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do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

part one | part two | bonus chapter | part three

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him.

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye.

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign.

You look at it.

And then you set your phone down.

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness.

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder.

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside.

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes.

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment.

He looks good. Almost too good.

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek.

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head.

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him.

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully.

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.”

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek.

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best.

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body.

You cover his hand with your own.

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion.

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies.

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks.

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense.

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this.

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy.

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel.

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm.

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him.

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you.

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly.

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds.

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no.

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful.

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly.

“Yes, please.”

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting.

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine.

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for.

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings.

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present.

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing.

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster.

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem.

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest.

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place.

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand.

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair.

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful.

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again.

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you.

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame.

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you.

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?”

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin.

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential.

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands.

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind.

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK.

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake.

He knows.

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity.

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like.

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before.

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it?

Maybe you have it all wrong.

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you.

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick.

24 hours go by.

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up.

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure.

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off.

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking.

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep.

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed.

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone.

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said.

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room.

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while.

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs.

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones.

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble.

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no.

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly.

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence.

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans.

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure. After a pause, he sighs in defeat.

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown.

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless.

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up.

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones. It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic.

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand.

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket.

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter.

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges.

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it.

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer.

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing.

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?”

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you.

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?”

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that.

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before.

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft.

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest.

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows.

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts.

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning.

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration.

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous.

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them.

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit.

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice.

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making.

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now.

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that.

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers.

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute.

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base.

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut.

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock.

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.”

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk.

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump.

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment.

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry.

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!”

He knows.

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist.

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding.

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease.

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more.

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone.

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide.

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else.

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you.

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here.

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength.

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?”

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous.

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue.

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared.

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out.

“You regret your first time?”

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does.

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash.

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins.

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same.

You want to scream bloody murder.

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse.

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence.

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back.

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me.

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later.

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was.

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help.

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does.

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound.

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more.

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right.

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here.

“Goodnight.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

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emphistic · 1 day

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hi emm! Since it’s prom season could u make basketball sukuna reacting to someone from the team asking you out for prom?

A/N: hii! i actually received a vv similar request a long time ago and i deleted it because i didnt know how to write it, so maybe this is a sign from God — my redemption time, LMAO

PS: sorry to all my readers who are actually jelly lovers, i am not one of you

“So,” Gojo started, while shoving fries into his mouth, “have you got a date yet? Prom’s comin’ up real quick, y’know?”

The basketball team had just won their last game of the season, and all the players were eating out together in celebration. Sukuna was planning on just spending the rest of the night celebrating with you, like usual, but Gojo dragged him away and you only gave a thumbs up in encouragement. What a girlfriend you were, Sukuna scoffed, handing off your dear boyfriend to Gojo Satoru.

“Why do you care?” Sukuna grimaced at Gojo’s messy eating habits. How could one dare to speak while stuffing their face? Sukuna thought Gojo grew up wealthy, and, hey, aren’t rich people supposed to be, like, super into decorum? Where is this man’s etiquette?

“Sheesh, sorry for asking. I just wanted to know if my friend here,” he nudged Sukuna with his elbow, “needed some help getting a date. No need to be ashamed, Captain. I could hook you up with one of Utahime’s friends.”

“Yeah, no. But since you’re so curious, Satoru, I do have a date, actually.”

“No way, seriously? The big, bad, captain of the basketball team, has a date? For prom? I have to tell Suguru this.” Gojo whipped out his phone and, with his sauce-covered fingers, started typing like a madman.

Sukuna cringed, looking away and biting into his burger. This did not taste as good as your cooking. Why oh why did you let Satoru take him away? he thought. Sukuna would much rather be with you right now, even if it meant having to sit through one of your godawful rom-coms. Any of those would be better than Gojo fucking Satoru.

“I cannot believe he is missing this because he’s sick. Sick! That’s actually sick of him. Haha, get it?” Gojo leaned back in his chair, and Sukuna wished he would slip and fall backwards.

“There’s nothing shocking about me having a date, Satoru. I’m not some kind of loser.”

“Yeah, well. Yorozu’s not attached to your arm right now, so I thought—”

“I told you, I don’t like her like that. I don’t like her at all, matter of fact.”

“She’s, like, obsessed with you, dude.”

“I know,” Sukuna ran a hand down his face. “Just wish she would leave me alone, I’ve been trying my best to avoid her. And I haven’t seen her as often, so I think it’s working.” If Yorozu didn’t take the hint sooner or later, Sukuna would make your guys’ relationship known to the whole campus if he had to. Hell, Gojo didn’t even know yet. No one did, actually.

“Damn, so cold. You just gonna ignore her and break her heart?” Gojo laughed, but that quickly came back to kick him in the butt when he started choking on a fry.

“If you’re not joking, that fry will be the last thing you eat. I swear on your life, I do not want anything to do with that bitch.”

Gojo continued coughing and choking and shaking, but when all subsided and the white-haired man regained most of his posture, he posed the question, “So, you’re not gonna, like, ask me?”

“Ask you what? Ask you to prom? The fuck?”

“No, no, no. I mean, unless you wanted to,” Gojo tucked an overgrown strand of hair behind his ear, a stupid expression on his stupid face. “But, I’m talking about what I asked you. So, you gonna ask me if I have a prom date?”

“I don’t give a fuck if your lame ass has a date or not,” Sukuna spat out.

“Have you any idea how hurt I am now, because of you? Ehuhwaaa,” Gojo let out the fakest ugliest cry Sukuna had ever heard. “You think my ass is lame? Do you know how many would pay to see even a glimpse of my tush?”

“No. And I hope it stays that way.”

“I—how dare you.”

That night, Sukuna had to run away from Gojo in the parking lot of an In-n-Out. Otherwise, Gojo would’ve probably never left him alone. And, you might be thinking, Gojo is a fast runner. How did Sukuna get away? Well, it may or may not have been because Gojo had scarfed down three double-doubles prior. And he could barely stand upright without having to lean against Sukuna.

But, fear not, Sukuna did make it home, into your arms. And even though he did have to sit through your stupid rom-coms, he was so fucking glad to finally be away from that white-haired idiot.

Unfortunately for Sukuna, that peace and tranquility was short-lived. The next morning, he was woken up by your overly obnoxious doorbell. Seriously, when were you going to replace it?

Sukuna groaned, whispering into your hair, “Didn’t know you were expecting visitors, babe.”

“Hm?” Your voice was muffled; your face pressed impossibly close into Sukuna’s bare chest.

“Visitor, sweetheart. Someone’s at your door.”

“Huh?” You stuck your head up from your human pillow, and though missing the warmth, you were quite confused. Visitor? Since when?

It’s safe to say you were even more surprised to see Gojo Satoru outside when you opened your door. But you weren’t the only confused one, not for long, at least. Gojo raised his brow when he saw Sukuna emerge from behind you in all his glory: shirt nowhere to be found, hair unruly, and sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

“Captain? What are you—?” Gojo cleared his throat, “Whatever. Anyway, will you, Y/N, do me the honor of being the jelly to my peanut butter and going to prom with me?” Gojo flashed a smile so bright Sukuna almost fell backwards.

“Uhh, I’m sorry—”

“She doesn’t even like jelly, dumbass. And what’s with this horrendous sign? That’s seriously the best you’ve got?” Sukuna gestured with his chin at the poorly drawn and colored peanut butter jar and jelly. Not to mention, Gojo was also dressed as a sandwich, with two slices of bread on either side of his body.

“What the hell? How would you know if she liked jelly or not?”

“Because I’m her prom date.”

“And—and, what are you doing at her house?”

“I’m her boyfriend.” Sukuna glared at the white male, and slung an arm around your shoulder, out of spite.

Gojo paused, finally putting the puzzle pieces together. “Ohhh. So that’s why you didn’t want to come eat with us yesterday. And that’s why you were so desperate to go home. And that’s why I haven’t seen you with another girl in months.”

“Uh huh.”

“Anywho,” Gojo turned back to you, shoving his sign all up in your face. “Will you go to prom with me?”

“Dude.”

Taglist: @beyond-your-stars @sad-darksoul @mochimoee @r0ckst4rjk @lillycore @deepchromatose @yinyinyinyinyinyin @fivehoneyharg @desihopelessromantic @taiyakii @hannas16 @acroso @msvalsius @call-memissbrightside @kelerina-ballerina @emikokomura

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna fluff

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egophiliac · 2 days

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Hi there! I really love your comics and how expressive they are. How do you go about making the characters in your comic so expressive?

thank you! 💚💜💚 I am REALLY bad at explaining things, so my apologies if this doesn't make a lot of sense, but maybe there's something helpful in here somewhere. :')

1. warm up! drawing is a physical activity, after all! so if I'm planning on sitting down and drawing for a while, I usually start off by taking a couple of minutes to doodle a bunch of circles and lines and random shapes, just to get my drawing arm goin' again and get back into the physical groove. just stuff like this:

and just do that for however long you feel like! you can kind of feel when your arm starts to loosen up and your strokes get more confident. it makes it a lot easier to get those swoopy big lines and gestures!

2. play around with how you use your lines! paying attention to the shapes that they're making will change a lot about how much force and life your drawing feels like it has. (no way is better than another, it just depends on what effect you're going for and how it looks as part of the larger whole.)

and you can also use lines against each other to get different vibes:

it's not really a matter of "you need to make sure all your lines are always doing this all the time", it's more like...being aware of it, and getting that into the general thrust of a pose, if that makes sense? like a lot of smaller lines of action, beyond the big one that goes through the spine.

(just gonna use my own art as examples, apologies)

if you have a good foundation of tension, then all of the little bumps and contours of a character's details won't get in the way of it, and it'll still come through.

and don't forget about negative space either! the spaces between things have their own interesting shapes too!

I don't mean this to come off as, like, all these extra things that you need to be constantly thinking about and stressing over. more like...just try different stuff and then see how it works and how it changes the feeling! if you find a good shape, see if you can exaggerate it and make it more interesting, and how that affects things! angles and shapes are a LOT of fun to experiment and mess around with, especially when you're going more cartoony. :D

3. acting!

just...spending a little time to think about what the characters are actually doing! (aka the "figuring out what everyone is doing with their hands" bit.) this is more a personal preference, but especially in multi-panel comics, I like to have them be in the middle of doing stuff. not just big actions, but smaller things -- like even just how they're sitting or standing -- so that it feels like we're looking in on the middle of a scene, instead of a couple of characters just standing around neutrally and staring straight ahead while talking at each other.

this probably sounds really obvious, but it is one of the most fun parts for me! I love trying to find some little action or something that they can be involved in, especially if it's relevant to their character or adds an extra joke. (for some reason this usually involves me being mean to Sebek) (I'm sorry)

it doesn't need to be everyone Always! Doing! Something! all the time, especially if starts becoming distracting (sometimes they do actually need to just be standing around neutrally and staring straight ahead, especially if there's a bigger action going on that you want the audience to focus on instead). but even just figuring out some kind of non-neutral pose for them to be in can add a lot and make it feel less generic!

3. thumbnailing!

this is, again, very much a personal preference; unfortunately, every artist really is different, and we all have different processes that work better for us. so I can only speak to my personal experience! but I find what helps is to start REALLY rough -- not so much as in messy, as in not trying to start right into actually drawing everything out. like, literally just starting with stick figures and :O faces.

it probably doesn't sound relevant when talking about Drawing Expressively, but I find it's really, really helpful to have already figured out what everyone should be doing (acting!) and what the overall general layout and flow of things should be, before getting into the actual meat of drawing the characters. like having a sketch for the sketch!

(good compositional flow is something I struggle with, and text layout especially, so this stage also helps a LOT with making sure things are fitting where I want them and staying consistent/not breaking screen direction/etc.)

then after that, I can go ahead and focus on getting those Shapes and Lines and Angles and all that, without having to think too much about the layout or where things should go!

(of course, the downside of that is that my thumbnails are usually way better than my actual drawings, alas alas.)

4. this is more philosophical, but...give yourself some slack. the stress of Making Things Look Good is, ironically, often the biggest problem. (see: thumbnails looking better than the actual drawings.) so...let yourself draw shittier and without regards to accuracy. make things just for yourself without thinking about posting or showing them to anyone else. draw stupid faces and wrong proportions because they feel better that way. focus on what's fun and not on getting a perfect end result. "draw expressively, not well", as they say -- you can always tighten up things like proportions and details later, if you really want to.

that's all WAY easier said than done -- god knows I haven't really managed it -- but even just aiming for that attitude really, REALLY helps. if your lines are confident, they'll look a lot more alive and expressive than lines that are exactly technically precise but have no rhythm in them. (this is why tracing photographs tends to look so weirdly stiff and unrealistic, by the way -- even if you're drawing realistically, you usually need to exaggerate and stylize a little bit so it doesn't look lifeless.) it's a balance between caring about what you draw, but also being willing to let things go a little bit.

↑ I hope some of this helps! I don't know if any of this was actually what you had in mind, let alone much of it actually made sense outside of my head. :') but hopefully you (or other people) will be able to get something out of it!

#art #twisted wonderland #(not really related but since that's what the examples are)#i'm so sorry most of my art advice boils down to 'SHAPES ARE FUN'#(they are though)

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kaiser1ns · 3 days

Text

𝗶𝘁𝗼𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝗿𝗶𝗻 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

╹synopsis :: in an attempt to win once again, rin is betrayed by his own children who seemed to love their mother more.

╹contents :: domestic life with rin, characters are 25 years old, FLUFF, the kids betrayed rin wopsie, personal headcanon is that when he grows up he tends to be more gentle but only for you tho <3

╹notes :: posting this and going into hibernation again , I am cooking up some fics and drabbles tho

Never in your life would you have guessed and expected that you would have a family not with anyone, but with Itoshi Rin. The sixteen year old boy who ignored your existence but always gave you his English notes. The boy who always listened to your complaining during breaks, that you are thirsty or hungry and when you left the classroom and came back there was always a strawberry milk with a chocolate cupcake on your desk.

The boy who is now your husband, a successful young footballer who at only 25 years of age has a lot of achievements — in career and personal paths of course. Winning another treble with his team, he had a break during the summertime where he could spend more time with you and the twins — Haruto and Hinata.

Rin had never thought he would be a good father, that he would be a father at all if he was being honest with himself. But the miracle happened and now there are two little nine-month-old babies waiting to be fed sitting in their high chairs.

You sit at the kitchen table, feeding Haruto and Hinata their breakfast while Rin sips his coffee, a soft smile adoring his now more matured face as he watches the three of you. He was smitten by how fast you adapted to parenthood because just twenty years ago you were kids playing house taking care of the many baby dolls you had and now the game came into life.

"He's trying to stand again," you say, glancing over at Haruto, who's attempting to pull himself up on the edge of his high chair.

Rin looks over at his son, who looks exactly like you, but can't get by without the genes and the visible lower eyelashes. "Hinata's been babbling non stop. I swear she probably got that from you." Setting his cup down wiping the mashed potatoes from his daughter's mouth. As for her, she is Rin's copy , as you sometimes tend to joke that Rin and Hinata look more like twins instead of her brother.

Rolling your eyes at his comment as Haruto took another spoon of the puree. "Well, it's good that she is trying to say her first words." Looking at your husband with this glint in your eyes that now spark and he just knows that this stare is up for no good. "But with you always staying quiet, I think, it will take her way more time to say the two syllables."

Rin raised an eyebrow. "Careful who you are challenging now." As the babies giggle and play with their food, you and him engage in a staring contest, each silently daring the other to back down.

"I bet Haruto will walk first," you declared confidently, eyeing the little boy as he was just playing with his food along with his sister. Rin scoffed, furrowing his brows as he crossed his arms. "Hinata will definitely beat him to it. She's already trying to stand on her own and talk."

Just then, amidst the 'fight' a glob of potato puree escapes Haruto's grasp and lands on Rin's shirt, much to your amusement and his dismay.

"See, even your son disagrees with you," you replied, unable to contain your laughter as you got a napkin to wipe the mess off your husband's shirt.

Rin's expression softened, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite his annoyance. "Looks like Haruto is already making his own statements," he remarked, glancing down in an attempt to be angry at his son for throwing the mashed potatoes but he just couldn't. Not when he looked so cute, with his little baby eyes that were the same color as yours, it was really scary how each of you had a little copy of yourself.

"Maybe he's trying to tell us that he's ready for solid foods," You joked, reaching for another napkin to clean up the rest of the mess on your son's chair.

Rin shook his head, going to take a sip of his cold coffee, "Or maybe he's just following in his mother's steps to be a troublemaker." he teased, earning a playful swat on the arm from you making him nearly choke. "Oh, please! Just because I had detention twice in highschool doesn't mean anything."

"And why did you have detention?" That you didn't like to answer because he will again make fun of you for doing it when you were kids. "You know why, Rinnie."

He actually doesn't know because they didn't want the reputation of the school to be tarnished and kept it secret between the teachers and people involved.

"How lukewarm, and I wanted to show our kids who not to take an example from." Rin said, reaching out to tickle Haruto's chubby cheeks as if seeking his son's support in his quest for answers. A small smile playing on your lips despite your attempt to stay neutral. "Fine, fine. I may have... uh, taken matters into my own hands when some idiots decided to talk shit about you," you admitted shyly, trying to downplay the seriousness of the situation.

Rin's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You got detention for defending me?" he couldn't believe it, actually he can, sometimes you get aggressive, be it because of people who shit talk him, a video game, or the fact that your favorite flavor of ice cream was out of stock. "That's... You are actually insane."

For once you expected something romantic to come out of his mouth but having big expectations can only let you down. You didn't mind though, that was his way of showing his appreciation and apparently it was sarcasm with witty remarks. "Well, you know, I couldn't just stand by and let them bully you," you mumbled, busying yourself with cleaning up Hinata's highchair now, trying to avoid further discussion on the topic. "At least they stopped messing around with you."

Rin reached over, gently lifting your chin with his finger to meet his gaze. "Thank you, Y/N," the tenderness in his voice and the love in his eyes told you enough. And you felt sixteen again when you got your first kiss. Leaning closer his nose touching yours, his lips barely brushing against yours , suddenly the babies started crying, interrupting the moment. With a soft sigh, you pulled away, smiling apologetically at Rin before rushing to attend to the crying babies. Rin glared at the twins for momentarily stealing his wife's attention. And he wonders, from where did they get to be so clingy?

Changed and cleaned, Haruto and Hinata played with their toys on the soft rug in the living room, as you and Rin sat on the couch, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation and not changing diapers or removing food from your clothes but instead watched Mickey Mouse Club House.

Suddenly, your attention was drawn to Hinata, who was attempting to pull herself up using the fence of their playing crib. "Look, Rin, she's trying to stand!" Y/N exclaimed, excitement evident in her voice. Didn't Rin bet on Hinata being the first to talk? “Quick open your camera, if I don't have this moment recorded, I swear Itoshi!”

Rin quickly reached for his phone as you went inside the mini playground. "It's recording, calm down," he said, already tapping on the record button.

Hinata wobbled on her tiny legs, her little giggles with a gasp of surprise, she took her first uncertain steps, stumbling slightly before falling into Y/N's waiting arms.

Your heart swelled with joy as you hugged Hinata close. "You did it, sweetheart! You took your first steps!"

Meanwhile, Haruto, who had been watching his sister intently, seemed to be trying to do something. Suddenly, he blurted out, "Mama!"

You and your husband exchanged stunned glances, eyes wide with disbelief. "Did he just...?" Rin trailed off as he was trying to process everything.

"I think he did," you replied, voice trembling with emotion. Tears of happiness welled up in your eyes as you looked at Rin, Haruto crawling to you as you placed Hinata on your left.

Rin's expression mirrored yours as he stared at the children, phone still in his hand, "I can't believe it,”

“Me too… Our babies grew so fast, oh my I need to call both of our moms and tell them about this!”

“They prefer you instead of me...” As you reached for your phone, Rin pouted "I didn't know I had 3 babies instead of 2." His mock hurt expression made you burst into laughter.

Grinning, you teased, "Well, Haruto seems to be leaning towards Mama, but don't worry, I'm sure Hinata's first word will be Dada."

As if on cue, Hinata reached out towards Rin, her tiny fingers curling around his shirt sleeve. Rin's heart melted at the sight, and he scooped her up into his arms, pressing a kiss to her rosy cheek. "Looks like she's already practicing saying 'Dada'," you said, unable to hide the happy tone in your voice. One thing was for sure that Hinata was daddy's girl and you will practice saying da-da just for Rin to have his moment of glory.

“Do you want to go to call Isagi and brag about our kids?"

"Absolutely.”

#✧* 🤍 blue lock #blue lock fluff #blue lock x you #x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin x you #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin x y/n #itoshi rin #blue lock itoshi rin #blue lock manga #itoshi rin x you

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clearexpertarcade · 2 days

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When he woke up he felt kind of lazy and put on a pair of sweatpants with a tee shirt he didn't mind that his shirt and jeans may be getting a bit on the small side since he started college. The shirt clung tight around his burgeoning little belly and softening pecs and very finely outlined his silhouette and went down to breakfast. on his way to breakfast, he walked past a familiar face It was Gram’s old workout partner Troy. He walked over to Gram “Hey fatten! long time no see”, slapped his gut, and pinched his newly pierced man tits, saying, “Damn dude, you gained the freshmen 15 dude! You partying too much chubs?” He looked up at Troy and said, “I guess I just got lazy man. Don’t worry though, I am going to lose it''

“It’s not hard to tell what you’ve been doing with your downtime. That’s a lot of beers to build that belly. You’ll never lose that.” Troy pinched a love handle. “If you had taken my invitation to go to the gym with me last year, you wouldn’t have that,” Troy continued. Gram’s cheeks turned red. “Well not everyone can look perfect like you! So I gained twenty pounds freshman year. I’ll lose it this year!” troy realized he had pushed his teasing too far, and he backed off. “Hey, I’m not telling you you have to lose the weight. I was just joking The gut looks good on you.” Tony smiled.

#fatboystory

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yonpote · 1 day

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ok its honestly hilarious how #for the fandometrics is now a secondary phan tag. like noooo other fandom is being like "guys im just tagging this ship for metrics okay!!!!" even other rpf ships arent doing all that 😭 we just have such bad phan-related trauma that we constantly have to be like "no no you guys its just a bit its for metrics i dont SHIP phan guys i swear its ironic its just a joke we're doing this as a joke"

#phan #<- because i ship phan #nothing against this! i literally am always talking in a tone that leaves plausible deniability for everything i say to be a joke #even tho none of it is i dont want anyone to take anything i say too seriously even if im being sincere #which then becomes an issue when i do actually require sincerity and seriousness i guess but thats my cross to carry #if u want phan to be about pure metrics then you have my support soldier. every hashtag phan counts toward the phan war

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sunkissed-zegras · 1 day

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𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ─ PB⁵

౨ৎ ─ summary | request -> "hey! I think u should right a fic about the night ice and paige were in miami out partying (obviously including reader) but paige has a little too much fun, so reader and ice to take care of her. reader is also dating paige at this point they are just on the down low 🤫 anyways adapt on the story however u want i just think this would be super cute!!" or, paige wants to finally tell ice that you two are together.

─ word count | 1.2k

─ warnings | drunk!paige, mentions of being wasted af, emotional paige, confused af ice, scared y/n, ummm... confessions, idk what else

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal @uraesthete @hello-nah817 @wanderlusturous and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

PAIGE STUMBLED FORWARD as you and Ice grabbed her arm, making sure she didn't fall.

You and Ice exchanged amused glances as you got Paige up to her feet, drunken giggles coming out of the blonde's mouth. She had one too many drinks tonight and now, you're not sure she'll remember tonight.

Paige's hand went up to grab your shoulder, holding on tightly. "Hey, you guys are the fucking best," Paige slurred, her words weaving together slightly. "I love you guys, have I ever told you guys?"

You chuckled, exchanging another glance with Ice. "We love you too, P," you replied, steadying her as she swayed. "I think it's time to call it a night, what do you think?"

"But we're out here in Miami," she slurred as she let out an amused chuckle at her own joke. "L-Looking for the hoochie daddies,"

"Yeah, it's time to go back to the hotel." Ice held in her laugh as she looped Paige's other arm around her shoulder. You carried their bags as you guided her through the crowd.

The cab drive back to the hotel was anything but peaceful, Paige almost puked five times and she kept talking about how much she cared about you guys and the team. When you finally made back to the hotel, Ice threw Paige on the bed with a groan.

With a weary sigh, Ice carefully helped Paige settle onto the bed, making sure she was lying down comfortably.

"You're lucky we love you, Paige," Ice said with a playful grin, shaking her head as she glanced back at you.

"Yeah, me too." Paige sighed as she glanced back at you with a grin. "C'mere,"

Your face felt warm with embarrassment as Ice gave you an amused look as Paige kept gazing at you expectantly. Oh shit, she wasn't about to air you two out, right? Well, drunk Paige was very unpredictable you slowly made your way over to where Paige lay on the bed, her gaze fixed on you with a playful glint in her eyes.

With a nervous chuckle, you took a hesitant step closer to Paige's side, unsure of what she had in mind. "What's up, Paige?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Paige's grin widened as she reached out to grab your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours. "Just wanted you closer," she said softly, her words laced with drunken boldness. "You know I love you, right?"

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, warmth flooding through you as you squeezed her hand gently. "Yeah, Paige. I know, I love you too."

"Damn, am I interrupting something?" Ice joked as her amused expression faded into a confused one. You and Paige exchanged glances as Paige laughed, pulling you closer.

Ice looked very confused as you shot Ice a slightly panicked look as you tried to figure out how to respond.

"Oh, no, nothing like that," you stammered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Just, you know, friends being close."

Paige sent you a glare as she sat up. "A friend? Are we really still doing this, Y/N?"

Ice looked slightly uncomfortable as she watched the interaction, sensing the tension in the air. "Um, I'm gonna go get us some water."

You shot Ice a grateful look, silently thanking her for the distraction, before turning your attention back to Paige. "Paige, I..." you began, searching for the right words to say.

But before you could continue, Paige let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. "I'm tired of pretending, Y/N," she admitted, her voice softer now, tinged with vulnerability. "I'm tired of hiding how I feel about you."

Your heart skipped a beat at her confession, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. "You're just drunk. Are you sure you wanna do this, now? On vacation, with Ice?"

But Paige shook her head, her expression determined as she reached out to take your hand. "No, I've never been more sure of anything in my life," she insisted, her eyes pleading with you to understand. "I love you, Y/N, and I don't want to hide it anymore."

You felt a lump form in your throat at her words, torn between the fear of what could happen if you gave in to your feelings and the overwhelming desire to be with her. "Paige, I..." you started, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words.

But Paige pressed a finger to your lips, silencing you. "Please, just hear me out," she urged, her voice soft but determined. "I know this might be scary, but I can't keep pretending that I don't feel this way about you."

You looked into Paige's eyes as she sobered up, seeing the depth of emotion and vulnerability in them, and felt your resolve crumbling. "You're sure?" You whispered, your voice just above a whisper as Paige nodded.

As if on cue, Ice came back with three bottles of water and an awkward smile. She looked at you, noticing the proximity before handing you the bottle. You both mumbled a quick thank you before glancing at one another.

"So..." Ice began, her voice soft as she looked in between her close friends. "What's going on-"

"We're dating, Ice." Paige ripped the bandaid off quickly as your eyes widen in panic, shooting her a glare. "For like three months, I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Just three months?" Ice asked as she opened her water bottle casually, taking a sip. There was a moment of silence as you all just stared at each other, waiting for Ice to continue. "What?"

"That's all you're gonna say?" Your tone was slightly annoyed as Ice shrugged, sending Paige a grin.

Ice laughed as she shook her head, as Paige pulled you into her chest. "We've been known, Y/N. It's pretty obvious, trust me."

You blinked in surprise, feeling a mix of relief and disbelief wash over you. "Wait, you knew?" you asked, feeling a bit dumbfounded.

Ice chuckled, nodding as she took another sip of her water. "Yeah, it was kind of hard to miss," she admitted, a playful twinkle in her eyes. "But hey, I'm happy for you guys. You make a cute couple."

"That's all you're gonna say?" You repeated as Ice sent you a glare, Paige stifling her laugh.

"What do you want me to say? Oh my god, really! You guys are fucking, wow what a surprise." Ice exaggerated as you let out a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. It was really that easy, huh?

You couldn't help but laugh at Ice's response, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at her easy acceptance. "I guess we were just expecting a bit more of a reaction," you admitted, still chuckling.

Ice rolled her eyes playfully, nudging you with her elbow. "Come on, you know me better than that," she teased, a smirk playing on her lips. "I'm happy for you guys, really. You guys are adorable but I hope I don't become, a third wheel or something."

You grinned at Ice's playful remark, appreciating her lighthearted approach to the situation. "You could never be a third wheel. You're an essential part of this trio." you reassured her, nudging her back gently.

Paige nodded in agreement, looping her arm through Ice's. "Yeah, we're a package deal, remember?"

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#uconn women’s basketball #uconn #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #paige buckets #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige x reader #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #ice brady #ncaa women’s basketball #ncaaw #women's college basketball

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 days

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j word coded

TO BE CLEAR: I am NOT claiming that this other game (Ikemen Villains) is a "rip-off" of TWST; I'm pointing out parallels between them because I think it's entertaining to see how different games interpret the same or similar fairy tales.

Please also note that although nothing I say in this post is explicit, IkeVil itself is designated as 17+ and contains dark content. If you decide you want to try the game out for yourself, BE AWARE OF THE AGE RATING AND TRIGGER WARNINGS.

ARE THESE NOT JUST J WORD IN A BLACK WIG AND CONTACTS (the last one looks like a blend of Jade's sus face + Idia's sus face) 😭 His face looks so similar… and they're both "attendant" characters that act polite but are more manipulative than they appear at first glance... (although Alfons has Floyd's hedonism rather that Jade's restraint!)

More of my first impressions of the characters of IkeVil below the cut!! Again, there's nothing explicit, I just wanted to keep this post not too bulky.

And not just him (Alfons) either, ashldbiasydefpaei there's a Trey-lookalike and a Silver pre-hair color change in the same game! Roger has a rifle and is cursed by Snow White's huntsman, so I joke that he's Rook and Trey's test tube baby... and Elbert has Vil's keen eye and desire for what is beautiful!

There are also characters that don't look like an TWST ones, but definitely have personalities that remind me of a few! For example, Liam's laid-back affability is Che'nya and Chenya Cater-esque, Jude speaks in a gruff but aristocratic manner like Leona but is a tough businessman like Azul, and Ellis seems like a mix of Malleus's obsession with happy endings + Idia's gloomy demeanor…? No clue if he actually is gloomy or not, he just gives me gloomy vibes.

Victor is Crowley-adjacent! Like they're both overseeing this group of powerful men with magic so you'd think they're serious types--but they aren't. They're silly and use their own skills to do frivolous things like doing magic tricks or making cake fancier. They also both seem to be hiding a secret...

Harrison doesn't remind me of anyone in particular, though I do see little bits of our typical "lying" characters in him. He has the chill of a Che'nya but also Floyd's flippancy and lies as easily as like... I don't know, Cater?? Not sure on this one.

abfhbyoafvadpiadgo OKAY OKAY BUT THE FUNNIEST ONE TO ME IS WILLIAM BECAUSE HE'S "THE QUEEN OF HEARTS" CHARACTER... Most of the time when you have a character with this inspiration, they're controlling and easily angered (*stares at Riddle*), but William is NOTHING like that???? In fact, he's got a strong sense of justice and often encourages others to be honest and to act freely, even if it means disregarding the rules. Every time William opens his mouth... I picture Riddle shrieking and sobbing/j

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kcggggg · 2 days

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I've been following your work for most of my adult life. You are one of the most important artists I know. I know you've had a difficult time. I really do hope you win.

My difficulties lie within my childish notions that I still cling onto. Notions that my work can change everything in the entire world as if I'm the band Dethklok in Metalocalypse, a whole world dedicated to metal. That may seem like a big ego trip kinda thinking, but comics and humor are simultaneously important and seen as a childish medium in the eyes of most normal people and critics alike. Everyone knows the meme, but people think it's a public use. Everyone loves a joke, but writers had to strike to get fairly paid, etc.

I feel like I have to live in a hypocritical realm of never being taken seriously and always got a laugh on hand. And that's not a new zone for entertainers the more I get comfortable myself in it.

The other side is that maybe I am delusional and my comics aren't as good as I think. But I am on mostly solid ground with my work and I know when I'm proud of something I've done. So let's keep the delusion going as long as we can.

image unrelated.

#inbox

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hyuckswoman · 2 days

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« yoo, how are you? » mark asks waiting by your desk as you collect your stuff

« when did you even get there??? also we’ve been texting the whole time you know how i am »

« my class ended a bit early so i waited by the door and when people were leaving i thought i’d just come in, also it’s called courtesy the whole asking how you’re doing, so stop complaining this is me being nice » mark says as you both head out of the class

« righhtttt my bad sir , where are we going by the way? I don’t have classes for the rest of the day so I’m free if you want to hang out » you say

« I told you to stop flirting with me, you’re getting desperate and it shows » mark jokes as you slightly punch his arm

« we could grab lunch if you want to? also i don’t know where your friend is, i don’t think i saw him in your classroom but we can wait for him if you’d like » mark says looking around for hanbin you presume

« Bin went to a party last night, he sent me a text this morning he’s wasted and hungover and basically skipped class so we don’t have to wait for him this time, also i wouldn’t act like I’m the one that likes you too much given how you practically begged me not to leave the music group » you said trying to get back at him. It was kinda annoying how he shrugged and told you that you were right without fighting back tho.

« where the fuck are you taking me? this looks too expensive i don’t have that kind of money » you say as you guys near mark’s recommendation. you make a mental note to never trust the guy ever again when he tells you he knows a place

« don’t worry, i got the bill » he says

« man, you’re as broke as I am don’t even pretend with this gentleman shit » you say laughing

« dude you could’ve at least pretended for my ego, you suck. also it might look super fancy but it’s affordable don’t worry, not that i’d let you pay for your meal tho, i might be broke but I still know how to treat a lady thank you » he says holding the door of the establishment open for you

« I will wrestle you to the cash register don’t even play with me marcus lee » you say trailing behind him as he chuckles. you wonder if he’s making fun of your threat or if he’s laughing because of the nickname (the answer is both)

you were halfway through your meal when mark started to speak again

« man.. isn’t it kinda crazy? » he says looking at you

« what is? » you answer genuinely confused.. did this man think you’re sherlock holmes or something?? how would you know what he’s even talking about

« it’s kinda crazy how you, my diehard fan managed to be in the same music group as me. you hide your game pretty well though, sometimes i forget that you’re the president of my fan club » he says, you could see him holding back his laugh so hard. crazy how this man was openly making fun of you like that

« what happened to ‘let’s not talk about this ever again’? also, considering how you’ve been hyping me up these past few weeks i’d say that the roles have reversed and you’re my die hard fan now, you even said so yesterday » you reply

« i never said any of that you are mistaking me for another man on your roster » mark answers

« let’s not lie like that we both remember the messages… and stop slut shaming me we are in public. and considering the amount of girls that want you i’d say you’re more likely to be the slut » you says hoping that’ll shut him up

« ooo are you jealous that everybody wants me?? » he says. the answer is yes but you’ll never tell him that of course.

« stop being so cocky before i slap that smirk off your face » you reply lowkey glaring at him

« you didn’t deny it though » he says cockily. this man was aggravating you

« god you’re becoming worse than hyuck. actually nevermind you are worse than hyuck constantly asking me for validation and compliments » you say smiling

« ouchhh okay i get it my bad, i’ll stop asking for validation and compliments the minute I’m 100% sure that I’m your favorite. also i don’t think it’s fair how donghyuck and jisung get to have cute nicknames while you call me marcus » he says kinda sulking

« oh sorry my bad dork lee » you say laughing while he just gives you the middle finger « also i call you markie so you do have a cute nickname stop complaining and eat your food » you say as he just goes like « oooooh, that’s right » remembering the nickname you gave him.

as you guys were finishing the meal you excused yourself to go to the toilet (little did he know you were actually paying the bill like the gentleman you are)

as you come back to the table you see mark trying to grab the waiter attention

« what are you doing? stop doing that you’re giving me the ick » you say sitting back down

« man fuck you, it’s not my fault nobody sees me i just want to pay the bill. and don’t fight me on this please » he says continuing his gesture to grab the staff’s attention

« mark i paid the bill already that’s why no one is coming please stop » you say grabbing his hand to put it down

« WHAT???!!!! » he replies

« man… i can’t believe you paid the bill. next time’s one me tho » he says holding the door open for you to get out

« is this an attempt to ask me out on a date? » you ask. yea that’s right. uno reverse bitch

« sorry i don’t date fans » he replies. ooooooooh this man is 100% aggravating

« by the way I texted you earlier to give you something but I’m really fucking nervous so I’ve been delaying it this whole time, but no more delaying shit I’ve got this I think. Also if you think it’s weird thennn pretend i never gave you shit ok? » he says sorta hyping himself up in the middle before opening his palm revealing a black guitar keychain

you burst out laughing

« I think this is worse than if you would’ve told me that you hated it. I’m literally contemplating suicide right now don’t even play with me » he says as you laugh even harder because his antics were really making it worse

A few seconds later and in between giggles you decide to speak « no.. wait, i swear I’m not making fun of you, I swear I find this unbelievably sweet, you’ll understand why I’m laughing just give me a second » you say reaching into your bag pulling out a spiderman lego keychain you grabbed from the same store earlier to give to him as a present

« this is for you, i bought it earlier because it reminded me of you, since you said you liked spiderman and since your twitter header is a lego character » you say finding it amusing how you both got each other a keychain

« dudeeee you need to stop doing this to me I’ll cry i love it so much, also look i got myself a guitar keychain to match yours » he says showing you the other keychain

« i also got a keychain to match the one i got you hold on » you say showing yours

« it’s crazy how we thought of the same thing tho, we’re like… spiritually connected » he says as the both of you start walking to head back to your apartment because even though you’ve been making fun of him for his gentleman antics, deep down (you didn’t even have to look hard to see it) mark was a good guy and no matter the time of day, he’s going to walk you back home.

you wonder if it’s because you like him but you know that if he keeps on acting the way he’s acting, this whole crush was going to be even worse than it is…

39. double matching

previous chapter masterlist

notes: ended this on sort of a cliffhanger lolll, also this is not proofread at all sooooo idk probably a bunch of mistakes i just cba

taglist : @imsiriuslyreal @iscocohere @simpforarmihn @replayenthusiast @lovm4rk @youreintheclubb @polarisjisung @sour-chaos @jising-jisang-jisung @aerivrs @multifandomania @tiddygang2020 @roseangelxfuma @skepvids @morkiee @yangasm @artstaeh @pussyslayerhd @bacons-thighs @bugcattie @leefullsun @jkslvsnella @alethea-moon @marvelahsobx @haechansbbg @katsukis1wife @winuvs @n0hyuck @whats-my-question @dojaejunging @hibernatinghamster @user7520 @m1dn1ghtv1olet @starwonb1n @lostinneocity @miniature-tragedy @llearlert @haezyhyuck @inosfavgf @bluesinfinities @calumsfringe @cigarettesafterjae @defzcl @delfdiary @minkyuncutie @bunnyjaycheoluwu @sofix-hc7

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joeloverture · 1 day

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fair's fair | pervy!dbf!joel x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog

pairing: pervy!dbf!joel x pervy!f!reader summary: [no outbreak] joel shoves you in his sweaty pits as a 'joke'. warnings: (18+ mdni) pervy!dbf!joel, age gap (early to mid 20s/38), somewhat mutual pining & sexual tension, joel in a wifebeater and jorts, reader has hair, smacking joel's ass like god intended, degradation, sweaty!joel, musk kink, armpit kink!!!, coming untouched, joel calls reader 'kiddo', 2 spanks, m!masturbation [no use of y/n] word count: 2.1k a/n: in another life, i'd be sorry for this fic. in this life, i am not. as always, a shoutout to the effervescent @lovesickonmybed for moodboard curation + creating this au. love to @seventeenpins for taking a glimpse at this + inspiring me. ty esquire team.... hooooly shit. pls suspend your disbelief if you can't come untouched we're here for a good time not a realistic one. btw you're all pussies for chickening out of the pit fics you 'planned' to write after this esquire photo fell into our laps /j

You awake to a rattling crash on the other side of the wall that you share with your dad’s combination garage/man cave. With an exaggerated groan, you peel yourself out of your creased sheets. Maybe the raccoons that have been terrorizing your garbage cans have finally broken into the garage. You’re still in your pajamas — a low-cut tank top and some bloomers that are entirely too short on you — when you rub the sleep from your eyes and shove your feet into your slippers to investigate.

The house is quieter than dust so early in the morning. Your dad’s out at work, and the rest of the neighborhood is just beginning to wake up. There’s the tstststststs of the Adler’s sprinkler system and the birds are chirping. In the mudroom, you snatch up a broom and wrap your fist around it. You listen through the paneling of the door for any hissing or scuttling, but hear nothing. You are not looking to get rabies today.

You poke your head out of the door, broom pointed at the ground like a staff. Immediately, you’re blinded by a slice of sunshine cutting through the very much open garage.

You’re about two seconds away from sprinting back inside to call 911 when you see the unkempt, sunkissed hair of none other than Joel Miller.

You set the broom gently back against the wall. Joel’s not a threat – at least not to anything but that traitor between your legs. He’s just your dad’s buddy; drinking buddy, fishing buddy, jack-of-all-trades buddy. He’s also no stranger to those borderline goo-goo eyes you give him. How could you not? He’s just so broad and muscled and God, you swear up and down that you stare more at his ass than anyone has ever stared at yours.

Sometimes, if you’re lucky, he’ll even give you shit about it. Bending over directly in your line of sight at block parties, ‘play wrestling’ with you on the dock by the lake whenever you jokingly call him an old man, or, in one very special instant, giving your ass a smack that sent you into an hours long tizzy.

You deserve to give him shit about it, too.

After all, he’s the one ferreting around in your dad’s garage in the wee hours of the morning. You pad into the garage, footsteps muffled by your slippers as you navigate around your dad’s pickup. You catch a better look at Joel when you pass the truck bed. And, for better or for worse, he’s dressed like a slut.

His ribbed white wifebeater stretches over his wide chest, grass stains scattered along the small of his back. Sweat darkens the hems of his shirt under his armpits, glistening and beading on the back of his neck, too. In true dad fashion, he even has on jorts. He’s bent over your dad’s tool bench, thumbing around an assortment of screwdrivers. His denim-covered ass sticks out. A smile spreads across your face.

You slip around the truck and take soft step after soft step until you’re right behind him. You can’t help but notice a cocktail of his pheromones and B.O. surrounding him. He must’ve been outside for a while now with all of the stains he’s accumulated on his shirt already. You keep your breathing muted so he can’t hear you as you reach out and — smack!

Joel shrieks, shooting upright. His head slams into the shelf overhead and a few bolts go toppling onto the concrete below. He cusses like a sailor as his hand goes up to rub the back of his head, nursing where a lump will probably be in a few hours time. Joel whips around to see you, smothering your giggles behind your hand. “You little shit,” he huffs, still scratching at his head. You don’t miss how his cheeks are firetruck red. “The fuck are ya doin’?”

“Me? The fuck are you doing, Miller? Stomping around my dad’s garage at, like, the asscrack of dawn–”

“Nine in the mornin’ ain’t the asscrack of dawn, sweetcheeks,” Joel says. Then, he holds up a set of pliers. “Mower shit the bed. I’m thinkin’ Sarah stole my pliers to make necklaces, but she hasn’t fessed up yet. Your pops said I could borrow his.” He stretches, giving you a long whiff of his scent. The groan he lets out stirs something in your stomach, much to your chagrin.

“I think the mower is the least of your worries,” you say, wrinkling your nose. “You reek. Shower shit the bed, too?”

“You try doin’ yard work in 90 degree heat, kiddo. See how much you smell like that strawberry raspberry peach whatever-the-fuck soap you’re usin’.”

You roll your eyes so hard you’re surprised you don’t see the back of your skull. “Rosemary eucalyptus,” you correct under your breath.

“Hmm, what was that?” Joel asks, tossing the pliers down onto the workbench. “Gotta speak up.”

“Rosemary eucalyptus,” you say. “But I bet you wouldn’t know. What do you use? 18 in 1?”

Joel grunts. “Real funny.” He takes a step closer to you, lips taut with a smirk. “How ‘bout you find out?”

You don’t have time to question what the hell he means – he just cups the back of your head with one of his wide palms and shoves your face directly into his closest sweaty pit. “Mmmmph!” you protest, mouth sealed shut against the thatch of hair that’s spattered across his skin. You hold your breath for as long as you can, but eventually, you’re forced to suck in a breath through your squished nose. His musk, sweet and just as sharp, fills your airways. Your clit all but jerks between your legs in humiliation, drawing a whine out of your throat.

Joel chuckles, ruffling your hair. It’s enough to make your thighs clench. “You’re a little freak, huh?” He presses harder on the back of your head, so much so that you almost get a mouthful of his underarm.

“Youuu dick!” you try to say without opening your mouth too far. It comes out muffled against his sweat-pearled skin. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push him off of you.

Another wry chuckle comes from above. Joel bends his arm so that his elbow is wrapped around the back of your head, effectively trapping you in his funk. “Come on, huff ‘em. Practically fuckin’ asking for it earlier, all ‘a that mouthin’ off. So now you get a mouthful of my pits. Fair’s fair, kiddo.”

Embarrassment ribbons through your body, the kind that makes you leak into your panties against your will. Still looking for a way out, you squirm against his ironclad hold.

It’s only good for making him land a heavy-hitting slap across your ass. You yelp, a new wave of slick saturating the drenched gusset of your panties. You jump where you are, hips bucking into nothing – for escape or pressure, you’re not entirely sure. “Unless you wanna go over my knee instead?” Your face sears with humiliation.

Tentatively, you snuffle a bit against his pit, biting into your cheeks at his musk. It makes you cough a little bit – he’s been carrying the smell of cutting grass and his own sweat all morning.

“Yeah, thought so. But you can do better than that, sweetcheeks. I said huff, not fake an asthma attack.” You whimper, this time sucking in a longer breath. Here he is, holding you down, secure against his pit as you're left with no other option than to take what he gives you, when he gives it to you. All you can smell, feel, touch is just Joel, Joel, Joel. It makes you lightheaded.

Your clit is practically a kickdrum between your thighs, pulsing and doing more work than your head. You try to angle yourself so that you can rub your clit against Joel’s leg, but he puts a stop to that real quick. “Gettin’ all wound up just from being where ya belong, your pretty little face in my pit?” You mewl, reaching for Joel’s sides. You bunch your fists in the fabric of his wifebeater, and he allows it.

“Since you’re so eager to complain about it, how ‘bout you clean me up, huh?” He nudges his pit against your face again, and, confusedly, you furrow your brows. You can’t see much of him, but you do see the edge of his mouth tip up in satisfaction. “You got rocks for brains? Lick, kiddo.”

Hesitance drives the soft kitten lick of your tongue, swiping up and down across a very small portion of his pit. He loosens up on his grip on you, giving you the slightest bit more reign. You try to tell yourself that you’re scared of what he might do if you disappoint him, but hell if you don’t want this as much as he does, tongue, nose, face buried in his pits. Some sort of ultimate form of worship between the two of you.

You lave your tongue across his pit, eyes fluttering with each stroke. You swirl it in the crease of his arm, sucking his goddamn hairs clean with the fervor you’ve picked up. Enthused now, you bob your head up and down. Your clit responds, throbbing with a heartbeat of its own.

You’re panting, inhaling and exhaling him, lapping up his musk like a fucking dog, gone from reluctant to eager. Your clit twitches faster and faster, and you swear that arousal must be tacky on the insides of your thighs, leaking through your panties all over the front of your bloomers, but you can’t do anything about it. You can’t even grind against Joel – you can only slurp against his armpit, something like desperation having replaced all of your previous mortification from when he’d shoved you there in the first place.

You’re so preoccupied with pleasing him that you don’t even notice the thumping of your clit, picking up speed and pressure. Your body seizes in between your greedy little licks. You feel yourself weaken before you stiffen.

And maybe it’s the way Joel keeps groaning with each movement of your tongue. It could be how he exhales, “Kiddo,” in a raspy voice, both demeaning and endearing all at once. But in the end, it’s how he says, “Mmmm, such a good goddamn tongue. Bet it’d feel so good on my cock,” that breaks the dam between your legs.

You shudder, coming completely undone with little moans and whimpers in Joel’s arms without so much as a hand on your clit, just your face smothered in his pit. Drool runs down your lips and across your chin as you jerk and weaken in his grasp. If you weren’t so underwater, so far gone, you’d be able to hear him saying, “Fuck – whoa, whoa, whoa,” trying to stop you from falling on your ass in the middle of the garage. His hands card across your sides as he props you up against the workbench. Your vision blackens at the edges from the intensity of your orgasm, and you’re still coming, at least you think you are, when you blink yourself back to awareness. You’re wide-eyed, tears brimming at your waterline, incapacitated in a way that you didn’t know you could be.

“Holy shit,” you gasp when you finally fully come to, slumped over the workbench, still half-clinging to Joel. “Fuck.”

Joel looks stunned, looking you up and down as if he can’t get enough of you. His eyes land right between your thighs, where, sure enough, you’ve ruined your bloomers. You still feel like deadweight, and you struggle to stand upright. You’re not sure you’ve ever come so hard even with someone’s hands all over your. Joel’s glistening with even more sweat, and it’s impossible to miss the glaring bulge in his shorts. He clears his throat after a minute. “Oughta go get cleaned up before your daddy gets back for his lunch break, kiddo.”

You stumble upright, drenched in sweat yourself now, Joel’s lingering scent still pervading every breath you take. “Y-yeah,” you manage, nodding. You feel out of your own body, stumbling towards the door. You’re so wet that you can feel it with every goddamn step. Fuck Joel Miller, cocky piece of sh–

You’re immediately returned to your own body by the resounding swat Joel lands on your ass. You jump, shooting a glare over your shoulder. He puts his hands up, pleading innocence.

You’re not surprised when you crawl out of your shower, smelling of rosemary eucalyptus and dripping water all over the floor, only to see Joel’s mower abandoned in the middle of his yard. Even worse, you aren’t surprised in the slightest when you squint through your bedroom window, Joel sprawled out across his bed, hips bucking in-time with his fist before catching your eye and spraying ropes of cum all over his abdomen.

You mouth at him through the window with a taunting little wink, Clean yourself up this time.

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