#stardust can you give me some fucking space here.
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> "Do you know something?"
#my art#in stars and time#isat#siffrin#isat spoilers#stardust can you give me some fucking space here.#they're just so fun to draw he has all my favorite shapes#scopohobia tw
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My thoughts on Treason but just the funny bits. I'll do a more serious review but here's some crack for now (CONTAINS SPOILERS BEWARE):
Pik and Waffle, lovable evil jocks with the silliest little names. No, I will not elaborate.
Savit is the embodiment of the 'he's out of line but he's right' meme. He was literally right. No actually he was wrong, he gave Stardust a few years when in reality it only lasted a day (Fs in the chat but also lmao, get rekt).
I'm still not supposed to root for the Empire like this but here we are.
Someone give Ronan a 'Krennic's top simp' shirt that he can wear with his goofy little cape. Which I'm happy to say the book read to filth, as it should.
The fact that Eli is still so genuine and likeable that even barbed-stick-up-my-ass Ronan felt bad for leaving him down at the space port... only for Eli to then get back to his shuttle with literal thoughts of slaughter on his mind. Like damn it takes some skill to make Eli this mad.
In recent news, Thrawn is still an absolute riot.
My heart goes out to Faro, every time she thinks she's catching up to Thrawn he just comes up with an even more insane plan and she ages ten years on the spot. Like 'we're going to fight Savit now but I'm not even gonna be here, also I left you some instructions on your Ipad :)' '???? Sir????'
My sympathies to the poor stormtroopers who had to watch Thrawn and literally thought he was joking when he said he was going to the bridge. They literally went 'yeah sure you will buddy- wait where did he go?!?'
Cue Savit having an aneurism when he finds him there. (You cannot tell me this man isn't having the time of his life in that moment. Huge 'little shit' energy right there. And I respect that.)
Imagine the Firedrake crew just minding their own business and Grand Fucking Admiral Thrawn walks by without any escort whatsoever like 'Hello :)' '???? Can I help you, sir????' 'No, I know my way around :)) Thank you :)'
TIE Defender supremacy. Stardust sucks.
Half of this book was big ships yeeting smaller ships at other big ships. No, I will not elaborate.
The other half was Thrawn and Ar'alani going back and forth like 'Thrawn no!! >:((' 'Thrawn yes! :))' 'sigh... fine.'
Also, can we talk about how hilariously petty the Chiss are?? ...I am so on board with that.
Knowing how bad Thrawn is at these political games, it's no wonder he's cool chilling with the Empire for now. I mean, the Empire is bad but the Chiss sound even worse. My man just wants to solve space mysteries, let him be.
Savit having another aneurysm while waiting for Ronan to catch up to him and Thrawn in the beginning of the book. Meanwhile Ronan living his best life walking down the runway with his stupid little cape
Chiss are genetically predisposed to being little shits, I'm not joking that's just facts.
"Have you found the target? If not, I suggest you put thoughts of entertainment out of your mind and concentrate on the task at hand."
"Yes, sir." Tanik straightened in his chair. "Oh, wait, sir," he said with exaggerated brightness. "I stand corrected. Admiral, we have them." (SEE? SEE WHAT I MEAN??)
Tanik literally smiling at his station because he's gonna spill the tea about Khresh having a little tantrum to all his besties at home, what a legend.
Eli: Man, I want some one-on-one time with Thrawn.
Also Eli when he gets some one-on-one time with Thrawn: Oh fuck, am I in trouble-
"Perhaps. But I believe you were suggesting a shift to turbolaser fire?"
"A shift to-? Oh. No, actually, I was being facetious."
"Ah."
PFFFFFT
Okay I'm done. For now.
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welcome to my page ☆ ———
About me ☆ ———
Hey there darlings <3 I’m Nikholas but most people call me Niko, you can also call me Nick or Neeks or give me a your own nickname if you want I love nicknames and my pronouns are he/him
things I like: seaslugs, flowers and plants, grandpa sweaters, tea, coffee, matcha, sea life, skating (mostly long boarding and figure skating), drawing, sewing, acting, writing, reading and annotating books, singing, organizing, baking (although I’m not super good at it) photography and cinematography, space, random deep conversations, nature
I tend to use a lot of <333 and petnames just naturally if that makes you uncomfortable please let me know, I wanna make sure all my mutuals and followers are comfortable around me
although I really love marauders and some parts of harry potter I do not in any way support jk rowling and I would like to avoid associating with anyone who does
I also tend to not use periods when I’m speaking because they feel very harsh to me and they make it difficult for me to get my tone across properly (this does not extend to my writing)
My Hogwarts house is Slytherin. my Pjo cabin is a ongoing debate but either Hades, Apollo or Dionysus. And my birthday is August 17th in case you were wondering :]
I love receiving asks and dms so feel free to send me some any time about anything <3
What to expect from this blog ☆ ———
I mostly post about marauders since that’s one of my main interests at the moment, but you may also expect: occasional fandom content from pjo (the books only unfortunately I can’t watch the show atm), harry potter, and very rarely starwars. my thoughts on the books I’m currently reading. random little snippets of my life and very occasional fanart for the earlier mentioned famdoms.
My linktree ☆ ———
if you wanna support me in other places consider checking out my linktree which can be found here I make mostly marauders content on my other platforms as well and if you’re ever wondering what I’m up to when I’m not on tumblr I probably have stories going on instagram my Ao3 is on my linktree as well
Fics written by me ☆ ———
Shower Thoughts (pre-rosekiller) - fluff, word count: 423
Out - Regulus’ pov - Word count: 167 Tw: past parental abuse
Out - Sirius’ pov - Word count: 165 Tw: past parental abuse
finally dead - suneeker - word count: 199
She loves me - Regulus - word count: 291 - Tw: child abuse, physical abuse
Destined - Word count: 211 - Evan and Regulus friendship angst
Alone - Word count: 53 - rosekiller christmas fluff
And they were roommates - ongoing - rosekiller
Christmas at the Potter’s - pre-rosekiller + bg sunseeker- word count: 673 - merry fucking christmas to everyone who celebrates and big hugs to everyone who’s holiday experience has sucked because of family
whisper - wolfstar + bg sunseeker - word count: 902 Tw: parental and physical abuse - hurt/comfort
Fic recs ☆ ———
(I’ll fill this in later)
My lovely mutuals ☆ ———
@thedvilsinthedetails @a-dork-yable @coffeedrunk @regulusmeanslittleking @good-oldfashioned-lover-girl @daydream-of-a-wallflower @lady-stardust-incarnate @cademygod @cazzythefrogking @my-beloved-fandoms
if you want to be added to or taken off this list please let me know, if you follow me and you wanna be mutuals shoot me an ask or a dm there’s quite a few of y’all now so I can’t always go through everyone and follow back people I’d love to be mutuals with <333
Final notes ☆ ———
Goodbye y’all, I hope you all have a wonderful day and remember to take care of yourselves I love y’all so much <333
#finally got around to updating this my old one was a mess#theres technically one more fic by me I didn’t list but it was my first ever one and it’s pretty bad so you gotta dig if you want it
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To The Edge - 9
This work is mine and I do not give consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted without my permission. I am sharing chapters as I work on this story but it is copyrighted material that I plan to rework and publish when completed.
story tags: scifi romance, hijinks in space, rogues learning to trust, violence, blood, guns, death, explicit language, so much kidnapping,
Works organized and easily found over on the patreon. <3
TO THE EDGE - CHAPTER 9.
They were almost there. Almost to the hub station where the mercenaries they’d contacted had said to meet them. For a second, before he patched them up, Stardust had considered trying to buy Cosmic’s help. They needed to get someplace and they needed a ship. From what they’d learned on Styx, buying a jet this far out was nearly impossible, but hiring transport was easy. Just about everyone with a ship was looking to make easy money.
…It wasn’t going to be easy money, though. There was a good chance their cousins would send more bounty hunters and, even if they didn’t, if Cosmic betrayed their contract he’d end up with a price on his head.
There was no way they could trust him to help them at his own risk, and if he was willing… there was no way Stardust could do that to someone. Especially not someone that had patched them up.
The console lit up in a strobe of bright yellow.
Incoming—
They tapped the console.
Call declined.
Cosmic sighed loudly. “That’s the third time that L-class yacht has tried to call, Stardust… Maybe you should just answer.”
They scoffed, swiveling side to side in their seat and watching the stars rather than their captive. Why answer? To hear Tansy’s terms of surrender? Or to have Genesis list the ways he’d make them pay when he got his hands on them? No. They’d rather not know which one it was.
They spun around to face their bounty hunter, smirking when a thought occurred to them. “Wouldn’t that reflect badly on you? You should be begging me not to answer.”
“Yes, it would look bad for me if you did and someone found out I’d lost my ship to my bounty…but I don’t think that’s why you’re avoiding the call.”
Stardust felt their smile sag. What if it wasn’t Genesis or Tansy? What if Illya was involved? Or Galileo herself? Would Stardust have to return if they called? How could they not? Solinoh knees only bent for the family and those were the names that brought them crawling.
No. It couldn’t be Galileo. If she knew, it would be over. If she knew, the others would have scattered and pretended they’d never had their eyes on the prize.
“Did you really run away from home? Is that what you were doing out here when you got picked up by pirates?”
Stardust looked at him. Rory Antilla. They still thought Cosmic suited him better. They’d had time to sift through his ship logs. He was a jack of all trades and had been to just about every corner of the edge, flirting with the border to the Court but not quite crossing. He was a smugglers, a thief, and a bounty hunter with an impressive log of successful jobs. No wonder he’d been the first to find them.
He laughed when they didn’t answer, the sound frustrated. “It is, isn’t it? Why? What cracked plan led you to think that life out here would be better than on some luxury resort planet back in the prime?”
They wrinkled their nose and tried to push away thoughts of Lu-Pan and Cory’s offer to hide out on a beach. There was no way to explain it to Cosmic—definitely no way without giving him enough information to get him killed. “What do you know about it?” they snapped off instead.
“Yeah, I don’t know anything,” he agreed. “But you could tell me. I mean, I am a captive audience. Emphasis on captive…”
They scrubbed a hand over their face, hating how much they did want to tell him. “My family can be… dangerous.” Fuck. That was nowhere close.
“Yeah, I know your family is dangerous, Stardust,” he started with a scoff but slowed, his eyes reconsidering them in a way that made their skin feel exposed. “Is that… I mean, why would that matter to you? Are you…scared of them?”
Their chest tightened. It was so much more complicated than just being family. They were blood. They were Solinoh. But not every branch of their tree was equal and not every branch loved the others. Stardust was a Solinoh Fairvell, a line of the family that had swung back and forth between trying to rule and trying to leave. It had not inspired closeness.
“Is that why you ran?” he asked, trying to understand.
They flinched at that honest effort—at what sounded dangerously close to caring in his voice. “I didn’t run,” they retorted. “I just left.”
He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, you didn’t run?” he asked, words dripping with amusement. “Like how you didn’t faint?”
They set their jaw. They would absolutely never admit to having fainted.
Cosmic dragged a breath and slouched back in the chair, having long since stopped trying to pull his arms and legs free of all that duct tape.
“Okay,” he tried again. “Just tell me what you’re doing and maybe I can help. Was your family after you before the pirates tried to ransom you?”
Stardust swiveled side to side. He was smart. They felt like if they didn’t get off that ship with him soon, he might actually figure out what was going on.
“Damn. You do have bad luck, Stardust…” he laughed, like their silence was answer enough. “So, why are they after you? Did you steal something?”
They laughed before they could think better of it, shrugging and leaning back to look up at the ceiling. “I guess you could say so. I stole myself.” And now they were in deep.
“…You…You stole yourself? What does that mean?”
They pressed their mouth shut and shook their head. They shouldn’t have said that. They shouldn’t be talking to him at all. So, why hadn’t they just taped his mouth shut? With a sigh, they sat upright and swiveled forward again, back to him.
“Wait! Wait! Come on, we can figure this out. You don’t want to go home? Fine. I’ll drop you someplace else. Cut me loose and I’ll forget about the whole stealing my ship thing. Promise.”
They smiled despite all effort not to but refused to look back at him again. “Really?” they asked, doubtful. Hadn’t he been promising to make them pay an hour ago?
“Yeah, I mean, if I wasn’t taped to this chair, I could even make it a pinky promise.”
They ignored him.
Cosmic groaned, kicking at the floor. “Come on, Stardust! You don’t have a plan! You’re going to get us both killed.”
They tsked at him. “I have a plan.”
“Oh, you do have a plan? Fantastic! What is it? I’m all ears.”
They watched the stars. “I’m hiring alternative transport. We’re going to some station called Carina where you will get your ship back and I will be on my way, out of your hair.”
Quiet stretched with only the hum of the ship for so long that they had to look back just to make sure he was still there. He was. Still taped to his seat and staring at her.
“You… No. That’s not a plan. That’s like jumping out of a ship without a helmet and calling it a plan, Stardust.”
They rolled their eyes and turned their attention forward again.
“Going to another station to meet—”
“I’m hiring alternative transport,” they corrected. “I’ll let you go after!”
“Oh,” he said with sarcastic cheer. “Oh! You’re going to hire some mercenaries to take you where you want to go and then you’ll cut me loose. Well, thank you, but that’s not going to work.”
“Really? You think I can’t find someone with a ship willing to take me where I want to go?” They’d already found someone, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Logistics aside, you don’t stand a chance. There is a bounty out for your return. You think I’m the only one that got wind of it? Why do you think I was hauling ass to get you home? Every hunter on this side of the galaxy is going to be looking for you.”
They shrugged. How many could there even be out on this side of the galaxy? There was nothing out this way but abandoned settlements and stations.
“Stardust… Have you ever heard about Baron?” he asked.
Baron? They almost rolled their eyes. They’d known plenty of people who called themselves Baron, half of them legally named it. Royalty names were always popular in the prime. Cornelius had been middle-named Contessa. Admittedly, it was cooler than the affinity for space names like Stardust.
“He was some high-born primer like you that roamed too far from home and got kidnapped.”
Stardust shot Cosmic a lifted eyebrow. He was bullshitting now.
Only, nothing about his expression hinted at a joke. “It was a while back… but things didn’t go smoothly. Hunters started killing each other to be the one collecting that bounty. If anyone realizes who you are, things are going to get ugly. Shit, Stardust, even if they don’t realize who you are, they’re going to double-cross you. You’ll get yourself killed.”
They tore their gaze off him. He could be right. What insurance did they have that these mercenaries wouldn’t double-cross them? Payment. Part now and part later. It wasn’t like they had any other options. “So why did you do it?” they asked the stars, not turning to look back at him this time.
“What?” he asked, confused, and then he laughed darkly. “You want to know why I took the job if it was so dangerous?”
They nodded at the window, his reflection there in the glass, like he was out there in the stars.
“Because I’m the best,” he said, so smug that it sent a chill right down their spine. “Because it’s a huge payday and because…” He stopped short, the words and thoughts catching on something else. Some memory or terrible truth? The bounty hunter sighed, his eyes finding theirs in the reflection. “Because last time, that rich kid didn’t make it back… The hunters were so busy fighting over the bounty that he just… He got caught in the crossfire. That’s what happens out here. Things go wrong and people die. People like you are dangerous because everyone else around them gets hurt too.”
Stardust stared back at him. “That’s no different than back in the prime.” People like them, Solinohs, were dangerous everywhere.
“When that high born died, even though half the hunters that were fighting over him had died too, his family sent one of their yachts out here armed to the teeth and shot down everything they laid eyes on. They blew a whole station off the map.”
Stardust refused to wince, because of course that was what would happen. When a Solinoh died, even in the prime, even in the house of other primers, someone had to pay for that loss—someone had to learn the lesson so that everyone else would remember the value of their lives above all others. Why wouldn’t the primers do the same to others? It was ugly and wrong, but it was exactly what they would do.
Cosmic nodded at their reflection, lip curled, and they knew he saw it in their face—saw the lack of surprise. “So, you, Stardust, are going home. Right back where you belong. I am getting that payday and that’s going to be the end of it.”
Stardust pushed their boot along the floor, twisting their seat around to look at him. “I don’t think anyone but my relatives have ever tried to command me, Cosmic. It’s honestly adorable, especially considering that you’re still taped to that fucking chair.”
He grinned, and it looked like he’d bite them if he could. “Yeah, I can see why you think you have the upper hand right now, but we both know you’re not going to leave me here to die. So, you will have to cut me loose eventually.”
They bit back a laugh. He was so clever but he still hadn’t figured out how this was going to go down… “I know you really wanted that bounty. How about this, I’ll send you the money myself when I get someplace. It’s only fair for you getting me out of that situation with the pirates and letting me borrow your ship.”
His teeth clicked angrily. “Whatever tiff you’re having with your bloodline, you can sort out after I drop you off.”
The ship beeped and then announced, Approaching station.
The bounty hunter glared. “You’re not listening to me at all, are you?”
“Never have, no,” Stardust admitted, getting up from the captain’s chair and pulling their jacket back on.
“Stardust, you are going to get us killed,” he implored, all serious and big eyes now.
They fixed their collar, the ship jostling a little as it neared the station. “I’m saving you, asshole. You’ll realize it eventually. Or you won’t but, by then, I’ll have wired you some cash and you’ll feel better.”
“Saving… Stop! You’re not saving anyone! Least of all me.” He kicked at the ground, struggling against his bindings anew. “Fine! Go! Just cut me loose and get the hell off my ship!”
Preparing to dock.
They grabbed onto the edge of wall near him, the ship jerking to the side when it coupled with the station. Gears and valves hummed as it connected.
Stardust reached into their boot and pulled out the little weapon they’d kept since they first tied him up.
Cosmic tensed, staring at them. “What are you doing with the stun gun?”
Stardust bit back a guilty smile.
“No. You don’t have to knock me out before you cut me loose. I’ll let you go!”
“Oh, right, I’m definitely going to believe that…”
“I’m not lying!”
They waited, raising an eyebrow.
He snarled. “…Okay, I’m lying! But if you stun me with that thing again, I swear, I’m going to make you pay. I don’t care how far you run or how many mercenaries you hire, Stardust. I’m going to get you back, I’m going to steal your jacket, and I’m going to drag your ass all the way back to your cousins.”
Stardust stepped closer, grabbing the back of his chair over one shoulder. “You’re not the first to threaten me or even the first to hunt me.”
Docked.
They flicked the safety off the stun gun.
He stared right into their eyes. “Don’t do this…” It was more of a warning than a plea.
Stardust had had a lot of enemies and rivals over the decades of their life, but they thought they might like him the most. “I am sorry,” they admitted because it was true. They didn’t want to hurt him. If there was a better way to knock him out, they would take it. They hadn’t been familiar enough with the drugs in his med room to risk using one of those.
“Don’t apologize! Just don’t do it!” he yelled.
Stardust tased him. Again. They didn’t look away, because they wanted to. They didn’t like seeing his body seize and his eyes roll back like that. It looked painful and it felt cruel, but it was their choice to do it—so they’d witness it too. That was how they’d been raised. They could do bad things, but they had to look.
When he was out, they made quick work of cutting the tape, not enough that he’d fall out of the seat but enough that he’d be able to get loose when he came too.
“Thanks for the ride,” they said to no one before leaving.
#To the Edge#defying gravity#sci fi romance#audio script to novel#own work#ride or die in space#<3#dominimoonbeam#clover down#the adventures of stardust and cosmic
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It Only Takes A Taste (3)
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x [Fem]!Reader (GN pronouns, fem coded stuff, but I’m not sure where this is going as a larger work so we’ll say Fem!reader to be safe)
Summary: Jack comes for dinner, I guess.
W/C: 2345
Warnings: none yet!
A/N: this one got a little long, oopsies.
AO3
Where am I in this series?
01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |
The bed had been so warm and comfortable you hadn't wanted to get out, but the thought of seeing Aaron again made your heart grow three sizes. You'd been texting back and forth for the last couple of days, just small awkward stuff. He likes to text emojis. He's precious. Of course he's precious.
He comes in as you're serving your first customer of the night—a sobbing thirty-year-old man who can't even order his pie without spluttering in tears. Is it favouritism to get excited by Aaron turning up? Yes. Is it worth it? Yes.
"Hello," you smile. There's a hundred things you could have called him, but he's too cute and your brain doesn't want to work.
"Hi," he grins back. "Can I have a coffee, please. Here."
"Yes you can." Aaron splits his bill between the counter and the tip jar. "How was your day, Aaron?"
"Boring paperwork. Couldn't concentrate."
Concern furrows your eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"
"Huh? No! I kept thinking about seeing you." There's that sunshine smile again. You might even match it yourself. He points to the cake that's still in the display tin. He's in earlier in the night than usual, so there's a lot more range to choose from. "Is that carrot cake?"
"Sure is. Do you want some?"
"Please."
You serve him a slice and let the coffee machine splutter and fight with you. He stabs his cake with his fork and looks like he has an out of body experience the moment the cream cheese icing hits his tongue. That's a face you want to see again under different circumstances.
"Joe?"
"Me! And Joe's recipe. I sort of mixed it together and prayed."
"Then mark me a religious man." Aaron smiles. You can't held but smile back at him.
"It's a bit early for you to be in," you say. It's not an issue, just means you got the earlier shift. Finishing at 1am instead of 7am. Plus, Aaron looks nice in the daytime. Very nice. The afternoon light suits him.
"Didn't have a case," he shrugs.
You've googled him since getting his business card. “Supervisory Agent Aaron Hotchner, Section Chief of the BAU”. The fuck did that even mean? BAU was the Behavioural Analysis Unit, which was still mainly a mystery, but you think it’s maybe just an over-glorified way of saying ‘they look inside people’s heads and hope for the best’. He’s got a handful of news reports that you’ve practically memorised.
Okay, that’s a little obsessive. Don’t admit that to him.
He wasn’t the ‘untouched by darkness’ that you’d thought of him before, his work face held all the darkness his smile did not. You hoped you never had to see the serious man who stood before the cameras.
“How’s Rita?” Aaron asks. He’s cut the top off his carrot cake, saving it for later. He looks at it longingly every now and then, then he scoops just a little bit of the cream cheese and lets it rest on his tongue.
“She’s good. Restless. She’s happy for the due date to arrive.” She’d also asked you to be the baby’s godparent. Rather forcefully, actually, it had felt a bit strange. That was the only reason you hadn’t jumped at the opportunity. You’d do anything for Rita, but saying yes in that instant would had felt strange. Almost… wrong, maybe.
Aaron knows you’re thinking about it. He puts his fork down and shifts in his chair, waiting for you to continue. He doesn’t fill the silence between the two of you. You think about telling him, but then Lola’s bustling through the door and grabbing her apron.
“Hot stuff, when can I go for a smoke break?” is the first thing Lola says to you. She pulls chewing gum out of her mouth (yes, pulls. She sticks her fingers in her mouth and pulls it out as far as it will go without snapping) and Aaron moves his cake around his plate a bit. Does he not like it? Don’t be silly, he asked for it. Requested it. Whatever. You put his three cookies into a plastic bag and slide it across the counter to him.
“Lola you only just came in.”
“But I want to know,” she whines like she’s a teenager with an after school job, not a thirty-five-year-old woman who works at the diner full time. “Hey, Rita’s been acting weird, right? Is that a pregnancy thing, or?” Lola rubbed her nose on the back of her wrist and sniffs. An action you’re all too familiar with by now, and of course she was doing illegal substances in the bathroom before she started her shift when there’s a legitimate federal agent in the diner.
“Oh,” Lola says as she looks at Aaron. She looks at you, raises her eyebrows, and nods like she’s impressed. “I take back telling Rita she was a liar." Even without knowing the context of Rita and Lola's conversation, you know Rita had told Lola how pretty/handsome/gorgeous Aaron is. "I’m going to go clean some tables.”
She grabs the cleaning supplies and heads out into the dining area. The door swings open, banging against one of the booths, and you’re immensely glad Lola doesn’t scream 'watch it’ at them. A curly haired blonde woman (gorgeous, mind you) touches Aaron’s shoulder and he sits up straight, smiling, and your heart plummets a little bit. Just the tiniest amount.
“Jack insisted we switch over here before I go to parent/teacher interviews.” As if on queue, a well mannered, sandy-haired boy sits next to Aaron and grins too much like Aaron. Aaron’s son. You can put two and two together. Profiler or not.
“How was school?” Aaron asks. Jack shrugs.
“It was school.” He learnt that from his dad, there’s no question.
“Well, in that case. Jack, this is my friend Y/n. Y/n, this is Jack.” Jack extends a hand to shake in greeting and looks really shy about it. You shake it quickly so he doesn’t feel like a kid who’s been roped into doing adult things. There’s a pile of colouring-in pages Joe’s printed off at the local library beneath a cup of crayons that Jack’s eyeing off.
You grab a sheet and a crayon, raising an eyebrow in invitation as you turn around to Jack.
“Yes please,” he says, grin growing across his face. “Thank-you.”
“You’re welcome. Wonderful manners.” Jack grins even bigger and you think he, too, might combust just like his dad. Stardust! That’s the movie you were thinking of. When Yvaine sees Tristan she shines, literally, the star inside of her just can’t be contained. That’s Aaron and Jack, and the way they look when they smile.
Aaron’s sister-in-law looks at you with a cocked head, like a curious cat. Like she’s waiting to pounce. But… curiously pounce. Like she's sussing you out. She extends a hand in greeting.
“Jess. Aaron’s talked about you.”
There’s no response but to look sheepish. This seems to greatly please Jess, who smiles softly and rubs the back of Aaron’s head affectionately. They have a long history together, it’s too familial to be just a relationship born through marriage.
“I’ll see you later then, Rockstar,” Jess says.
“Bye,” Aaron and Jack say together. Aaron rests his cheek on his hand, watching you as Lola hands you three orders she’s taken while you’ve been talking to Aaron. Jack leans over and whispers to Aaron about his homework (it’s a whisper that belongs on a stage) as you wrestle with the coffee machine.
It’s been grinding it’s way down to not working for a while now. Ever since you met Aaron, actually. Joe’s said he’s going to fix it, or get a new one, but everyone’s in a state of non-commital until Rita has her baby.You’ve got no idea why, it’s just the way things are. Good luck, maybe? Or luck in general?
Somehow you get Aaron talking about Shakespeare. It might have been Jack’s doing, to be completely honest, but one moment you’re trying to make the froth… well, froth… and the next you're listening to Aaron talk animatedly about Othello. Jack's young enough to not think his Dad's passion is embarrassing.
"Have you watched Othello?" Jack asks, a question that Aaron's neglected to ask you. "I'm not old enough to yet."
"I haven't seen that one yet, but I've seen Much Ado About Nothing."
"Is that the one with the olive gardens?" Jack asks. Aaron frowns, eyes searching for the answer in that big beautiful minds tonight.
"Yes," he says finally. "That was the one with the olive trees."
Jack giggles. "There was kissing in that movie."
"Lots of it," Aaron agrees. You're not sure you're talking about the same film, but it's cute to see the two of them interact.
"With the guy who plays Lockhart in the second Harry Potter movie?" You ask. Jack laughs just like his father. It's all light and mirth. He nods in confirmation.
"His name is Kenneth," Jack says like he's familiar with him. When Aaron smiles, you know Jack's his whole world.
It’s not long before Aaron realised he’d brought Jack in without asking if he wanted anything. The afternoon rush had died down, leaving you in the space between out-of-work and dinner. You make the most chocolate-y hot chocolate you can for Jack when Aaron says he can have one. Well, Jack says the best bit is the froth, so it’s more child-size-hot-chocolate-in-an-adult-mug-full-of-froth. Jack loves it. He slurps at the chocolate, which leaves a giant frothy mustache over his top lip that won’t go away no matter how much he licks at it.
When he’s done you let him come around to the kitchen to wash his face, because no amount of wet napkins is going to fix that mess. Jack can’t reach the sink, so you fashion a step out of old milk and bread crates. Joe gives him cake batter to taste before realising that he actually has no idea who Jack is. Aaron watches from the kitchen door with a smile on his face. You don’t catch it until Jack jumps off the crates and takes your hand, leading you back out. Aaron’s fingers brush your hand as you pass him. Electricity sparks between the two of you that's completely unavoidable. The two of you recoil involuntarily.
Aaron gives you a small smile of apology. You give exactly the same one back. Lola legitimately gasps like she too felt the electricity between the two of you. Surely that was just something that happened in movies? Or in books? That’s not a real thing, right? But Aaron brushes past you again, as if he’s making sure as well, and it’s there again. Only it’s like your whole arm becomes pins and needles, not just a quick lightning spark.
If it’s like that every time you’re with him, your not sure you could even go beyond lusting after him and giving him coffee and meals every now and then. Aaron drops his gaze, then follows Jack to the front of the counter.
They stay for dinner (because Jack insists, he wants the nachos) but the rush comes early and there’s really not much time to talk to them, so you almost miss them leaving. Almost. You’re serving the angry couple at table three (are they angry at you, or each other? Who knows, you don’t, but they’re taking it out on you) when Jack taps your hip.
He’s very patient as you finish the order (somehow you figure out what they want between the curse words) and bend down to him. He hands you a folded piece of paper.
“This is for you,” he says. “I did it.” You’re about to unfold it, but he insists that it belongs in your apron pocket until you can look at it with no rush. That’s a kid who knows what it’s like to have a very busy parent. So you tuck it away safely and mess with his hair, which makes him grin from ear to ear.
“See you later!” Jack yells as he runs to Aaron, who’s waving goodbye with a doggy bag full of Jack’s unfinished dinner.and his keys between his fingers.
“I’ll see you later,” he mouths as the noise in the diner starts to rise. Without thinking you blow him a kiss, which he catches effortlessly and kisses the fist closed around it before slipping out.
When you get to the kitchen Lola’s already in the midst of teasing you.
“You like him,” she says with all the confidence in the world. There’s not point denying her, so you just nod. It’s met by a chorus of ‘ooo’s which, to be honest, you really didn’t need. It made the diner feel far too small.
When everything dies down you remember the paper Jack had given you. You wipe the milk and spaghetti sauce off the counter, then make sure it’s dry, and unfold Jack’s page. It’s the generic colouring page Joe’s printed out, but Jack’s tried to make the generic waitress look like you. Well, you if you had purple hair and green skin. It’s a start, you guess, there’s an apology from Aaron on the back. Makes it worth it.
You move a couple of postcards on the corkboard aside and put Jack’s picture there instead. Joe pretends not to notice, but when Lola goes out the back with one of her customers, Joe comes round the front and presses a finger to the page.
“Good kid,” Joe says. He nods a couple of times then turns to you. “You know he and his dad come as a package, right? You fuck up one, you fuck up both.” Joe’s first wife had three kids that weren’t biologically his. He’s still mad at himself for not taking the kids seriously and only turning up for their mom.
“I know,” you say.
Joe strokes your cheek as he passes and kisses your forehead. It’s all the praise you need.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
taglist (if you want to get added, just inbox me, and if I’ve missed you I am so sorry): @willowrose99 @genevievedarcygranger @maryosprinkle @kleff03 @yoshigguk @samanthareid06 @typical-leo @leilanixx
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Hope u don't mind me requesting again but I was wondering if u could do headcanons for the crusaders with a reader who likes to quote memes or vines like when she's got an idea of some sort she's just like "oh yeah, big brain time" or they're in a fight with an enemy she's like "I'ma bad b*tch you can't kill me", I just wanna see their reaction to someone with that chaotic energy (sorry if this doesn't make sense ':>)
Stardust Crusaders: With a s/o who Quotes Memes and Vines
TW // none
Thank you for your request! I genuinely had a lot of fun writing this idea for these five dorky men <3 enjoy!
Stardust Crusaders with a s/o who's often quoting memes and Vines, had to be fem!s/o, but I didn't need to point out reader's gender while writing, so it turned out kinda neutral.
WORD COUNT: 1.3k
KUJO JOTARO
He's annoyed by your habit most of the time, but he can't deny that sometimes the result is pretty hilarious, above all when you happen to do it when fighting against enemy stand users.
Jotaro was trying to figure out a way to attack without being noticed, to make sure it could be effective and quick, when he heard you whisper "Big brain time", and the second after, you suddenly screamed at the top of your lungs, yeeting your stand against the enemy stand user.
"YOU'RE TRYING TO FUCK WITH MY HOMIES RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY SALAD?" screeching more or less the same way Stroheim would have done years ago, you guide your attack, your stand successfully making the enemy retire.
He tries to look annoyed and pissed, but you still managed to win, and he must admit he's a proud boyfriend. Jotaro is silently complimenting you, in his mind. Still, he scolds you. You acted in an irresponsible way and you could get really hurt.
When you see him so pissed over your behavior, all you manage to do is trying to ignore him. "Y/n, I'm not done with you." you usually shrug. "...Hi Not Done With You, I'm y/n."
Sometimes you both wonder how did such different people like you two end up together. But to be honest, Jotaro getting worried over you is something you enjoy, and seeing you so confident in your fighting skills makes Jotaro feel all proud and relieved you're not breaking down.
JOSEPH JOESTAR
He doesn't really know what these hilarious sentences are, but hearing you quoting them always gives him a reason to say he's in a good mood despite the pressure DIO puts on your lives.
The six of you were on your way to Pakistan, just before your fight with Wheel Of Fortune, and you were sitting right next to Joseph. Out of boredom, you both were reading the road signs, and you took the occasion to be yourself.
"Road Work Ahead..." Joseph read out loud. You snorted, and rested your head on your hand, smiling at him, and answering, whispering to not to annoy your fellow crusaders. "Uh, yeah, I sure hope it does." The man loudly laughed, scaring Polnareff who was driving.
Unfortunately, after that hilarious moment, you got really hurt in the fight against Wheel Of Fortune, and before even thinking of driving a kilometer more, they had to be sure you were okay. You really looked dead.
Much to Joseph's relief, after he pulled you up from the ground, holding you tight in his arms and caressing your hair a couple of times, you opened your eyes. And noticed his ones were almost teary. Did he get that much scared?
You immediately smiled, not wanting to see him like that. You pulled a thumb up, a smug grin on your face. "I'm a bad bitch, he can't kill me." the man laughed, tenderly kissing your forehead and letting you back in the car.
MUHAMMAD AVDOL
He knows what those quotes are. Avdol doesn't really mind them, he finds those genuinely funny. But he minds them when you fuck up your protection just because you want to quote those.
He particularly remembers that time you were with Polnareff, when a clone of Avdol himself and a clone of Jean's sister, Sherry, were created by an enemy stand user. He was watching the two of you from afar, just before joining you and saving you. As soon as you saw the clone of your boyfriend, you eyed at Polnareff.
"Are you telling me you asked for THIS thing, Jean? This is not Avdol, this is some flesh without his feelings! This bitch's EMPTY!" your strong stand picked up the clone, and threw him violently on the ground, over Polnareff's head. "YEET!"
When you did that, it took no time for the clone to rip off a bite of your leg, and you couldn't express how much it hurt. When you learnt that the actual Avdol was there too, much to Polnareff's surprise since he didn't know anything, you immediately scolded your boyfriend.
"You could come and help a little sooner... mother trucker, dude. That bite hurt like a buttcheek on a stick." Avdol stayed silent for a couple of seconds, before bursting into a laughter with you, kissing your lips. "I missed you so much, babe."
Avdol spent the following twenty minutes in checking on you and making sure you had no more severe wounds that could interfere with your trip to Egypt. He's pretty apprehensive, when it comes to you.
KAKYOIN NORIAKI
He totally knows what those quotes are and laughs with you on those. It's likely for you and Noriaki to understand each other and communicate through memes and Vine quotes. It happens to be useful to talk without enemies understanding you.
The crusaders have plenty of war flashbacks of you and Kakyoin acting weird because of those. For example, the time you were walking with your boyfriend, along with Jotaro and Anne. You genuinely tried to hold back from quoting vines around Jotaro, but as soon as a man threw a paper on the ground and not in the bin, you two screamed.
"WHOEVER THREW THAT PAPER, YOUR MOM'S A HOE!" that's one of the reasons that pushed Jotaro and Anne to isolate themselves from the actual Kakyoin and the actual you, being attacked by Rubber Soul afterwards.
Rubber Soul and his fellow enemy stand users were an infuriating thing for you and Kakyoin. Last time you had a talk together, understanding they were only serving DIO for money, you found yourselves pissed off. Like for real.
"We here not having the money for some chicken nuggets and still helping Jotaro and Mr. Joestar for FREE and y'all want a hundred thousand dollars from a naked vampire? Not gonna happen, Karen!"
You're able to bring out the loudest part of Noriaki, since none of the crusaders like the same stuff of this type the way he does. You often call each other "dude" or "bitch" - regardless of your genders, in fact you called him a bitch several times -, even if you're an actual couple.
JEAN PIERRE POLNAREFF
He doesn't really know what those quotes are, but he finds it hilarious when you say them, and gets interested in it, so that he can get the reference when you repeat those. He starts saying those too, afterwards.
It happened when you met Hol Horse, a fast, precise bullet coming towards you, as you and Polnareff moved a little, but enough for the bullet to get in the little space between you, leaving you safe and sound. It had scared you, you weren't gonna lie, and in both your minds, a perfect vine quote appeared.
"Ah, stooop. We coulda dropped our croissant." if that quote wasn't perfect to be said with your boyfriend... nothing else could ever be. You both laughed, as Hol Horse realized he was alone against two people, and before you could say anything more, he was running away.
Teaching vine and memes quotes to Polnareff is the cutest thing ever, because you know he's gonna use them sometime, with your fellow crusaders or with enemies. But he doesn't have a great memory, and will need your help.
"Next time you put your fuckin' hands on me, imma fucking... babe help." no wonder Enyaba was staring at you two with a scared and confused look on her face. "...rip your face off..." you helped him. "...rip your face off." Polnareff repeated. "...bitch." you added, whispering. "Putain." you choked on your breath, did Jean fucking say bitch in french?
Polnareff has no chill, if you're willing to risk it all for a vine quote, he'll fucking do it with you, no matter what. Jotaro wants you two dead.
#jojo's bizarre adventure#jojo x reader#jojo part three#stardust crusaders#jotaro kujo#jotaro x reader#joseph joestar#joseph x reader#muhammad avdol#avdol x reader#noriaki kakyoin#kakyoin x reader#jean pierre polnareff#polnareff x reader#jojo headcanons
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Hi! Idk what came over me but I thought an AU where Sander’s kid is anti-Bowie was the most hilarious thing thanks to @hidden-joy @kylesbishops and @sanderijzermans so I wrote it skdjdj
Disclaimer: it’s all fun and chaos and I don’t really know anything about how to write kids
x, x, x, x, credit to the chaos 🤪
The day Sander Driesen hears the words come out of his child’s mouth is the day he wonders if this is his child at all.
He’s standing there, leather jacket, white t-shirt and all, bleached hair icy even in the summer sun, and he looks down at the small stature in front of him. Grey-green eyes, dark locks and an air of confidence that could only be learned from a certain music-loving individual fill his sight. There’s so much innocence standing before him but a driven insistence breaks through the words spoken.
“Dad,” he hears. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but...I don’t really like David Bowie all that much.”
Sander thinks he’s lost his senses. He is definitely not hearing right. Hell, he’s only a man in his early thirties, he could not be this hard of hearing already. He tries to brace himself on the couch from falling over. Shit, he’s also too young to feel this frail.
“Wh-what do you mean you don’t like David Bowie all that much?”
The question comes out in gasps of air, ragged and winded, like he can’t believe what’s happening. He feels like his world’s spinning, like he’s entered another dimension, like there was no way, absolutely no way, his child doesn’t like David Bowie.
Denial is a pretty powerful thing, though...
See, when Alexandra Driesen was born, she brought light and life to Sander and Robbe’s eyes. She had a chubby face and squishy cheeks and eyes the colour of a summer storm. Her dark hair had been a blessing to match Robbe’s. Everything about her was as perfect as it could get. And then came the perpetual frustrations of parenthood with the screaming and the crying.
Sleep was something to be cherished at the Driesen-Ijzermans household. A few day-naps here and a doze-off there. But God, oh God, did Alexandra know how to cry in the middle of the night. Robbe and Sander spent hours upon hours holding her and swaying her and rocking her on a chair. Sander had read that sometimes music helps so he’d even done all that. Bowie usually floated in the shriek-filled room during these times and yet, Alexandra just wept.
“Come on, baby, just a little bit of sleep. Don’t you get tired of screaming all night?” Sander asked in that exhausted tone of parentese. He held her against the crook of his neck and walked around in sweats until he saw Robbe enter the room with blood-shot eyes and curls disarrayed.
“She’s still crying?” he asked with a rasp in his voice.
“She literally won’t stop and I don’t know what to do, I’ve tried everything. I’ve even got Bowie on for her,” he said.
Robbe took her from his arms and swayed her a little, cooing and kissing her tiny head.
“It’s kind of loud, though,” Robbe said to him as he then stepped over to turn off the music.
And in an instant miracle, the house was all quiet.
It seems that’s what’s always happened and Sander just hadn’t noticed it. Alexandra settled into Robbe’s chest and stretched her mouth in a heavy yawn. Her warmth radiated and glowed through Robbe, but Sander was stunned. He’s completely shocked.
“You-she-“ he stuttered clumsily for a bit. “But it was Bowie,” he said weakly.
How could his own daughter not feel at peace with Bowie? It was a connection he held with him, something connecting him and Robbe and what he hoped would connect their child to them in this little family.
“Hmmm,” Robbe hums pensively. “Maybe Bowie’s not her thing.”
“Not her thing?” Sander just about exploded. Then he suddenly remembered Alexandra’s finally gone to sleep and whispered, seething. “That is not our child!”
“Biologically, no. Legally and emotionally, yes,” smirked Robbe. “Calm down, babe, she’ll learn to like him soon enough. For now, how about we hold off on Bowie for a bit, yeah?”
He swayed her just a little more, just to really make sure she’s easing into sleep and then set her gently back down in her crib.
“How long?” Sander muttered and Robbe gave him a confused look. “How long without Bowie?”
Robbe contemplated.
“Maybe we give it six months or so,” he said.
And now it was Sander who wanted to weep. -
As the months and years went on, Alexandra had gone on without her Bowie-loving phase, only mildly being interested in the lightning bolt plushies and the songs blasting on road trips and the shirts Sander would get for her. Robbe says it just takes time for kids to get into stuff. That it’s better to leave it there in the open for them than to shove it down their throats.
“It’s barely any shoving,” Sander had grumbled.
“I know, babe. But I know how you can get sometimes,” Robbe had placed a soothing kiss upon his lips.
Still, Sander’s worries were increasingly growing.
Then a few years later, they’d adopted another beautiful girl. Mia was a radiant vision of blonde curls and brown eyes. They held a similar warmth that Robbe’s eyes held and Sander couldn’t be happier to lose himself in pools of coffee or dark, earthy soils or any other sort of metaphor for his favourite kind of brown.
To his relief, though, Mia loved listening to Bowie. She loved playing with the lightning bolt plushy and wearing all the shirts and as she grew, she and Sander had lots of music jam sessions blasting Bowie throughout the house. Alexandra was enticed into joining for a bit in the beginning but as time went on, Sander found it that she was making more and more excuses to not be in the same room when Bowie was mentioned.
“Uh, I got homework, Dad,” she’d nervously run her fingers through her hair.
“Uh, Papa needs help with dinner I think,” she’d run out with a tight smile.
“Group project due soon. Léon’s being a piece of shit and not pulling his weight at all.”
“Language,” Robbe would chastise coming around the corner.
“He’s being a dick?” she suggested.
“Fuck him.”
“Sander!”
“Sorry.”
Her interests lay instead in skateboarding with her friends, headphones in her ears listening to rap: BROCKHAMPTON and Stormzy with even a little Ed Sheeran in the mix, and keeping her hair as short as possible. She’d had a bit of a habit wearing overgrown shirts like Robbe did. But Sander found that endearing and he didn’t really think it was a case of ‘not-like-other-girls’ syndrome. He and Robbe just let her wear whatever she wanted.
And in fact, it was at thirteen years of age that Alexandra came out to the family as a boy. Sander remembers it clearly with them all huddled on the couch looking at the person in front of them with beady eyes, waiting.
“Dad, Papa, Mia. I think I’m a boy. I think I’m trans and I’d like to formally introduce myself to you all. I’m Alexander, or just Alex. And I use he/they pronouns.”
Sander had wanted to tear up, emotions flooding inside his rib cage. Happy tears, though, a joyous occasion where his son felt comfortable enough to tell them about this part of himself. That he and Robbe had created a space where he felt safe enough. Loved enough.
“I kept Alexander ‘cause, Sander,” he gestured to Sander. “But really, Alex is fine.”
And Sander wanted to cry all over again.
They’d all been encased in a huge family hug with Mia chirping that she’d ‘always wanted a big brother.’
Robbe and Sander had been quite supportive of it all, calling the school to change both the name and preferred name and asking if Alex was considering wearing a binder or getting a proper haircut. “Yes” to the haircut. “Hold off for a bit” on the binder. He’d whined a “Daaaaaad” when Sander ruffled the short brown locks. Most of Alex’s friends were cool with it, too and while it wasn’t all smooth sailing, he’d never run out of love from his family.
It was a big change and everything, but Sander thought, well...as long as he had his Bowie-loving children, it was all fine. -
It’s his worst nightmare. It’s the stuff that haunts you from the depths of the worst kind of hell, making your limbs feel like jelly. He’s cursing every name and divine entity and he’s really hoping Robbe’s right about those parallel universes because he’d love to hop over to the one where this wasn’t happening right now.
Sander’s having a hard time even looking at Alex in the eye.
“Dad?” he hears his concerned voice.
“I think I need to sit down,” says Sander, grabbing the armrest of the couch, lowering himself onto the cushion.
“It’s really not a big deal,” says Alex.
“Not a big deal?” Sander looks at him with wide eyes. “My own son hates David Bowie.”
“I never said I-“
“The man who infinitely changed my life. Space Oddity, Life on Mars, Ziggy Stardust, Ashes to Ashes. None of them?” Sander waves his arms. “You’re telling me you like none of them?”
“They’re...fine, I guess,” Alex shrugs innocently with a cringe to his face.
“Fine?” Sander squeaks.
“What’s fine?” Robbe trudges to them overhearing the conversation.
“Your son hates Bowie,” Sander squints his eyes at him.
“I do not,” says Alex. “I’m just pretty indifferent to him. He’s not exactly my style,” he shrugs, his hoodie moving with the movement.
“And what is your style?” Robbe laughs as he comes up behind him to rub his shoulders. He looks up at Sander with long lashes and a questioning smile stretching across his face. They share one of those ‘parenting looks.’ The ones where they know it’s not all that serious. But Sander thinks it is.
“A bit of rap, a bit of hip hop, some pop, some mainstream,” Alex lists off. “Not exactly the ‘80s vibes in me,” he laughs.
Robbe cheers as their tastes in music are quite similar and he proceeds to carry out their very own handshake they’d created when Alex was nine. There’s a different one with Sander. Sander, who’s getting more and more agitated by this revelation.
“Oh, okay,” he pats his knees and stands up. “Well, if you two are having such a grand time hating Bowie and bonding over your own music, I’ll just take myself and leave. No child of mine doesn’t like David Bowie,” he says dramatically.
“Sander…” Robbe looks at him.
“Dad…” says Alex.
“No, no. It’s fine. Really,” he begrudgingly walks out of the living room, almost knocking into Mia on the way.
“What’s with him?” she blinks twice and points a finger back.
Robbe sighs as he looks back at Alex.
“Your father, he…” Robbe puts a hand on his shoulder. “Bowie’s practically his life and so are the two of you, so I guess it’s really important to him that you like him, too. He’s just gonna need some time with all this.”
His eyes are apologetic and he gives him a half-smile, hand leaving his shoulder.
Alex takes in the words while Mia wiggles herself onto the couch and finds the tv remote beside her.
“You finally told him about Bowie, huh?” she gives him a gravely sad look. One that says he’s about to be doomed.
Alex just lets out a stressed breath as Robbe follows to go find Sander.
What’s so special about David Bowie anyway?
————————————————————————
Part 2 is coming! IM SO SORRY SKDJJF I just need sleep and rest
#wtfock#this sucks so much omg I’m so sorry#sobbe’s anti-bowie kid#<- liz I used the tag skdjdb#me writing a dad AU my god how did this happen#thanks Sarah for reading it over <3
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Omg you're taking prompts!! So I always like to imagine sobbe slow dancing. and at first it was sander who asked baby robbe but now, it's robbe who puts on some soft music and makes sander dance with him :') no stress, if you're not inspired by this, it's all chill <3 but if you could write this into something sweet, that would be focking nice
imagining this made me so soft, anon 🥺 even though sander feels a little down, I promise you it's very sweet. here you go <3
An ode to kitchens
Robbe used to think there was something so unsettling about kitchens after twelve am. Maybe this mindset was helped along the way by the nights he got up for a glass of water when he was little and heard the faint sounds of his mama crying behind her bedroom door, or the countless times he came home drunk and depressed, taking off his happy, social day-mask and letting his blank face be washed white by the fridge light.
But then Sander came.
And things were suddenly not so hopeless anymore.
Now kitchens mean bubbling tomato sauce and flour specks on the walls, chuckles when tactile hands reach under shirts and around waists, and teasing flicks of chequered tea towels. Kitchens mean morning grumpiness (Sander), and cheeks rosy from sleep (Robbe) and fond eyes over cups of coffee (both).
When Sander’s parents go on weekend trips, Sander unbuckles Robbe’s belt and peels down his jeans right there in the middle of the kitchen with an urgency that stuns Robbe for a split-second. When there’s a pile of dark blue denim on the floor by the kitchen table, he grabs Robbe by the waist and hoists him up on the sun-warm countertop, his strong and veiny hands on his flanks drawing out small, needy sounds from Robbe’s mouth that he wastes no time lapping up. Robbe’s skin vibrates under Sander’s touch as if it’s programmed to feel ten times as much wherever the slightly calloused pads of Sander’s fingers stroke and caress and worship. And his lips skirt the sharp line of Sander’s jaw as he fumbles with his zipper, before throwing his arms around his neck and melting into his open-mouthed kisses when it gets intense and overwhelming and exceptionally good.
When there’s no more glittery stardust in his field of vision, and the cherry wood of the kitchen chairs and the cream cupboards and the dirty mugs in the sink slowly come back into view, Robbe buries into Sander’s neck and lets out a giggle one moment and then has tears dancing on his lash lines the next when Sander’s warm, familiar cologne envelopes him, and all his cells pinch when he realises for the billionth time how much he loves him.
Having sex in kitchens wasn’t really something Robbe thought he’d ever do; he’d be too shy and self-conscious, feel too out of place. But the Sunday morning it happened for the first time – Sander’s loose smile pressed against his, pillow lines on Robbe’s cheek, their hair still sleep-tousled, heartbeats slowly speeding up – he had never felt more in tune with himself and his surroundings there next to the stove that has baked and roasted and burnt their croques whenever Sander plasters himself to Robbe’s back, nipping distractingly at his earlobe or kissing up the side of his neck, and the kitchen table where they’d just had their breakfast, the top still decorated with green marker lines from Sander’s child hand, and the fridge that holds food for Sander’s family which now also includes Robbe. And it was as if it all said this is the heart of the home, of course it’s a place for lovemaking too.
Sander’s and Robbe’s kitchen have seen every emotion; the sweetness of lapsing into contented silence while doing their schoolwork until one of them releases a soft sigh and the other looks up, realising he has been observed by adoring eyes for the last ten minutes; the rare bursts of anger when Robbe can’t figure out how to talk to his dad; the slight embarrassment when the love of your life is told your childhood stories. And sometimes when they’re in the kitchen talking, just the two of them, Sander reaches for Robbe’s hands and starts swinging them from side to side like a child while telling him about his day. Then Robbe knows Sander is really, really happy.
But their kitchens know tears too. When Sander feels trapped in his head late at night, a bit emo and melancholic, he sinks down on the kitchen floor, rests his back against the cabinets, and tells Robbe in a voice adjusted to the stillness around them, “It’s us against the world.”
Robbe, mirroring Sander’s position opposite him, nods and places his socked feet on top of Sander’s in a small anchoring gesture of affection, reminding him reassuringly, “But the world is not against us.”
And Sander looks at him for a few long moments in the warm orange glow of hallway light pouring in, slowly letting his gaze wander from the curve of his chin to the curls draping over his forehead until his eyes start glistening like wet diamonds. He lets out a little groan and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Jesus Christ, if tears were gold, I’d be a fucking millionaire.”
Quietly, Robbe crosses the small space between them and settles in next to Sander, brushing his hand over his jaw. Sander turns his face slightly towards him and Robbe presses a gentle kiss to the high point of his cheekbone. When Sander rests his head on his shoulder, Robbe threads their fingers together and rakes through his mental box of ways to bring back the light in his baby’s eyes, light like buttery sunrays filtered through green leaves.
“Baby,” he says softly, squeezing his hand. “Let’s do something.”
Sander reluctantly gets up with him, very much content with how they were on the floor, frowning a little when Robbe starts scrolling through his phone.
Soft guitar notes spread in the room as Robbe presses play, and he looks up at Sander, slightly sheepish. It’s usually Sander doing this: turning on some music and pulling Robbe in by the waist, asking him to dance with him in his low, silky voice. Robbe will never forget how his eyes look when they sway together: angel-bright and crinkly at the corners. And it makes him bolder than he feels.
“For the next…” Robbe checks the song, “four minutes, we’re going to slow dance right here the kitchen.” He combs his fingers through Sander’s fringe before gently twining his arms around his neck. Sander’s own instinctively wrap around the small of his back, and Robbe’s heart gives a sigh of relief.
“I know you feel a little lost in the world sometimes,” he says, a light tremble to his words when Sander rests his forehead against his. “But I’m here. And I hope you know that you can always share things with me, no matter how big or small, and that I’ll be right here to listen and to love you.”
Sander pulls him closer until there’s no more air between them. “Sounds like a wedding vow.” There’s a hint of teasing lurking in his tone, and it makes Robbe smile.
“Well, I am gonna marry you, you already know that, so… Might as well prepare.”
And Sander presses their lips together in a kiss brimming with tenderness, and it tugs at something right behind Robbe’s breastbone. His hands glide down Sander’s neck until they lie directly over his pulse points. There’s a rapid fluttering against his palms, and Robbe knows it’s the marriage talk that does it. Because it means they’ll have each other always always always.
They sway to the gentle music, intertwined, wrapped up in each other, body and soul, and continue long after the song is over and the space is quiet again.
“I love you,” Sander mumbles into Robbe’s hair.
There’s basil and lemon balm in the windowsill, a hoodie draped over a kitchen chair, the kettle still warm from the cups of tea they made earlier. Every once in a while, they step on the creaky floorboard.
“I love you too,” Robbe whispers, brushing his lips below Sander’s ear.
For Robbe, kitchens also mean this: slow dancing with your love to nothing but the sound of their breathing against your temple as you help each other turn back into starlight.
Slow it down
Slow it down
Through chaos as it swirls
It's us against the world
Through chaos as it swirls
It's us against the world
#drabbles 💗#sorry for always making sander feel low#i write what i know i guess#but i don't have a robbe who slow dances with me in the kitchen to make me feel better 💔#sander is a lucky boy#wtfock
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hi vic! can i get smut 37 with din?
author’s note || of course, you can, babe!! I hope you like it!!
smut prompt || “let’s go skinny dipping.”
warnings || fluff, afab!fic, smut so 18+ only, smut with helmet on, cockwarming, skinny dipping, minors do not interact
send me any character and any prompt for weekend requests!!
It had been such a long and tiring day. You and Din dropped the child off at Peli’s workshop due to a very dangerous bounty that the two of you were assigned. As the puck stated, they were hard to catch.
It took both you and Din about ten hours tracking the bounty followed by a twenty-minute gunfight, followed by a very rough fistfight. You were still successful as always and obtained the bounty. In other news, however, the two of you were absolutely and utterly exhausted.
You and Din arrive back to the Razor Crest with the bounty in cuffs just before sunset on that planet. While Din was placing the bounty in carbonite, you took it upon yourself to explore around a little bit.
This planet was particularly full of forests; the tall green trees were some of the biggest you had ever seen. Various plants surrounded each tree as though it was its lifeline, and you could’ve sworn it was one of the most beautiful planets you had seen.
However, something piqued your interest even further than shrubs and flowers. Not far from the Razor Crest was a hot spring that flowed with warm, simmering water. The water was bright blue and glistening in the sun; you wanted to dive straight into it.
You walked back to the Razor Crest to see Din waiting for you on the ramp. He watches with a smile on his face at how giddy you’ve become since you went off to explore.
“Din! There’s a hot spring over there.”
“Good. We can get some clean water-”
“Let’s go skinny dipping!” You didn’t even wait to hear his answer as you run back to the hot spring, taking off all of your items of clothing on the way. You dove straight into the water and relished in the warmth, immediately relaxing your muscles.
For a while, you were by yourself as you floated around in the simmering water. You hear the crunches of leaves, and you watch Din as he strips down, only leaving the helmet on. He joins you in the hot spring, the water submerging his whole body. Your lips curl into a smile when he lets out a breath, the sound slightly foggy from the modulator.
“cyar’ika, come here.”
He opens his arms, and you swim over to him. You press a kiss onto the side of his helmet, and his stomach swirls with butterflies. You snuggle into him, your head laying onto his chest. He makes his way over to the rocky surface, where he sits down, letting the two of you relax beneath the warm water.
You place small kisses onto his scars from various fights and battles. You make your way from his broad chest up to his neck. You press a biting kiss just below his helmet, and you feel the vibration of his moan. You smirk against his neck and kiss the sensitive area again, applying a little more pressure.
He groans, this time a bit longer. He squirmed slightly underneath your touch as you continued to kiss and bite. “You’re going to be the death of me, sweet one.”
You grinned at him in adoration, but he could also see the small glint in your eyes that meant trouble. Your hands raked down his chest, the tips of your fingers feeling his toned and scarred chest. It practically made you drool; His skin glistened beneath the rays of the sun while you continued to give his neck all of the attention.
His hand dipped lower towards your hips, moving down to your aching cunt. His finger swirled against your sensitive nub prompting a moan to leave your lips. You whined at the sensation, your hips bucking slightly in desperation for more friction.
“So pretty, so kriffing pretty.”
He watched as your chest leaned in towards his hand as he molded and squeezed. He pinched your nipple between his fingers, watching as you jolt from the sensation.
His hands move down to your hips, his cock slipping right into you. He lets you set a pace, your body grinding up and down as the water sloshes around you. You moan out his name while his grunts fill the air.
“I can never get used to your big fucking cock. You make me so wet, baby, I’m always so wet for you.” He mutters out curses, some you don’t even recognize. His hands make you move a bit faster, his cock pounding it to the spaces your fingers are never able to reach.
“Fuck, you look so pretty like that--taking my cock however you want it. F-Fuck, baby-” He broke off his sentence with a moan, his hands gripping your hips even harder than before.
“Oh, Din, D-Din,” Your mind couldn’t comprehend anything else. You didn’t want to comprehend anything else, but your riduur’s cock slamming into you over and over and over.
“All you can think about is my cock, huh? All you can think about is that little cunt stuffed full.”
Din’s eyes moved from your pussy being rammed to your breasts bouncing before him. He almost came then and there just staring at your beautiful body. His pants and groans were getting louder with each sound of skin slapping on skin; the water crashed against you two.
“So fucking beautiful, and you’re all mine. I want you to say it, cyar’ika. Say you’re mine.” His hand moves down to your clit. He pinched and rubbed slightly, causing you to whimper at his touch.
“I’m yours. Only yours.”
His eyes widened as he emptied inside of you, groaning your name over and over like a prayer. But, he never lent up. His cyar’ika hadn’t come undone, yet and he would be damned if he didn’t fuck the daylights out of you. He continued to go at an unruly pace, the water even splashing up onto your face. You felt him hit that certain spot, again and again, that tight coil wanting to come undone any second.
Your eyes rolled in the back of your head, and your body thrashed against him and the water. You screamed his name at the top of your lungs, the sound echoing throughout the forest. Despite the water surrounding you, your slick gushed out of you. Din never relented as he pounded through your high.
All that was heard next were your pants and the hot springs slowly coming down to a weighed calmness. An exhausted smile lifted onto your lips as you calmed down, your head resting onto his chest. “Let’s stay here a bit longer, yeah?”
You nodded in agreement, cunt still stuffed with his cock. But everything seemed content, just in this small, sweet moment. You were his, and he was yours.
~~
din djarin: @marvelous-capsicle @mudhornchronicles @cutebubblylmp @3strogen
permanent: @captainchrisstan @angstysebfan @teenagereadersciencenerd @rebekahdawkins @hailmary-yramliah @stardust-galaxies @wiccanmetallicrose @keithseabrook27 @hereforthesunrise
#din djarin x reader#din djarin x y/n#din djarin x you#din djarin#the mandalorian#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x y/n#the mandalorian fanfiction#afab#star wars#star wars fanfiction#star wars fandom#din djarin imagine#writing prompts#smut#din djarin smut#the mandalorian smut#pedro pascal characters
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Feeling Cold
A/N: I just can’t stop writing Sonny Carisi, especially fluff. Because this man deserves fluff and happiness (okay, everyone on svu deserves that). Anyways, here’s some fluffy Sonny fluff.
To my non-American crowd, 5⁰F = -15⁰C
Tags: none (it’s implied they have sex at the end), alcohol mention (Bailey’s is an Irish cream liqueur)
Words: 2577
Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @infiniteoddball @ben-c-group-therapy @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @shroomiehomie @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @averyhotchner @redlipstickandplaid @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @reading--mermaid @dreamlover31
It was one of those days where Sonny had arraignments all morning, then no court the rest of the day. Normally, he loved that; it’s not that he hated trials or courts, but he felt like it was, well, a time sinkhole. He had so much paperwork and stuff to do, and sitting at a table, listening to the defense drone on and on, made him more anxious as he thought about the stacks of files in his office. When he was up in front of the judge and jury, it was fine; he was getting things done. Any moment not actively working felt like a waste, though.
But today, he was leaving the warmth of the courthouse to half-jog through snow and 5⁰ weather. He checked his watch as he entered One Hogan Place, seeing that it was his “normal” lunch time; he was planning to take a quick lunch break, then dive into work. Plus, his lunch break meant he got to call you.
You had the day off, so he called you while in the elevator, heading up to the eighth floor. “Hey, doll. I’m done with court and just heading up to take my lunch. How’s your day?” His voice was a little unsteady, his teeth chattering. He had his normal peacoat over his suit, but he had forgotten both his scarf and gloves, and he was freezing.
“Fine…. You sound cold, Sonny. Are you outside?” you asked.
He huffed. “Not anymore—I’m just getting to the eighth floor,” he explained. The elevator doors dinged open, and Sonny let out a hiss as a blast of cold air hit him.
“What happened?” you asked, hearing his exhale.
He let out a shiver. “It’s fucking cold in the office.” Hurrying to his door, he unlocked it with numb fingers, and it was even colder inside. “The heater must be broken.”
He noticed everyone on his floor bundled in various coats and blankets, some even with personal heaters. Sonny moved behind his desk, sitting in the chair and feeling another shiver move up his spine from the cold leather.
“Would coffee help?” you tried. You had just made a huge batch of soup—for lunch and dinner tonight—and you wished Sonny could have some.
“Y-yeah…good idea.” He stood and went to his coffee maker. “Aaaand, it’s broken. Holy shit.” He clenched his jaw, feeling tears in his eyes from frustration.
“Oh god; I’m sorry Sonny. Can you leave early? Bring paperwork home to work on?”
“No—I have a meeting in two hours, and I need to be here. I-it’s fine. I can deal with this.” He grimaced, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m gonna go—eat my lunch. I’ll talk to you tonight, doll. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Sonny. It’ll work out; I promise.” You hung up, thinking. Sonny sounded so upset, and you knew him—he got cold easily. The downfall of his lankiness. It was only a 10-minute drive to his office; you could easily make it before his meeting. Hell, he’d probably still be on lunch.
You ladled some soup into an insulated thermos, then pulled on Sonny’s coat—which was much too big on you. And then you pulled on a second of his coats. You stopped by the store on your way, buying literally the last space heater on the shelf, and ordering an extra-large coffee—with a tray.
You put the thermos on the tray, opposite the coffee. Tray in one hand and space heater in the other, you made your way to the eighth floor of One Hogan Place. It was freezing in the building, and you felt bad for the various workers you passed by, all bundled up.
You made it to Sonny’s office, putting the heater down to knock on his door. He called out to you, and you opened the door, stooping to grab the heater as you entered.
“D-doll?” Sonny asked, shivering. He took you in—the two coats, the tray and box. “Wh-what—?”
“I figured you needed this,” you said, smiling. He shook himself, standing and hurrying around his desk. You handed him the tray with coffee and soup, then placed the heater on the desk.
Sonny put the tray on his desk, still looking confused. “What i-i-is all this-s-s?”
“Drink some coffee—warm up. The thermos has minestrone soup,” you instructed. He didn’t need to be told twice, taking a deep gulp from the coffee cup. You shrugged off the top coat, laying it on the desk. Then, you shrugged off the second coat—the one that was insulated between your body heat and the top coat. Sonny stood stock still as you slipped his arm through one sleeve, then pulled the other one on.
“Better?” you asked, grinning at him. You pulled the other coat back on—it was cold in his office. Sonny nodded, just barely, and you turned to the desk, ripping the space heater box open.
Sonny was so stunned by your act of love; you were here to make him warm, to make him feel better. His mind was spinning—he was the one that did this for others. No one had taken care of him like this…except for his Ma when he was little. He didn’t quite know how to process it.
You finished “building” the space heater—you simply shoved the base on—then stood it by his chair and plugged it in.
“Is this a good spot?” you asked, turning to look at him. But Sonny hadn’t moved, his brow furrowed as he looked at you—no, he looked through you. “Sonny?”
He visibly shook himself. “I-I’m sorry, what?”
You gestured to the heater. “Sit in your chair as if you’re working and tell me if this is placed right.”
Sonny moved back behind his desk, pulling his coat closer around him, then sitting. “A little to the left?”
You moved the heater this way and that until Sonny announced it was perfect. Then he stood once more, coming over to you, and wrapping you in his arms. He kissed your cheek, his lips cold still.
“I love you so much. Thank you,” he muttered in your ear.
You smiled against his shoulder. “Of course, Son. I love you, too.” He held you for a long time, both of you warming from the contact. You kissed his cheek, your lips warm against his cold skin.
Eventually, you pulled back. “Text me when you’re coming home—I’ll have the heater on and a bath ready for you, okay?”
“Y-yeah, okay. Thank you again. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Freeze to death, apparently,” you teased, and he chuckled. “Now drink that coffee and that soup before they get cold. And don’t be too late tonight—it’s supposed to get colder and snow more.”
You moved to the door, and he croaked out another, “I love you.”
You paused and turned, giving him a soft smile. “I love you, too. See you tonight.”
*********************
Sonny texted you that he was heading home. The soup was simmering, the heater was on, and you made hot chocolate. The bath, you’d wait until he was home, so that it’d be steaming hot. Still, you got a towel ready for him, and you grabbed his favorite sweats and his Fordham hoodie, throwing them in the dryer.
You heard Sonny’s footsteps in the hallway outside your shared apartment, and you went to grab a mug. The front door opened and shut as you poured some Baileys into the mug, then the hot chocolate.
“I’m home, doll,” Sonny announced, shrugging out of his two coats and suit jacket.
“In the kitchen,” you called back. You met him as he came in, handing him the hot chocolate. Sonny was shivering again, his nose and cheeks bright red.
He cupped the mug with both hands, groaning as the warmth seeped into his skin. “Th-thank you-u-u,” he breathed.
“Mhm—there’s Baileys in it, too,” you warned, and he took a grateful sip. You smiled as he made a happy sound, then took another sip. “I’ll get that bath ready, and then you can have some soup.”
You headed for the bathroom, then turned the water on. As soon as it was hot, you plugged the tub, letting it fill. Sonny joined you in the bathroom, and you swore you saw tears in his eyes.
“Are you okay, Sonny?” you asked, worried.
He nodded, blinking rapidly. “Fine; just something in my eye.”
You gave him a look before brushing it off. “Okay, well, bath’s almost full if you wanna strip.”
He placed the empty mug on the counter, then started pulling his clothes off. He was still trembling slightly, goosebumps on his skin even in the warm apartment, and you were worried he may get sick. Once undressed, you helped him into the bath. He groaned as he sunk down, letting himself slide until he was almost fully underwater. You smiled at him, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. Then, you took the empty mug, and went to refill it.
You brought a full mug back, and Sonny’s eyes were closed as he soaked. “This water feels amazing,” he moaned.
“I’m glad,” you replied, passing him the mug. “How was the rest of your day?”
“Soooo much better with that space heater. Thank you so much for that—I can’t believe you found one.”
“It was the last one on the shelf. But if they were out, then I would’ve just dropped off the coffee, soup, and coat, then gone out to find one for you.”
Sonny blinked, staring at you. “You’d do that for me?”
“Of course, I would—you’d do it for me,” you replied, chuckling in disbelief that he asked.
“Y-yeah…I would…” he trailed off, sipping his hot chocolate.
You smiled at him. “Then why is it so shocking?”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I just…never mind.” You gave him a stern look and he sighed. “I’m just…I should be used to this by now.”
“Used to what?”
“Someone taking care of me…someone who cares….”
You softened at his words. You had been dating for a few years now, having just moved in 7 months ago. And while it’s true that Sonny went above and beyond in the relationship, you tried your best to do the same for him. The only issue was that Sonny usually brushed off your attempts, not maliciously—he just wasn’t used to it, like he said. You’d try and cook dinner after a long day, and he’d take over once home. You’d plan to have his suits dry cleaned, and he’d snag them on his way to work, picking them up on his way home. Sonny didn’t like people waiting on him; he felt like it was a bother to have someone do something he could easily do himself. Your only time to “take care of him” was while he was at work, or holding him after a long day.
“Listen to me, Sonny; a relationship shouldn’t be one person doing everything for the other. There has to be a balance. So, let me take care of you. Let me do things for you, even though you can do it yourself. I want to do things for you, okay?”
Sonny turned to look deeply into your eyes. He scanned your face for a long time before he eventually nodded, a small smile on his face. “Yeah…okay. I can do—I can try and do that.”
“That’s all I ask,” you replied. You stood, turning to leave the bathroom.
“I’ll be out in a moment—the waters getting cold,” Sonny said.
You turned back, smiling. “Okay. I’ll get your clothes ready.
He raised an eyebrow at you as you left, heading for the dryer. You pulled out his hoodie and sweats—both steaming hot. By the time you came back to the bathroom, Sonny was out of the tub, drying off. You passed him the clothes, and he smiled softly as he felt the warmth in the fabric.
As he got dressed, you went back to the kitchen, stirring the soup. Long arms wrapped around you from behind, and Sonny’s chin went to your shoulder.
You chuckled. “Feeling warmer?”
“I always feel warmer around you.”
“Awww, that’s cute. But I’m serious,” you said, turning in his arms.
He grinned at you. “Yes, I’m warm now. Thank you, doll.” He leaned down and kissed you tenderly, putting all his love and affection into it.
“Good,” you whispered against his lips. “Ready for dinner?”
Sonny gave you another kiss before pulling away, heading for the cabinet with bowls. “Starving.”
*******************
Sonny caught you up with his day during dinner, then asked you for yours. Your day was a lot more boring, so there wasn’t much to comment on. Even so, Sonny hung on every word, as if you had traveled the world in 80 days rather than make and simmer a soup, and do some small jobs around the apartment.
Once done eating, you cleared the bowls, rinsing them out and putting them in the dish washer. Then, you went back to Sonny on the couch, throwing a blanket over him, and cuddling next to him. He chuckled, moving the blanket so that it was covering you both, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest.
“I love you so damn much,” he murmured against your head, pressing a kiss to your temple.
You chuckled. “I love you, too.”
You both sat there a moment longer, watching whatever Sonny put on TV. You could hear him humming—something he did when he was thinking hard. You were just about to ask him what he was thinking about when he whispered, barely audible, “marry me.”
You let out a surprised huff of laughter. “I think you’ve had too much Baileys.”
“I’m serious. Marry me.”
You turned to look at him, finding his eyes on you. “You’re serious?”
Sonny rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. You sat up as he got off the couch and disappeared down the hallway to your room. There was some shuffling, and your heart started beating faster. He came back soon enough, a small ring box in his hand.
“Yeah, I’m serious,” he announced, dropping to one knee in front of you.
Tears sprung to your eyes as you gasped, your hand coming to your mouth. “Oh my god! Of course, I’ll marry you!” you tearfully said, hands shaking.
Seeing you cry made Sonny start crying. He sniffled loudly, blinking his eyes rapidly as he took the ring and slid it on your finger. He got up, and you pulled him right back down into your lap, holding him close and kissing him.
“Well, I guess now I have to get used to you taking care of me,” he muttered, and you laughed.
“Yeah, you do. I want to take care of you, love. You spend so much of yourself, taking care of everyone. Let me return it.”
Sonny nodded. “I will. I promise. But right now, I want to return the favor. You warmed me up, and I have an idea of how to warm you up.” He leaned in to kiss you deeply, and you gripped his hair, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth before urging you to stand, dragging you to bed.
#sonny carisi x reader#law and order svu#law and order svu fanfic#fanfic#my writing#yes this was a thought I had after episode 22.10#because I feel like Sonny needs someone who cares about him#as much as he cares about others
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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 5 | S.R.)
Summary: Reader (accidentally) blows off a text from Spencer for another guy. Later, Spencer takes her for a second date.
A/N: By the way, when you get to the adorable dance scene, the two songs that inspired me most were “Stardust” by Lyambiko and “We Might as Well Dance” by Madeleine Peyroux (Try not to read into the lyrics, I dare you).
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Smut (NSFW 18+)
Content Warning: Unprotected sex, dirty talk, jealousy, degradation, penetrative sex
Word Count: 10k
MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist
—————————————————
I had never envisioned that my life would end up quite like this. That wasn't to say that it was disappointing or regrettable, although in that moment it felt like I had miscalculated a number of things. There was no other way to describe a Saturday night spent laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling of my friend's apartment as if I could manipulate myself into believing it was Spencer's.
It wasn't anyone's fault that it couldn't be his, instead. The stupid, gorgeous bastard wasn't ignoring me; he was just out of town for the weekend.
Truthfully, I should have been a little more considerate. It wasn't his fault he had to work. But I also couldn't help but be disappointed that he was always working. I hadn't seen him in almost two weeks and it was killing me. The last time I'd seen him was the morning after our first 'date,' and it was a brief enough interaction that I had already run out of ways to overthink it.
Spencer had gotten a restful night of sleep that night. Despite his little impromptu confession, he slept as though he'd never been more peaceful in his life. I had not. I'd had the pleasure of staying up for hours, playing his words through my head on loop and trying to figure out what the fuck had happened.
It didn't amount to anything though. The morning came, and he had long forgotten the words half mumbled through a sleepy daze. I'd told him that he had been mumbling in his sleep, and he asked me if he'd said anything embarrassing. I told him no. He hadn't pressed any further, simply stating that he must've been dreaming.
I almost thought it had been a challenge; a way to test if I'd gotten too close. But then I realized that I was probably just an idiot, and I was wanting it to mean more than it actually did.
So much for having run out of ways to overthink it.
Regardless, his aloofness had returned my heart to the broken, hurting mess it had been before he uttered the words that forever altered my universe.
That wasn't his fault, either. I was the one who'd set myself up for failure by ever imagining that we could be something more. I'd known he wasn't the most emotionally available suitor since the moment I met him. At least, not for me. I'd never actually seen him anyone else.
I didn't really want to think about that, though. I really didn't want to think about that.
"Hey, get your lazy ass up so I can sit down."
The order drew me from my reverie — rather unpleasantly, might I add. Because when I turned to face my friend standing in front of me, I came face to face with his crotch.
"Dude, I don't want any of that in my face," I laughed to the unfortunately familiar sight. "Back up before I punch you in the dick."
Somewhat surprisingly, he obeyed. He took a step back and waited patiently for me to sit up and scoot over to give him room beside me on the couch. Completely unsuprisingly, however, he did not take advantage of any of the space available. He chose to sit close enough to touch me.
"Some women would do anything to have that privilege," he lied through his teeth.
"Who are these women? And how can I help them avoid this tragic fate?"
He smiled back, having already grown used to me rebuffing all of his advances years before. We had known each other for what felt like forever, but he still tried every chance he'd gotten. That moment was no exception, and it took him very little time to stretch his arm behind me on the couch. I leaned forward, glancing back at the arm that I would continue to avoid despite his best efforts.
I narrowed my eyes in a challenge when he did nothing to remedy the situation. He did not take the humble way out, so my only other option was to do the humbling for him.
"There are three whole couches in this room and you pick the seat directly next to me?"
"You're warm and it's 50 degrees in here," he joked while lifting his other hand to poke me on the nose.
I recoiled in disgust, grabbing the pillow beside me and hitting him in the face with it as hard as humanly possible.
"Then turn up the heat or grab a blanket, jackass," I grumbled, "I'm not giving you my precious body heat."
Once again, he conceded immediately. He held his hands in defeat and scooted just a few inches further away from me. I watched him for a second until he got far enough away, and then returned my attention to my phone, which I had been religiously checking for any news about the vastly more interesting man in my life.
"What are you looking at?"
"My friend. He's supposed to have landed a couple hours ago..."
Seeing that I had no new messages, though, I slumped over onto myself and rested my elbow on my knee. Continuing to ignore the boy trying to get my attention, I favored the one that was possibly ignoring me and endlessly scrolled through our previous conversations.
"Is that the cop? Your boyfriend?" he teased.
"He's not a cop," I corrected with a roll of the eyes.
Although not keen about the thought of the two of them meeting, I did wonder what kind of rant Spencer would've gone into to describe the different types of law enforcement agents. He would learn so much about government job descriptions. But that wasn't the part of the sentence that my friend had stressed, and I felt compelled to answer.
Didn't mean I had to be loud or excited about it, though.
"And he's not my boyfriend," I mumbled into my palm. I hated how pathetic it felt; how forlorn I could be over a man not giving me enough attention. He was still just a man.
A very cute, sweet, and drop-dead gorgeous one. But a man, nonetheless. Destined to be disappointing. During my daydreams and hopeful, lovesick thoughts, my friend had come to another, different conclusion about the type of man Spencer was.
"He carries a gun and can arrest people. He's a cop."
"Whatever," I said with a heavy sigh. Wasn't worth it to fight, so I admitted to my childish infatuation with an equally pitiful, "Yeah, it's Spencer. I was hoping he'd want to see me."
I turned the volume on my phone before finally setting it down, but continued to eye the screen until it went dark.
"It's not like you to chase after a dude," he so helpfully commented.
To his credit, he was right. It wasn't like me. But Spencer wasn't like other guys I'd met, and while it was true that Spencer was ten years older than me, I could tell that age wasn't the only thing setting him apart. It wasn't even necessarily something about him in particular, although he certainly was extraordinary.
It was more like... the way he looked at me. The way I never felt like anything even remotely close to lackluster. He looked at me like the stares shone through my eyes, and the blindness was worth witnessing the unfiltered eclipse.
"I'm not chasing him. We just like spending time with each other," I explained before sitting up straighter and placing a gentle hand to my chest in feigned pride. "I'm a very interesting person."
But then he responded with the last question I wanted to hear, or even think about potentially considering in that moment. The one that had been weighing on my mind no matter how hard I tried to suppress it.
"So... why isn't he your boyfriend, then?"
I hadn't wanted to hear it because I didn't have an answer. And no matter how hard I inspected my cuticles, they likewise produced no excuse worth saying.
The man to my right was twisting his body as he settled into the seat. He kept his chest open to me in some display of fragile masculinity that was very easy to ignore.
"Is he like, ashamed of you or something?" he suggested.
That was less easy to ignore.
"No..." I wanted it to sound more certain than it did. As it stood, it was downright pathetic. Especially compared to his much more confident reply of, "Then what's his excuse?"
I sighed again, that time pulling my legs up on the couch in my unending quest to find some semblance of comfort while being interrogated on the most irritating subject of all time.
"He doesn't need an excuse. We both agreed it's better to just be friends."
He moved closer to me again, and I didn't have the energy to tell him to stop. Not like he would have listened, anyway. Egotistical prick with absolutely nothing to substantiate his inflated sense of self.
"You deserve better than that, (y/n)."
While his words were soft in volume, everything else about him remained gruff and uninviting. Nothing at all like the way Spencer could shift and turn into something completely different. My friend could act like his feigned tenderness was meaningful, but I knew that he liked the thought of me more than who I actually was.
"Yeah, right. With who? You?" I droned, wishing that my words could actually be laced with venom. Maybe then he'd have abandoned this foolhardy quest to win my affections.
"I mean I'm not gonna turn you down if you're offering," he joked.
It was that lightness that was his main redeeming feature; the reason I could keep him around even when his fingers tapped against my opposite shoulder. I laughed at both the sensation and suggestion, refusing by lifting his arm off my shoulders before excusing myself from the couch altogether.
"Piss off. I'm running down to the basement. You want anything?"
"Just for you to come back quick," was his immediate, not-at-all charming reply.
"You're a fucking idiot," was mine.
It wasn't until I was already on my way back up after grabbing a blanket and a drink that I had actually managed to forget about my phone for at least a few minutes.
Then, the terror came. The worry that Spencer had called me, and I'd failed to answer. The possibility that he might've hit my number on a list and already moved on to the next. It had only been like five minutes but still. He talked so damn fast, he could've torn through 5 phone calls in that time.
A little faster, I made my way back to the living room, shouting from down the hall, "Hey, did I leave my phone up here?"
He didn't answer immediately, but then eventually slurred, "Uhh. Yep. Sure did."
When I rounded the corner, I found the gremlin going through my phone. As I already started to plan the new pass code now that he'd gone and figured it out, I ran over, half-tackling him on the couch as I screeched, "Give it back, you dick!"
It was no use. He held it just outside my reach, laughing at the way I scrambled over him to try and grab it.
"Not unless you promise not to check it until after the movie."
Sighing with resignation, I plopped down next to him, my arms crossed and eyes rolled as I convinced myself it was unlikely Spencer would text me within the next hour and a half if he hadn't already.
It was pretty late. Maybe he had already gone to bed and just forgotten to let me know he got home. Besides, I owed my friend as much for managing to get me to forget to check it for this long, no?
"Fine. I promise," I groaned.
I tried not to let the thought ruin my night. The next two hours were like they usually were. He kept trying to cuddle with me, and I kept pushing him away until I eventually didn't. I gave into the general familiarity with the guy I'd known for basically half of all my memories, stopping every few seconds to wonder if I should have felt guilty.
Then I felt guilty for having asked myself at all.
Once the credits began to roll, I held my hand out with zero hesitation. I (im)patiently for him to deposit my phone, which he did, to his credit. However, what I found struck me to my core. My hands immediately began to shake hard enough that the LED blurred in my vision.
"Uhhh, what the fuck is this?"
"What?"
I held up my phone, displaying a text message that had been sent from my phone a couple hours earlier. On the screen, clear as day, me and him from earlier in the day. A painfully domestic snapshot of the two of us running errands together.
The picture shown, though, was one that I swore I'd deleted from my phone. It was him with his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest while I laughed. It wasn't a bad picture, but the context was entirely absent. For example, the fact that I'd almost bruised his chest hitting him right after the photo was taken.
"Why did you send this picture?!" I yelled, desperately swiping at the time stamp. "Two hours ago?!"
He was much too quiet for what was happening. In my haste, I hadn't even notice the accompanying text above the picture, which read 'Sorry man, she's all mine tonight.' Spencer didn't reply.
"Why didn't you tell me that he texted me?!"
My frustration had peaked, and I stood up, pacing somewhat unproductively as I tried to collect my things.
"Because I knew you'd try to leave, and I haven't seen you in fucking ages," he whined, as if I was overreacting.
But I wasn't. This contrived bullshit was entirely his fault, and entirely fucking ridiculous.
"Are you fucking kidding me, dude?" I shouted, finally finding my bag and shoving my stuff inside of it angrily. I didn't even finish, with a few loose coins angrily clambering to the floor as the soundtrack to my farewell.
"Well, now I'm definitely leaving, so kiss my ass!"
Before I could actually leave, I held up my middle finger in the furthest thing from a joke.
"Wait, (y/n), it was a joke!" he called back but didn't try to follow me.
He'd known it wouldn't work. I was too mad.
"You're not fucking funny!"
I slammed the door to my car loud enough to wake the neighbors, but I couldn't care even a little bit. My hands were shaking so hard, that it was a struggle just to click my phone. But I did, fervently pressing Spencer's name until the stupid, traitorous phone could figure out what I wanted it to do.
It rang for 15 whole seconds before I grieved the reality that he wasn't going to pick up. I sighed, lowering my phone to hang up before he could ignore the call or I was given the choice to leave a voicemail. It had been my own fault, anyway.
But just before I hit the button, I heard a tired, crackly voice coming from the other side of the line.
"(Y/n)?"
Oh my god, he picked up.
Then, all at once, the words poured out of me.
"Spencer? I'm so sorry I didn't text you back! Please ignore my friend. He's a fucking idiot."
I could tell from the silence that Spencer was replaying them in his head to try to make sense of the frantic, slurred speech in his own sleepy state. Once he had gotten the gist of my panic, he started to laugh through a yawn.
"It's fine. You looked like you were having fun."
I couldn't tell if it was jealousy in his voice or something else. Either way, it felt terrible. My insecurities crept through my throat and came out with dramatic overcompensation.
"Yeah right. He held my phone hostage. I was waiting to hear from you and he got jealous or something."
There was an awkward silence on the other side of the phone, and so I continued with only a little tremor in my voice, "I'm glad to see that you got home alright."
Another few seconds of silence followed, but then it was the Spencer I was used to again.
"Yeah. It's less fun without you here, though."
That wasn't supposed to be as romantic as it seemed, I reminded myself. He was just flirting. Typical fuckboy nonsense, uttered to get a rise out of me one way or another. He didn't actually mean to imply that he'd already considered what it might be like for me to have joined him.
Right?
"I can still come if you want," I rushed, looking down at the clock in my car for the first time and grimacing at the revelation that the 'something else' in his tone had, in fact, been exhaustion.
"Although... I'm just now realizing its 2am and I definitely woke you up..."
"Typical," he joked, "you being out late, trying to make me jealous with age-appropriate boys."
My laugh bounced back at me from the walls of the car, and I covered my mouth once I remembered that I was still in a public area.
It was weird to me how whenever I talked to Spencer, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. I'd never felt that way with another person before. Those cheesy romcoms were all starting to make sense, and I hated how powerless that made me feel.
"I was not! Trust me, if I wanted to make you jealous, I could do much better," I humbly stated. It was only a little bit of a threat. "I just don't know why he did that. And of course, that picture, which I had deleted, by the way. He seriously had to get it from another folder. He just likes to torture me, I guess."
Spencer cleared his throat from the other side of the phone, readjusting before he clearly enunciated, "He likes you."
The statement wasn't shocking. Anyone who'd spent more than five minutes with the two of us knew that he probably liked me. I'd even considered exploring it at one point before smacking myself in the face and reminding myself of my standards.
But still, to have Spencer know that felt a little bit weird. After all, most 20-something boys would do anything to torture their friends. Even the girl ones. Especially the girl ones.
Then something else began to brew in my chest; a twisted sort of pleasure derived from the sharpness that had formed on Spencer's tongue. The jealousy creeping through the crackling static and wrapping its talons around my heart.
"... I don't know," I absently said.
He sensed the hesitancy in my voice, and asked back with a strange inflection, "Do you like him?"
I chewed on my bottom lip, closing my eyes as I dropped my head back against the headrest. I didn't want to answer that question honestly. I felt like nothing I said could be right. So, I just chose the closest thing to the truth.
"No, not really."
We were back in one of those awkward silences. The kind where we both wanted to say something, but nothing came out. I turned my car on when the stale, stagnant air became too suffocating. The sound alerted him to enough information for him to speak again.
"Are you heading home?"
I switched my phone to the other hand, trying to delay giving my answer by sounding busy. I didn't really have a reason, I just hadn't wanted to hang up yet.I wanted to stall him and selfishly keep him around just a little bit longer.
"Yeah, I guess."
Super smooth. I could still salvage it though.
"...Unless you've changed your mind and would like a personal space heater in bed with you."
Spencer's laughter would have been offensive if it wasn't so adorable.
"Yeah right, your feet are freezing. I don't even know how you still have toes."
That checked out, and also gave me an escape from the terrifying prospect of ending the call.
"I'll wear socks!" I offered with the utmost enthusiasm, "I actually own thigh highs, you know. If you're into that, Professor."
It had been a few weeks since our tryst, but I had hardly ever stopped thinking about it. Every time I looked at myself in the mirror, I'd traced the marks he'd left behind with an ungodly powerful nostalgia.
His laughter turned to frustrated groans as he mumbled, "Are you trying to torture me?"
Once our ruckus died back down, the silence was more serious than strange. I felt the urge to apologize again. I needed him to hear the sincerity behind what were so often empty words.
"I'm really sorry I missed your message, Spencer."
My voice was quiet, unsure, and scared. I didn't want to lose him, and I knew an extreme on either side of the emotional spectrum would let him slip away so easily.
It was exhausting being emotionally lukewarm, but some part of me wanted to believe that it would be worth it with him. That patience was all it would take to show him why he had nothing to be afraid of.
But where I showed mercy, he showed himself to lack it in any sense of the word.
"It's fine, (y/n). I'm not your boyfriend. If I really want the company, I can find it."
That wasn't why I was sorry, and what he'd said only made it worse. The ugly, resentful part of myself was convinced that was why he'd said it at all.
We both knew I didn't want him to find it with someone else. That was the entire reason I was sorry I missed it. If I missed his call, nothing was stopping him from making another one. I hadn't ever asked if there were other girls in his life, but I definitely didn't want to find out like that.
"I missed you the past couple weeks. I still do."
The genuineness in my voice scared me. I hated being vulnerable; especially when he was already so apprehensive about me. I wished I knew why he was. But at that moment, he was being his usual playful self, not willing to give me any hint of an answer in exchange for my candor.
No, just: "You're so good at whining."
I pouted like he would be able to see it.
"I just want some cuddles. Is that too much to ask?"
"Go ask your boyfriend, I'm sure he would be more than happy to oblige," he quipped.
"He's not as good at it as you are," I deflected, playing off the suddenly obvious jealousy in his tone. Before I could rub my quick wit in his face, however, Spencer raised a white flag that I'd never seen coming.
"Fine. I'll wait up."
That was when I realized that he had been more jealous than I'd thought, and I still had a startling amount of power to play with.
But I was still unable to comprehend it, and with a graceless gasp, I chirped, "Wait really? I can come over?"
An unsure laugh and an almost audible shrug later, he responded, "Sure, I figure it'll get me to bed faster somehow, as opposed to staying on this call."
I didn't hesitate to start to pull my car out of the spot, happily singing into the phone, "Okay! I'm on my way! Bye Spencer!"
"See you soon."
—————————————————
As I was old enough to be able to tell time, and aware enough to recognize that it was incredibly too late to be knocking on an apartment door, I tried to do so softly. I halfway succeeded, stifling the noise enough that he could still hear it, but his neighbors wouldn't. They would remain unaware of the girl bouncing on her toes outside of his door, squealing the second she heard shuffling feet on the other side.
Jesus Christ, I sound like a teenager, the more sensible side of me noted.
I might've felt shame, had he not opened the door in that very moment to reveal himself, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and pajamas on that were big enough they his half his hands.
He was... in a word, adorable.
"Hey sleepyhead," I cooed.
Spencer remained silent, but offered his arm in a halfhearted invitation for a hug. The blanket hung like a wing that I very much wanted to wrap myself in, and he was all too happy to allow. I actually giggled as I lunged towards him. I wrapped both arms around him and breathed in the clean scent of laundry detergent and soap.
"I'm sleepy, too," I said with a relieved sigh. The air was quickly replaced with that which smelled of him. So, too, the silence filled with a soft chuckle as he pulled me close to him and rested his chin on the top of my head.
Like a man from a fairy tale, he started to sway, slowly turning us around until we were headed in the right direction. The right one, of course being the one that would lead to us falling in bed together again.
"Alright, little girl, you can come crawl into bed with me tonight."
The words were like music to my ears, and I felt like I was floating. I was glowing, my skin flushed with warmth like a wood fire on a cold Winter night, and my eyes fell half lidded from some mixture of tired and pleased.
"Thank you, sir," I slurred through a smile. It grew wider as he took my hands, prying me away from him to lead me back to his room with more purpose.
Once we finally padded over, I dropped my overnight bag on the floor and began to strip off my shirt. He eyed the bag on the floor with a feeling I could almost place.
"Were you planning on staying with him?"
I felt a pain through my chest as he asked, because I knew the answer. I had been, but only because I'd done it so many times before. Our mutual friend wasn't in the house, so I knew I could use his bed. But saying I was planning on staying there alone sounded even more suspicious.
"Yeah. I've stayed there before. Always in a different room. We've been friends a long time."
There was something about the way he looked at me that made my stomach flip in a delicious way. A feeling that could only be described as dangerous and exhilarating. But then it was gone, replaced by the apathy he usually tried to display. I continued to strip, nonetheless, slowly peeling my leggings down and stepping out of them. I could feel his eyes on me.
I twisted by body in the hope that the movement would distract him from the conversation I hadn't really wanted to have. Jealousy, while a fun tool for the consenting, had a tendency to grow old quickly. It was a beast that did not like to be controlled; especially when taken by surprise.
But he had no reason to be jealous. I had all but begged him to come over, and I was currently naked in his bedroom. I didn't even look up at him before sliding under the covers. I was too scared for what I might find, and opted for enjoying the lingering body heat and smell of Spencer on the sheet, instead.
"I don't want to know how good you are when you're trying," he warned.
I looked up at him with guilty eyes, recognizing this was his gentle way of telling me he was jealous. But he'd said it himself... He wasn't my boyfriend.
"Come here," I pleaded while running my arms along the empty space where he belonged. "I'll show you why you shouldn't be jealous."
Spencer licked his lips as he looked at my exposed chest, pulling off his pajamas and slinking under the covers with me. Facing each other, my hands quickly found his erection, pumping it softly as he immediately rewarded me with a soft moan.
"I missed this," I whispered, closing the gap between our faces.
He responded in kind, taking his time to lay a lazy kiss against my mouth while he groaned, "I missed your hands. Among other parts."
As he spoke, his hand was traveling down my side to my center. My breathing picked up as he got closer, but he diverted, running his fingers up and down my arms that continued to work his length. The soft whimper that escaped my mouth entertained him, and he brought his hand back down.
"Say please, (y/n)."
I couldn't talk though. I was biting down on my lip to stop myself from telling him I fucking hated him for teasing me. With big puppy dog eyes, I watched him while I chewed on my bottom lip.
"Stop biting on that lip or I'll do it for you. I don't care how cute you are."
His hand now ghosted over exactly where I wanted them, and he used the very tip of his finger to collect the wetness forming there. My hands stopped as he made contact, my grip tightening for a second.
"Say please."
He wanted me to beg for him to touch me, but I didn't want his hand. It was almost 3 AM and I was exhausted and needed him. All of him, immediately. Badly enough that
"Fuck me, sir," the words spilled out of my mouth. "Please, fuck me."
A content humming came from him as he brought a hand to my hair. But the pleased sound lulled me into a false sense of security, which was shattered seconds later when he pulled my head back to look him in the eyes.
From there, I could see that look in his eyes again. That dark, possessive stare that made me long for the shadows to consume me if it meant more time with him.
"I p-promise," I stuttered as one of his fingers teased at my folds.
He raised his eyebrows as he waited for me to finish my thought.
With a cruel, sadistic smile, I continued, "I promise I won't think of anyone else."
That playful characteristic snark that has originally driven him to me had returned, and he pretended to be disappointed. He liked it, though. He wouldn't admit it, but the way I read the secret, hidden thoughts in his mind like he could read one of his book clearly drove him insane.
He guided me by his hold on my hair, lifting me off the pillow and not taking a minute to consider the repercussions before growling in my ear, "Turn around."
I obeyed, happily pressing up against his crotch as I settled into my position as his little spoon. I noticed a distinct lack of a pause this time, and gears began to click together as I felt him rub the bare head of his cock in the slickness pooling around my thighs.
"I have some questions for you, little girl."
He was pissed.
"When was the last time you got tested?"
I could hardly think straight as I realized where this was going. I tried to gather my thoughts and enough control to stutter back, "L-last week. I-I haven't... haven't slept with anyone else. Not since you."
My answer earned me a tender kiss on the neck, but it wasn't enough. I was trying to still my hips from knocking back against him. I couldn't completely stop myself, though, and I knew it made him feel even more confident about his decision.
"Good. Me neither," he replied.
I sighed with relief, happy to at least answer that question. I'd barely had any time to recover, though, before he continued, "Is there any way you could get pregnant right now?"
I shook my head no. He stopped my head with one hand on my chin from behind.
"Use your words."
"No!" I half shouted, realizing I just sounded like a brat. "No, no I can't. I'm on birth control. I won't get pregnant. Promise. You can..."
My breath matched pace with my heart, and I swore I was already lightheaded. Still, I forced the last few words through the heavy panting to earn my next, far more enticing prize. The magic words he had been waiting for:
"You can do whatever you want to me."
When he released my hair, my head fell forward just for a second, because soon my entire back arched in response to the way he began to push inside of me.
"Good," was all he'd said.
With that, he fully sheathed himself inside of me, and I cried out as I felt the way he stretched me. His hand swiftly covered my mouth before he began to pound into me from behind. One of my hands tried to keep me in place on the bed, while the other flew up to his hand over my mouth, holding it without trying to remove it.
I was calling his name underneath him, and he responded by making shorter, deeper thrusts.
Through it all, he chuckled in my ear, "It's always funny how fast you stop acting like a brat after I put it in you."
My eyes rolled back at his words, breath shuddering against his hand. He slid all the way out of me, and then applied enough force to push me up in the bed.
"Have you ever had someone finish inside you before?" he asked too sweetly for the provocative words. He moved his hand from my mouth and dragged it to move the hair that had fallen in front of my face.
I went to shake my head but remembered his instruction. Instead, I cried, "N-no."
"Good," he responded again, and my toes curled at the pride he felt in claiming this body as his own. He took my hand in his, pulling it down to feel the small bump forming in my abdomen each time he slammed into me. The next time it appeared, he halted, holding me in position against him. "I'm going to fuck you so hard that the next time anyone even thinks about touching you, all they'll taste on you is me."
He pulled out slowly before pounding into me again. With more violence in his motions and venom on his tongue, he spat, "and if you want them you can explain to them how you begged for me to come inside your tight little cunt."
I was in a state of shock, unable to comprehend how he was capable of making such cruel, licentious words. Each one made my body shake, and he kept himself inside me longer with each motion to extend the feeling. I ached at the way he filled me, desperately clinging to my own stomach where I could feel him.
"Good luck thinking about anyone else while I run down your thighs," he said before punctuating it with a firm, unforgiving, "you fucking bitch."
With that, he finally moved his hand, but it was not a merciful action. His fingers rubbed in the mess of our bodies, then dragged the wetness back to my clit, pressing harder than he ever had before. My head was still swimming from his language, and I thankfully didn't have to use my words. He was very capable of figuring out my body language himself.
I could feel the way the heat coiled in my stomach, the tension building as his mouth ran along my neck. Once he attached himself to one spot, driving into me at a brutal pace, I felt the energy shift and begin to blossom. Feeling the way my muscles quivered around him, he stopped his kisses, groaning loudly in my ear.
"Fuck, little girl," he continued to moan, his thrusts faltering as I tried to coax his orgasm out of him. It seemed to be what he was waiting for. Unable to contain the shrill cry that tore from my chest as his arousal filled me, I tried to pull away from him. But I couldn't, his hands holding me down and his hips rocking as deep as they could possibly move inside of me.
Exhausted, I tried to move away from him once his movements stilled. However, in another surprising move he slid out just to slam back into me again.
I whimpered from the overstimulation, doubling forward as he gave a few more deep, rough thrusts before pulling out entirely.
I had no idea how, but Spencer immediately got out of bed. He left me a sweaty, desperate mess on his bed. Thankfully, he tossed me a towel to help me clean up so I wouldn't have to sleep in the puddle dripping slowly down my legs. Shaky but satisfied, I somehow managed to make it to the bathroom and clean up.
When I returned, he was still awake. He was silent, sitting up in the bed with his eyes closed and contemplative. As I shut the door, he finally noticed my presence. He turned to look at me with an awkward smile until he pat my spot on the bed.
"Come here, little girl."
A little too excited, I shuffled over with a bounce in my step. Not satisfied with simply lying next to him, I curled into his side, wrapping my arm around his waist and nuzzling my face to his chest. From there, I listened to the way his heartbeat seemed to slow down with my touch. How his muscles relaxed under me, like he had been anxiously awaiting my return the same way I had been waiting to return to him.
"You're not really a bitch," he mumbled in a quiet, sleepy voice.
I couldn't help but laugh, tilting my head up to glance at him from my position on his chest.
"I mean, I am a little bit. But I know what you mean."
He wrapped a tight arm around me, using his hand to run softly through my hair. Leaning down, he gave the top of my head a small peck. I smiled against his skin, loving the way it felt to be surrounded by him. To be safe and cared for despite all else.
"Thank you for coming here with me tonight," he said in a low volume, like the words might spook me. "You're a very special girl. I hope you know that."
I didn't know how to respond, so I stayed frozen in place. I waited to hear the rest of what he wanted to say. People have always said we're most honest at night. I wanted it to be true, to give more meaning to loaded words.
"I'm really glad I met you," was what he said.
I closed my eyes, breathing in the words that felt like a balm on my aching soul. Unable to come up with a response that wasn't terrifying, though, I sat up and crawled to him. It was my turn to return a tender kiss, this time to his lips. As we pulled apart, he still looked at me like the answers to the universe were written on my skin.
I went to kiss him again, but he stopped me with a hand on my face.
"Don't..." he instructed, breaking my heart with just one command.
But I saw the fear reflected in our eyes, the kind that was deeper than a simple rejection. It was not the fear that we might not love one another. It was the fear that we very well might one day.
Spencer said none of that, though. He left me to forever wonder if it was just me who felt it. Instead, he surrendered with a simpler, safer explanation.
"If you kiss me like that again, I won't be able to stop myself."
I didn't ask what he was stopping himself from doing. No matter how badly I wanted to. Instead, I ran the back of my fingers against his cheek and whispered in the space between us, "Make now always the most precious time. Now will never come again."
My desired outcome came true, but not quite how I wanted. He didn't kiss me deep or passionately. He kissed me soft, like my lips were made of glass. He kissed me like he was protecting me from the terrors of his mind.
"Go to sleep, little girl," he instructed gently, coaxing me back to my position on his chest as we both sunk down to lay flat on the bed. "Picard can wait."
Laying there, next to what I was convinced was an actual human angel, I gave myself permission to drift off into sleep, hoping that my dreams could be half as good as reality.
That didn't happen.
I wasn't sure what time it was when I woke up, but it was still dark outside, so it couldn't have been too long after we'd fallen asleep. Spencer had turned away from me at some point. That wasn't strange or entirely surprising, but I noticed a strange sound from his side of the bed that made my hair stand on edge and my stomach churn.
It was... crying.
"Spencer?" I asked as quiet as I could. When he didn't respond, I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder in the hope that it would be an easier transition to the waking word.
But his body still jerked under my touch, and he sat up much too quickly before grabbing his face in both hands. It wasn't until then that he noticed, drawing his hands back slowly and inspecting the wetness he found on his fingertips.
"Hey, Spencer, are you okay?"
He didn't answer.
Suddenly extremely worried, I brought both of my hands to his arms and pulled him closer to me.
He still didn't answer.
"Were you having a nightmare?"
So many red flags were burning through my brain, and I didn't know what to do with the information in front of me. I just wanted to help him.
"I... I must have been. I'm sorry," he said when he finally spoke. He wiped at his tears like he could erase what I had already seen. Moving his hands away, careful to keep my touch as non-threatening as possible, I wiped his still falling tears away with my thumb.
"Why are you sorry, Spencer?"
"I... don't know."
It was an honest, but terrifying answer. A quickly completed checklist of a horror I was deeply familiar with. A reality that I wouldn't wish it on anyone in the world. Especially not him.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," he replied with a force so strong I thought the word was physically painful for him to say.
"Okay," I reassured him, "We don't have to."
He wasn't laying back down. He wasn't moving at all. It was like he was somewhere else entirely.
I moved closer to him, placing a hand on his back to gently rub circles and another on his lap. I offered the only thing I could think to help him in that moment.
"Do you want me to hold you?"
His eyes were fixated on my hand on his lap, his breathing slowly regulating the longer we sat like this.
Still, he halfway refused, "It's okay."
Raising my hand again, I ran it through his hair before guiding him to look at me with a tentative smile.
"You're not a burden, Spencer. I want to."
The tears were falling again, albeit slower and with his mouth curved ever so slightly. I tried to give him the calmest reassurance I could. A soft glow in my eyes that burned with the affection and comfort I desperately wanted to provide.
"Come here, love," I said as I motioned to me.
Spencer dutifully followed. Soon his head was on my chest, my hand curling his hair around my fingers. He hugged my waist like I was the only thing keeping him here.
And I laid there with him, trying not to think about the way his tears wet my skin. Hoping that, for now, it would be enough for him to get some sleep.
A mop of curly brown hair was the first thing I saw when I woke up to the shine of the sun through the curtains. I smiled, but only until I remembered why he was on my chest.
It was obvious that he had barely slept, his muscles continuing to persistently twitch in their paranoid state. When I went to pet his head again, he stirred under me, pulling himself closer to me the same way he had before.
I didn't want to think about what had happened, but I knew I had to. Normal people don't wake up crying from a nightmare, and they certainly don't get painfully defensive when it happens.
I hadn't known practically anything about his life before. What he had been through, or whether he'd told anyone at all. I hadn't even known if he'd anyone to tell.
I was painfully reminded that he was not the superhero I made him out to be in my head. He was just a man, trying his hardest to do more good in the world than all the evil combined. That was an impossible task, though. He was doomed to fail.
His ears must have been burning, because the longer I thought about it, the more he woke up. Eventually he was entirely alert, sitting up and removing himself from the position we'd assumed for the past several hours.
I was surprised to remember what it felt like to be able to breathe without the weight of him on top of me. I was even more surprised to feel my chest felt heavier in his absence.
"Good morning," I mumbled, watching as he effortlessly got out of bed and began to get ready.
He seemed embarrassed, but he really shouldn't have been.
"Did you get any sleep?"I asked.
Spencer ran his hands through his hair before he turned back to me, a smile on his face like nothing was wrong.
"No," he sighed, "This brat woke me up at 2 AM and insisted I sleep with her."
It was nice to know he was still capable of joking but concerning to see that he was so good at compartmentalizing. I laughed along with him, nonetheless, sliding out of the bed to join him in getting dressed.
"What a bitch," I said with a smirk.
As hard as it was to pretend like the night before hadn't happened, I knew that he wasn't ready to talk about it. Heaven knew it would have been much worse to burn the bridge then. At least if I built the trust now, he might be willing to talk about it later.
"You know, I wasn't actually going to tell you to come over last night," Spencer announced.
The 360 of the conversation took me by surprise, and I blinked rapidly to try and reorient myself.
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I mean, I'm glad you did. But I was actually going to ask you if you're free tonight."
Spencer was nothing if not an emotional rollercoaster demanding passengers before 10AM. Ready to roll bright and fuckin' early.
"Yeah, I am. If you're still wondering," I answered in place of the multitude of questions I hadn't been ready to ask yet. Questions like, why was he wondering? Why did he need to schedule this? Was this another 'not-a-date' date?
"I wanted to take you somewhere," he mentioned casually, finally fully dressed while I still struggled to put on my clothes.
"Where?"
"It's a surprise," he said with raised eyebrows, like he was so very proud of himself.
I'd let him have that one, but only because he was so damn cute.
"Fine. That means I have to go home to get cleaned up first, then."
He seemed only a little disappointed by that, but overall acquiesced. I was a little sad about it, too, but remained confident in the old adage that distance makes the heart grow fonder.
Besides, I wanted to look cute for my surprise.
We hadn't talked much before I left. I could tell he was still struggling with coming to terms with what he'd accidentally revealed to me in the middle of the night.
Honestly, it was a good thing I left. The desire to talk about it was overwhelming, and some things are better left unsaid...
For now, I promised myself. Just for now.
—————————————————
Spencer came to pick me up without a hitch. When I climbed into his car, I fully expected him to not tell me where we were going. I was right; he didn't. Of course, after about 30 minutes I recognized the route we were going. When I'd graciously pointed it out to him with increasingly less subtle suggestions, he still refused to give me a single hint.
That was, until we pulled into Observatory parking lot.
"I've never been here before!" I squeaked. My excitement had been obvious enough with the embarrassing crack, and Spencer's interest in my enthusiasm only grew.
He was looking at me with that soft, slightly saccharine smile.
"I figured. You aren't nerdy enough to go by yourself," he chuckled. The genuineness behind the sound made the already excited butterflies in my stomach begin to swarm.
"Hey, I can be cultured too, you know," I still corrected with the worst posh accent you've ever heard.
With a teasing smile on his face, the stupid man chose to look away rather than to admit his honest reaction to the statement.
Asshole, I thought, only to be proven wrong seconds later. Forever a gentleman, Spencer joined me on my side of the car and took utmost care and attention to help me out from my seat.
It felt strange, to adorn his arm like something beautiful as we gazed at the stars together. I tried not to think about it, but wondered just how far he was willing to risk being seen with me in an undoubtedly romantic setting.
"Isn't this place usually closed to the public? I know they have limited general admission days," I asked, despite already knowing the answer. I just wanted to see if my hunch was correct.
"Yeah, I might have called in a favor or two."
Fuck, was my first thought. The next twelve thoughts, however, were all reiterations of 'Don't get your hopes up.'
My grip on his arm tightened, but he didn't seem to mind. I'd guessed that his nonchalance was entirely due to the private nature of the excursion, but I wasn't going to ask, and I certainly wouldn't complain. I was happy enough that he'd brought me, even if he wasn't ready to admit why. I could be patient. Sometimes.
Once inside, Spencer knew exactly where to go. I watched in awe at how many people knew who he was, and how much they looked up to him. While I had also always been impressed by him, it'd become easy to forget just how impressive he was when all the time we'd spent together was so far away from the rest of the world.
But Spencer's quiet humility certainly wasn't an issue that night. He spent nearly two hours walking me through what ended up being essentially all the stars in the sky. Much like the museum, it consisted of me adoring both the content of his words and the man himself.
He told me the story of the vain Queen Cassiopeia and her doting husband Cepheus, still holding each other in the stars millennia later. He spoke enthusiastically and with no sense of pacing. Half the time my eyes left the telescope, turning instead to marvel at the way he moved his hands and fidgeted with his hair as his voice tumbled out of him like it couldn't be contained.
It was just the two of us in the room when he finished, the dim lights and quiet ambiance catching up with me as I stared at him with all the reverence in the universe above us. He eventually finished his thoughts on Perseus and Andromeda, and I could tell by the look on his face that their love story meant something to him.
"You're quite the romantic, Dr. Reid."
He seemed surprised by the sentiment, like it was something he'd never heard before, and now he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. So, he simply laughed awkwardly and moved closer to peer into the telescope.
Whether it was because he felt a stronger connection to the extraterrestrial, or because he simply didn't want me to see that he was blushing, I didn't mind either way. A few less seconds under the scrutiny of his gaze would do my heart well.
"Not sure many people would use that word," he said under his breath when he worked up the courage to speak.
"Well, I did," I replied much more confidently.
He was smiling but trying to hide it the same as the pink hue to his cheeks.
"You said you were 14 when you went to college, right?" I said with narrow eyes, trying to read him from under the large machine.
"Yeah," he responded with an equal dose of caution, "... why?"
"Probably didn't go to prom then, huh?"
His answer was obvious from the way his entire body jumped. Knocking his head on the telescope as he rushed to give an answer, all his mouth would produced was a long, dumb, "Uhhh."
I knew he was about to try to run away. Before he could, I stopped him. With both hands on his arm, I kept him close. Eventually, his muscles gave in and accepted my embrace.
"Come on; dance with me," I begged.
He looked around the room for an excuse. There was no one there, just the two of us on arguably the most heartwarming date I've ever been on in my life.
"There's no music," he scrambled, eventually admitting, "aaand I can't dance."
Ignoring the pitter-pattering of a childish, lovesick heart, I laughed.
"I can teach you, Dr. Reid."
We both knew he wasn't getting out of this one. As I hopped down from the stool, I revealed my secret weapon from my pocket. I pulled up a playlist that I knew would suit him and the setting, and I held out my hand in an invitation that couldn't be refused.
"I have all the world of music at my fingertips. Now I just need you. "
Spencer groaned, but behind it all I saw an undeniable happiness. When he put his hand in mine, it too felt like warmth and safety. I took it with an even brighter grin, immediately bringing him closer to sway slowly to the music coming from my phone now seated on the stool.
The acoustics of the room let the music flow through, and within moments we had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. My cheek rested against his chest and I couldn't help but laugh.
"You lied to me, Dr. Reid. You definitely know how to dance."
"Okay, but does it really count if you've only ever done it with your mom?" he asked.
I threw my head back as I laughed, and he joined me. The two of us shamelessly filled the large room with a warmth not entirely unlike a far away star.
"Don't laugh at me!" he pouted, but I think he actually enjoyed the sound.
"I'm sorry," I whined, "you're just so fucking cute I don't know how to handle it."
Finally able to stifle the joyous sounds, I looked up at him with even more fascination than I'd showed the stars. I'm not sure what I had expected, but it wasn't what I'd found. Because Spencer's eyes were like mirrors facing the sun; reflecting the passions I spewed so carelessly right back at me.
"There are over a million words in the English language, and I still can't think of a single combination to explain how I feel about you."
Just like that, he'd stolen my breath and my sense. My smile fell into a look of smitten shock, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't convince my heart to fall back into its rhythm.
"I-I'm surprised you don't know the exact number," I said with an awkward chuckle.
"Well, some estimate that it's 1,025,109, but new words are created constantly, and it would depend on what actually counts as a new word. Not to mention the different dialects, words that have fallen out of common use, or words that may be used for entirely different purposes despite being the same."
I raised my eyebrows, not at all surprised that he had an answer, but excited to hear it, nonetheless.
"But it doesn't matter," he whispered, impervious to just how much he was breaking my heart. "Because no matter the number, I know it won't be enough."
My eyes lit up like the stars we had just spent hours staring at, and I wondered if he could tell. He must have. Because his hand on my hip pulled me closer, and our hands intertwined as our pace slowed to a stop. Our breath was unsteady as he came closer to me, pausing just before our lips touched.
We shared the oxygen between us, daring the other to do what we both know we shouldn't.
So I did, leaning up to kiss him as my hand slid up his arm and around his neck. His hesitation melted into the embrace, our tongues gently sharing space in an entirely new way.
I thought to the millions of stars in the sky, realizing that I shared Spencer's skepticism of an unknown number. Because no matter how many stars there were, I knew there would never be enough to outshine that moment between the two of us.
It was not a hurried or excited kiss. It was an amorous, amazing promise of a kiss. It was the kind of kiss that they wrote about in Corinthians. It was patient and kind. It was not proud nor self-seeking. Spencer's free hand held my face against his; the way they wrote that love always protects, trusts, hopes, and perseveres.
Did he feel the way he was kissing me? Because I had.
I felt it like a storm, the breeze blowing the air from my lungs and breaking down the walls around me. I held onto him and this moment, scared of what this meant for us. How could I pretend like we were just friends when I shook for days at his touch?
That was why I was the one to end the kiss, looking down away from him as I did. A soft, defeated chuckle as I took a deep breath. When our eyes met again, I lowered my arms to his chest, listening to the soft tunes still floating through the room.
"We should go home now," I whispered.
He was reading my reactions; I could feel it. And in doing so, he had lowered his own walls too far. I could see them behind his eyes.
My voice shook as I continued, "... before you do something else to try and make me fall in love with you."
Spencer didn't look scared as he replied with a cheeky little grin, "Why, is it working?"
I almost passed out at the way his eyes softened at my goofy smile.
"I'm kidding," he immediately followed.
I rolled my eyes at the absolute bullshit of a lie. I tried to play it off like it was nothing, but my heart felt like it would fall out of my chest. I tried not to think about it too hard as we made our way back to the car.
As he helped me in, I realized that we were really going to continue acting like none of that just happened. I tried to think of how that kiss we shared could be written off, but I couldn't. That was not the kind of kiss between friends. It was not the kind of kiss between strangers.
It was a kiss of the kind we both implicitly promised not to talk about.
Once the trip home had begun, I gathered the courage to tread lightly.
"So, what was the fantasy for tonight?" I innocently asked.
A little confused, he glanced over at me, careful not to take his eyes off the road.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I've found each time we're together there's some sexual component," I chuckled. "This is pretty far from home, and you seemed very into it. I was just wondering what inspired this trip."
I was trying to avoid obviously ogling his reactions by shifting my eyes from him every few seconds. I had leaned against the door, surprised by just how tired I really was. He was doing that thing where he weighed his words again.
Eventually, he shrugged. That softness returning to his features from before, he began, "To be honest, (y/n)..."
Please, don't break my heart, I begged to that beautiful man.
Actually turning his head entirely to me, he spoke through a delicate smile, "I just wanted to look at the stars with you."
Goddammit.
The stars returned to my eyes, and I could see them reflected in his. My heart sped up to prepare for the panic as I realized that it was definitely too late for us. Because his efforts were working. They had been working all along, and I never tried to stop them.
As I drifted off to sleep in the comfortable silence of our company, I couldn't ignore the obvious:
I think I'm in love with Spencer Reid and I think he's starting to love me, too.
But we couldn't just love each other in isolation, and I wasn't sure he was ready to make that leap with me. In fact, I knew he wasn't. I still knew basically nothing about him, and he knew virtually nothing about me. How could it be then, that our souls felt so at home with each other?
Which would hurt more? Finding out he didn't love me, or that he did... and just wishes he didn't?
—————————————————
| Part 6 |
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid smut#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds imagine#h2m#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#smut
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Title: Head On The Fritz
Rating: Teen and Up (Nothing overtly sexual, violent, etc...)
Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders
Pairing(s): JotaKak, plus some Hierophant Green & Star Platinum
Summary: The sensation worsens the harder he tries to will it away. It crawls upwards, digging unseen nails into delicate tissue, until it reaches around his heart. It squeezes tight enough to make him suck in a breath. He presses his hand flat over his ribs, eyes a bit wide at first, but they narrow after a moment. It’s an attack from another stand. One that must have snuck up on him, completely unnoticed.
Notes: PTSD, panic/anxiety attacks; set vaguely in the future
For some reason I keep forgetting to post this here. It's been up on Ao3 for a bit.
-
Jotaro finds himself staring blankly at the page in front of him. There isn’t much to look at. He’s been at this for the better part of two hours, and all that he has to show for it are two lines of messy handwriting. The words refuse to come together for him, and his thoughts won’t stay long enough for him to arrange them in any kind of sensical order. The whole thing is growing increasingly frustrating.
He tries flipping through his notes. Then the texts he has splayed across his work area. There’s a number of markings in them, along the margins or stuck in place with sticky notes. None of it helps.
He needs something to help him get back to where he needs to be, but he doesn’t know what .
Another several minutes pass. Five, maybe. Twenty, just as likely. Thinking shouldn’t be this damn hard, and his breathing shouldn’t be this shallow.
A bit of fresh air might do him good, he decides and stands with the intention of going out for a walk. His chest feels a little tighter now, but he ignores it. The burning has to be acid build up from not eating enough at lunch. Nothing to be done about it until later.
The sensation worsens the harder he tries to will it away. It crawls upwards, digging unseen nails into delicate tissue, until it reaches around his heart. It squeezes tight enough to make him suck in a breath. He presses his hand flat over his ribs, eyes a bit wide at first, but they narrow after a moment. It’s an attack from another stand. One that must have snuck up on him, completely unnoticed.
And isn’t that just great?
“Good grief,” he mutters under his breath, ignoring how off he sounds.
Star bursts forward with his fists raised, ready to fight, but Jotaro only stands there. His eyes looking around somewhat frantically. Star Platinum’s own eyes shift from one side of the room to the other, up, down, and back again. No one is there, but that doesn’t mean that they’re safe.
“Star,” Jotaro breathes in greeting when he sees how Star Platinum’s eyes lock on him. Sharp, blue eyes fixate on Jotaro’s chest, which does little for his nerves. He hates being ambushed. “See something?”
Star stays quiet for several seconds, frown deepening as he does. “Ora,” he says quietly. With finality.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jotaro sounds snappish. Frantic. He sounds off in his own head, but he doesn’t have time to think about that.
Star grabs him abruptly, causing Jotaro to yank back without thought. He nearly loses his footing entirely, but Star stops and waits. Watches him with those damn eyes.
When Star reaches out this time, his movements are telegraphed. Slow and purposeful in a way that Jotaro doesn’t have to defend against. Star’s strong arms pull Jotaro close and shift him about until Jotaro is tucked into Star’s larger frame. He uses his size to sink them both to the floor without jostling Jotaro unnecessarily.
Jotaro is surprisingly-- and alarmingly -- compliant.
“What- what’s happening?” Jotaro asks. He winces at the sound of his own voice. The words sound slurred.
Star tucks Jotaro’s head under his chin and rubs his hands along Jotaro’s arms. His voice is a gentle murmur that doesn’t stop. The words (or, word, really) don’t register in Jotaro’s mind. He knows they’re reassurances, and he would normally understand them fine, but his brain won’t cooperate. There are black specks dancing across his vision oddly, and the edges seem blurred.
Fuck, he’s going to die.
“Jotaro?”
He knows that voice.
Star tightens around him despite the brief calm that roots itself in his brain.
“Jotaro-- easy, Star. It’s only us, I promise,” Kakyoin holds his hands where the stand can see, allows himself to be examined as if he were a slide on a microscope. When Star’s gaze finally shifts back to Jotaro, Kakyoin decides it’s safe to proceed.
Carefully, he runs his fingers through Jotaro’s hair, brushes some of it back out of his face. His hat must have been knocked off in all the commotion. “See, no one is going to hurt Jotaro,” he glances from Star to his own stand. Hierophant looks oddly nervous from his spot at Kakyoin’s left.
“Hey,” Jotaro barely manages to force enough air out from his lungs in order to speak. He ignores the remark made as if he weren’t there, choosing instead to focus on Kakyoin. Kakyoin looks a bit disheveled but not alarmed. Not tense and ready to fight.
Kakyoin offers him a slightly stiff smile. The worry in his eyes is too apparent. He reads like an open book. “Star called for Hierophant. Do you remember that?”
No? Jotaro blinks up at him. He’s pretty sure he would have noticed Star yelling. He doesn’t know where Kakyoin had been before he came to be standing before him, but Jotaro is pretty sure the answer is ‘too far for Star to reach’.
“That’s okay,” Kakyoin says and moves-- with help from both Star and Hierophant-- to sit on the ground with his legs on either side of Star’s thighs. “Sorry,” he says a bit sheepishly. He doesn’t like taking up the extra space, but crossing his legs is rarely an option that won’t have plenty of consequence.
Jotaro can only shake his head. You shouldn’t have to be down here at all.
“Ora?”
“It’s alright, Star,” Kakyoin reassures, running a hand along Star’s calf. He knows Jotaro can feel it, and it might be a little less overwhelming than direct contact. Especially with how thoroughly wrapped in Star Platinum Jotaro is. “We should take a few, deep breaths. I’ll count, okay?”
Jotaro wants to raise an eyebrow at him. Whatever is going on, this isn’t the time for meditation.
“Humor me?”
“Fine.”
“Good,” Kakyoin smiles. He takes a moment to breathe in deeply, making a bit of a show out of it. “Now hold,” he says once Jotaro does the same. “One, two, three, four. Good, let that one out. Slowly. And again.”
Jotaro doesn’t think he would have the patience for this if his head weren’t swimming. It helps, somewhat, that Star is actually mimicking Kakyoin. With Jotaro’s back pulled up against Star’s chest, he can feel when his stand inhales. Not that Star needs to breathe, but it helps.
Finally, finally, his vision begins to clear. Various objects have edges again. Colors seem to be more vibrant. His chest doesn’t feel as tight, either, and he feels like he can think again, albeit slowly. He feels exhausted. Like he does after a stressful fight or an all nighter.
Kakyoin reaches to take his hand. Hierophant wraps loosely around their joined fingers. Star won’t give up his hold on Jotaro, but Jotaro doesn’t hate it. It’s nice. All of it is nice. Kakyoin in front of him, with his legs on either side of Star and him. Hierophant curled around them. The more relaxed Jotaro is, the farther the green stand climbs up his arm until it makes a net of itself and allows Jotaro to rest his head.
"The good news is that you weren’t attacked,” Kakyoin says gently. Hierophant has already cleared Jotaro of anything they might have missed. As much as he doesn’t like Jotaro suffering, he’s relieved to know that his assumption had been correct. “The bad news is that I’m pretty sure you had a panic attack.”
Jotaro definitely raises an eyebrow. “I don’t have those.”
Kakyoin hums, having more or less expected that answer. “They can happen to anyone, at any time.”
He half expects Jotaro to argue, but all he gets is a soft, almost defeated, “oh”. It speaks to Jotaro’s exhaustion. Along with the way his eyes slide shut. How long had Jotaro been on the verge of hyperventilation?
Kakyoin moves to get up, planning to help Jotaro to his feet. Hierophant begins to untangle itself from Jotaro, but they both stop when Jotaro’s fingers chase after them.
“Can we stay like this? Just for a few more minutes?”
Kakyoin settles back into his spot easily. “Of course,” he isn’t in any sort of rush, and the position isn’t entirely uncomfortable. He’s more than happy to oblige the request with a warm smile. He plays with Jotaro’s fingers, while the other man’s eyes slide shut.
#jotakak#jotaro kujo#kakyoin noriaki#noriaki kakyoin#jjba#jojo's bizarre adventure#jjba part 3#stardust crusaders#star platinum#hierophant green#all stands are at least a little sentient#splat does whatever he's gotta to take care of joot#blitzwrites#blitz
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“The Library Keepers: Jamais Vu” - Prologue / Teaser
Word Count: 1,524
Genre: Sci-Fi / Fantasy / Action / Adventure / Humor
Rating: Explicit…eventually 🔞
Summary: After two years of being stationed on Space Station Baldur, you’re not really expecting anything exciting to happen anymore. With little by the way of scientific discoveries, you and your team are getting a bit restless. Sent out on “special assignment” with Mission Specialist Kim Namjoon, you really aren’t expecting to find (or even see) much of anything.
What you do find is something beyond what either of you could’ve imagined.
From the dark side of the moon. I know that it's sad, but it's true. I'm tryna get home. I'm a spaceman. 🎵
You groan and smack the off button of the ship’s sound system, sending a glare your colleague's way. To his credit, a sheepish grin tugs at his lips.
“I forgot that was on the playlist,” he admits, scratching at his chin as he adjusts in his seat, tugging at the legs of his spacesuit to get more comfortable. He redirects his attention to the front window and you follow his gaze, taking in the vast expansiveness in front of you. On and on for miles, there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing but darkness and faraway stars.
Since being stationed on Space Station Baldur, you’ve seen your fair share of stars up close. They’re not nearly as breathtaking as you’d think, many looking like smaller versions of the sun, with some burning much hotter with a bluish-white hue. It still amazes you, knowing that all they’re made of is gas and dust that have taken over millions of years to get hot enough to shine so brightly.
They’re the little spectators of the universe that twinkle in the sky back home on Earth.
Earth. It’s been approximately 734 days since you’ve felt its gravitational pull. Approximately 729 days, 12 hours, and 43 minutes since you arrived at Space Station Baldur with Mission Specialist Kim Namjoon and your team. 8 hours since the two of you left the station to venture out into the great unknown on special assignment.
Special assignment is really just a fancy way of saying go see what you find and report back to us if you really do find anything, but we know you won’t.
It’s pointless, really. It would take you months, if not years, to actually reach something that hasn’t already been discovered.
It’s why they’ve thrust a camera in your hands and instructed you to take a few pictures while you’re gone. To show the people back home where you are and what it’s really like. But the photos you take don’t do it justice. Sure, it’s breathtaking in a so much different from home sort of way, but it’s quiet. Isolating. Downright daunting.
The black void stretches on for miles, empty of everything familiar. Empty of anything at all, really.
“Do you think Nick Jonas would actually last as a spaceman?” Namjoon questions with a quirk of his lips.
You snort, shooting him a look that says absolutely-fucking-not. Nick Jonas wouldn’t know the first thing about being alone. Well and truly alone. It’s an experience you still struggle with sometimes, being so far away from what you know. From the things and people you love. But you love your job too. You love learning about the world, the universe, the galaxy around you. There’s so much nobody knows. So much left to discover.
You are most certainly not going to discover anything out here like this though, in your little dinghy ship with just enough rations to last the 12 hours out and the 12 hours back, but it’s a nice thought.
“If any of the Jo Bros would last, it’d be Kevin,” you mutter with finality, nodding sagely.
Namjoon wrinkles his nose. “Kevin? Why Kevin?”
You shrug. “He’s the oldest.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s the brightest--”
The comms crackle to life, stopping your impending argument before it can begin.
“Microkosm, this is Mission Control, requesting a status update.”
You want to snort at the name Microkosm, the ship so aptly named due to it being a smaller extension of the space station, containing your little corner of the universe for the next...17 hours and 43 minutes.
Namjoon shifts into work-mode, rattling off your estimated coordinates, determining your location based on your distance from the satellites and the main station.
“Rations are adequate and oxygen levels are at a steady 93%.”
“Excellent,” your commander mutters. “You’re making decent time. Any observational updates?”
“Negative,” you finally contribute. “Nothing but space rock and stardust, sir.”
“As expected,” he sighs. “Regardless, expect to give another status update in the next few hours.”
“Yes, sir,” you and Namjoon chorus, listening to your commander mutter a signoff. Your ship settles back into silence as the comms power off, the low hum of the engine and shuttering of the walls a mere background noise to you now.
“What a waste of a trip,” Namjoon sighs, slumping down in his seat and leaning his head back on the headrest.
You grunt, echoing his sentiment completely. When you first applied to be stationed on Baldur, you were so excited. A mere science geek, itching to make a discovery. You had big dreams, fantasies of planets and moons and otherworldly fauna. Maybe even a world not quite unlike your own. But this...wasn’t reality.
The work you do is important, obviously, but it’s mainly research. Studies to determine how well humans can survive in space. How far they can go and what they need to help them survive.
Is there a way to manufacture oxygen so we won’t run out?
The earth is only going to be inhabitable for so long. Or so they say.
Really, you think all of this is just another way for them to monetize uninhabited property. Not enough commercial real estate on earth? Why not sell space too?
Maybe that’s a cynical way to view the work you do, but after two years of not a whole lot of scientific discoveries, you’re a little disheartened.
“I’m gonna grab some sustenance,” you declare and unbuckle, finally caving to your stomach’s incessant grumbling. “You want anything?”
Namjoon glances at you as you slowly float out of your seat, hands reaching for your headrest to steady you. “A strawberry and banana protein shake?”
You smile, not entirely sure why you asked. His answer is always the same.
“You got it, Specialist,” you say and release the back of your seat, using it as leverage to push yourself toward the back of the ship. Floating in space is a little like swimming on earth, except you don’t sink, you just keep floating.
After strong-arming your way to the back of the ship, you break into your stash of freeze-dried foods. Since the two of you are on a shorter mission in such a small spacecraft, all of your food has to be things that can be consumed without cooking them. No meatloaf and potatoes for the two of you while you’re gone. Just freeze-dried fruit, nuts, crackers, cheese spreads, and dehydrated protein shakes.
You grab Namjoon a strawberry and banana one and add water through the pressurized hose before grabbing a chocolate one for yourself. You eye the coffee, knowing that sooner or later you’ll have to take watch while Namjoon sleeps, but you figure you’ll have time for that later.
Besides, you’re not really all that tired yet anyway.
Balancing the drink pouches precariously between your fingertips, you use one hand to push yourself back in the direction of the front of the ship. You’re just reaching for one of the bars on the ceiling to propel you forward when it shimmies and you miss your mark.
The ship’s rattling is suddenly loud in your ears and, as your shoulder collides with the ceiling, you can feel it in your jaw, rattling your teeth.
“Uh, Joon?” you question, heart beating hard in your chest. You try your best to strong-arm your way back to the front, but the ship shakes and takes you off course. You’re forced back against the ceiling with a hard crack that takes your breath away. You hiss, dropping your drinks to cradle the back of your head. “Joon!”
“Specialist, get back in your seat!” you hear his words, loud in your headset, and feel yourself start to panic.
“Joon, what’s going on?” you demand, but grab a hold of one of the bars to push yourself forward. The ship sways and quakes beneath your touch, your entire body vibrating from the point of contact.
“Fuck, we don’t have time,” Namjoon hisses, voice thin and strained. “Get to one of the emergency seats and strap yourself in.”
“But I’m almost—“
“Now!”
And that’s when you notice it, the erratic movement of the spacecraft, the violent quivering of the walls, the high-pitched whistling of the engine as it struggles to slow you down. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.
You slot yourself into one of the seats at the edge of the craft and just manage to latch yourself in when you hear a loud pop and feel the ship lurch. Almost as if you’re in a car that’s just been rear-ended. But it happens again. And then again.
“Namjoon, if you don’t tell me what the fuck is happening—“ Your hands are curled tightly around the straps that hold you in your seat, the material digging deeply into your palms as you pray that what little food you have consumed today stays down.
“Damn it, I—“ Namjoon begins, the sound of his voice crackling in your ears. The sound fades in and out and you strain to hear him. “Fuck, brace — impact!”
“Namjoon!”
______________________________________________________________
Back | Next (Planet X)
#bts fanfiction#kim namjoon#bts#fanfiction#sci-fi#bts au fic#bts au#bts x reader#bts fanfic#bts space au#alien bts au#btsrunmylife.story#btsrunmylife
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I need that promised Dinner Date for Mechanic!Frankie!!! <3
Of course!
Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader
Warnings: Two awkward cuties who haven’t been on a date in a long time and another kiss. A longer one this time.
[mechanic!frankie masterlist]
Frankie smiled down at his phone as he read the text “Dinner tonight. My place” for the fiftieth time that morning. He couldn’t believe it was actually happening. He thought that the kiss you two shared might have scared you away, but here you were inviting him to dinner.
“Hey boss,” one of his mechanics said as he walked into the office. Frankie fumbled his phone, making it fly up in the air before landing on his desk. “Am I interrupting something?” the man asked, amused.
“Uh...no. What’s up?” Frankie cleared his throat and stood up.
“Is she hot?” The worker grinned and leaned against the doorframe.
“Get out,” Frankie said calmly.
“Wait, is it that woman that brings her car in like three times a week? She’s fucking hot, man. Way to go.” He clapped Frankie on the back as he walked past him out the door.
“Don’t talk about her like that.” Frankie rolled his eyes and began cleaning his tools.
“It’s a compliment, boss.”
“Hot? No...she’s gorgeous, beautiful, stunning...so much more than hot.” He stared off into space dreamily as he spoke.
“Man, you got it bad or maybe you got it good,” the man joked.
“One more thing like that outta your mouth and I’m sending you home.” He put the wrench he was cleaning down roughly and glared at his worker. “Be respectful, please.”
“Yes, boss. Sorry, boss.” The man walked off and busied himself and Frankie went back to daydreaming about you.
He found himself feeling bad for thinking so much about the small kiss you two shared. It wasn’t like anyone could read his mind, but he still felt a little guilty. He also felt guilty for wanting the day to go by as fast as possible so he could get to you faster.
He closed up shop and headed home to shower and dress in some of his nicer clothes. He knew you wouldn’t have a problem with anything he wore but he still wanted to look nice for you.
Should he tell you he was getting ready?
just got home. be there soon, he texted and left it at that. You didn’t need to know that he was showering and all that.
After his shower, he looked at himself in the mirror. The towel sat just below his tummy and sucked it in, imagining how he would look if he was a bit more svelte. He’d definitely fit into his clothes a little better. He wondered if you liked your men a little more toned than he was.
“You’re an idiot, Francisco,” he sighed before walking away from the mirror and getting dressed.
The button up shirt he chose was one of the nicest he had. It took him about ten minutes to decide how many buttons he should leave undone. He didn’t want to look like he was trying to hard although he really was. His hair was almost completely dry by the time he finished dressing completely. He looked in the mirror again and tried styling it in different ways. He was so used to wearing a hat that his hair never seemed to look right without it. And his stubborn, errant curls went wherever they wanted anyway.
“Screw it,” he said quietly, standing up straight and giving himself a once over. He turned to the side and looked at his butt. “Hmm...” Then shook his head. “What the hell am I doing?” Before he did anything else stupid, he grabbed his jacket and walked out the door.
Right after he knocked on your door, he regretted not asking if he should bring anything. You opened the door and greeted him with a bright smile.
“You made it,” you said happily.
“I did. What...did you think I’d stand you up?” he asked as he walked inside.
“No, but, uh...” You looked him up and down and he felt his face getting hot. “I’m surprised some other woman didn’t snatch you up before you got here.”
“Oh,” he chuckled sheepishly, looking down at the floor.
“What I mean to say is that you look very nice. I mean, you always do but...you look nice.”
He shrugged. “Thanks.”
“Any time. Uh...you can come into the kitchen if you like.”
He hung up his jacket and followed you in, watching you move to and fro. “Anything I can help with?” he asked.
“Nope, you’re my guest.”
“Okay. Smells good,” he commented.
“Thanks. It’s not quite as delicious as what you made me for dinner, but I hope you’ll like it.” You placed a plate on the table. “Please sit.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it.”
“I put wine out but if you want something different just let me know.” You made yourself a plate and sat across from him.
“Wine is...fine,” he said, shaking his head. “Sorry.” He picked up his fork and took a bite before nodding happily. “I knew it.”
“What?”
“It’s delicious.”
You clapped your hands together. “Good!”
You two talked about everything. It was easygoing and fun and something Frankie had avoided for so long. He knew he had just had dinner with you the other night but there was something even more pleasant this time around.
He smiled at the way you got a little more talkative and expressive when you got wine drunk. You laughed at his jokes, you even finished some of his sentences. Before he knew it, you were sitting in the chair next to his and had it turned so you could face him.
“Want some more wine?” you asked after finishing another glass of your own.
“No, I still have to get home, you know,” he joked. You both laughed then just looked at each other.
“So...” You put your glass down and held out your hands. “Lemme see your hands.”
“Hm okay.” He put his hands in yours and you turned them over, surveying them, feeling them. “Rough, I know.”
“They’re lovely hands,” you told him.
“What are you gonna do to ‘em? You gonna read my palms or something?”
“No, I just wanted to...” You looked at him and forgot what you were going to say. “Um...hold...them...”
“That’s fine with me...” He said your name quietly then you said his and then you were kissing. You both sighed into it like you both had breathed the very air you need into each other’s lungs. You let go of his hands so you could lock yours around the back of his neck, fingers tucked into his curls. Your tongue touched his first and he made a small sound before doing the same. Every time one of you pulled away it just started all over again. Neither of you could get enough.
The softness of your lips, the softness of his. Urgent yet not greedy or forceful. Sweet yet passionate. He’d never forget that you tasted of wine and that you smiled when you kissed. You didn’t have to know that he had opened his eyes a few times just to look at you.
When you finally pulled away from each other, you were both breathless.
“Um...wow,” he said quietly.
“Was that okay?” you asked.
“Okay? That was more than okay.” He touched your face softly and you smiled at him.
You both lingered at the door--him outside, you inside. You couldn’t bring yourself to say goodnight so you just kissed him again.
“I had a wonderful night,” he said, “Thank you.”
“Me too. I hope we can do it again sometime.” You ran your fingers over his knuckles then he turned your hand over so he could kiss the back of it.
“We can. I’d love nothing more,” he admitted. He leaned in for one more kiss which you gladly gave to him. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Francisco.” You closed the door and smiled dreamily to yourself before twirling around the living room.
Frankie could see you through the window and he chuckled before driving off. He touched his lips. Everything he had kept himself from all those years he had found again on your lips.
frankie taglist: @fakenoods @oldstuffnewstuff @the-bird-suit @lestrange2703 @findhimfives @windfallss @rach7 @surfsup666 @theghostwiththemost-babe @marshmallow--3 @mrschiltoncat @aplaceofpeace @josepedropascal @jeeperky @allthingsnarcos @laymegentlytorest @stanfordscrush @fangirlingss @nathan-bateman @darthdumbasss @helga1031 @master-obi-wan-kenboneme @heythere80sbaby @deserttastesbitter @dindjstarin @mandodjarinn @frankie-stein18 @funkylittlebisexuall @16boyfriends-and-me @marvelousmermaid @slugbuggie @ladyblogger-margie @queenbbarnes @dodgerandevans @terrormonster55 @queridopascal @hells-bells-x @allmahfeels @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @blackberries45 @darnitdraco @nemo-my-name-forevermore @dindjarinneedsahug @littlefairygirlx
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Mirio telling you, “you take me so well sunshine.” While he pounds into you.
tw: overstimulation; size kink; dumbification; d/s dynamic;
ps, reminder that ~drabble requests~ are open! currently accepting for bnha, haikyuu, jujutsu kaisen, a:tla, & dragon ball!
You’ve been here for hours, it would seem, bracing your body for each agonizing inch of the heavy thickness that is settled between the apex of his hips. It is the pleasurable sort of pain, the kind that bares your soul and brings stardust to cloud your vision, when you feel like you’ve been split in two but there is nothing but starshine leaking from your heart.
“God, you’re pretty,” his voice is still that familiar kind lilt that he always bears, but now it is a few octaves lower, his head ducked into your neck so he can hide the way his brow bunches with a mixture of effort and frustration.
Mirio kisses your jugular and you swear your pulse pounds loudly in your ear, drowning out the sound of his guttural moan when you buck your hips up to try and drown yourself in the length of his cock, until he’s suffocating in your tight, wet heat. He grits his teeth and leans back on his haunches, thigh muscles rippling under the pressure of this new position, “I’m so proud of you, you know? My little sunbeam.”
Your hands reach for him, all bulging biceps and a smile, and your fingernails latch into his shoulders like tiny spears, barbed wire clutching his muscled back desperately. Mirio never once waivers, never once winces as if you were putting him in pain. His body is sturdy, a density that you can only figure out in your wildest of dreams.
“Y-Yeah, T-Toga,” you manage to whimper, your thighs trembling under the strain of his cock sheathed in your plush walls. You gulp and the start of a sniffle makes your chin wobble, “W-Wanna be good, please! I’ll-I’ll take it all!”
He doesn’t have the heart to tell you that he’s only halfway into you and you’ve already started crying, your sweet little body shaking under the threat of his bulking form and everything that comes as a result of his size. Mirio leans down to kiss your nose, calloused palm pushing any stray hair away from your face and then settling on your neck. His thumb seeks your jugular, hot and pulsing against his fingerprint, and he smiles, “I know you will, sunshine, you’re already doing so good. We don’t want to overwhelm you now, though, do we? Gotta take it slow.”
“No!” your cry is childish, borderline infantile in nature, but he knows it comes from a place of frustration and not malice. Your pretty irises glaze over with tears, shining pupils blinking up at him as you try to formulate a full sentence. He snickers at your effort, the barely-there bite of your nails into his skin, your knees bobbing against his torso in an attempt to get him to push deeper, and your adorable snarl that tells him you can take whatever he’s willing to give you, if he’d just try.
“No?” Mirio’s question makes your mouth shutter closed, molars grinding against one another as his hips meet your ass, cock withdrawing from your gummy walls only to press further in when he snaps himself closer to you on the follow through. You cry out but it is a euphoric sound, the whites of your eyes the only visible thing as your voice dithers to a whimper.
You clutch onto him as if you might be the one to fly through the wall as he increases his pace, still never forcing himself fully into you, but far enough that the salacious stretch brings tears to your eyes. It is a burn that fuels the fire in your belly, the knowledge that he’s got you flayed open on his cock, and even when you beg him for all of it he’ll never fully be able to meet you at the hilt, makes your mind burn. Your hands press to his pectorals when he pushes too far, the heels of your palms dug into the plush muscle and skin, watching as his tanned flesh gives way to your shoving.
“Be a good girl for me, starshine,” Mirio kisses your wrist and it draws your attention from the conjunction of your hips to his face, to watch the movements of his lips as he speaks, “If you push me away again, I’m gonna think you want to be done. Do you wanna be done?”
Mirio pauses the assault of his hips against your thighs, large palms wrapped around the supple skin of your legs to hold you in place against the mattress. You blink up at him dumbly as you shake your head, a new welling of tears blurring your vision, “P-Please, no, please fuck me, p-please, wanna feel y-your cock, want you to come in me. I wann-ah!”
The strings of wanton words that leave your lips have his cock hardening again, the head throbbing against your entrance, stretching you even further than before. Your nails scrape down the length of his torso, leaving angry red lines behind to accent the various scars that pucker his body. As his body stings, he drops his head down so his cerulean eyes are hidden from you, lower lip tugged between the bite of his teeth so he can channel some of the pressure building up in his lower belly.
“You think you can do it?” his voice is quiet, words warm against your chest as he exhales. His head is tilted just slightly, almost enough for you to make out his features down to his jawline. You feel the heels of his hands pushing on the bottoms of your thighs closest to your backside, and it guides your knees upward until your cunt is wide open, slickened with translucent white arousal and clenching around whatever length of his cock he’ll gift you.
Instantly, you are nodding your head, promises and oaths falling from your lips in excess. Your hands find his face to cup his cheeks, fingers slipping between blonde locks as you beg him for every last iota of resolve he has left. You want it to slip away like a balloon, forgotten at a carnival. You want him to forego any hesitancy, any thought that you cannot take his cock. All you want is to feel each squelching inch as it pressures the cavern of your insides until you think you might burst open and bare your soul to the world.
“I-I can,” your lower lip wobbles and then juts out just slightly, “I can! I-I will!”
The gentlest of smiles overtakes his features, and you want to kiss him until you can feel the warmth of his spirit invading your space. So, you tug against his jaw with your most free palm, begging him quietly to silence your mewls with the heat of his mouth. Mirio is quick to oblige, the bow of his lips seeking out your own, searching for the plush of your mouth until he’s swallowing your spirit whole. The wet muscle between his teeth searches your gums and laps against your teeth, all the while his palms have folded you backward so he can better loiter over you. His cock twitches in begging, the desire to be encapsulated by your gushing folds and soft innermost parts only servicing to enlarge the shaft of him even more so than before.
“All right, honey,” Mirio digs his fingers into your skin until you know there will be bruises, and then he begins to maneuver his hips backward and forward at a gentle pace. Your tongue peeks from your teeth to swipe against your bottom lip, and Mirio capitalizes on the moment to suck the muscle into his own mouth, tasting your fruit tea from earlier and the flavor makes him hum.
Your thighs burn already, but you know if you fall slack then Mirio will hold you steady, so you let the tension relax and you turn into a ragdoll in his grip. You feel the shaft of his cock drag along your walls, and your eyelids flutter shut so you can immerse yourself in the pleasurable sensation. Even though you cannot see his smile, it is still there, never wavering, and it stirs him to kiss both of your ankles, laving his tongue over the bone for a short moment before continuing to volley attention between both legs.
He is near ready to bottom out when you open your eyelids to show glazed pupils, and Mirio grunts out a laugh, “Have I fucked you stupid, starshine? Are you silly for my cock?”
Your hands roam the planes of his chest and shoulders, thumbs and middle fingers digging into his skin to feel how his muscles ripple with each thrust forward. Mirio plants another kiss between your brows, stationary until your skin relaxes and he’s sure you’re not uncomfortable. He sighs against your cheek, administering another kiss before he leans back to admire you in full, “Can’t do anything without me, can you sweetheart?” And when you don’t answer in full sentences, he knows that you have fallen off of the precipice of subservient and begun to drown yourself in something much deeper. He sighs, kissing your left ankle one last time, “Let me help you, then.”
And now your body is truly on fire.
His cock stretches as he snaps his hips upward at a relentless pace that has the wooden stands of the large bed creaking under both his ferocity and your combined weight. Mirio rests a hand beside your neck, his thumb grazing your collarbone to give himself some sort of anchor to the moment, and you keen, licking your tongue all around until he presses the pad of his thumb against the middle of your mouth. His knuckles are large and his hands are proportionate, meaty and calloused from years of battle and growth.
You know there will be bruises along your ass tomorrow, but you cannot be bothered, not when that saccharine sweet voice comes floating through the night air with a reassuring, “You take me so well, sunshine,” and then it’s like he’s given you permission to take flight.
#mirio x reader#mirio smut#mirio togata x reader#bnha x reader#bnha smut#mirio togata smut#my writing#morgan writes bnha#anonymous
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Easy As A-B-C
Pairing: Professor!Gwilym Lee x Reader
Summery: Professor Lee is getting sick of marking papers, you offer an alternative. One where he doesn't need to think at all.
Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected sex, bimbofication (without hypnosis), oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, light dom/sub dynamic, dom!reader, sub!Gwil, overstimulation, maybe a little bit of hair pulling
Words: 4,537
A/N: This was massively massively inspired by my love @dracoladon and her Drarry fic Lucid (seriously, go read it because she’s a much better writer than me and also sex dumb Draco is hhhhhhh). Reading it made me want to write more himbo fics but without all the hypnosis stuff thats in my Future Management series. Then I got talking to @peachydeacon about himbo!Rog which led to talking about himbo!Gwil and this fic is the result of our discussion lmao. It was also partly inspired by a post on a porn blog that popped up on my dash but I can’t link to that because tumblrs dumb.
Also, it is a professor gwil fic but set after reader has graduated so it’s all above board lmao
Blurb Advent: Day 24
Taglist: @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini
Gwilym looked unreasonably hot while he was grading papers, his brow knitted, wearing a look of serious concentration made all the more noticeable by the reading glasses sliding down his nose. His loose tie and the undone top buttons of his business shirt lent him a casually dishevelled air, and that wasn’t even mentioning the way he absentmindedly twisted his pen between his fingers as he read and reread sentences he was struggling to understand, occasionally pausing to underline something or write a note in the margins. It all painted a very sexy image, the kind of serious sexy only a professor could achieve, though this sexiness was nowhere near new. You’d found his manner oddly arousing even when he’d been your professor. Of course, that had been a few years ago and well before you’d had your chance encounter in the local second hand bookstore that led you to ask him out. He’d stuttered out something about never having even thought of you as more than his student and “really I feel almost as if I’ll get in trouble for the conversation as soon as I get back to campus.” But the awkwardness soon changed when you confessed to having had a minor crush on him back in the day and having since hoped to run into him. He seemed more open to the idea of dinner with you after that and, if you were being honest, more cocky too, but cocky in a decidedly dignified and charming way. Anyway, one thing led to another and now here you were somewhere close to a year and half later and you were struggling not to stare at Gwil as he graded papers and looked professor-ally disarrayed and hot.
You knew it was something to do with the Romantic era poets that the students had to write about because he’d read a question out to you earlier to get your opinion of if it was confusingly worded.
“No, I don’t think so,”
“Then why in god’s name do none of my students get it?” he looked about ready to hit his head against the desk until he passed out but he returned to the topmost paper with a sigh and ruffled hair from where he’d run his hand through it. That’s when you’d started trying not to stare. A tall order when all you could think about was dragging Gwil to the bedroom and ravishing him enough to make him forget all about John Keats and poetry and the English language itself. Not that that was exactly hard. No, Gwilym had a tendency to get a little dazed and confused when you really gave it to him. Sex drunk you’d decided to call it. A transformation that you quite delighted in witnessing and causing. Gwil was sharp as a tack usually, always ready with some obscure fact or quote from literature. It was part of what made him such a good teacher, his memory for all things bookish, as well as his approachable (if a little stern) demeanour and his determination to get the best from his students. But it wasn’t hard to shut down his brain, cloud his memory and entirely befuddle him. One time you’d snuck into the bathroom at the restaurant you’d gone to for dinner and poor Gwilym had become so spaced out he’d spilt half a glass of wine in his lap and then walked into the glass door as you left, even with you leading him by the hand. You supposed that what they said about great power and responsibility was true. All the same, it was a fun power to wield and you knew that, with the right sort of attention, you could have Gwilym babbling incomprehensible gibberish with no memory of what a poem even was, which was surely something he’d appreciate right about now.
You blinked yourself from your reverie as, finally, Gwil set his glasses aside and rose from his seat, groaning as he stretched out the stiffness in his back. He rolled his neck back and forth, your eyes following, before letting his shoulders drop and moving to sit next to you on the couch.
“I can’t do it anymore, I can’t read another word about Byron or I’ll loose it.” He sighed, draping an arm around your shoulders and leaning into your neck.
“Byron? I remember that assignment. Everyone hated you for it,”
His breath was warm against your skin as he spoke, sending a tingle down your spine, “Well if this year’s lot is anything to go by, the feeling was probably mutual,”
“Mmm, I remember one girl saying she was going to shove her copy of Don Juan up your arse if she didn’t pass,”
He lifted his head again and laughed, “And yet my rectum remains Byron fee and no other injuries befell me, so either I taught you enough to get by or you were all a bunch of cowards,”
“Bit of both probably. And why would this year’s be any different, huh?”
“I don’t know, you haven’t read any of their attempts at cohesive analysis. Some of them are just throwing out terms like allusion and anapestic and personification all willy-nilly, clearly without properly understanding them. ”
“I think you’re being too harsh on them. They’re first years after all and it’s not always easy to understand all that poncy poetical bullshit. Plus, you know it all already so of course everyone else seems stupid to you,”
“Maybe,” he conceded, though it seemed to take some effort.
“Honestly, someone should put you in their position, see how well you go with it,”
“Yeah? And who would do something like that?” Gwilym laughed as you shifted to straddle his lap, accepting the kiss you offered, “You?”
“Maybe I will. Spell personification for me,”
“You know it’s not high school English, right. We don’t do pop quizzes on spelling and grammar.”
“I know you don’t, but this is my subject and I’m testing spelling. Besides,” you let your hand drop between you, brushing lightly over the front of his pants, “I promise it’ll be fun.”
Gwil gave a half-hearted eye roll, “P-E-R-S-O-N-I-F-I-C-A-T-I-O-N, personification. D’you want me to use it in a sentence too?”
You knew he’d get it right. Gwil always had been good at spelling off the top of his head which you supposed was a side effect of all his reading and the years devoted to the written word. But it was still a little annoying. Mostly because he was being a bit of a tool about the whole thing, but it didn’t help that you’d grown quite wet thinking about how you’d like to have him, like to turn him into the fucked out airhead you’d seen before. You shook your head and tutted at him as if he got it wrong.
“No, that’s definitely it. I’ve just read it about a hundred times, I know I’m right. P-E-R-S-O-N-I-F-I-C-A-T-I-O-N,” he spelt it faster that time, trying to prove that you were wrong.
“Try allusion for me,”
“A-L-L-U-S-I-O-N,”
Right again. You sighed as if you were disappointed.
Gwilym raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
“What about caesura?”
“C-E-A-S-U-R-A,”
The mistake was an easy one to make, two letters flipped around the wrong way, and you could tell he knew it was wrong as soon as he’d said it. He was surprised when you leant forward to kiss him again, cupping his jaw with one hand as you dropped the other and slowly pulled down the zip on his work pants.
“But I fucked up,” he said softly, eyes still closed as you pulled away a few centimetres.
You just smiled as you thought of a new word, “Anapestic,”
It was another word Gwil had mentioned as seeing in his student’s essays so you knew it would be fresh in his mind and he proved as much when he spelt it, “A-N-A-P-E-S-T-I-C,”
He was right of course, so you tutted and pulled your hand away from his crotch, grabbing his chin with your other and forcing him to look at you, “You can do better than that.”
His features shifted at the sudden loss of contact, the look of concentration returned once more.
If anything, your much closer proximity to the expression made him seem all the more hot but you resisted the urge to give in and drag him to the bedroom, curious if he’d catch onto your little game now and, equally so, to see if he’d play along, “Try Onomatopoeia.” A longer word gave him more chances to get things wrong but would his pride and his brain allow that? Apparently so.
“O-N-O-M-” Gwil paused and thought for a second, his eyes narrowed as his looked at you, “O-N-O-M-A-T-O-P-I-A,” the last three letters were said with such deliberate diction that you knew he’d figured it out.
“Good boy,” you said, letting your hands slip inside his undone pants to massage his dick.
His hips jolted at the contact and he let his hands fall to your arse, squeezing.
“What about, dactyl?”
His reply was instant, unthinking, and totally correct, “D-A-C-T-Y-L,”
You clicked your tongue condescendingly as you once again removed your hands from him.
“Fuck,”
“Well that’s what happens when you get things wrong, honey, and such an easy one too,”
“I didn’t get it wro- fine, give me another,”
You smiled, unable to hide how delighted you were that he was interested in following your rules, even if it was just his competitive streak rearing its head to show that he could out smart you, “Assonance,”
Gwilym spelt the word slowly and carefully, making sure to only say one ‘s’ and to leave off the ‘e’. And you made sure to reward him for it, shuffling backwards on his lap so you could shimmy his pants down his thighs and wrap your hand around his cock. He raised an eyebrow at you but otherwise made no comment as he leant back in his seat to enjoy the attention.
“Romanticism,”
Once again Gwilym was careful with his spelling, intentionally replacing the ‘c’ with a double ‘s’ but that was the kind of behaviour you wanted to encourage so you kept stroking him off, twisting your wrist, dragging your thumb over his flushed tip. It must have felt good with the way he was sighing, shifting his shoulders as if to move his whole body closer to yours.
“So clever baby, what about,” you paused, dredging up memories of poetry analysis and the words you used to have burned into your brain but which you’d not had much use for recently, “Enjambment”
“Ummm, E-N,” Gwil hummed as you leant over him and let a trail of spit drip onto his cock, using your hand to spread it over his length, “Enjamb-ment, uh, E-N-J-A- no E, no A, M-E-N-T,”
You leant into his ear and spoke softly, “That’s right, being so good for me, so clever. What should I do next though? Ride you? Or maybe suck you off? Or just keep doing this?”
“Uh,” Gwilym shook his head a little as if to clear it, “mouth? Please?”
“Of course, baby. If you can spell dissonance for me.” You were quietly confident that he’d get the spelling wrong, already noticing the first sign of his impending brainlessness, extra filler words where he’d normally not need them. It was funny though, usually he wouldn’t reach that stage until he was much closer to nutting.
“D-I-S” he rushed through the first three letters and then stopped, biting his lip, “T-um, A-N-E-N-C-E.”
You were sure the errors in that word were less intentional than the previous few and, as promised, slipped off his lap and settled yourself between his legs, pulling his pants off so he could spread them wider for you. You held eye contact as you let your tongue trail along the underside of his cock, tracing along a vein, though you couldn’t help but smile as he groaned above you.
“Can you spell Decasyllable for me?” you asked before closing your lips around the head of his cock.
“What? Oh, um, D-E-C-K- fuck,” he broke off as you swirled your tongue around his tip.
“Fuck’s not a letter, baby,” you sank down on him again, bobbing a little lower.
“I know, um, Deck-syllable, D-E-C-K-A-S-Y-B-L-E, I think. Is that right?”
In answer you hummed and took him a little deeper, pushing his shirt up towards his chest.
Gwilym took the hint and pulled it off before he grabbed your hair, leaning his head against the back of the couch. For a moment you just focused on sucking him off, listening to his shallow breathing and whiny groans. But you weren’t finished with your game yet.
“Epigraph?” you asked before bobbing down on him again, pushing yourself to take him deeper still.
Gwilym remained silent as you gagged and pulled back from him again to breath freely.
“Well?”
“What did you say?”
“Epigraph. Can you spell that?”
He nodded as you resumed your bobbing, his hand grabbing at your hair, “E-P-P-E-G-R-A-F-F.”
You hummed around him and his hips bucked up, pushing him further down your throat for a second.
“No, don’t stop,” he whined under his breath as once again you let him fall from between your lips.
“Sorry baby,” you wrapped your hand around his base and switched back to jerking him off, “you’re so hard though and I know you want to earn your orgasm like a good boy,”
Gwilym nodded.
“Okay, so spell meter,”
“M- oh, I don’t know,”
“You do know, baby, you just gotta try. Meter,”
He scrunched his face up in thought, “M-E-E-T-R,”
“See, I said you knew it, and you did it so well!”
Gwilym gave you a dopey smile, looking proud at your praise, “I did?” His mouth dropped open with the movement of your hand.
“Of course baby! You got it completely right because you’re so clever. What about sonnet, do you think you can do that one for me?”
He nodded enthusiastically, “S-N-E-T,”
“Very good! Okay, three more and I’ll let you cum,”
“Okay!”
“Okay, what about,” you thought for a moment, watching your hand pumping over his shaft as you trailed your fingernails lightly over his thigh, “Spell rhyme,”
“Ummm,” Gwilym bit his lip in thought, soft grunting noises rising in his throat in time with your strokes.
“It’s a bit of a tricky one,”
“Yeah.”
“And it’s hard to concentrate isn’t it?”
“Mmhmm, so hard to con-ten-tate,” he thought for a little longer as you slowed your hand, “rrr- R-I-M,”
“So clever baby! Okay canto,”
“Oh! Ummm,” Gwilym pouted and whined as you unexpectedly drew the tip of your tongue around his head, “I don’ know,”
“No?”
He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed.
“Okay what about, poem?”
Gwilym seemed to have reached the last dregs of his knowledge, grunting in frustration as he shook his head again.”
“You sure you don’t know?”
He bucked his hips up into your hand as he shook his head again.
“Alright, I’ll give you an easy one then. Spell your name for me, spell Gwilym,”
Gwil’s eyes lit up at the suggestion but his face quickly slipped into a frown again, the expression getting more pronounced with every passing second he didn’t say anything. He sought out your face, his eyes brimming with frustrated tears, “I don’t…” his fists balled up as he looked to you for help.
“You don’t remember?”
He shook his head once more, a tear shaking loose and rolling down his cheek, “you said it was easy.”
“It’s okay if you don’t know,”
“Really?” he sniffled.
“Of course it’s okay. You’re not supposed to know things.”
“I’m not?”
“Awww, of course not baby. That’s why I’m here, to know things, and you’re just here to make me happy.”
Gwilym sighed and leaned back against the couch, smiling again.
“Do you want to give it a try for me?”
“Umm,” he whined as you slowed your strokes
“It would make me very happy,”
“Okay, umm…G? L? ummmm, M?”
“You’re so clever, baby!”
Gwilym giggled proudly and grinned at you as you adjusted your grip on his cock.
“You’re my good, smart boy, aren’t you baby?”
“Mmhmm,” he bucked his hips towards you as you took him into your mouth again. “Feels go-od,” he mumbled, almost panting with how close he was. You dragged the hand that rested on his thigh up to cup his balls as you sucked on his tip until he moaned and came, spilling his seed over your tongue.
You kept working your hand along his length, even after you’d pulled your mouth from him.
“Was that a good orgasm baby? Did it make you feel good?”
He nodded, pouting a little as you kept wanking him, “good oggsam,”
It took all your effort not to laugh at that, biting on the inside of your cheek to keep from letting so much as a chuckle slip. Very few things delighted you as much as when Gwil forgot how to talk properly.
“You know,” you said as you finally let his cock free, “sometimes when people have orgasms they feel euphoric. Do you feel euphoric?”
“Mmhmm, you-porik.”
“Clever boy. Do you want to help me feel euphoric?”
“How?”
“With your mouth,”
“Oh! Okay!”
You braced yourself against his knees as you stood, leaning forward to give Gwil a small kiss on the lips. He closed his eyes and smiled up at you contentedly as you shimmied out of your own clothes, dropping them all to the floor.
“You going to let me lie down?” you asked, tapping Gwil on the shoulder.
He looked around confusedly for a moment before his eyes settled on you, growing wider as he realised how naked you were. Without warning he surged forward, his hands grabbing your arse as he nuzzled his face in the valley between your breasts.
If it were up to Gwil he would have stayed there all day but you had need for him elsewhere so you yanked his head back by his hair, earning a small noise of displeasure.
“Don’t complain, baby. You want to make me feel euphoric, right?”
“Mmhmm,” he hummed earnestly.
“And how do you think you could do that?”
“I don’t know,”
“Maybe, cunnilingus?”
“cun-un-un-un-gus,”
“Exactly,” you directed his gaze down to your pussy, failing to hide your amused grin. But he was too far gone to notice, happily slipping to his knees in front of you. Telling him to wait for a second, you climbed onto the couch and spread your legs, beckoning him between them once you were comfortable.
He hadn’t been able to say the word but that didn’t mean he wasn’t skilled at the act. A string of soft hums and throaty sounds rose to your lips as he licked your cunt, the scratchy sensation of his beard only amplifying the soft, wet, warmth of his tongue.
“Can you, oh, can you spell poem for me baby?”
Gwilym hummed and then started naming letters, his mouth still pressed against your cunt as if he didn’t realise he couldn’t talk and suck at the same time. You didn’t bother to stop him when he said too many letters or correct him when all of them were wrong. You just let his breath wash over you, his tongue flicking against your clit with each new letter, eliciting longer moans and sighs from you.
“Fuck Gwil,” you panted, “keep going,”
“Keep going,” he repeated, his voice muffled as he dragged his tongue all the way down your slit and then back up again, making you whine.
You jolted when he reached your clit again and pressed against his head, keeping him close to you, your other hand trailing up your chest to tweak your nipples and knead your breasts. Occasionally you’d give him an instruction – “faster please,” or “do that again,” or “fuck Gwil, right there,” – and he’d repeat the words back to you, softened and often a little slurred together or mispronounced, before doing as he was asked, drawing you closer to release. He was pleased whenever another groan or mewl slipped from your lips, responding to them with sounds of his own as if he were savouring a particularly delicious meal. It seemed he’d taken what you’d said about making you happy to heart, though some of his whines might have had more to do with his cock, hard again and straining to be touched as his attention remained focused on you.
“I’m c-lose ba-by,” you grunted as Gwilym pressed his mouth to your lower lips, as if to give you a soft chaste kiss, only to begin shaking his head side to side, rubbing his face against your cunt.
“loase,” he muttered to himself, trailing his tongue back up to your clit, making you grind your hips up into him. It was impossible to keep your mouth shut in the face of such a feeling, wantonly moaning as you felt your orgasm bubbling to the surface.
Gwilym hummed against you in response to a particularly loud moan which managed to be your undoing, your knees trying to clamp shut around his head as he continued to suck at your clit.
When you calmed enough to let go of his hair and loosen your thighs from around his ears, Gwilym looked up at you. His face was shiny and wet but he seemed to have regained some of his usual awareness. His eyes weren’t quite as vacant and his smile less dopey than it had been.
“Feel good?” he asked, sounding almost normal except for a slight lightness in his tone.
“Very good baby,” you leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips, tasting yourself as he opened his mouth and accepted your tongue. Slowly you dropped your hand between you, finding his cock again, not quite done with your brainless toy. He grunted against your lips and bucked into your hand as you stopped his return to sense.
“Isn’t this fun?” you said softly as you pulled back, holding Gwil by the chin to stop him from trying to follow.
“Yeah, fun,” a smile slowly tugging at his lips, “what is?”
“Not needing to think, baby,”
“Oh! Yes,” he laughed.
“You’re too pretty to have a brain anyway, aren’t you? Much better off letting it leak out of your head,”
“Mmhmm, much,”
“And do you know what good, dumb boys get?”
“No?”
“They get fucked. Would you like that?”
“Yes yes yes,”
“Alright, lie back for me,” you chuckled, giving his cock a final stroke.
Gwilym settled on the carpet on his back, grinning as you straddled his lap. Silently he held out his hand, all but two of his fingers folded against his palm.
“No, I don’t need your fingers sweetie,” you said, giving the tips of his two fingers a light kiss, “as dextrous as they are and as much as I enjoy them, I think I’m okay skipping straight to your cock,”
He nodded, letting you place his hand down on the floor again.
You watched his face as you slowly sank down onto him, once again the picture of cunt drunk bliss with glazed eyes and his lip between his teeth. He smiled as you leaned down to kiss him, rolling your hips against his slowly. As you tongues entwined again, Gwilym framed your waist with his hands, slowly dragging them up your sides and onto your chest. He cupped each of your breasts in one of his palms, squeezing softly as you rocked forward and back.
“Better than Byron isn’t this?” you asked, pushing yourself up a bit, but not so far you couldn’t kiss him again.
“Wha’s Byron?”
You laughed, “Y’know I think this might be the dumbest I’ve seen you. Can’t believe all it took was a rigged spelling test.
He obviously didn’t understand, staring blankly back at you.
What he did understand was that you were moving further away from him and he whined as you pushed yourself to sit higher again, bracing your hands on his chest as you used your knees to raise and lower yourself. It still wasn’t enough though so you shifted again before too long, placing a hand behind you to grab Gwil’s leg. You leant back on it changing the angle of Gwilym’s cock, and felt his hands drop from your chest, no longer able to reach as easily. They came to rest on your leg, his fingertips digging into your skin as you rode him, keening as you felt the start of your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach.
“Fuck Gwil, fill me so well, feels so good,”
“My dex-ik-tus cock?”
You couldn’t help but laugh, taken by surprise at his misunderstanding and mispronunciation of dextrous, but you nodded in agreement too, repeating your sentiments about how good it felt.
“Wanna make me feel even better?”
“How?”
You sat forward again and reached for his hand, pulling it to your clit. Gwilym took the hint, messily rubbing as you bounced on his cock, but his whines and moans only grew as you rode him.
“You’re close?”
“Mmhmm,”
You were on the verge of asking if he could hold it when he came with a groan, pulsing inside you. But you didn’t stop.
“I’m close too, baby, so I’m gonna keep fucking you, okay?”
He nodded, eyes fixed on you.
“Good boy.” You panted, grabbing his wrist to hold his hand at your clit and adjusting your rhythm. Each time you sank back down onto him you did it harder, slamming his cock into you as deep as you could manage, groaning with each one. Your orgasm was frustratingly close but Gwilym was becoming steadily more sensitive as his subsided, wincing more with each of your thrusts. The winces turned to whimpers which turned to whines as you whispered that you were so close.
“Almost baby, almost,”
“Please. Hur’s,”
“Nearly, just. One. More,” you threw your head back with a moan as you finally found your release, Gwil whining when you pulsed around him, a fresh tear running from the corner of his eye onto the carpet as he squirmed under you.
“Sorry, baby,” you said softly as you carefully dismounted him.
He hummed as you kissed him again, leaving an extra kiss against the tip of his nose.
“Did so well, such a good boy for me,”
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm, so good,”
He gave you a slightly watery smile and let you pull him into a cuddle, sighing contentedly when you brushed your fingers through his hair. You stayed like that for a while, knowing that later you’d regret lying on the floor for so long but unable to find the energy to move or the willpower to tell Gwilym you had to let him go. He gradually lost the fucked out expression, becoming more aware of his surroundings and more capable of clear speech.
“How are you feeling?” you asked when you realised he’d blinked away the last of his sex drunk vacancy.
“Better than before. Little tired but much more relaxed and very satisfied. And, before you ask, yes that’s satisfied and yes I can spell it if you want,”
“I believe you.”
#my writing#my fics#smut fic#gwilym lee x reader#gwilym lee smut#gwilym lee imagine#this has been half written in my drafts for much too long now#but im very happy to be able to finally post it!#just got one more thing to write for this advent countdown#which i'll try and knock off after i get back from church#so that its ready to go in the morning#anyway#hope ya'll like this#i might kind of love writing pretty dumb boys#blurb advent 2020
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