“A room, please,” Choso says to him, to the point but not unkind.

“For how long?”

You feel the man’s eyes on you then, and you know what he must be thinking. It’s not hard to tell, looking between you and Choso, what the two of you are doing—even less so at a love hotel on a seedy side of town where you can book rooms by the half-hour. The differences between Choso and yourself are many and obvious; what with your skimpy little dress and your heels in contrast to his jeans; raggedy, thick-soled combat boots; and windbreaker. And that’s to say nothing about the differences in your countenances: Choso looks stiff, uncomfortable even, under the scrutiny of the man at the front desk, but you’re largely unbothered by the judgement in his gaze. You lean a little more into Choso’s arm where you’re wrapped around it, tucking your face into his collar in a show of diffidence but you meet the man’s eyes with a flutter of your lashes.

He licks his lips a little, a flush appearing just above the collar of his rumpled dress shirt, and you resist the urge to sneer in disgust.

Once the two of you receive the key to your room, you quietly make your way there—still sticking close to Choso’s side as you depart from the lobby towards the elevator. You don’t cross paths with another soul as you travel to your room on the third floor, the only sound to be heard is the mechanical fwoosh of the elevator as it climbs, the hum of the vending machine selling variously erotic wares you have to pass to make it to your room, and the quiet beep as Choso unlocks the door.

Just as the two of you are about to step in, a door at the other end of the hall opens, and Choso swiftly wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you in front of him to usher you across the threshold first—using his body to shield you from the eyes of the man who passes down the corridor behind him as the door swings shut. There’s something almost charmingly conscientious about the gesture, though it seems to have been more unconscious than anything.

The room is just what you expect it to be. Plain. Somewhat sterile. Not uncomfortable, but not particularly homey, either. There’s a bed, two bedside tables, a television mounted at the foot of the bed. There’s a door that leads into the tiny washroom, where the shower seems to take up most of the floorspace. The room is dim, likely intentionally, even once you flick the overhead lights on.

“That guy was creepy,” you sigh, stepping away from Choso and further into the room towards the bed.

“Who?” he asks.

“The guy at the counter,” you sniff, flopping down at the edge of the bed. You throw one leg over the other, crossing them at the knee, and lean back on your elbows against the mattress. The linen is surprisingly soft considering the inexpensive rate. “You’d swear he’s never seen a call girl before.”

Choso is still standing by the door, looking as uncomfortable as ever. He reaches up and rubs his neck, peering around the room seemingly just as an excuse not to meet your eyes.

“So,” you call to him, beckoning his wandering attention back to you. You tilt your head to the side once his gaze connects with yours. “Did you bring it?”

Choso’s hand flutters to the pocket of his dark windbreaker, and part of you wonders if he even knows he did it. You always find that part of him so curious—his sincerity. How easy he is for you to read. You can’t help but question if he’s like this with everyone, or if there’s something about you that makes him this way.

He nods.

The mint you popped into your mouth before entering the hotel has melted away to nothing on your tongue now, but the lingering freshness remains. You feel the mentholated burn as you suck in a little breath, a pleasant tingle in your throat.

“Let’s see it, then,” you say, holding out your hand expectantly.

He hesitates a little but then he approaches, pulling a creased envelope out from his jacket pocket and handing it to you. It’s folded in half, and theres a grease stain at the corner of the white paper envelope—not uncommon for a mechanic, you suppose.

Choso’s hands are always so clean when he meets you, though.

Inside the envelope is exactly what you came here for.

“This is perfect,” you remark, thumbing through the papers as your eyes quickly scan across the pages to surmise their contents.

Choso is very still as he stands in front of you, towering over where you sit perched at the edge of the love hotel bed and watching as you flick through the papers he’s just delivered into your hands. There’s something sort of expectant in the way he waits for you to speak again.

“And you’re sure this is all of it?” you ask him, glancing up from the pages in your grip.

He nods. “That’s everything.”

“Gojo’s gonna lose his shit when I slap this on his desk,” you remark to yourself with a snort. You can already picture the absolute dismay on Satoru’s face when he realizes that you beat him to the punch in securing the information that he’s been after for weeks now. You’re sure he’ll be whining about it to Geto for days.

Choso fidgets slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Nice work, kid,” you commend him, looking up at him with a smile.

There’s a shift in expression on Choso’s face then—not quite a pout, but a definite air of disappointment or displeasure. He says nothing in spite of the look, and you don’t ask anything, either. That’s not what you came here to talk about, after all. For all intents and purposes, your businesses began and ended with the stack of papers in your lap.

Contained within the pages Choso brought to you is every vehicle (make, model, VIN number and plate) that Choso’s garage has worked on or modified for the crime syndicate currently wreaking havoc in the city under Sukuna’s command.

“I’ve got your payment here,” you say, fishing out an envelope of your own from inside your purse. There’s enough cash inside the crisp manila envelop that you produce to reimburse the cost of the room he’d paid for and to compensate him for the information. “The rest of it went to the cram school to cover your brother’s tuition, as usual.”

Choso takes it from your hands, his long fingers brushing gently against your own as it passes between your grips, and he doesn’t even bother checking the contents before he slips it into his pocket.

“Thank you, Inspector,” he says quietly, dipping his head in a bow.

Your lips purse as Choso stares down at his feet, observing the way he seems to be avoiding your gaze.

Choso’s been working as an informant for the past few years. It started off just passing small pieces of information here and there, having established a rapport with your previous chief in his late teens following the murders of his two brothers thanks to the early days of the gang that would eventually grow into Sukuna’s organization now. Choso was born into that life—cursed by his own blood—but he’s made a conscious effort in his adulthood to keep on the straight and narrow, largely for Yuuji’s sake.

You’ve been meeting him like this for a little over a year now, building your own relationship with him now that the chief retired. Choso’s mechanic shop sees all kinds of people coming in and out, good and bad, and he gleans a lot of information in his neutrality. He’s useful to you.

You understand the risk that Choso takes by meeting with you. By working for you. It’s a truth you recognize as well as he does. But he’s never hesitated to get you the information you ask for. Has never denied you anything you seek. All he asks in return is a meagre compensation and the assured safety and education of his little brother.

You wonder why he’s willing to go so far, and for whose sake he does it.

You flop back onto the hotel bed, one hand resting over the papers in your lap to keep them from slipping onto the floor.

“I’m beat,” you complain, throwing your other arm up over your eyes and hiding your face in the crook of your elbow.

“You’re not sleeping?” the soft rumble of Choso’s low voice is strangely comforting like this.

You hum. “Haven’t been home in two days.”

“You need to rest,” he chides you, and there’s something funnily maternal in the way he says it. He’s suddenly every bit the big brother you know him to be. You shift your arm so you can peek up at him from where you’re sprawled across the bed.

He’s inched closer to you since your eyes were covered, hesitating at the very edge of the mattress beside you. He’s staring down at you with a serious expression on his face, slightly pinched in reproach but softened at the edges with concern.

“Yeah, yeah,” you snort, lifting your hand and waving it dismissively. “I’ll get there eventually, kid.”

Choso catches your wrist in his hand before you can let it drop again, suddenly kneeling against the mattress so he’s looming over you. You’re surprised by the gesture, a sudden falter in the steady thumping of your heart as he stares down at you.

“I’m older than you,” he says quietly, somewhat sullen but simultaneously sheepish. His eyes bore down into yours. “Please stop calling me 'kid'.”

You know he’s right. You know just about everything there is to know about Kamo Choso on paper, having researched him and his background extensively before you got involved with him like this. You suppose you picked up the habit thanks to the chief, since that’s how he always used to refer to him. As Choso hovers over you, his big hand still wrapped around your wrist and his broad frame blocking the rest of the hotel room behind him from view, the truth of his remark rings palpably true.

You suddenly aren’t sure how to respond, your lips parting but no words slipping out.

Choso lets your hand drop after a moment, shifting to sit beside you on the bed. There’s no other seats in the small hotel room, so it’s not particularly unexpected, but you’re strangely conscious of him now in ways you don’t like.

“You should sleep here for a bit,” he says, his eyes glancing over to the clock on the bedside table. “We have the room for another hour.”

You don’t ever leave the hotel room before a realistically inconspicuous amount of time has passed, but suddenly the prospect of spending another hour with him makes your stomach twist.

“I’m fine,” you try to brush him off, sitting up and neatly stacking the papers so that you can slip them back into their envelope and tuck them safely into your purse. Your face feels hot, and that ache between your temples is back again. You contemplate another cigarette.

A gentle touch against your elbow makes you freeze.

You glance over at Choso from the corner of your eye, and find his dark gaze on you. His eyes are imploring, soft, and seemingly fathomless.

“Rest,” he insists again. “I’ll wake you before we need to leave.”

Your eyes scan his face. Your headache throbs.

There are a hundred reasons to deny him. A thousand reasons you shouldn’t listen to what he says.

But there’s one—a distant, whispered reason, that you don’t want to acknowledge—that tells you differently.

“Move over,” you grumble, letting your purse fall to the floor with a dull thud!

Choso obeys immediately, shifting so you can crawl into the bed beside him and rest against the pillows. You squeeze your eyes shut the minute your head hits them.

“You should at least take your shoes off,” Choso remarks. You flinch a little as you feel the warmth of his hand on your ankle, holding it steady as he gently slips your shoe from your foot. He repeats the same motion for the other.

Your eyes remain shut.

After a moment of stillness, you feel the mattress shift slightly and the warmth of his body recede. When you crack one eye open to survey what changed, you see that Choso’s slipped down to the floor, resting with his back against the side of the bed and his legs crossed underneath him. His eyes are shut now too, and you watch his profile for a moment as he breathes.

You close your eyes again.

“Wake me up in thirty minutes,” you mumble, and Choso hums in response. “I’ll leave first."

But even in the stillness of that little hotel room, even in your exhaustion, neither of you manages to fall asleep.

#choso x reader #kamo choso x reader #jjk drabble #jjk writing #writing #tw smoking

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fortheloveofwonderland · 10 months

Text

In This Diary | S.R

Summary - The summer of ‘02 was supposed to be just like any summer that had come before. Spencer Reid was mostly hoping to relax before his started his new job at the Behavioural Analysis Unit in the fall. But best laid plans often go awry.

Now all these years later he’s come into possession of the diary he kept during that time and he’s forced on a trip down memory lane to a perfect Las Vegas summer in which he fell in love for the very first time. But if he’s not careful, he might allow himself to get so lost in his nostalgia he may not be able to drag himself back to the present.

A/N - this goes back and forth a lot in time, I hope it makes sense. Where there’s a page break it goes back to the present day. Based on the song In This Diary by The Ataris. Written for @imagining-in-the-margins Summer Sunshine Challenge. Thank you again @pinkiceee-prose and @andiebeaword for reading over this 🖤

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - angst with happy ending | strangers to friends to lovers | smut minors DNI

Warnings - post prison, pot smoking, virgin Spencer, slight sub! Spencer, use of “good boy”, mild praise kink (Spencer), handjob, swearing, fingering, masturbation (m), brief mention of medication but no specifics, talk of PTSS, angst, allusions to sex, brief mention of protected sex, oral (m receiving), brief mention of past addiction and Emily’s “death”.

WC - 10.3k honestly I can’t write anything short

Here in this diary I write you visions of my summer, it was the best I ever had…

The dogeared, weathered pages told their age beneath his fingertips, speaking their tales through skin. Smudged ink seeped through the yellowing paper, penned words of a different time etched to hold their memory.

His fingers danced across them as though reading braille, trying to feel the words the way he had when he'd written them. So much time had passed, so much had changed, this book felt like it was from a different lifetime.

If he closed his eyes he could feel himself there. He could feel the way the hot Vegas sun beat down on him, causing little beads of sweat to roll down his face, feeling it tightening his skin. He could sense the pen in his hand as he scrawled down his thoughts, committing them to these pages.

“What are you doing?”

“Just writing.”

“Writing what?”

“Memories. I want to remember this summer.”

“You have an eidetic memory, dork.”

He could feel the gravel beneath him, hear the occasional passing vehicle on the freeway whilst hanging out at truck stops just to pass the time.

He could see fireworks illuminating the sky in desolate parking lots, hear their crackle and bang as they exploded and then disappeared.

He could hear the thrum of the eighties songs through tinny speakers, even if he never really enjoyed them. He could feel the droplets of water on his frazzled skin from the splash back of a body diving into the hotel pool which was not strictly open to the public.

It was another life, one he’d long ago left behind but still carried pieces of it with him.

I guess when it comes down to it, being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up…

“Whatcha got there?”

A voice snapped him out of his nostalgia and he quickly closed the old book and looked up from his desk. He blinked a few times to try and bring himself back to the present, back from memory lane which he’d started to get lost down.

Spencer Reid was not known to be a sentimental man, in all honesty he had few good memories from his past to be wistful over. And now was not the time to start.

Luke had an amused smirk on his lips as he looked down at the younger man and the old, tattered journal on his desk.

“Oh, uh, it’s nothing.” Spencer swallowed with a shake of his head.

“Looked like a diary.” Luke’s smile grew, his intense dark eyes full of mirth. “I saw a date in the corner? August twenty ninth two thousand and two. You'd have been…”

“Twenty two. I was twenty two. The summer before I joined the BAU.” He sighed as he spoke, not thrilled to be sharing this part of his life with Luke.

It was unfounded, given that it was probably the happiest time of his life. He wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t want his friends to know about it.

There was something about keeping the memory pure, not having it sullied by outsiders. That secret summer belonged only to the two people who had lived it.

“I didn't peg you for a journaler.” Luke shrugged.

“I’m not usually. I don’t really know why I kept a diary that summer.”

That wasn’t entirely true. He’d kept a record of those days in case, for whatever reason, his memory failed him. If something happened to cause his brain to forget, that was one time in his life he wanted to ensure he’d never lose.

And since his mothers diagnosis, it was an entirely real possibility that one day he may forget. There were many moments in his life he’d like to be able to neglect, his drug addiction, Gideon’s death, prison; but the summer of ‘02 was not one of them.

In truth he’d forgotten all about the journal. It wasn’t until his mothers move to DC when he’d been going through old boxes of her stuff that he’d found it.

“Can I read it?” Luke’s smile turned cheeky, he already knew what the answer would be but he was just trying his luck.

As expected, Spencer scowled, grabbing the diary and holding it close to his chest as if he believed Luke might try to snatch it from his desk.

“Absolutely not.” He wrapped it tightly against his body.

“Ooh there’s some juicy stuff in there.” Luke chuckled.

“Don’t be crude.” Spencer scoffed but his cheeks started to redden, conveying the truth.

“Oh man, I’m right aren’t I?” Luke’s laughter grew.

It increased in volume enough to grant the attention from the others who had been silently working away at their desks.

“What’s going on?” JJ perked up, her blonde head of hair appearing behind her computer monitor.

“Reid’s got a sex diary.” Luke spoke over his shoulder to the whole bullpen.

“I most certainly do not.” His cheeks burned with his embarrassment and he shrunk a little in his chair.

“Reid? Spencer Reid?” Tara stood from her desk, eyebrow cocked in her blatant confusion. “No way, I don’t believe that.”

“Good, because it's not true.” He held the journal closer to his chest.

“He’s hiding something in there, there’s a reason he won’t let me read it.” Luke scoffed.

“Did it occur to you that some people don’t enjoy sharing their entire life story?” Spencer grumbled.

By now JJ and Matt were on their feet too, and the three other agents closed in on his desk. He was thankful at least Emily, Rossi and Garcia were in their respective offices. He shrunk lower in his chair, wishing he were able to simply vanish into thin air.

“Oh he’s definitely hiding something.” Tara folded her arms across her chest, eyebrow still raised in a combination of suspicion and delight.

“So what if I am? I’m entitled to my secrets.” Spencer complained.

“The last time you kept a secret from us you ended up in prison.” JJ’s shoulders slumped, wincing a little at her own words.

“This isn’t…it’s not like that.” He shook his head. “It’s just memories okay? Memories of a great summer I had before I joined the bureau and I’d like to keep them to myself.”

“Oh it’s totally a sex diary.” Matt chuckled heartily.

“For the love of…” Spencer trailed off, pushing himself to his feet and tucking the journal under his arm. “I really don’t want to talk about this. Can you please just respect my privacy for once? I know how hard that is for you guys.”

“Ouch,” JJ pouted. “Sorry for caring.”

“Jennifer, we both know this has nothing to do with you caring about me.” He clucked, pushing past the gaggle of his friends and marching out of the bullpen.

He felt them watching him, muttering under their breaths as he walked away. He hurried down the corridor out of view until he pushed his way into the men’s bathroom.

He slumped into a stall and sat down on the closed lid of the toilet. Placing the old leather bound diary in his lap he ran his fingers over the cover.

He didn’t know why he’d let himself get so worked up over a stupid journal. Except it wasn’t stupid, far from it. It was his collection of memories from a life he wished he could go back and relive.

The twenty two year old who’d put pen to these pages was naive and innocent, his whole life ahead of him. The boy he’d been back then didn’t know of the horrors he was yet to face. It was a much simpler time and he wanted to be able to cling to that without his friends being involved.

For fourteen years his team had been privy to every moment of his life, good and bad. Was it so wrong that Spencer wanted to just keep this one thing to himself?

He huffed out a staggered breath, wishing not for the first time that just cared a little less. It made sense when he was younger, he’d been green when he joined the FBI and the team had treated him with kid gloves, probably rightfully so. But he was a grown man now, older and more worldly, he didn’t need them treating him like a child.

He cracked the spine of the journal, opening it up to the first page and continued caressing the worn page with his fingers. The diary began at the end, retrospectively writing of his adventures during the last week of that summer when he realised he didn’t want those memories to escape him.

August 29th 2002

Here in this diary I write you visions of my summer, it was the best I ever had…that unspoken feeling of knowing that right now is all that matters.

Here in this diary he had meticulously journalled everything that transpired during his last few months in his hometown and how those moments had changed his life forever. He cautiously turned the page, careful not to tear the aged paper.

He felt the heat rising, the sun high in the sky. He became aware of the somewhat blistering concrete beneath him, the occasional sound of passing cars. He could make out the scent of sunblock in the air, chlorine from nearby backyard swimming pools.

Brushing his digits across the page he was transported away from Virginia, away from the bathroom on the sixth floor Quantico office. As he closed his eyes, the Las Vegas summer stretched out before him.

June 2nd 2002

The temperature edged over a hundred two days ago and the AC hasn’t worked in three years. Really need to sell the house, I must look into that when I get to DC. Mom hasn’t lived here since I sent her off to Bennington and this was the last summer I’d be needing it.

It was cooler to sit outside, despite the humidity, it was preferable to the stuffy house with no AC. I planned to go to the library, basking in its glorious air conditioning unit but after stepping outside and immediately feeling the sweat gathering all over my skin, I decided against walking for five miles in this heat.

And boy would I be glad for that decision.

I’m not sure what it was that tore my attention away from the Great Gatsby that morning. I had this feeling, this inexplicable feeling running through my veins and forcing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand to attention.

And when I looked up, there she was. It was as though she was floating, drifting so effortlessly across the street I was sure her feet didn’t touch the ground. She regarded me curiously, most people did. She was unblinking, a slow and cautious smile building on her lips.

I simply stared back in awe at this angelic creature heading my way, never letting her gaze falter from me. I was stunned into silence as she approached up the front path, head tilting to the side as she analysed me.

She invited herself closer, up the three concrete stairs before dropping to the top step right next to me, opening her mouth and inquisitively speaking…

“What are you reading?” You smiled at him in what you hoped to be an amicable manner, but nonetheless his back straightened as if you posed a threat to him.

“Uh…” he swallowed thickly, his Adams apple bobbing. “Me?”

“Yes you.” You laughed. “Who else would I be talking to?”

The peculiar man looked around like he expected someone else to be sitting on his stoop with the two of you. He scratched at the back of his neck nervously.

“I don’t…I don’t know.” He rolled his chapped lip between his teeth.

“I’m Y/N.” You shook your head, still laughing a little at his obvious awkwardness.

“Sp-Spencer.” He stuttered.

“Nice to meet you, Spencer.” You nodded curtly. “I’m house sitting for my aunt for the summer, what’s good to do around here?”

Her smile could have lit up the whole night sky, her laugh the sweetest sound I’d ever been lucky enough to hear. She was summer, she would still be summer in the dead of winter. She was magnetic, effervescent.

She was the first drop of rain after a long drought, she was those first few seconds in the morning when you wake up where you momentarily forget all of life's problems. She was…

“Reid, you in here? We got a case.” Luke’s voice broke him out of his revere, eyes flickering off of the page up to the closed stall door.

“I’ll be right there.” He croaked, closing the diary again.

He closed his eyes and inhaled until his lungs were full. He counted to five in his head and listened for the door to close before he slowly exhaled. He repeated the action three more times before he trusted himself to stand.

He swore he could still smell your perfume as he forced his way out of the bathroom and back to reality.

***

June 14th 2002

All the nights we stayed up talking, listening to 80's songs. It still brings a smile to my face.

Her aunt's house, which I came to learn was just up the street and had a new, state of the art AC unit fitted. The next two weeks we spent nearly everyday there listening to her favourite songs on the old stereo, most of which I’d never heard before.

The likes of Van Halen, The Cure, AC/DC and The Pixies played on repeat while she quizzed me on my life and I on hers. She was from San Francisco and her aunt was on vacation so she’d offered to house sit for the summer. She was a year younger than me at twenty one and fresh out of college with no idea where she was heading next.

I kind of envied her, she was a free spirit, she could go anywhere she wanted, do anything she wanted. And for whatever reason, she chose to spend her summer with me.

You hummed along to the music, Where is My Mind by the Pixies encompassing the room. You laid on your back on the couch, your feet in Spencer’s lap and the AC sending its cool waves towards you.

You cradled the blunt between your fingertips, every now and again raising it to your lips and sucking on it. The room was filling with smoke, the smell of it alone enough to make Spencer a little light headed.

“You sure you don’t want any of this?” You spoke with a lungful smoke.

“I’m good, really.” Spencer smiled his tight-lipped smile you’d grown accustomed to the last few weeks.

“It would be out of your system before you start your big government job.” You giggled.

“It’s not just that.” He shook his head. “Smoking marijuana at our age while our brains are still technically developing can affect IQ. A study showed that those who started smoking pot before twenty five lost six to eight IQ points by middle age.”

You sat up on your elbows, your eyebrows deeply furrowed at him.

“You think it’s really going to affect your life so much if you lose a couple of IQ points, Doc?” Your lip quipped up into a smile.

“I don’t want to risk it.” Spencer noted your slightly bloodshot eyes.

You took another long drag, the sound of the paper crackling as it burnt filled his ears. You breathed it in before slowly exhaling the smoke out into the room.

“Hmm,” you hummed in content, dropping the half smoked blunt into a little glass dish on the coffee table. “Now I feel light as a feather.”

“You could get that feeling in many other ways. The main psychoactive ingredient, THC, is simply stimulating the part of the brain that responds to pleasure. It’s releasing dopamine which is what’s giving you that euphoric feeling.” He told you almost sternly.

You cocked an eyebrow at him, sitting up further so you could get a good look at him.

“Pleasure, huh?” You clicked your tongue.

“Yeah,” he swallowed. “It’s the same way you would respond to food or…”

“Or?” Your lip twitched.

“Other pleasurable activities.” He swallowed again, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

You swung your legs off of his lap and shuffled closer to him on the couch. You saw him swallow yet again, noticed his chest heave with a deep breath.

The closer you got to him the more you could feel the nerves rolling off of him in waves and you dared move so you were straddling his lap.

Your knees pressing either side of his thighs, you wrapped your arms around his neck and a hagged breath left between his pouty lips. His cheeks were a deep crimson colour now and from this position in his lap you knew exactly why.

“Spence?” You whispered as he looked at you in embarrassment.

It would be painfully obvious from where you were sitting that he was aroused and he felt so incredibly vulnerable in that moment.

“Yes, Y/N?” He croaked.

“What other pleasurable activities are you talking about?”

“I think…I think you know.”

“Hmm let’s pretend I don’t.” You smiled coyly. “After all, I’ve probably knocked off a few IQ points right? What other pleasurable activities?”

You rolled your hips a little in his lap and Spencer mewled at the sensation. This was the closest he’d ever come to having someone other than himself touch him and he felt dizzy. He felt so dizzy that when he spoke, he wasn’t sure he’d even meant to let the word slip off his tongue.��

“S-sex.” He breathed, the smile on your face growing in approval.

“Well now, that does sound more appealing than smoking.” You edged your face closer to him, rolling your hips into his lap once more.

He smelt your perfume and the pot on your breath. He felt like his skin was on fire and he couldn’t form a coherent thought.

A moment before you lips touched his, the sound of a phone ring cut through the room and you sprung apart suddenly.

Spencer remained sitting on the couch while you ambled over to the landline. He watched you go, half wondering if he’d imagined the whole thing.

But the erection still visible through his slacks begged to differ.

***

He returned the journal to his satchel as the jet came into land near Dallas. He knew word of his mysterious diary had reached Emily and Rossi and the whole team had been watching him read on the flight.

He tried to cast his memories to the back of his mind and focus on the case, people were being murdered and that had to take precedence over his nostalgic thoughts.

Emily sent him and Rossi to the morgue and Spencer tried to pretend he was focused on a case file while Rossi drove them. He could see the older man looking at him in his peripheral vision.

Thankfully Rossi did not ask him about the journal even though Spencer knew he wanted to.

It was in the back of his mind all day and after he retired to his hotel room and showered, he found himself thumbing through to the next page.

July 1st 2002

Breaking into hotel swimming pools, and wreaking havoc on our world. Does it make me completely dumb that I would follow her to the ends of the earth?

I knew it was a bad idea, but I just can’t say no to her. She said she had something fun planned and so like an idiot I came along.

I didn’t say anything when we jumped the fence. It was around eleven pm and all the lights around the pool were out, the stars and the moon reflecting on the still water.

I still didn’t say anything when she started stripping down to her underwear, mostly because it rendered me speechless. The sight of her in nothing but that skimpy black lace lingerie caused me to forget my own name and I’m sure I just stared at her slack jaw.

It’s been a few weeks since I think she tried to kiss me and she hasn’t said anything about it. I’m starting to think I misread the situation entirely.

At least I was, until she stripped off her clothes by the side of the pool and curled her finger at me, beckoning me closer.

“You fancy a dip, Spencer?” Your voice was breathy and he followed your motion to come closer.

“Uh, won’t we get in trouble?” He padded forward all the same.

“Only if we get caught.” You giggled, reaching for him as soon as he was close enough.

You gripped him by the lapels of his shirt to tug him forward before your fingers glided towards the top button. He stared at you without a word while you effortlessly popped the buttons one by one.

Once you’d gotten the last button undone your hands moved to his shoulders and you helped push the fabric down his arms until it dropped to the floor.

He was painfully skinny but it didn’t stop him from subconsciously sucking in his small stomach. Your eyes grazed up and down his torso, taking in every inch of skin.

He felt hot beneath your gaze despite the fact the temperature plummeted at night. He felt self conscious, not worthy of your eyes on him. But when you met his gaze again you were smiling.

When your hands landed on the button of his slacks his breath hitched and his legs wobbled slightly. You giggled again, a sound that had become Spencer’s favourite melody over the past month.

You made quick work of the button and zipper before hooking your fingers in the side of his pants and shimming them down his legs.

Spencer stayed still and silent while you undressed him until his pants pooled at his feet and he kicked off his converse so he could remove them completely.

His hands darted in front of him, trying to hide the exceedingly noticeable tenting in his tight boxers. He could tell you knew what he was trying to hide by the playful smile now on your lips.

It was an all too regular occurrence around you. You only had to glance at him a certain way and he would be standing at full attention. It wasn’t his fault, you were unfairly beautiful.

Suddenly you turned your back on him, floating as you so often did towards the pool. Before Spencer’s brain could catch up you were diving into the still water, causing ripples to roll out across the pool.

A few droplets splashed up onto his face and chest. While you were submerged he moved closer to the edge and slipped into the cool water before you could have a chance to scrutinise his body again.

When you emerged you wiped your hair off your face and found Spencer in the pool, leaning back against the wall. The water wasn’t too deep but he crouched down so it was covering him up to his chest.

You waded towards him, eyes sparkling from the moonlight. He pushed himself back against the side of the pool, his nerves written all over his face.

“Everything okay, Doc?” You asked as you neared him.

“Fine, just fine.” He nodded stiffly.

“You sure about that?” You cocked an eyebrow at him, moving dangerously closer.

“Hmm mmm.” He tried to insist but you weren’t buying it.

Your eyes were dark by the time you were right in front of him, almost black. The smile on your face was sinful and it made Spencer’s knees weak.

No one had ever looked at him the way you were looking at him at that moment. He may be naive but he knew exactly what that look meant. And as if to prove that point, your right hand disappeared under the water and seconds later it was palming him through his underwear.

A pathetic whimper left his lips at the contact even though there was a layer of wet fabric between him and your hand.

Your smile grew at his reaction, your other hand now moving to grip his shoulder. Spencer’s arms remained at his sides, his breathing already heightened.

“Spencer?” You whispered. “Has anyone ever touched you like this before?”

He rolled his lip between his teeth and shook his head dispondantly.

“No,” he confessed. “I, uh, I’ve never even…kissed anyone before.”

He felt the heat spreading to his cheeks and he was painfully aware of your hand still palming him. Your smile turned a little sad, pitying almost.

“You want to change that?” Your voice was quiet, barely a whisper.

“Y-yes.” He nodded. “Yes p-please.”

“So polite,” you stepped even closer. “Such a good boy.”

When your lips finally touched his, he whined against them, feeling an explosion of emotions in one simple action. Your tongue easily made its way into his mouth and your hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his head.

You kissed him fiercely, exploring his mouth with hunger. Spencer didn’t do much of anything, simply stood limply while you kissed the air from his lungs.

He continued to whine against your lips when your hand started moving around his shaft. His hips started to rock against you of their own accord and he so desperately wished there wasn’t a piece of fabric in his way.

As though you could read his mind your hand shifted and your fingers trailed across his stomach just about the waistband of his boxers. He moaned deeply and you pulled back from the kiss, a questioning expression on your features.

“Can I?” You panted as you spoke, nodding your head downwards.

All Spencer could do was nod dumbly in response.

You smiled before leaning in to kiss him again, somehow more ferociously than before. When your hand slid inside the sodden material of his boxers and wrapped around his length an animalistic moan erupted from his lips, swallowed down in your own mouth.

Your small hand couldn’t quite reach all the way around his thick shaft as you started moving up and down on it. His hips started bucking harder than before, telling you he enjoyed it.

His brain was mush, he couldn’t form a single coherent thought except how phenomenal your hand felt. His lack of awareness allowed him a little more confidence and he finally moved his arms, his hands finding your face and holding you while he kissed you.

You smiled against his lips, the water started to lap around your bodies with your movements. You kept up a steady pace as you stroked him while removing one of his hands from your face.

He let you guide his hand over the planes of your body until it was situated between your legs. He inhaled sharply, having to tear his lips away from yours.

You were both panting as you looked at each other, his breathing staggered due to the way you were touching him. His hand was still between your legs, ghosting outside of your panties.

“You…you’re sure?” He breathed erratically.

“Very.” You nodded, increasing your speed and eliciting another feral moan from Spencer.

“I…I’ve never done this before.”

“You strike me as a quick learner.” You smirked.

“F-fuck…” he mumbled. “I…I am.”

“Make me feel good, Spence. Be a good boy for me.”

Your words of praise made him hiss, bucking hard into your hand. It was enough encouragement for him to inch your panties aside before his fingers slid beneath the fabric.

You were surprised to say the least when one of his digits quickly found your clit and started rubbing it deftly, as though he’d done this hundreds of times before.

Your eyes widened and your mouth fell open, your grip on him faltering for a second at the sensation.

“Fuck…” you whined, trying to focus on your strokes. “You…you sure you’ve never done that before?”

“P-positive.” He nodded, his knees buckling as he felt precome leaking from his head. “S’good?”

“So good, baby. So good.” You crashed your lips together again as he increased his speed, rubbing your sensitive bud like he’d been doing it his whole life.

You squeezed the base of his shaft before matching his speed with your strokes. You were moaning into each other's waiting mouths, water frantically lapping around your bodies.

You whined when his finger disappeared from your clit but soon two of his digits were swiping through your folds. When you felt them pressed against your entrance, begging for access, you nibbled on his bottom lip and squeezed his cock again telling him to continue.

You moaned in unison as his two long, slender fingers entered you. Spencer felt as though he might pass out at the sensation as his fingers pushed all the way inside of you.

He felt your shift and move around him, your walls fluttering against his digits. That combined with the way you were frenziedly pumping him caused his stomach to tighten with the telltale signs of his impending orgasm.

“Oh my gosh you feel so incredible.” He whined, plunging his fingers deeper inside you.

You felt him twitching in your hand, still lazily rocking into your touch.

“Are you close, baby?” Your thighs squeezed around his hand.

“Y-yes.” He admitted, fingers coniniting to move in and out of you, desperate to give you as much pleasure as you were bestowing upon him.

“Come for me, Spence. Come for me.”

He whimpered again, the pressure building in the pit of his stomach and he couldn’t hold back any longer even if he wanted to.

With a staggered moan his hips jut forward as he came in the pool, while you stroked him through his first orgasm not at his own hand.

***

In a hotel room just outside of Dallas, Spencer narrowly managed to move the journal out of the way just in time for him to spill his load over his own hand.

He fell back against the lumpy pillows, breathing heavily and his hand still slowly moving up and down his spent shaft.

He glanced at the diary through hazy eyes and shook his head, removing his hand from his cock and wiping his seed on the bed sheet.

He swore he could feel your hand there even after all these years, feel the water splashing around his naked torso.

He could feel you around his fingers, the way you clenched tighter as you came not so long after he did.

He could still feel the weight of your body as you fell against him in the pool, head nuzzling into the crook of his neck as you panted heavily into his wet skin.

Things had been so much simpler then, he sometimes yearned for those days. A part of him wished he hadn’t found the journal in the first place then maybe he wouldn’t have found himself sucked down this particular rabbit hole.

Despite the memories swarming his brain he fell asleep without even cleaning himself off, one hand on his rapidly beating heart and the other clutching the battered diary.

***

July 4th 2002

Lighting fireworks in parking lots, illuminates the blackest nights. Cherry cokes under this moonlit summer sky.

I suggested going to an organised event for the Fourth of July celebrations but she insisted that we have our own.

She brought a ton of fireworks, it was a wonder she didn’t blow a hand off that night, fumbling to light them whilst dragging on a blunt.

But I simply watched her from the back of her aunt’s old VW Camper, sipping on my coke in absolute awe of her every move.

Since our pool escapades the other day, every time I look at her I get chills. Every time I catch sight of her I think of the way she felt as she touched me, as I touched her…

She hasn’t even so much as kissed me since and I’m partially wondering if it was all a vivid dream. At least I was until tonight.

You sauntered back over towards the open back doors of your camper where Spencer sat cross legged on a blanket.

Seconds later an array of fireworks erupted in the sky over the abandoned parking lot, the sounds and the colours a feast for the senses.

But you weren’t watching them. You were watching him.

You crawled into the back of the van, right into his lap, straddling him as you took a long pull on the joint. You inhaled the smoke and tossed the butt over your shoulder before placing your hands on his shoulders.

When you kissed him the smoke filtered out of your mouth and into his but he didn’t care. His arms wrapped around your waist while your tongues explored each other's mouths.

You guided him backwards so he was laying down, his cock already fully erect and pressing against you. You laid on top of him and continued to kiss him fiercely.

His hands found purchase on your back, gently holding you close. You were grinding against him causing him to moan into your mouth and squirm beneath you.

He knew where this would inevitably lead if he let it. He wanted to, he didn’t exactly relish the idea of being a virgin forever and you were the first woman to ever show him this kind of attention.

But he didn’t want to just be another guy to you. He didn’t want to just be a quick lay you’d forget all about. And inevitably that’s what would happen.

It wasn’t something the two of you talked about often but at the end of summer you were going back to San Francisco and he was going to DC. If he slept with you that’s all it would ever be. And he didn’t want that.

You continued to kiss him and grind against him but his intrusive thoughts got the better of him and all the blood that had previously been flowing south rerouted itself. He didn’t even realise until you sat back and looked at him curiously.

“Is everything okay?” You breathed heavily, lips slightly swollen from the kiss.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” He frowned up at you.

“Uh…” Your eyes flicked down towards his crotch at the same time he realised he was completely flaccid.

His cheeks burnt and he cursed his overactive brain.

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head, trying to sit back up.

You slid off of his lap and sat next to him while he drew his legs close to his body.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to do this. I’m sorry if I come on a little strong.” You shrugged meekly.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I just…I don’t want to lose my virginity to someone I’m never going to see again once summer is over.” He cringed at his own words, at how needy and sad he sounded.

Your expression turned pitying and it made him feel even more stupid.

“I get it.” You smiled softly. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

“It’s kinda hard not to be.” He buried his head into his knees and hugged his arms around his shins. “I’m sure most guys, normal guys, would jump at the chance to be with a woman as beautiful as you. No one’s ever looked at me the way you do, I was always so much younger than my peers so it made sense. I wasn’t waiting or anything, not deliberately. But now the opportunity has presented itself, I don’t think I’m the casual sex kind of guy. God that sounds so lame.”

You were smiling to yourself at how adorable he was. With his face against his knees his words were muffled but you caught the gist of them.

You shuffled closer to him and placed your hands on his cheeks, guiding his face back up so he would look at you.

“I think that’s kinda noble.” You whispered.

“I think the word you’re looking for is sad.” He huffed.

“No, it’s not.” You let go of his face. “I understand, Spencer. I wish I’d waited, I wish I’d waited for someone like you.”

He let you wrap your arms around him and he leant against your chest while you held him. Off in the distance fireworks continued to illuminate the sky, the far off sound of their explosions a strange comfort.

***

Spencer rubbed his eyes with his palms somewhat aggressively after almost an hour of staring at the map of their unsubs hunting ground.

Despite falling asleep quickly last night his peace had been short lived and he’d woken less than two hours later and couldn’t get back to sleep.

He didn’t know why he was letting the diary affect him in such a way, shouldn’t it have the opposite result? Those entries were from the best days of his life, but maybe it served as a reminder that he could never go back to that time.

He wasn’t that naive kid anymore, he’d suffered one too many traumas in his life to ever be that kid again. Back then his most difficult decision was whether or not to have sex with a beautiful woman. He longed to have such trivial problems.

He’d felt so stupid after the night of the fourth of July he had avoided you for two weeks after. He’d wasted what precious time the two of you had together feeling idiotic over his decision to turn you down and hidden out in the public library just to circumvent any further interaction with you.

He turned to face the room, realising he was alone in the small meeting room. Last he checked JJ and Luke were at the table going over files, when had they left?

He frowned to himself, reaching for his satchel and pulling the journal out, flipping to the next page.

July 19th 2002

Being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up, these are the best days of our lives. The only thing that matters is just following your heart, and eventually you'll finally get it right.

He closed his eyes with a shake of his head. Wasn’t that the painful truth? He’d written that particular entry with a smile on his face like the cat that got the cream. That date had been the best of his whole whirlwind summer.

After stewing in his stupidity for two weeks he had shown up at your aunt's house unexpected and uninvited. You’d barely let him inside before he’d kissed you. And it wasn’t long at all before he was leading you back to the couch.

“Spence, what’s going on?” You panted, looking up at him from where you laid on the couch.

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?” He was fumbling a little with the buttons of his shirt, hands noticeably shaking.

“But I thought…you said you didn’t want this? And then you don’t talk to me for weeks and now you-”

“I was overthinking, I do that a lot. But I don’t want to overthink this.” He finished unbuttoning the shirt and dropped it to the floor before climbing on top of you and kissing you again.

“You’re sure?” You mumbled against his lips.

“Extremely.” He replied.

He snapped the journal closed before he could get carried away. He didn’t exactly go into graphic detail of what transpired on your aunt’s couch that day but it was certainly not safe for work material.

He didn’t need to read the words anyway, he’d memorised everything about that day. He learnt by heart the way your skin felt against his, the way the two of you melted together as though your bodies somehow became one. He’d retained every little detail of how you felt, every tiny movement of your body as he’d made love to you.

He couldn’t forget even if he wanted to.

Just as he was slotting the diary back into his satchel, trying not to get caught up in the blissful memory, the door opened and JJ strolled in carrying two take out coffee cups. She smiled at him, handing him one of the drinks. He smiled at her in thanks.

Her eyes flitted to his open bag and the diary nestled inside. When she looked back at him she had an amused expression on her face.

“So, sex diary, huh?” She chuckled lightly.

“It is nothing of the sort.” He rolled his eyes.

“Alvez is convinced otherwise.”

“Well Alvez doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Summer of oh-two right?” She narrowed her eyes on him, the way she did when she was trying to profile him.

“Yeah.” He took a sip of coffee.

“Wasn’t that-”

“Yes.” He cut her off.

The summer I met the love of my life.

He’d told JJ snippets from that summer, she was the only one who he’d ever told. She knew as much as he’d met a wonderful woman who he’d lost his virginity to and over the course of a summer had fallen in love with her. As far as he knew she’d never told anyone.

“So why has it gotten you so tetchy? I would have thought you’d like to relive those days?” She slid into one of the chairs sipping her own coffee but her scrutinising gaze stayed on him.

He let out a haggard sigh, taking a seat next to her and using his free hand to swipe his hair back off of his face.

“Do you ever feel like the best days of your life have passed you by?” He found himself asking.

JJ’s expression softened, a melancholy smile adorned on her lips. She sat forward slightly in the chair.

“Is that really what you think?” She placed a gentle hand on his knee and she felt him tense up at her touch.

“Maybe, I don’t know.” He wiggled his nose, a gesture he did when he was uncomfortable. “I guess I just miss being that carefree.”

“Spencer Reid, carefree? Can’t picture it.” JJ laughed around her cup.

“Fine, maybe not carefree.” He chuckled too. “But not…this. I’m worried I’m never going to bounce back from prison. I went to therapy, I took the medication, I should be over it by now.”

“Spence, you have PTSS, that doesn’t just go away. You know as well as I do, probably better, that the symptoms can be managed, that it can remain dormant for months, even years. But the trauma you suffered is what evoked your PTSS and that doesn’t leave you. You’ll probably always be dealing with it in one way or another.” JJ squeezed his knee before Spencer moved out of her touch.

He knew what she was saying was right and that’s what made it harder to hear. PTSS was something he would always live with, something that could always be triggered in the future. He’d created coping mechanisms, dealt with his trauma but it didn’t make it go away, it would never just vanish into thin air. He could never undo the damage that had already been done.

“I thought reading that journal would help me feel like my old self but it’s having the opposite effect. Because I’m never going to be that kid again.” He shook his head sadly.

“And why would you want to be?” JJ scoffed.

“Excuse me?” He frowned at her.

“Spence, I knew you at twenty two. You were painfully shy and awkward. It took you years to be able to look me in the eye. You’ve changed so much in the years I’ve known you and that’s not a bad thing. You’re better at your job, you’re a better man now than you were at twenty two, you have to see that?” She hoped her words were getting through, hoped he would listen to her before he fell into a self pity spiral he may never get out of.

He exhaled shakily, taking another sip of coffee while he tried to come up with a response. But he didn’t have to, as soon the door was opening again and Luke entered the room. And Spencer quickly jumped up and returned to his map, effectively shutting down any further conversation on the subject.

***

August 6th 2002

Hanging out at truck stops, just to pass the time. Watching the slew of cars fly by on the freeway, eating bags of chips while she tossed stones out into the rolling desert beyond us.

“Remind me again why we’re here?” He asked you as you flung another stone off into the distance.

You turned to face him, both sitting in the gravel, leaning up against the side of the truck stop building.

“Why not?” You quipped.

“There are countless other more interesting things in Las Vegas than sitting at a truck stop. You’re only here a few more weeks and I thought you wanted to see the city?”

“I have seen the city.”

“You’ve seen abandoned parking lots, old motel swimming pools and the inside of your aunt’s house.” He shook his head.

“Hmm,” you mused. “I have been very acquainted with her ceiling these past few weeks.” You winked at him and his cheeks immediately burned at the insinuation.

It wasn’t a lie. The last couple of weeks the two of you had barely left your aunt’s house in lieu of making the most of each other's company whilst wearing as few clothes as possible.

Spencer wasn’t strictly complaining about that, sex with you was one of the wonders of the world and he’d happily do it for the rest of his life. But he was painfully aware of what little time you had left together.

“It’s a pretty good ceiling.” He swallowed thickly, having had his own share of experiences in which he was staring at that ceiling too.

You giggled and it was literally music to his ears. You tossed another stone before suddenly getting to your feet.

Spencer followed suit, brushing the dirt off the back of his slacks. You had a mischievous glint in your eyes as you took hold of his hand and started leading him around the side of the building.

“Where are we going?” He asked, not that it really mattered. He’d long ago realised he would follow you anywhere.

“You’ll see.” You giggled again, giving his hand a squeeze.

He followed you inside a grimy and slightly dilapidated bathroom, eyebrows furrowed deeply in confusion.

When you let go of his hand and locked the door, his stomach coiled into knots and his cock immediately started to come to life.

“Y/N?” He breathed. “What are we…why are we…?”

You laughed and took him by the hand again, leading him into a stall. The door was coming off of its hinges and the tiled floor was dirty and cracked. You didn’t seem to notice.

You pushed him up against one of the walls in the stall and started kissing him with ferocity. He kissed you back, trying to ignore the stench of a bathroom that was long overdue for a good clean.

He didn’t really have much time to dwell on such trivial things however as soon as you were dropping to your knees on the filthy floor and looking up at him through your lashes.

The simple action had him standing at full attention, his stomach tightly coiled. He’d dreamed of what it would be like to have you go down on him but never imagined it would happen.

He was too polite to ask and too innocent to assume. But it hadn’t stopped him from imagining it countless times.

You smiled at him, toying with the button of his slacks and chewing seductively on your lip.

“Is this what you want, Doc?” You breathed.

“You have no idea.” He nodded somewhat frantically.

“Be a good boy and say it for me. I can’t read your mind.” You teased.

The idea of dirty talking in any way would have normally freaked him out but it had become clear to both of you early on that when you called him a good boy he’d do just about anything.

“P-please,” he whined, bucking his hips. “Please s-suck my cock.”

You hissed at his words, teeth sinking deeply into your own lip.

“Oh you’re so good, Spencer. Such a good boy for me.” You popped the button as a reward.

“Your good boy.” He agreed with a whimper.

“My best boy.” You smirked, tugging his pants and boxers down to his knees in one swift move.

He gasped as the stale air hit his erect cock and pushed himself back against the stall wall. You ran your tongue along your bottom lip as your index finger ghosted up and down the throbbing vein that ran the length of his shaft.

His knees were already quaking, desperate to feel your lips wrapped around him. Thankfully he didn’t have to wait much longer as soon you bowed your head, parted your lips and took his head into your mouth.

His eyes rolled back in his head in an instant and the sounds coming from his lips could only be described as feral as you slowly took him all the way in your mouth.

He yelped when he hit the back of your throat, partly through pleasure and partly through fear he might hurt you. He knew he wasn’t exactly small, not quite so naive as to be blind to the fact he was sporting an above average sized package.

But to your credit you didn’t even so much as gag and when you looked up at him through your lashes again, nose buried in his pubic hair, he swore you were smiling.

***

At the back of the jet Spencer tried to rearrange his satchel in his lap to disguise his growing erection from anyone who might pass him by. The mere thought of that day you’d given him his very first blow job was enough to make him strain at the front of his slacks.

The case in Dallas was wrapped up in just two days despite Spencer’s lack of concentration and he was so pleased to be heading home.

He closed his eyes, resting his head back against the headrest and trying not to think about that day but failed miserably.

Getting to come while he had sex with you was incredible, of course, but being inhibited by condoms always left him feeling a little incomplete. But the feeling of coming down your throat, having every last drop of his arousal swallowed down while you smiled at him was out of this world.

He whimpered a little under his breath, his cock throbbing in the confines of his pants. He grit his teeth together hard and opened his eyes in an attempt to focus on something else.

August 29th 2002

Here in this diary I write you visions of my summer, it was the best I ever had…that unspoken feeling of knowing that right now is all that matters…

“What are you doing?” You sing-songed, dropping yourself next to him on the couch.

“Just writing.” He hurried to close the journal before you caught sight of anything.

“Writing what?” Your eyes were sparkling playfully at him.

“Memories. I want to remember this summer.” He shrugged, hugging the book to his chest.

“You have an eidetic memory, dork.”

Three days later, on September first, you’d been leaving Vegas, waving to him from the rear window of the bus taking you to the airport.

***

September 1st 2002

I don’t know why but some reason I genuinely thought this summer might never end. Time is just a construct right? Maybe this summer could last forever.

More logically, or maybe less depending on how you look at it, I think I actually thought she’d stay, come with me to DC. I asked her to, although I don’t think she realised I was being serious.

“What are you doing?”

“Just writing.”

“Writing what?”

“Memories. I want to remember this summer.”

“You have an eidetic memory, dork.”

“I know, I’m just scared for this to end. I…Y/N I have fallen in love with you. Don’t go back to California, come to DC with me instead.”

She’d simply laughed as though I’d told the world's funniest joke, patted me on the shoulder and said, “oh wouldn’t that just be the dream, Doc?”

That was three days ago and she hasn’t brought it up since and neither have I. And today I helped her with her bags to the bus station so she could leave me forever.

Get on the bus, it's time to go.

“I am gonna miss you, you know, Doc?” You toyed with his lapel, the sweetest of smiles on your face. “I had a way better summer than I planned for.”

“M-me too.” He croaked, stupidly feeling hot tears brewing behind his eyes.

“Don’t be sad, you’re leaving for Quantico next week. Your dream job, remember? You're going to be saving lives and kicking ass. You’ll forget all about me.” You smiled.

“Doubtful.” He huffed.

The engine of the bus roared to life behind the two of you and your smile turned a little sad. You breathed out before leaning in close and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“You have to forget me, Doc. Summers over.” You whispered against his lips and before he could reply you were turning away and sauntering to the doors of the bus.

His heart constricted in his chest, tears encompassing his vision. Nothing about this was fair even though he’d know all along you’d be leaving. It didn’t make it an easier pill to swallow.

He rubbed his eyes heavily before your face appeared at the back window. You were still smiling but if he didn’t know any better he swore your own eyes were filled with tears.

The sound of the doors closing caused his chest to tighten further. This was it. It was over. You were leaving.

As the bus rumbled into gear and started forward, you waved to him and his tears broke free. He raised his hand and waved back while they rolled down his cheeks.

He stood on the sidewalk waving as the bus started its journey, watching as the only woman he would ever love was cruelly taken away from him.

***

He rolled his neck as he ascended the stairs to his apartment after a long metro ride home from Quantico. He freed his keys from his satchel, fingertips brushing over the worn leather cover of the journal as he did so.

He’d never be that innocent twenty two year old again. But was that really such a bad thing? Maybe JJ was right, he was better at his job, he was a better man now than he had been back then. Getting caught up in this wave of nostalgia was foolish.

Ultimately Spencer knew he wouldn’t go back to that age for all the money in the world. That summer might have been the best of his life, but it wasn’t as though his life had been terrible after that. Things sometimes had a way of working themselves out, the universe had its own plan for everyone.

And despite the trauma thrown his way, the universe hadn’t been entirely merciless towards him.

He found himself smiling for the first time in days as he slotted the key in his apartment door. He’d been thrown a lot of curveballs in his life, dealt a hand that no one person should have to tackle alone.

But then he never really had been alone, had he?

He turned the key and pushed open the door, the light from the lamp next to the couch illuminating the room in the homely glow he loved so much.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee met his nose, wrapping him in its warmth. He smiled brighter, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his satchel. He pulled out the journal and cradled it under his arm. Then he turned towards the couch and the body sat upon it, his smile grew tenfold.

“Welcome home, Doc.”

Get on the bus, it's time to go.

He continued to wave dumbly as the bus got further away, tears streaking down his cheeks and he feared they may never end.

He even kept waving when the bus came to an abrupt stop, even carrying on when the doors swung open and you appeared on the sidewalk.

He finally lowered his hand when you started running towards him, tears rolling from your eyes and a frantic expression on your features.

“You meant it didn’t you? When you asked me to come to DC with you, you meant it. You meant it and I knew you did but I laughed because I was scared.” You spat out, speaking so fast all your words rolled into one.

“I did mean it.” He croaked, scared to reach for you in case you vanished in a puff of smoke. “And I also meant it when I told you I love you.”

“I, uh…” your voice cracked and you scuffed your toe on the concrete. “Would it be utterly crazy if I did come with you to DC?”

“Probably.” He nodded. “Realistically we barely know each other. We might come to find when we learn more about one another that we don’t actually like what we find. Take me, I’m neurotic, I’m a neat freak, a germaphobe. I own too many books, my hair’s too long, my tie is perpetually crooked, I’m-”

“Spencer?” You chuckled through your tears, cutting him off of his rant.

“I ramble when I’m nervous.” He sighed. “But I do know that I love you. And I’m almost positive that I will love every little thing about you, most likely for the rest of my life. So it is probably crazy of you to come to DC with me, but I hope you do it anyway.”

“Spence?” You smiled, wiping at your tears. “I love you too, and I’m positive I will love every little thing about you too. For the rest of my life.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath of relief and wiped his own tears moments before you fell into his arms and kissed him more fiercely than you ever had before. And you both knew no matter how crazy it was, it also made absolutely perfect sense.

“Good to be home, angel.” He kissed you, wrapping his free arm around your waist to hold you close.

He always did that, despite how many years it had been. Regardless of the fact you’d now been together since you were twenty one years old and he was twenty two, in spite of the fact you’d married him, he always felt the need to keep you as close as humanly possible as though afraid he may lose you like he almost had all those years ago.

“Missed you.” You mumbled against his lips.

“Missed you more.” He replied.

When he broke away from you, your eyes landed on the diary and you laughed, tugging it free of his grip.

“JJ called me this morning and said you’d been pining over this thing.” You ran your fingers over the worn cover.

“Best summer of my life.” He smiled as the two of you sank to the couch.

Spencer wrapped his arm around your shoulder and you nuzzled against him, still toying with the old diary.

“Mine too. But we can’t live in the past forever. And I don’t know about you but I’m pretty happy right here in the present. And I’m certain our future is going to look pretty damn good.” You took his hand in your free one and brought it to your lips so you could place delicate kisses on his knuckles.

He’d been so sure as he watched that bus pull away that he would never see you again, that he had lost a piece of his heart forever. The summer of ‘02 he had met the love of his life and he had counted his lucky stars every day that he was also the love of yours.

You’d stayed by his side through every hurdle. You’d helped him get clean after his addiction which could have torn the two of you apart, held his hand through every single NA meeting and soothed him through withdrawals.

You’d gone to every doctor's appointment with him while he was suffering from debilitating headaches, dried his tears when he thought Emily had died and held his hand at the funeral. You’d felt his anger towards JJ and Hotch when Emily came back from the dead.

You’d done the same when Gideon died, when Morgan left the team and then Hotch. You’d visited him every day in prison and told him on every visit that no matter how long it took you would be waiting for him when he got out.

“Until death do us part, Doc. I didn’t take our vows lightly.”

He held you closer, trying to communicate to you just how much your love and support had meant to him over the years.

“Have I ever thanked you for getting off that bus?” He sighed in content.

“Only every single day since.” You giggled, still after all these years his absolute favourite sound in the world.

He laughed with you, holding you impossibly closer and breathing in the scent of your perfume he still loved so much.

One summer had turned his whole life upside down. One glorious summer changed everything. That summer and the memories the two of you had created would forever live on, even without that old journal. But you were right, he couldn’t live in the past forever, nor would he want to. His present was as close to perfect as it could possibly be.

And even in the coldest depths of winter, you would always be the summer of Spencer Reid’s heart.

Here in this diary I write you visions of my summer, it was the best I ever had.

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