Tumgik
#how i imagine a season 2 would play out
absent-o-minded · 8 months
Text
Do you ever think how different Good Omens would be as a series if everything was exactly the same except Crowley wore a pair of these bad boys:
Tumblr media
42 notes · View notes
il-miele-che-scrive · 2 months
Text
Go for his brother part 2
Part 1 here
Part 3 here
Tumblr media Tumblr media
username1 DOUBLE BETRAYAL 😭
↳username2 wdym bro wtf Arthur is just getting his karma, he CHEATED on Y/n with her best friend
↳username2 and Y/n only got with his brother after the breakup
username3 It's so crazy to me how not long ago Y/n was with Arthur at Charles' race and we could see them all lovey dovey and now she's with Charles 💀
username4 I hope they actually like each other and it's not just something Y/n schemed to get back at Arthur
↳username5 And even if it is, so what? Both Leclercs deserve this if she's doing it for the sake of revenge
username4 What did Charles ever do to you 😭 he's a literal pookie
username6 I am BEGGING to find out Arthur's reaction
username7 I wanna see this on Drive To Survive lmao
↳username8 The most interesting thing in the whole season lol
username9 Exactly! Men driving in circles? Nah, fuck that, give me family drama
Tumblr media
yourusername The Art & The Artist
view all comments
charles_leclerc I took way more than these 2 pictures, should post them all
↳yourusername some would get me banned🤭
username1 MY OH MY
username2 What did she say 😐
username3 I'm jealous but haven't decided if I want him or her
username4 Arthur better not read this comment section (I hope he will)
francisca.cgomes Thanks for blessing my eyes 🫶
↳yourusername You're welcome bestie🫶
username4 it's so nice to see Y/n found a friend who won't steal her bf
username5 You can't be sure, it's Charles Leclerc we're talking about. You think he wouldn't go for his best friends' girlfriend who is now his own girlfriends' best friend after pulling what he's just pulled?
username4 ngl girl I got lost in whatever you're saying
yoursister In your iconic girl era ❤️
↳yourusername I slayed didn't I 💅
username6 Honestly guys I believe it's not just a revenge scheme
↳username5 What makes you think that?
username6 Given these pictures and the pictures from the gossip page they look pretty much happy to me, too happy for it to be fake
username5 Whatever you say, we'll see. They have to get tired of pretending one day
exbestfriend Glowing ✨🩷
↳yourusername 😐
↳francisca.cgomes 😐
↳yoursister 😐
↳charles_leclerc 😐
↳pierregasly 😐
↳georgerussell63 😐
↳carmenmmundt 😐
↳alex_albon 😐
↳lilymhe 😐
username7 Y/N AND HER COMMENT SECTION ARE ICONIC 😭
↳username8 I can't stop imagining them having a gc and she sent a screenshot of her ex best friend's comment like "you know what to do, guys" 🤣
username9 I just know Arthur is screaming crying throwing up because LOOK AT WHAT HE LOST
username10 Lol who's next? Toto Wolff?
Tumblr media
arthur_leclerc My favorite love story is ours ❤️
view all comments
exbestfriend So happy we found each other ❤️❤️
username1 💀
username2 Alright they both have the audacity
username3 your love story is cheating on Y/n lmao
username4 Imagine they have a kid one day who'll ask mom dad how did you meet lol
↳username3 I'd be EMBARRASSED
username5 They deserve each other tbh
username6 Hey but... What if this pic and Y/n's pics were taken on the same day...
↳username7 wdym
username6 Arthur wanted to keep and eye on his ex and his brother from afar 😭
username7 it's terrible but possibly true lmao
exbestfriend I'm so sick of people judging us
↳username2 That's what you deserve, the both of you
↳username4 when actions have consequences:😮
Tumblr media
yourusername Back at the paddock ❤️
view all comments
username1 At least she didn't downgrade right?
yoursister You guys look so good together
↳yourusername Thank you 🫶 ily
↳charles_leclerc Yes we do 😊
↳username2 Y/s/n never commented anything like this when Y/n used to post with Arthur😭
lilymhe It was nice catching up with you when the boys were playing
↳yourusername maybe next time you and Alex could come over so the boys can play some video games together
username3 Pls they're just two single mothers bonding over their toddlers being besties😭
username4 I NEED TO KNOW IF ARTHUR WAS THERE
↳username5 You crazy? Ofc he wouldn't have come, he's too scared of confrontation
username4 Okay but then what if one day Y/n and Charles get married? Will Arthur just skip his brother's wedding?
username5 I think some time will pass before Charles decides to settle down. And not with Y/n, that's for sure
username6 Why not? Y/n makes a much better couple with Charles than she did with Arthur
username5 Charles would never take her seriously lol she dated his brother, Charles is just having fun with her while letting her have her moment
arthur_leclerc Are you wearing the dress you wore on our first date?
↳username2 SHE'S WHAT?????
↳username3 wtf are u doing here
↳yourusername Maybe...
username4 Mother keeps slaying 😭👏
username7 I aspire to be like Y/n fr
alex_albon Lily said we should have a double date
↳yourusername Let's do it then @/lilymhe @/charles_leclerc when and where
arthur_leclerc I just wonder when will you get bored of this
↳yourusername Bored of what exactly? Going to races? You know I've always enjoyed looking at cars go vroooom
arthur_leclerc You know what I mean
arthur_leclerc Of pretending to like Charles just to prove me some delusional point
yourusername You really think I'd waste my energy on that? It's a funny coincidence indeed, but I do like him actually
arthur_leclerc Mhm sure I give you maybe 6 months more, can't keep pretending forever
Tumblr media
charles_leclerc A family gathering & the morning after
view all comments
username1 OH GREAT HEAVENS
pierregasly Now that's something none of us expected
↳username2 bro speaking facts
username3 They said fuck you Arthur you'll get a proof we're not pretending😭
username4 Well at least the family already knew her
↳username5 Pascale liked Y/n so much she said girl you have my blessing no matter which one u marry
username3 Guys do you think Arthur was there? You know, it's a family gathering, so he had to be there, right?
alex_albon Charles settling down wasn't on my bingo card this year
↳lilymhe Neither was it on mine but I love it
francisca.cgomes Girl you realize there's no going back now? 😂
↳yourusername I hope so😜🫶
arthur_leclerc I still can't believe how disrespectful you both are
↳charles_leclerc Look who's speaking of being disrespectful
↳yourusername stfu arthur maman literally had to kick you out of the party
username3 The way it used to be "Thurthur" and now it's "stfu arthur" 😶
username2 at least the "maman" is the same right
username5 I feel like Pascale likes Y/n more than she likes Arthur
username7 wtf guys PASCALE HAD TO KICK ARTHUR OUT OF THE PARTY 😭😭
↳username8 That's crazy, imagine how's the wedding gonna look like
carlossainz55 Getting engaged after a few weeks? Is she pregnant?😂
↳username9 Not funny
username10 Chill that's just millennial humour from back when pregnancy outside marriage was a disgrace
↳charles_leclerc We've known each other long enough to make this decision 🫢
carlossainz55 Valid point
arthur_leclerc But for majority of this time she was my girlfriend
charles_leclerc On which you cheated
arthur_leclerc @/yourusername did you use me just to get to Charles? Was it your plan from the beginning?
↳yourusername Sure because I have nothing else to do lmao
↳yourusername We've talked about it yesterday arthur, don't start again
arthur_leclerc I just still can't believe Charles would do something like that to me
yourusername And half a year ago I believed you wouldn't have ever cheated on me
charles_leclerc I said it yesterday and I'll say it again, Arthur I will always love you as a brother, but you messed up big time, you can't be mad at us
2K notes · View notes
fuckyeahgoodomens · 18 days
Text
Oooh! A great Gavin Finney (Good Omens Director of Photography) interview with Helen Parkinson for the British Cinematographer! :)
HEAVEN SENT
Gifted a vast creative landscape from two of fantasy’s foremost authors to play with, Gavin Finney BSC reveals how he crafted the otherworldly visuals for Good Omens 2.  
It started with a letter from beyond the grave. Following fantasy maestro Sir Terry Pratchett’s untimely death in 2015, Neil Gaiman decided he wouldn’t adapt their co-authored 1990 novel, Good Omens, without his collaborator. That was, until he was presented with a posthumous missive from Pratchett asking him to do just that.  
For Gaiman, it was a request that proved impossible to decline: he brought Good Omens season one to the screen in 2019, a careful homage to its source material. His writing, complemented by some inspired casting – David Tennant plays the irrepressible demon Crowley, alongside Michael Sheen as angel-slash-bookseller Aziraphale – and award-nominated visuals from Gavin Finney BSC, proved a potent combination for Prime Video viewers.  
Tumblr media
Aziraphale’s bookshop was a set design triumph.
Season two departs from the faithful literary adaptation of its predecessor, instead imagining what comes next for Crowley and Aziraphale. Its storyline is built off a conversation that Pratchett and Gaiman shared during a jetlagged stay in Seattle for the 1989 World Fantasy Convention. Gaiman remembers: “The idea was always that we would tell the story that Terry and I came up with in 1989 in Seattle, but that we would do that in our own time and in our own way. So, once Good Omens (S1) was done, all I knew was that I really, really wanted to tell the rest of the story.” 
Telling that story visually may sound daunting, but cinematographer Finney is no stranger to the wonderfully idiosyncratic world of Pratchett and co. As well as lensing Good Omens’ first outing, he’s also shot three other Pratchett stories – TV mini series  Hogfather  (2006), and TV mini-series The Colour of Magic (2008) and Going Postal (2010). 
He relishes how the authors provide a vast creative landscape for him to riff off. “The great thing about Pratchett and Gaiman is that there’s no limit to what you can do creatively – everything is up for grabs,” he muses. “When we did the first Pratchett films and the first Good Omens, you couldn’t start by saying, ‘Okay, what should this look like?’, because nothing looks like Pratchett’s world. So, you’re starting from scratch, with no references, and that starting point can be anything you want it to be.”  
Tumblr media
Season two saw the introduction of inside-outside sets for key locations including Aziraphale’s bookshop. 
From start to finish 
The sole DP on the six-episode season, Finney was pleased to team up again with returning director Douglas Mackinnon for the “immensely complicated” shoot, and the pair began eight weeks of prep in summer 2021. A big change was the production shifting the main soho set from Bovington airfield, near London, up to Edinburgh’s Pyramids Studio. Much of the action in Good Omens takes place on the Soho street that’s home to Aziraphale’s bookshop, which was built as an exterior set on the former airfield for season one. Season two, however, saw the introduction of inside-outside sets for key locations including the bookshop, record store and pub, to minimise reliance on green screen.  
Finney brought over many elements of his season one lensing, especially Mackinnon’s emphasis on keeping the camera moving, which involved lots of prep and testing. “We had a full-time Scorpio 45’ for the whole shoot (run by key grip Tim Critchell and his team), two Steadicam operators (A camera – Ed Clark and B camera Martin Newstead) all the way through, and in any one day we’d often go from Steadicam, to crane, to dolly and back again,” he says. “The camera is moving all the time, but it’s always driven by the story.” 
One key difference for season two, however, was the move to large-format visuals. Finney tested three large-format cameras and the winner was the Alexa LF (assisted by the Mini LF where conditions required), thanks to its look and flexibility.  
Tumblr media
The minisodes were shot on Cooke anamorphics, giving Finney the ideal balance of anamorphic-style glares and characteristics without too much veiling flare.
A more complex decision was finding the right lenses for the job. “You hear about all these whizzy new lenses that are re-barrelled ancient Russian glass, but I needed at least two full sets for the main unit, then another set for the second unit, then maybe another set again for the VFX unit,” Finney explains. “If you only have one set of this exotic glass, it’s no good for the show.” 
He tested a vast array of lenses before settling on Zeiss Supremes, supplied by rental house Media Dog. These ticked all the boxes for the project: “They had a really nice look – they’re a modern design but not over sharp, which can look a bit electronic and a bit much, especially with faces. When you’re dealing with a lot of wigs and prosthetics, we didn’t want to go that sharp. The Supremes had a very nice colour palette and nice roll-off. They’re also much smaller than a lot of large-format glass, so that made it easy for Steadicam and remote cranes. They also provided additional metadata, which was very useful for the VFX department (VFX services were provided by Milk VFX).” 
The Supremes were paired with a selection of filters to characterise the show’s varied locations and characters. For example, Tiffen Bronze Glimmerglass were paired with bookshop scenes; Black Pro-Mist was used for Hell; and Black Diffusion FX for Crowley’s present-day storyline.  
Tumblr media
Finney worked closely with the show’s DIT, Donald MacSween, and colourist, Gareth Spensley, to develop the look for the minisode.
Maximising minisodes 
Episodes two, three and four of season two each contain a ‘minisode’ – an extended flashback set in Biblical times, 1820s Edinburgh and wartime London respectively. “Douglas wanted the minisodes to have very strong identities and look as different from the present day as possible, so we’d instantly know we were in a minisode and not the present day,” Finney explains.  
One way to shape their distinctive look was through using Cooke anamorphic lenses. As Finney notes: “The Cookes had the right balance of controllable, anamorphic-style flares and characteristics without having so much veiling flare that they would be hard to use on green screens. They just struck the right balance of aesthetics, VFX requirements and availability.” The show adopted the anamorphic aspect ratio (2:39.1), an unusual move for a comedy, but one which offered them more interesting framing opportunities. 
Tumblr media
Good Omens 2 was shot on the Alexa LF, paired with Zeiss Supremes for the present-day scenes.
The minisodes were also given various levels of film grain to set them apart from the present-day scenes. Finney first experimented with this with the show’s DIT Donald MacSween using the DaVinci Resolve plugin FilmConvert. Taking that as a starting point, the show’s colourist, Company 3’s Gareth Spensley, then crafted his own film emulation inspired by two-strip Technicolor. “There was a lot of testing in the grade to find the look for these minisodes, with different amounts of grain and different types of either Technicolor three-strip or two-strip,” Finney recalls. “Then we’d add grain and film weave on that, then on top we added film flares. In the Biblical scenes we added more dust and motes in the air.”  
Establishing the show’s lighting was a key part of Finney’s testing process, working closely with gaffer Scott Napier and drawing upon PKE Lighting’s inventory. Good Omens’ new Scottish location posed an initial challenge: as the studio was in an old warehouse rather than being purpose-built for filming, its ceilings weren’t as high as one would normally expect. This meant Finney and Napier had to work out a low-profile way of putting in a lot of fixtures. 
Tumblr media
Inside Crowley’s treasured Bentley.
Their first task was to test various textiles, LED wash lights and different weight loadings, to establish what they were working with for the street exteriors. “We worked out that what was needed were 12 SkyPanels per 20’x20’ silk, so each one was a block of 20’x20’, then we scaled that up,” Finney recalls. “I wanted a very seamless sky, so I used full grid cloth which made it very, very smooth. That was important because we’ve got lots of cars constantly driving around the set and the sloped windscreens reflect the ceiling. So we had to have seamless textiles – PKE had to source around 12,000 feet of textiles so that we could put them together, so the reflections in the windscreens of the cars just showed white gridcloth rather than lots of stage lights. We then drove the car around the set to test it from different angles.”  
On the floor, they mostly worked with LEDs, providing huge energy and cost savings for the production. Astera’s Titan Tubes came in handy for a fun flashback scene with John Hamm’s character Gabriel. The DP remembers: “[Gabriel] was travelling down a 30-foot feather tunnel. We built a feather tunnel on the stage and wrapped it in a ring of Astera tubes, which were then programmed by dimmer op Jon Towler to animate, pulse and change different colours. Each part of Gabriel’s journey through his consciousness has a different colour to it.” 
Among the rigs built was a 20-strong Creamsource Vortex setup for the graveyard scene in the “Body Snatchers” minisode, shot in Stirling. “We took all the yokes off each light then put them on a custom-made aluminium rig so we could have them very close. We put them up on a big telehandler on a hill that gave me a soft mood light, which was very adjustable, windproof and rainproof.” 
Tumblr media
Shooting on the VP stage for the birth of the universe scenes in episode one.
Sky’s the limit 
A lot of weather effects were done in camera – including lightning effects pulsed in that allowed both direct fork lightning and sheet lightning to spread down the streets. In the grade, colourist Spensley was also able to work his creative magic on the show’s skies. “Gareth is a very artistic colourist – he’s a genius at changing skies,” Finney says. “Often in the UK you get these very boring, flat skies, but he’s got a library of dramatic skies that you can drop in. That would usually be done by VFX, but he’s got the ability to do it in Baselight, so a flat sky suddenly becomes a glorious sunset.” 
Finney emphasises that the grade is a very involved process for a series like Good Omens, especially with its VFX-heavy nature. “This means VFX sequences often need extra work when it comes back into the timeline,” says the DP. “So, we often add camera movement or camera shake to crank the image up a bit. Having a colourist like Gareth is central to a big show like Good Omens, to bring all the different visual elements together and to make it seamless. It’s quite a long grade process but it’s worth its weight in gold.” 
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Shooting in the VR cube for the blitz scenes .
Finney took advantage of virtual production (VP) technology for the driving scenes in Crowley’s classic Bentley. The volume was built on their Scottish set: a 4x7m cube with a roof that could go up and down on motorised winches as needed. “We pulled the cars in and out on skates – they went up on little jacks, which you could then rotate and move the car around within the volume,” he explains. “We had two floating screens that we could move around to fill in and use as additional source lighting. Then we had generated plates – either CGI or real location plates –projected 360º around the car. Sometimes we used the volume in-camera but if we needed to do more work downstream; we’d use a green screen frustum.” Universal Pixels collaborated with Finney to supply in-camera VFX expertise, crew and technical equipment for the in-vehicle driving sequences and rear projection for the crucial car shots. 
Tumblr media
John Hamm was suspended in the middle of this lighting rig and superimposed into the feather tunnel.
Interestingly, while shooting at a VP stage in Leith, the team also used the volume as a huge, animated light source in its own right – a new technique for Finney. “We had the camera pointing away from [the volume] so the screen provided this massive, IMAX-sized light effect for the actors. We had a simple animation of the expanding universe projected onto the screen so the actors could actually see it, and it gave me the animated light back on the actors.”  
Bringing such esteemed authors’ imaginations to the screen is no small task, but Finney was proud to helped bring Crowley and Aziraphale’s adventures to life once again. He adds: “What’s nice about Good Omens, especially when there’s so much bad news in the world, is that it’s a good news show. It’s a very funny show. It’s also about good and evil, love and doing the right thing, people getting together irrespective of backgrounds. It’s a hopeful message, and I think that that’s what we all need.” 
Tumblr media
Finney is no stranger to the idiosyncratic world of Sir Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.
2K notes · View notes
flanaganfilm · 1 year
Text
The Midnight Club - Season Two
I'm very disappointed that Netflix has decided not to pursue a second season of THE MIDNIGHT CLUB.
Tumblr media
My biggest disappointment is that we left so many story threads open, holding them back for the hypothetical second season, which is always a gamble.
So I'm writing this blog as our official second season, so you can know what might have been, learn the fates of your favorite characters, and know the answers to those dangling story threads from the first season.
So for those of you who want to know what we were planning to do, here's a look at what would have been season 2!
AMESH Season 2 would open with Amesh, his glioblastoma advancing quickly. He would tell the first story of the season, but would be struggling to make it through. We'd focus on his love story with Natsuki for those first few episodes as it becomes clear that Amesh's death is imminent.
Tumblr media
Meanwhile, Ilonka is trying to reconcile how she was fooled by Julia Jayne, all while falling further in love with Kevin, and she realizes he may be fading faster than he lets on.
Ilonka begins a serialized story in an effort to encourage him to "stay alive a little longer," like he did in season one. And the story she tells is... REMEMBER ME.
Tumblr media
This was the thing I was most excited about for this season.
REMEMBER ME is one of my all-time favorite Pike books - it tells the story of a teenage girl who is pushed off a balcony, and awakens as a ghost. She has to navigate being a spirit while trying to solve her own murder. We would have stretched this story out over 5 episodes. We were going to use it as a vehicle for Ilonka to try to come to terms with the fact that she is going to die, and to begin to trying to wrap her head around being a ghost... but this is the coolest part... the lead character of Ilonka's story wouldn't be played by Ilonka. She'd be played by...
Anya.
Tumblr media
Because this is how we live on, isn't it? In the minds of those we leave behind. And Ilonka would use REMEMBER ME as a way to imagine her dear friend Anya, waking up as a ghost, navigating the afterlife. And this sets up one of the best mechanisms of the show - even if a character dies, as long as they're remembered by members of the club, they live on in their stories.
Tumblr media
As the story starts to pick up steam, though, the group will have to deal with the death of Amesh, which he greets with grace and bravery.
In his final moments, he sees someone in his room - the Janitor from the first season, as played by Robert Longstreet, who says comforting things to Amesh even though he can't respond.
Tumblr media
In his final, final moments, the SHADOW descends upon Amesh, and he is engulfed into it, which reinforces the idea that the Shadow is DEATH...
Tumblr media
With Amesh's death comes something that upends the entire thing: a NEW PATIENT. We didn't work out too much about who this would be, but it would be a new roommate for Ilonka. Someone taking Anya's old bed. Ilonka would find herself being initially cold to her - just as Anya was when Ilonka arrived. Even feeling like this new girl shouldn't necessarily be ushered into the Club. But of course they would develop a beautiful friendship over the course of the season. The new girl joins the club, where something else exciting is happening - Cheri is telling a story. We hadn't decided which one, but I think it might have been MONSTER.
Tumblr media
Natsuki would be the next to die, which would be heartbreaking. And again, she would talk to the janitor just before it happened... and again, the Shadow would come in the final moments.
Tumblr media
For Spence, though, things would take a different turn.
The advancements in HIV treatment in the late 90's would come into play, and we'd see his prognosis change. The HIV cocktail came out in Dec 1995, and we really wanted to explore that.
Spence would ride the swell of antiviral advancements, and by the end of the season, he'd no longer be classified as terminal. In the finale of season 2, Spence would leave Brightcliffe just like Sandra did in Season 1, heading off to manage his disease and live the rest of his life.
Tumblr media
But onto the BIG MYSTERIES of the season one... here are some answers: What is up with Dr. Stanton's tattoo and bald head? Well, a few things. First, Dr. Stanton is actually the daughter of the original Paragon cult leader, Aceso. Her nickname was Athena, she wrote the Paragon journal that Ilonka found in S1. She turned on her mother and helped the kids escape, but because she was part of the cult in her teenage years, she had the tattoo.
It was her initials that Ilonka found carved into the tree in season 1 (her maiden name was Georgina Ballard, hence the G.B. that Ilonka finds carved in the tree).
Tumblr media
She hated what her mother became, and the atrocities of the cult. She reclaimed the property after her mom was gone, and wanted to change it into a place that celebrated life. She was trying to undo her mother's legacy and leave something behind that was beautiful. She is wearing a wig at the end of S1 not because of a sinister reason, but because she is undergoing chemo. Dr. Stanton has cancer. Having helped so many people deal with disease, she now has to deal with it herself.
Her treatment would be successful, and she'd go into remission, but having to face that - while caring for the terminal kids at Brightcliffe - was going to be a very introspective arc for Stanton.
Tumblr media
What about the Living Shadow? It's Death, right? Well... no.
At the end of the season, Kevin will die... followed shortly by Ilonka. And as she is dying, two things will happen. First, she'll find herself talking to the Janitor, played by Robert Longstreet... and she'll make a discovery.
HE is Death. And nothing to be afraid of. It turns out no one else ever saw this character. Stanton has a cleaning service, and the Nurse practitioners make up the rooms - the only people who ever saw this mysterious Janitor were the patients. He is Death, and offers them kind words before they die. Then what was the Shadow?
Tumblr media
This is an idea we take directly from the book REMEMBER ME, and we'll see it play out in the final moments of Ilona's final tale. In Pike's book, Shari is pursued by a dark entity called The Shadow. When it finally catches her, though, it turns out it is not a bad thing at all.
The Shadow is THEMSELVES. It's the Unknown. As it engulfs someone, in the last moment of their life, it takes them through a place of understanding and catharsis, preparing them for the next step.
THIS is what happened to Anya in S1 when the Shadow finally reached her - that's why she fantasized a life beyond Brightcliffe, which ultimately let her find acceptance of her death. It looks different for everybody, depending on their mind-set - because it is simply an extension of themselves.
The Shadow is just the final catharsis, a return to our original form - it is a moment of true understanding, and once we experience it, we move on to the next place.
We see the Shadow in full effect when it finally comes for Kevin. KEVIN DIES with Ilonka at his side, and it leads to the biggest reveal of the season:
Who were the Mirror Man and the Cataract Woman?
Tumblr media
They were Stanley Oscar Freelan and his wife, who built Brightcliffe (fun trivia, he is named after the real-life Freelan Oscar Stanley, who built my favorite hotel in America - the Stanley Hotel. The Stanley is also the inspiration for THE SHINING!).
Tumblr media
But more than that... there's a reason that Ilonka only sees Stanley in the mirror, and sees the Cataract Woman whenever she looked at Kevin. This is something else we took from Pike's original book... these aren't ghosts, but glimpses of PAST LIVES.
Ilonka WAS Stanley Oscar Freelan, and Kevin WAS his wife. They've lived many lives this way, and are true SOUL MATES - they always find each other, and they always fall in love. In this life, they knew it would be a short one, so they agreed to find each other in the house they built. They've been "remembering" who they are, and glimpsing their former selves in reflections, and sometimes when they look at each other. This is also why Ilonka's very first words to Kevin in S1 were "Do I know you?" and why Kevin thought she was familiar as well. They are two souls who always find each other, again and again.
The story is this: Stanley was dying, and built this cliffside home hoping that the seaside air would help him. It did, and he far outlived his prognosis (this is also true of the real-life Freelan Stanley). However, his wife began to succumb to dementia.
She would wander the halls, looking for him ("Darling!") and would even forget to feed herself ("I'm starving...") and she eventually refused to leave the basement. Heartbroken for her, Stanley painted the walls to resemble the woodland view, and the ceiling to resemble the night sky, so that it would be a little more beautiful for her.
He also painted a labyrinth on the floor, which was a technique used to try to curb the effects of dementia. She'd walk the pattern of the maze and it was believed it could help her cognition. Eventually, she developed frightening cataracts, but Stanley loved her through it all.
They were soul mates.
Tumblr media
So while they seemed scary in season 1, that was just how Ilonka and Kevin's mind were trying to remember their pasts. We even had their faces distorting in ways consistent with how memories degrade over time. When the Shadow comes for Ilonka, and gives her this understanding - this "remembering" - she realizes she has nothing to fear. She and Kevin will shed these personas and be reborn, and have the joy of finding each other another way. The Shadow comes for her, Death takes her gently, and Ilonka goes off with Kevin back into the cosmos, ready for their next incarnation. The series would end with Cheri telling this story to a whole new table of patients, including our new series leads. Most of our original cast now would exist as stories, a story told to the next "class" of storytellers at the table, all of whom we will have met by the end of the season. A story called "The Midnight Club."
Tumblr media
Well, that's it... that was what we had in mind. It's a shame we won't get to make it, but it would be a bigger shame if you guys simply had to live with the unanswered questions and the cliffhanger ending. I loved making this show, and I am so proud of the cast and crew. Particularly our cast, who attacked this story with incredible spirit and bravery each and every day.
But for now, we'll put the fire out, and leave the library dark and quiet. To those before, and to those after. To us now, and to those beyond.
Seen or unseen, here but not here.
I'll always be grateful that I got to be part of this Club.
13K notes · View notes
forteafy · 8 months
Text
A House, A Home | CL16 & CS55
Tumblr media
Summary: A loveless marriage usually comes after years, not before. You've always loved him, his best friend has always loved you.
Word Count: 10.1k
Warnings: Hard Angst, Cheating, Mentions of Sex, Death.
Note: This piece has two heavy inspirations. The first is @lxclerc's amazing pieces 'Moth to a Flame' and 'Call out my Name.' They are both incredible pieces and I highly suggest you give them a read. The second is from a TikTok Account called 'ForPercival,' they are currently doing a social media AU which I cannot recommend enough.
PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'
Tumblr media
Charles Leclerc is a husband. 
At least, he was your husband on paper. One year ago, a hidden agreement had been put in place between Scuderia Ferrari and the Leclerc Household; their son, the ‘Il Predestinato,’ of the team, (albeit one whom had had the most terrible season,) could continue to drive for the team, so long as he married the daughter of one of their longest-running investors.
That so happened to be you. 
You had been against the entire idea since the first day. After being introduced to Ferrari’s driver, you had instantly felt the divide between the two of you. You’d reluctantly shaken his hand and since then, had been thrown through a mixture of fake dates, a fake engagement and the fakest wedding that could possibly be imagined. The ceremony hadn’t even ended with a kiss, per tradition. 
It didn’t take long for your walls to crack; living with Charles, seeing him at his highest and lowest points, his most vulnerable behind the four walls of your home had caused your heart to soften. Forget being forced into this marriage, you’d grown to care, to adore the man who’d once burdened you with his presence. You dreamed of the day he would return your affection; how long would it take for you to realise you lived in denial? In your late-night fantasies, lying alone in one of the guest rooms you’d sought refuge in on moving into this ­house, you’d dreamt of lying in his arms, lazy morning breakfast, slow kisses when he would come back to you. To your home.
A home, however, is where you feel safe, warm, protected. You lived in a house with Charles. The man who would barely glance your way and after three months of your marriage, started coming home, smelling of rich perfume and lipstick marks littering his jawline.
The first anniversary of your marriage should have been special, even if he despised you in every known form to man. You’d woken up in your room, slipped on the silk robe which had been lying on the empty bedside and slipped out of the bedroom. In your heart of hearts, you knew there would be no significance of today; no flowers, no card, not even a simple text from your husband to signify the date in question. The only text you had received that morning, was a stern reminder from your father, that you were due to attend the Monza Grand Prix in less than one week. 
A soft sigh emitted itself from your lips; it was a routine you knew all too well. Every few races, the more significant ones; Monaco, Silverstone, Spa-Francorchamps, Monza, you’d play the doting wife; cheering for your husband whilst dressed in soft summer dresses, a forged grin if he managed to battle his way into the points. On those rare days when he would obtain a podium position, he’d greet you on the barriers with a soft kiss. It was all fake; a routine which had been performed so many times. Yet, each time his lips met yours, you could dream he meant something behind the affection. 
The train of thought had played through your mind for so long that you were unaware of the tears pooling on your lower lash line. So, what if Charles wasn’t at home for your anniversary? It was your thought for feeling any kind of emotion towards him in the first place. It was a business deal, after all. Did your husband enjoytreating you like this? His disappearance on that morning was a cold reminder that he felt nothing towards you. No sentiment, no adoration. 
Despite the tears which had bade your eyes that morning, until the mid-afternoon, you had a productive day. Of course, leaving the house was out of the question; what would the media say if devoted wife of Ferrari’s driver was seen without him, on their wedding anniversary of all days? 
Instead, you’d played soft music whilst re-organising your wardrobe, something you’d put off for a while now. Cooking a meal whilst lazily treading around the kitchen, experimenting with the spices that Yuki had gifted to you on your previous visit to a Grand Prix. The meal itself was too big to eat alone. Instead, you boxed up the remainders of what was left in the tray, carefully placing it in the fridge, knowing Charles wouldn’t actually eat it. 
Your evening had been…less productive. You’d found solace in a glass of red wine, lounging on the sofa of the main living area; usually, you kept as far away from that zone as possible. Charles would spend his evenings in the couch, eyes flickering between the television and his phone, no doubt sending longing messages to his mistress whilst his wife was in the home. 
The ­third glass had just about been drained. You were adamant upon gaining a fourth, no longer caring of any commitments you had the next day. Instead, you sat up abruptly from the sofa, hearing the gentle click from the front door. 
He had come back to the house. 
His green eyes barely took a second to meet yours, slipping off his shoes and placing them into the rack situated by the front door. A rustle of his jacket signified his option to stay. You saw him carry the garment over his arm as he trudged into the living area, set to lie in front of the television for some personal relaxation. 
With his entry to the room, you suddenly remembered your position. You’d hastily stood up from the couch, collecting the half-finished bottle from the low table, holding the glass to your chest to draw the attention away from your beverage. 
Charles said nothing; he’d unlatched the top two buttons from his dress shirt; faint purple marks nestled on the lower joint of his neck; a clear mark that his mistress had previously made, a sinful reminder of his adultery. 
“I left you some dinner in the fridge.” You mumbled, voice barely picking up over the sound of the television. “There’s some clean loungewear on the end of your bed, too.” You finish your sentence. Your husband doesn’t even attempt to tell you he’s acknowledged your words, eyes transfixed on whatever news was currently playing on the television. 
“Happy Anniversary.” You mumble, feet leading you back to the kitchen, the bottle of wine against your chest now seemingly the only attention you’d ever get. 
Charles Leclerc is an actor. 
The entire drive to the track had been bade in complete silence; not even the radio had been switched on to drown out the undeniable tension in the car. You had originally tried to make light conversation with the man; he couldn’t even be bothered to make a sound in response to any of your questions. 
You couldn’t handle the harsh tone he had snapped at you with the previous time you had been in the car; instead, you watched the rolling hills and glistening sun of Monza. It was always one of the highlights of the year. If not for the racing, you would have come here in your own time, to bask in the sun and to enjoy the secluded section of Italy as an individual. 
The incredible views soon began to fade out, instead replaced by expensive cars and adoring fans, leaning over the barriers in an attempt to see their favourite drivers; there was an uproar as your husband drove past the crowds; he was clearly the home favourite, as any member of the Ferrari crew would be in this location. Silently, you slipped on the sunglasses which had been resting in the pouch of your bag, knowing the paparazzi would be blistering your eyesight sooner rather than later. 
Charles effortlessly parked his car in the allocated spot. Silently, he switches off the engine, removing the keys and shoving them into his jean pocket. The man doesn’t so much as register your presence as he opens his door, leaving you to venture out of the car yourself. You’d carefully adjusted the flowing fabric of your dress; the patterned fabric flowing gently around your calves. 
You looked beautiful. You just wished your husband would care enough to tell you.  
Instead, his priority is the cameras leaning over the barriers. He doesn’t even look in your direction, instead firmly grasping your hand in his own; an act the two of you had performed for the crowd oh-so-many times. He waves towards the crowds; neither of you miss the adoring sounds, the coos for many of the fan’s favourite ‘couple.’ To so many, his affection seemed to clear to you, and yours did to him. 
Charles didn’t hold your hand with any adoration. His grasp was harsh, palms roughly mashed together, no intent to keep your grip safe against his own. You were certain that if you were to let go, he wouldn’t think to remedy the situation. Your theory is proven when you gently let go, instead keeping in step, just behind his figure; Charles’ hand seems as if it’s gone into idle mode. His eyes, however, stayed alert, vigilant. Silently, the two of you pass through the paddock security, pausing every few moments for Charles to sign a cap, take a photograph with a fan. 
It isn’t until you reach the outskirts of the Ferrari Building that you see her. Soft hair around her shoulders, clothing exquisite, her eyes flickering to your husband, offering him a sympathising smile. 
He may have been a devoted husband towards the press, to Ferrari, even to the majority of his team. However, the moment that the cameras were turned off, microphones pushed away, he was sneaking to his mistress, one he had shamelessly invited to so many Grand Prix’s over the past nine months. She was what he wanted; a fun and fancy-free lady, rather than the wife whom stood by his side. There’s a glance between the two of them, as if a whole conversation is had in that moment. 
You stay silent as you follow Charles into the Ferrari Building. Instantly, you’re overwhelmed by the welcomes that your husband obtains; so many of them pass onto you. Upon the questions of how married life is treating him, he smiles, fakes a laugh as he pulls you into his side, one hand firmly resting upon your waist. 
“Married life is perfect.” He insists, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, one which you falsely giggle about, ignoring the butterflies which were nestling in the pit of your stomach. “It’s even better when she’s standing right here, beside me.” 
The entirety of the room buys the staged scene, all except for two people. The first, obviously, is your father. He’s always there, watching that the driver is performing well. He knows of his affair, but in his mind, as long as the affair is kept out of the light, and his marriage was still official, their deal continued. Besides, he would speak to you both sooner rather than later upon extending the family; that would seal both of your fates towards one another. Nobody liked a husband whom left a wife and child. 
The second was Carlos Sainz; the second driver for Scuderia Ferrari. 
The Spaniard was all too aware of the affair between Charles and his mistress; after qualifying from Baku, Carlos had found his teammate behind the garage, his hands with a firm grip on her waist, their kisses entirely formed of tounge and teeth. The man had furiously ripped Charles from the woman, bellowing in his face about the wife he had, whilst this woman warmed his bed. A deep blush had formed over both of their cheeks, Charles explaining that you were aware of his actions. 
Carlos didn’t want to believe it; he’d frantically messaged you that evening, to which you had answered his question, confirming you knew of the affair. That evening, you had revealed everything to him, watching his eyes get glossier as the cruel details were flickered in front of his eyes. It pained him; he’d cared for you since the moment you’d first stepped foot into the paddock alongside your father. His heart shattered upon finding out that you had been betroved to Charles, that he had missed his chance, all that time ago. 
He waits; waits until later in the day to approach you. By this point, you had made yourself comfortable in Charles’ driver room. Of course, your husband isn’t actually there. After a brief encounter with most of the members on his team, he’d excused himself. Carlos knew that he had snuck away from the crowds adorned in red to see his mistress, likely stealing kisses and rough fumbles between one another. Whilst that was happening, you, were sat in his drivers’ room, skirts spread across the soft lounger, eyes engrossed in a book which had been enclosed in your bag alongside your sunglasses.
 You were the epitome of beauty in Carlos’ eyes. He could have stood at the ajar door to the room, watching you as you engrossed yourself in the story. Instead, he offers a light cough, drawing your attention from the book in your lap. He’s engrossed by your eyes, how the light reflected off them, the glow they offered. Your smile, how you presented your real smile to him so naturally, not the one you forged next to your husband on every single encounter. 
“Good morning, Carlos!” You greet him with a bright tone, standing up from your position on the couch. You offer him a hug, feeling his warm arms wrap around your waist, his breath against your face when he kisses your cheek gently. ‘In another life,’ you always tell yourself. One where you were happy, free to marry a man who would return your affection. 
“Good morning, Mariposa.” The nickname rolls of his tongue; one he had presented ever since you had once showed up in the paddock, the most beautiful butterfly-imprinted dress flowing in the soft breeze of that Monaco weekend. “You’re hiding out in here today, yes?” He teases. You offer him a small shrug, eyes not able to meet those sweet brown ones of the man stood in front of you. 
“Charles is…busy.” You finish the sentence abruptly. Carlos knows not to question further; the two of you have a mutual understanding as to where he would be at this point during the day; wrapped up in the arms of another woman. “He’s probably on his track walk…maybe. I’m just…keeping occupied.” You motion towards the window, looking onto the first straight of the track. “Plus…it looks windy out there.” 
“Well…” Carlos invites himself into the room now, looking down at your attire, seeing that your feet were enclosed with the brilliant white trainers you’d left home in that morning. The man shrugs off his own windbreaker, holding it in his arm. “If I give you my jacket, would you like to come on my track walk?” He offers, holding out the garment to you. 
You knew you would probably live to regret that moment. However, if you stayed resting in Charles’ driver room much longer, reading the same line of your book whilst your thoughts trailed away to how he would be with his mistress, you would go crazy.
“I’d love to.” You finally respond, slipping your arms through the large sleeves of Carlos’ jacket. Offering you a pat on the shoulder, he motions towards the exit of the driver’s room, determined to keep you on his side whilst walking across the track loved by fans far and wide. He hopes that everybody misses the longing gazes and soft smile on his face every time you make a comment, or your hands brush a little too closely. 
Charles Leclerc is a neck kisser. 
It’s not as if you would know this. The only kisses you ever had were those for show. Cold, meaningless interactions between somebody who attempted to show unconditional love and one who could dream of being anywhere else in that moment. 
You’d carefully unlatched the front door of the house, your wireless earbuds resting comfortably in your ears, unable to hear any other sound apart from the music playing. Slipping off your shoes, hanging up your jacket; your only intention for the afternoon was to go through some of the notes you had made regarding education courses in the area; sitting at home day after day was truly aggravating. You couldn’t pick up yet another hobby. Maybe some form of learning would interest you. 
But first, you needed a drink to cool yourself off from the sun. You’d remembered the smoothie packs you made earlier in the week; one of those and going through your notes seemed a perfect plan for the current moment. 
The second you rounded the corner into the open-plan kitchen, you wished that you could have taken the scenic route home. 
His mistress was sat up on the kitchen island, back straight, legs wrapped around the waist of your husband, her hands grasping at the soft curls atop of his head. Charles’ hands slid across her back, soft grunts coming from his lips, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses along her slender neck. She was loving it, at least, that’s what you could judge from the noises leaving her mouth. 
Before either of them could clock your arrival, both too wrapped-up in their embrace, you’d stepped out of the kitchen, hand over your mouth to silence the sobs which were threatening to escape. In a moment, you’re out of the hallway, letting your feet carry you up the carpeted stairs. 
The only intention now embedded in your mind was to drink so much you would forget the scene unfolding in front of your eyes. 
Charles Leclerc is a slow replier. 
The smell of tequila and sweat is strong in the cramped hallway of the club. It was insane to believe that less than three hours ago, you had been cocooned in your king-size duvet, lips slightly parted as you strung a meaningless thread of text messages to one another; you didn’t truly care how one of your friends felt in that moment, the heartbreak shattering in your chest was stronger than any other emotion you could begin to comprehend. 
No, your sole reason for texting was to leave this god-forsaken house. You kept telling yourself not to care. Charles’ eyes were all you could think about as you picked out your shortest, slinkiest dress; one which enhanced every curve and dip in the most elegant way. Charles’ dimples were all you could think about when your attention was drawn to outlining your lips with a deep red gloss. Charles’ lips were all you could think about, your foot sliding into the black heeled shoe, your feet finding no solace in being propped up within six inches of their life. 
Your friend had messaged you the location of the designated club. How anybody could enjoy one of those places sober was beyond your comprehension. Instead, you had taken the route of every other supposed being in that club; one shot of a suspicious-looking liquid had turned into sixteen – his number, you couldn’t help remembering. That was the reason you had found yourself stood motionlessly in the hallway, trying to navigate yourself back to the bar. At least seventeen wouldn’t have been tied to any other emotion. 
The plan, however, was short-lived when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Turning too quickly in your ridiculous heels, you’re met with the figures of Kelly Piquet and Max Verstappen, hands linked together, clearly nowhere near as intoxicated as you were in that moment. 
Kelly moves first; you had always enjoyed her presence, spending time with her around the Paddock when you were bade to attend. Penelope was one of the sweetest three-year-olds you had ever come across, always greeting you with a toothy grin and a story of her and ‘Maxie’s’ escapades. When her mother encloses you in a hug, you can feel the tears fall, your drunken façade falling immediately. The woman simply cups your hand in her face, delicately wiping the tears from your lash line, making sure to remove any heavy clumps of mascara. She asks you where Charles is, where your husband is. You can’t make any sound which you believe is cohesive, something about him being back at the house.
Max by now, has his own arm resting around your shoulder. You were Charles’ wife, after all. He knew Charles would do the same for Kelly if she was ever to be found in this state. Something strange stabs at his chest; maybe he was too protective, but he would have never of let Kelly get into this state, at least, not on her own. The driver carefully fumbles in his back pocket, unlocking his own device and filing through his contacts to phone Charles. 
The phone goes straight to voicemail, not even a dialling tone. Max tries a second time, a third time. Instead, he leaves messages. How on gods earth did Charles feel relaxed, knowing his wife would be out, probably on some form of alcohol, and not think to check that she would be safe returning home? If only he knew. 
The duo moves to a second plan. You needed some fresh air before they could attempt to get you into a car and take you home; standing in the corridor of a nightclub was not an ideal situation, instead moving you to the exit. Your eyes widen, looking up to Max and Kelly as if you had shrunk right down to Penelope’s age, as if they would be the saviours to get you home. By the way Max was holding you by his side and Kelly stroking your hair behind your ears, you may as well been their daughter. 
Conversations are had; neither of them is sober enough to drive you home, nor do they think it’s wise to try and sneak you into their hotel room when they had already issues when checking in a little too late. Their prayers are answered when a group of men wander past, one of them stopping to smack Max, his fellow driver on the back. His dark eyes, ones you know so well, widen when he sees your figure, looking so fragile in the light of the early hours in the city. 
“Mariposa.” He murmurs, running a hand across your cheek, wanting nothing more than to hold your frame against his chest. Your soft eyes meet his own dark ones, glossed in concern for how on earth you could do this to yourself. The man murmurs something to Max and Kelly, ensuring them that he’d been the sober friend out of his group; promising he would get you home himself. The duo has no reason to not trust him, both of them leaving a gentle kiss on your cheek before retiring to their own hotel. 
As the couple walk away from the club, you can only feel the warmth of Carlos’ hand, still resting on your face. When he at last turns his attention back to you, he simply wraps a strong arm around your waist, supporting you to stand in those awful, heeled shoes. At the pace you’re walking back towards his car, you would get there just after the sunrise. Instead, he scroops you into his grasp. 
The affection, the physical contact is all too much for you. It had been so, so long since anybody had held you, cared for you like this. Your clouded mind, now overwhelmed by warmth and alcohol allowed you to lean your head into Carlos’ sturdy chest. If you were sober, you’d be able to feel the way his heart raced when feeling you rest against him. 
“Why do you do this to yourself, Mariposa?” He murmurs, settling you into the passenger seat of his car. He can’t help but remove his own jacket, wrapping the soft fabric around your arms, letting you nuzzle into the scent of his fabric softener and aftershave. Once settling himself into the driving seat, he begins the route back to the house, one hand gently resting atop of your leg, some form of comfort for the world in your mind which seemed to be caving in. 
“I’d never do this to you.” He whispers, turning into the driveway that he had become accustomed to since the marriage. 
Across the city, Max Verstappen is sound asleep. His phone, plugged in on the dressing table across the room buzzes once, notifying a text from his racing rival. 
03:21: Charles Leclerc
Hey, sorry, was busy with something. Is everything good?
Charles Leclerc is a traveller.
You hadn’t expected anything to awaken you after the way your body had reacted to the previous night. A natural awakening, however, would have been a lot nicer than hearing the clicking sound of wheels against flooring. Whatever, whoever was outside of your room most certainly had a death wish to awaken you that morning. 
It felt as if pins had been pressed into every square inch of your head, the task of even sitting up and forcing yourself towards the door of your bedroom, still dressed in your slinky garment and…somebody’s jacket? The night for you had truly ended as soon as you had that ninth shot of tequila; you thought you could remember Max and Kelly in the same location at some point, maybe that was your mind playing tricks on you, longing for people who enjoyed your company. 
You were pulled back to the present when the figure of your husband appears at your doorway. He’s dressed already; loose hoodie and tracksuit bottoms cover his frame; his hand is clasping tightly onto a suitcase. There wasn’t a Grand Prix this weekend, you were certain. He would have left days ago for that. There was-
“I’m going to stay with…” He pauses, clearly trying to think of the correct way to word the fact he would be staying with his Mistress until further notice. Even in your state, you understand, simply raising your hand to stop him from speaking. You didn’t want to hear her name, you didn’t want to know that he would be spending the next nights wrapped in her arms, because for once…you didn’t care. 
They say alcohol causes dangerous mistakes, but in this moment, your hangover seemed to be your best friend. Every single time, you would think later, Charles would come back from seeing her, would leave to spend an evening by her side or sneak away during your paddock appearances…and you would be focused, your sole attention being on when he would return. Now? Your sole focus was on throwing up the remains of alcohol in your stomach, placing on a facemask and ordering some kind of comfort food to your home. 
You didn’t care about him, not right now. Your actions relay this, simply offering him a nod before speaking, your voice surprisingly clear for how much your throat was weeping for a drink.
“Okay.” You pause. There’s nothing left to say after that. What does he want you to do? Wish him a happy time? Charles looks equally taken aback, usually expecting some kind of warm drabble on how he needed to stay safe. In that moment, he can’t help but…want it.
“I’ll be back on Wednesday to pack for Singapore.” He pauses this time, taking in your appearance, your face so…gentle, soothing. “You’re coming, yes?” He remembers a conversation had many a time; his wife should be there to support him as much as possible, even if he wasn’t a fan of the sly ways he would have to leave her in front of his team members.
He isn’t expecting a shrug of the shoulders, bringing a hand up to rest on the door, clearly ready to close it at any given moment. 
“I’m not sure.” You offer him, sighing as you begin to close the door yourself. “My father said that race isn’t a priority.” That was the last sentence you offered him before closing the door. You obviously do not see it, but on the other side of the wall, Charles stands in confusion for a full twenty seconds before snapping back to his reality, his clutch on the suitcase a little tighter as he begins his decent down the stairs, wondering where on earth he had seen that jacket you were wearing before?
Your own priorities that morning was in full swing; you had placed your phone on charge, messages beginning to thread through as you stepped into the shower, the cool water savouring your skin. A fluffy robe is tied around your waist, brushing your hair around your back whilst your attention focused on rehydrating your skin, brushing your teeth and cleaning the dirt from underneath your eyes. 
The silence is strong when you walk back into your bedroom. In that moment, you opt for some music whilst changing into some comfortable loungewear, easy to roam around the house in and let your hair dry naturally. Sitting at the end of the bed, you’re able to check notifications, seeing Kelly had sent you a photo of Penelope that morning, smiling for her favourite aunt. You see your most recent text had come through from none other than Charles’ teammate, following one which had been sent early that morning. 
03:45: Carlos Sainz
Sweet dreams, Mariposa. Let me know if you need anything please. 
11:51: Carlos Sainz
Just seen on Twitter Charles is at the airport, he’s not off to see her, is he?
His message brings so many emotions to you, and also answers the question of who’s jacket you had been wearing that morning. Your heart can’t help but soften, knowing already that Charles is on his way to see...her. You think back to your mindset from earlier, how it was the last thing you wanted to care about. Why on earth would you care about them, when you could be focusing on ordering your favourite food and calling your nail technician to come to the house? That would make you feel better, better than he ever had.
You first drop a message to Carlos in response, wanting to let him know you had woken up from potential alcohol poisoning. 
12:25: You
Yeah, he is. Didn’t seem so happy that I couldn’t care less. Thank you for the jacket last night, I hope you had a good evening. 
12:28: Carlos Sainz
All the better for seeing you. Hoping the hangover isn’t too bad today. 
The messages spring backwards and forwards between the two of you for the afternoon; you’re smiling whilst you go through your favourite meal, the taste of it filling your mouth in the best way possible. There’s still a smile on your face when your nail technician arrives, painting some delicate designs into your fingers and toes, subtly asking who on earth has you smiling that much.
It isn’t until that evening; you’re sat in front of the television, a series you had watched one-too many times playing, your eyes glued to the storyline as if it would change again. The notification on your phone instantly drew your attention away from the screen, looking down to see a text on your screen.
21:03: Carlos Sainz
Why don’t you come and stay in Madrid for a few days? I’m sure we could both do with the company.
Charles Leclerc is a stalker. 
Well, maybe stalker was too strong of a word. However, his intentions were identical, having watched your latest Instagram story three- no, four times. Since leaving the home several days earlier, his mind could not stop thinking about the fact you truly could not care less about where he was going. This wasn’t you, was it? 
He’d arrived at her house, being temporarily distracted by luring himself into her bedroom, an afternoon of escapades and touches until she had rolled onto her side, telling him she was going to shower, and he would be more than welcome to join her. Instead, he pulled out his phone, seeing if you had done your usual; texting him to check that he had arrived safely, asking when he could be coming back to the house. 
There’s no messages, no notifications. Huffing to himself, Charles instead pulls up your Instagram, seeing that you had posted a new story that evening, a suitcase in hand, an emoji of an aircraft and a Spanish flag. You were off somewhere, and hadn’t told him? No, no. You always told him where you were going, you always-
“Are you not joining me, then?” Charles’ mistress’ voice suddenly draws him out of his trance, a towel wrapped around her body, hair around her shoulders. It was nowhere near as soft and as gentle as yours was, he realised in that moment. He eventually nods, pulling himself from his phone and following her into the en-suite. 
He’s so…distant for the remainder of his visit. When the two of them go to a secluded spot for lunch, when they go for a drive in a car they had hired for the afternoon. When she’s lazily pressing kisses along his neck, trying to grind into his crotch, desperate for his attention. When she finally falls asleep, Charles pulls out his phone, looking through any of the photos you had posted from that day. The soft sands of the beach, a hugestrawberry ice-cream cone, a mirrored selfie of yourself in the most beautiful sundress, hair curled and clearly ready for an evening in the Spanish sun. 
The routine continues, he sees your adventures, day after day. You’re touring small markets, trying local delicacies. One day, you’re simply lounging by a pool for the afternoon, a fat paperback resting on your stomach, clearly engrossed by the story which was resting on your stomach. Each time he sees a post, he can’t help but be drawn to how he wants to know how you’re doing. Maybe that’s why he drops you a text message, trying to gain some sort of traction from how you were doing. 
23:54: Charles Leclerc
Are you home? I’ve got a flight tomorrow afternoon.
You don’t respond; now, your phone is at the bottom of your bag, resting on the inside cabin of Carlos’ boat. For your final day in Madrid, he had insisted on taking you for a boat ride. You’d shyly mentioned earlier in that week that Charles had never taken you on his own boat, despite the fact that you were indeed married. 
The sun began to set over the rolling waves of the ocean; the boat is gently rocking, the sounds of water lapping over one another was music to your ears. You were sat at the edge of the now stilled boat, contemplating dipping your toes into the water. Your attention is so drawn to the scenery that you don’t hear him step away from the wheel, crouching next to you. 
“You could just go in.” He teases, “rather than staring at the water. You know how to swim.” The taunt causes you to roll your eyes, simply looking to the Spaniard on your right-hand side. 
“What? And have you speed off without me?” You retaliate, using your shoulder to nudge his body. Carlos clicks his lips together, mumbling something incoherent, before he’s suddenly scooped you up into your arms; despite your sounds of protests, he simply holds you against his chest tighter. His dark eyes flicker between yours and the ocean water below the two of you. Before you can say anything, his feet have made their own choice, jumping off the edge of the boat, both of you tumbling into the sea. Your briefly submerged entirely, before your head pops out of the waves, blindly reaching around until two strong arms encircle your waist. 
Both you and Carlos laugh for a moment, in pure awe that you just did that. He moves first, one of his hands releasing from your waist, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. There’s a silence between the two of you, where the only sound emitting from your surroundings is the gentle waves of the sea. In that moment, Carlos Sainz wants nothing more than to lean forward, pressing his lips to your own. They look so…soft. He craves to give them the attention they had been longing for so long. But…you’re married. And even if your marriage is loveless, to a point where your husband is openly in an affair, he would never do that to you. Instead, he settles for resting one hand on your cheek, gently kissing the top of your forehead, murmuring some Spanish wording you would never remember. 
If you did understand it, however, you would have known that he said there and then that he would always be devoted to you. 
Charles Leclerc is a loud shouter. 
His voice seemed to travel for miles, you were almost certain the entirety of the secluded neighbourhood could hear him at this current moment. The man had returned home from his secluded stay with his mistress to an empty house; at that point, you were still in the depths of Madrid, packing up your own suitcase, wishing Carlos luck on the Singapore Grand Prix. You had intended to return to the house after Charles had left himself; the heartbreak of seeing him littered in love-bites, his eyes transfixed to his phone from her messages was too much for you.
However, if you had been at the house when he had arrived home, you would have seen his neck clear, phone shoved into his back pocket as he called out your name, wondering if you had returned home yourself. Charles notices your trainers haven’t been left on the shoe rack; there’s no music to signify your afternoon relaxation. A light knock to the door of your room signifies there’s nobody home. The house feels empty. 
Maybe, Charles Leclerc was beginning to understand how you felt. 
His first instinct is to message you. Surely, you would have seen his text from his previous message by now; what would it hurt to check in once more. The man feels against his rough jean pocket for the device, swiping away from the multiple notifications from his mistress, instead scrolling to your contact’s name, seeing you hadn’t been active in almost twelve hours. You hadn’t even opened his message. 
His thumb hovers above the keyboard, not entirely sure what to say in this situation. Instead, he opts to call your number instead; you had always picked up to him; whenever he needed you to stay away from the house, or to remind you to be ready to leave at a certain time. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, your voicemail comes through the speaker, signifying him that you were too busy to pick up the telephone. 
Charles didn’t grow concerned during the evening; he grew angry. You were his wife. You were supposed to be at the house to greet him, to welcome him with open arms, ask about his day. Even if…even if he had chosen to ignore your welcoming’s and kind heart for over a year. The man found a distraction in going through the information that Scuderia Ferrari had sent him for his journey tomorrow, making sure his passport was in the correct place. He hadn’t needed to pack; you had made sure to do that for him before your own departure, making sure his comfortable clothes were packed and sunglasses safely secured in the pouches of the case. 
It was late, late for you when the door finally opened, signalling the arrival of a second being. Charles immediately sits up from his slouched position on the couch, stepping up from the sofa, almost ready to give you a piece of his mind. Upon reaching the hallway, he sees you, slipping off your trainers, leaving the suitcase next to the front door. Even underneath your jumper, he can see your skin is glowing from the Mediterranean sun, yet your eyes are watering, tears leaking from your lower lash line. 
“Where on earth have you been?” He snaps, not actually wanting to hear an answer. You open your mouth to respond, but the man cuts you off before you can speak. “I am your husband. You’re supposed to wait for me!” His temper is getting the better of him, green eyes flickering with anger. 
At this point, you’re exhausted, overwhelmed from the news you had received on your drive home, and for this man to question your loyalties to your marriage? You can’t help the scoff which falls from your lips, the emotions building a little too much.
“You’re my husband?” You mock in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise my husband was around at long last, not wrapped in the arms of another woman!” Your temper flares, pushing your hair behind your shoulders, grasping the suitcase to take upstairs and repack. 
“You didn’t pick up your phone once.” Charles retaliates. Oh, the cheek of-
“Like when you pick up your phone when I call?” The tears are beginning to flow freely now, wanting nothing more than to get upstairs and completely ignore what has been happening. “You don’t Charles. You’ve done nothing to show that you’re my husband in the past twelve months!” You can’t help yourself now. Instead of seeking the new suitcase, you simply turn around on the step of the front door, slipping your trainers back onto your feet. 
“Where are you going?” His voice is now laced in concern; you couldn’t leave yet, surely? You’d only just returned; you wouldn’t be safe to drive in this condition. Why on earth did he care now? His question is answered, but not in the way he desired. 
“Like you would care.” It’s the last thing you say before the door to the house is slammed shut. 
Charles Leclerc is an investigator. 
When arriving in the Ferrari Garage of Singapore, there’s already an eerie feeling through the air; there are no smiles, sympathising looks thrown towards the back end of the garage. The driver isn’t stupid, he knows something must be wrong. He’s unsure of who to ask; who would know what is going on? 
His original plan was to ask Xavi, maybe during their morning briefing, until he is told that his flight has been delayed and wouldn’t be there until the late afternoon. Eventually, he spots his racing partner, nestled in the corner of the garage, his eyes flickering across his own phone screen, rapidly typing a message to somebody he would rather not admit to. 
“Hey.” He speaks softly, not wanting to startle the man. Silently, Carlos looks up from his device, offering his teammate a small nod, not wanting to prolapse the eye contact for too long. Charles can sense he knows what has happened, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Why is everybody so…quiet?” 
The look on Carlos’ face signifies he’s said something wrong. His eyes darken, shaking his head in disappointment rather than fury. It correlates to the kind of look his father would give him during a long talk, when he had broken something and not admitted to it. The Spaniard isn’t sure he should even tell his teammate what had happened. Instead, he changes his phone application to the Emails App, handing the device over to Charles. His eyes flicker across the screen, taking in the information. 
Ferrari’s biggest benefactor, your father, would not be attending the race weekend after the untimely death of his wife. Your mother. It suddenly correlates; how the night before, you had seemed inconsolable, despite the fact you had obviously had an incredible vacation. You’d tried to simply walk away, to let yourself grieve without bothering him. Instead, you had found comfort in Carlos as he had driven you to the airport, whispering sweet words of comfort, promising that everything was going to be okay. 
Charles feels his blood run cold, he feels sick. The look on the man stood in front of him tells him enough; he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Murmuring an excuse, he leaves the garage, stepping to the secluded back area, the realisation that he is everything his mother never wanted him to be, hitting hard. He still had the ability to run to her, to ask for her advice. You didn’t have that anymore. You didn’t have anybody, least of all your husband. 
The first thing he does in that moment, is pull out his phone, scrolling to the contact of his mistress.
10:09: Charles Leclerc
We need to talk. 
Charles Leclerc is a phone call away.
The past day had been filled of tears, clinging to your father, to your younger siblings, to your elder cousins. How on earth your mother had left this world early was beyond you. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. Your mother was the one whom had been your rock for the past miserable year of your marriage. If not for her, you were almost certain that you would have thrown your silvery key to the house down a drain so long ago.
Without her guidance, without her tutoring, you felt like bird trying to fly individually for the first time; surrounded by fears and almost certain you’d fall into compromising position. 
You hadn’t rested. Not since you had arrived at the bleak family home. As customed, every curtain was drawn close, doors to each room sealed, no natural light emitting to the large house, making every shadow and crook of the building seem more terrifying. Eventually, your father had retired to his own bedroom, your younger siblings tucked into their beds, butterfly kisses pressed against their foreheads, a silent promise you were only down the hall if they so desired you. 
The bedroom you had grown up in remained almost identical to the one you had painted in your mind; pale pink wallpaper, a luxury bed lined with a rosebud-patterned quilt set. The vanity you had last used to get ready on your wedding day remained pristine, the perfumes and scents which had been your favourite still sitting atop of your shelf. And the photographs. A polaroid of your two closest friends from your childhood; one of your sisters on her christening day, the entire family dressed so elegantly; Charles is in that photograph, off to the side alongside his brothers; you had no idea there and then that boy with the ocean eyes would become your estranged husband. 
You could have continued going down memory lane, if not from the buzzing which was coming from your bed. The phone you had carelessly thrown atop of the blankets when first entering the room had finally got some service, a thread of text messages and missed phone calls beginning to filter through. Silently, you take a seat on the edge of your bed, eyes flickering across each message. Some are from members of the Ferrari team, others from family members you hadn’t heard from in what felt like centuries. 
There’s one. One from the man whom you had spent the previous week with. The one who had consoled you whilst travelling to the family home. Your husband’s teammate. 
23:05: Carlos Sainz
Mariposa, please let me know how you are doing. I’m so worried about you. Let me know if you need anything at all. 
23:31: You
Thank you, C. I should be heading home tomorrow, with a bit of luck I’ll be able to swing by and say hello. 
You hadn’t expected anything else that evening. You were settled, ready to focus on yourself for the remainder of the evening; in your eyes, there was a high likelihood that your siblings would be burrowing into your blankets later. Once dressed in nightwear, the makeup that had stained your cheeks removed, you noticed the soft glow of your phone screen. Another message had just been received, and in your wildest dreams, you could not have imagined whom it was from.
00:24: Charles Leclerc
I heard about your mother this afternoon; I am truly so, so sorry for your loss. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. I mean it. 
Your eyes had barely had time to view the message which had just been received, before your phone screen changes, taking the message away from your sight. The message thread is replaced by a photograph of your husband, his name lighting up on you phone screen. You don’t even think; instead, your thumb swipes across the screen, pressing the green button and holding the device to your ear. 
“Charles.” You speak one word, hearing your husband visibly relax on the other end of the line. You realise it’s the first time you’ve said anything coherent in hours; the tone of your voices echoes around the room. Did you always sound that sad when you spoke to him?
“Hey.” He isn’t too sure what he wants to say; the lack of conversation between the two of you means he isn’t aware if there are any boundaries, anything you wouldn’t discuss with him. No, he just wanted to speak to you, to check in. In reality, he had realised how lonely the house was as an individual. His mistress was gone from his contacts, not inviting her around to fill the void had made him realise how you had felt for oh-so-long. 
“How…” He pauses, not sure on how to finish his question. He doesn’t need to, because despite the lack of understanding of one another, you know he’s trying, trying to make you feel better.
“I’m…yeah.” You can’t find the correct words to say; ‘sad’ is an understatement, ‘fine’ is a rude response. Neither of you can find the words, but in that moment, you crave somebody who isn’t mourning the loss of your mother as heavily as you are. 
“We have some new neighbours.” He’s trying to find anything to create some conversation. It’s almost as if he knows the quiet of the room is making you feel uncomfortable. “They left us an invitation to join them for a tennis session- not that I’m any good.” He laughs to himself, remembering the previous time he’d attended a tennis game alongside his fellow drivers; he’d had to step out after a few minutes, completely terrified he would end up breaking his hand. 
He doesn’t hear anything from the other side of the line but continues to talk. “Are you…” He catches himself for a moment. “Are you coming back soon?” His voice turns into barely a whisper, as if saying the wrong thing will cause you to hang up immediately. He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, taking a gentle sigh and awaiting your response. 
“Yeah.” You pause. Are you doing this? Are you having a conversation with your husband? “I’m going to fly home tomorrow afternoon. I think my father wants space.” Your sentence closes, looking around your room. The silence is deathly; in that moment, you don’t care about everything that’s happened. All you want is for somebody to hold you in their arms and tell you it would be okay. 
“I’ll come and get you.” Charles has spoken before his mouth has had time to catch his brain. Your eyebrows quirk in confusion. The only time your estranged husband ever drove you himself was on your endless journeys to races; you would sit silently, curled away from his figure, eyes transfixed as the world passed by around you. The man not only offering but wanting to pick you up from the airport was a new-found curiosity. 
“It’s okay.” You don’t let him continue. If previous standings have taught you anything, it’s that behind those mesmerising eyes cannot be trusted. You knew the secrets that lied beyond the ocean settled in his eye. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt you.” Part of your heart is craving to bring up his mistress; how she would probably be warming his bed in the current moment, walking around the house which you ached to find comfort in. 
“You wouldn’t.” Charles is quick to respond; in his heart of heart, he knows getting you to trust him again would be a monumental task. He’d do anything to prove he would be the husband who would look after you. Who would love you unconditionally; the husband you deserved.
“I’ll let you know when I’ve landed, okay?” It’s your final compromise. The woman whom you had been twelve months ago would love nothing more than to run into Charles’ arms; whether he cared for you the way you did; you would always desire his attention and affection. You’d had to learn through the months that some of life’s biggest temptations had to remain untouched.  
Charles Leclerc is your husband.
Landing back in the country was almost eerie; despite being away for only a miniscule amount of time, you felt changed; changed by the loss of your closest companion, changed by the fact your husband had been the one to call you, and not to throw some crazy request down the telephone line. 
Arrivals, as always, were completely smothered; couples reuniting, children screaming at the sudden change of scenery. After obtaining your own bag, your eyes flicker through the never-ending crowds, desperate to find some recognition. 
Standing apart from the crowd, looking effortlessly rugged in his athletic shorts and hoodie, hair pushed underneath a snapback. His eyes are trained on you, as if he had sensed your presence into the room in less than a moment. The breath catches in the back of your dried throat, a pair of eyes that you trusted undoubtedly. Stumbling, your feet carry you over to the arms of your favourite Spaniard, your head instantly finding solace in the joint between his shoulder and neck, the cologne you were used to from his attendances around the paddock creating a cloud of comfort. 
Carlos’ hands effortlessly lock around your torso, pulling you tighter into his chest, one palm rubbing up and down your back. It was the first time, the first time in a long time that anybody had offered you this sort of affection. Mindlessly, the soft tears begin to pool at the bottom of your lash line. Soft snuffles emitting from your lips cause the man to hush you gently, pulling your face away from his body, cradling your head between his larger hands. 
He mumbles something quietly, something about taking you back to the house. If it was him, the man would bundle you into his car and drive to his own home. He’d nestle you under his bedroom blankets, dress you in one of his hoodies. Instead, his rough palm finds your soft fingers, intertwining your hands together. Carlos takes your suitcase in his free hand, guiding you to his car parked outside of the airport. 
Not much is said during the shortening journey back to the house; the tears glossing your eyes reflect the streetlights, transfixed on the roads which you had left for a few short days. The tears will continue to fall; her loss had taken a part of you that you would you never thought would return. The man to your right, eyes focused on the road can sense your heartbreak. He doesn’t wait to push you; he had spoken to you shortly after the news had originally broken, in that conversation, you had barely been able to say ten words before your voice cracked. Instead, Carlos rests a warm hand on your leg, a silent promise that he will be there no matter what. 
The journey feels too short; eventually the driveway to the house rolls into sight, Carlos slowing down the car. When it comes to a halt, he steps out immediately, obtaining your suitcase from the rear of the car, placing it down on the wheels. By this point, you’d wiggled from the seat, ready to wheel your case into the house. However, before you can move, his arms engulf you once more, clinging so tightly, your feet began to lift from the floor. You had clung back just as tight, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek; a silent ‘Thank you,’ for everything. 
The embrace ended, Carlos awaiting until the door had unlocked, nodding when he saw you safely enter the house. The building is practically silent; no television sounds, no gentle music, not even the whirr of Charles’ simulator in his downstairs office. Ears pricked, you could hear the jets of a shower from upstairs, the assumption that he must have been in the shower. Paranoia threads your mind, she wouldn’t be showering alongside, would she?
You don’t let your mind wander; instead, you focus on lugging the suitcase along the staircase, silently glad you had gotten further with it since your trip to Madrid. Beelining towards your room, the suitcase rolls behind you, resting it in the corner of the room, a silent promise you’d wash everything tomorrow. However, a delicate bouquet of soft, pink and fresh flowers decorated the vanity of the room; you knew you hadn’t bought flowers since Madrid, and these…They looked as if they’d been placed mere minutes ago. 
Overthinking had always been dangerous; instead, you keep yourself busy, wiggling your skincare bag from the suitcase, padding into your bathroom with that and a fresh set of long pyjamas; the late-night breeze had begun to tickle your skin since removing yourself from Carlos’ warm arms. The relish indulges your body, shampoo trickling through your hair, body wash bubbles tickling your body. You’d stepped out a few moments later, changing into the soft clothing, sitting in front of the mirror, brushing your hair out as carefully as you could have. 
Silently, your feet carry you from the en-suite towards the main bedroom. Standing at the head of the doorway, is none other than your husband, hair own hair damp from his shower, dressed in soft tracksuit bottoms and a tight tee-shirt. He’d seen your suitcase nestling in the corner of your bedroom, your phone had rumpled the blankets of your bed. Charles had been the one to hear the shower this time, deciding to wait, just to see your soft eyes.
They’re bloodshot; you look so…frail. The years of heartbreak littered across your face. Charles’ heart practically breaks; before you can say a word, he’s across the room, arms pulling around your torso, pulling your head under his chest. Your instinct tells you to fight it, why on earth would you accept some form of affection from a husband who had openly destined you for so long? 
And yet, you subcome to his affection, hesitantly holding your own arms to his chest. His scent, his warmth.You felt as if you were dreaming, eyes wet from the overwhelming care, feeling gentle kisses press to the top of your head. 
You don’t remember when Charles scooped you to his chest, tucking you into your fresh blankets before nestling in behind you himself. You remind yourself; this is a one-off. You’re almost certain that by tomorrow, he’ll be back in the arms of his mistress, your moment tonight will be an absent moment to your husband. You’ll take it; if it’s one night in his arms, feeling his breath against the back of your neck, tip of his nose pressing into your back, one hand pressed against your stomach in comfort, you’ll take it. 
Some point during the night, your phone buzzes, the sound barely audible on the blankets of your bed. You groan slightly, the bubble of yourself and Charles giving you a true form of sanctuary, a true form of home. Curiosity in the night takes the better of you, lifting the dying device to your eyes, slightly blinded by the glow of the screen. 
Despite being wrapped in the arms of your husband; you can feel your blood turn cold when you read the one sentence which had been left for you to find. 
01:46: Carlos Sainz
I’m in love with you. 
Tumblr media
3K notes · View notes
confusedraven1 · 6 months
Text
my favorite thing so far about season 2 is how, no matter what, the crew of the revenge actively chooses their found family, over and over again
Tumblr media
• swede loves and is married to jackie, but double crosses her anyway because of his love and “life debt” for his family
• stede leaves ricky at jackie’z, despite ricky being inexperienced, because he’s fucking around and they all need to leave. stede’s not gonna risk his family just because ricky wants some sort of recognition for something he barely helped with
• oluwande leaves zheng yi sao because he’ll be damned if he leaves jim, who he’s reiterated that they’re family for him
• frenchie and jim disobeys ed’s orders and save izzy’s life because, as jim says, “he’s THEIR dick.” archie follows along cause she knows it’s fucked up and wants to stay by jim’s side
• izzy has chosen ed over and over again, and would’ve continued to if ed had accepted the help he desperately needed, but ed isolates himself and pushes izzy to the point where he HAS to choose the rest of the crew instead
• roach, wee john, and pete all get jobs on the red flag that play to their strengths and they enjoy IMMENSELY, but they go back to the revenge cause there’s no world where they wouldn’t. buttons had the opportunity to probably get more sea witch info and tools from auntie, but he also wouldn’t ever choose that over the crew
• lucius is PISSED at stede, and has a ton of ptsd to work through. i imagine he probably felt somewhat safe finally on the red flag. but after talking things through with stede and pete, i know that it was a no brainer for him as well. he’d never give pete up again after that kind of separation
• even though stede is loving the experience of seeing zheng yi sao doing what she does best and the (seemingly) warm and comforting environment on the red flag, he chooses to rescue the crew, even izzy, and take back their ship. because he knows they would choose him (and did during the act of grace, minus izzy). he’s bringing their family back together despite everything else
• i would say that the crew still with ed DID choose him, constantly. any other crew would’ve mutinied WAY before they did, but they love ed and hoped things would get better despite his behavior saying otherwise. the only times they didn’t choose him was out of self-preservation
• ed became a self-fulfilling prophecy and isolated himself. i would argue that he’s the one exception here. he actively chooses to disregard his family because of his self-loathing and deluded himself into thinking they wouldn’t choose him. BUT, in the end, he finally does because stede cast him that line. he chose to live for himself, of course, but i like to think that that decision was also to come back to the one person that truly felt like family for him
i am so fucking excited to see all of the other ways they’re going to choose each other, yet also keep each other accountable for the things they do. because they’re family
2K notes · View notes
sundrop-writes · 3 months
Text
Lessons For A Genius - Lesson Two
Tumblr media
Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader
Lesson Two: Magic Metacarpals
(aka the one where Spencer learns how to finger you)
Summary:
After his first 'lesson', Spencer is even more eager to learn from you.
And while both of you are ignoring your growing yearning for something more, you teach him the next logical thing: how to pleasure you in return.
Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. (Pining) Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set during early Season 2.
Word Count: 26,300
Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link
THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.
Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.
Warnings: General themes for a CM episode - murder/killing/mentions of gun violence/mentions of women being murdered and sexually assaulted/mentions of strangling; once again, there is a mention of a case that isn’t in the canon (one that I have made up) and this fic is not case-centric; the reader is held in a choke-hold by the killer and uses dark humour to get out of it; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; mentions of the reader wearing a dress/very girly outfit; the reader is heavily implied to be plus-sized;mentions of the reader being older than Spencer, but there is no specific mention of how much the age difference is/number of years (tbh the way I am playing it, it could be months, a year, or years of difference because they make jokes about it) (because this takes place in early S2, Spencer would be 24/25, so if you’re younger than that, just imagine? lmao); the team being very nosy about Spencer and the reader’s sex life and the reader lying about it in order to spare Spencer because he’s shy (not because she’s embarrassed of him); heavily implications of Morcia as a background couple; mentions of drinking/drunkenness (does not take place in this fic, it’s just mentioned in passing); mentions of Spencer being bullied as a child.
General sexual themes; ongoing dom/sub relationship - Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; a safeword is in place but it’s not used; Spencer is generally inexperienced and the reader is 'teaching’ him things about sex, including slang, kinks, sexual technique, and the emotional consequences of sex, generally helping him explore his sexual side; mentions of using sex toys (a fleshlight, passing mentions of dildos, including a tentacle dildo that is not used); mentions of Spencer masturbating independently from scenes/playtime with the reader (these scenes are not detailed); descriptions of subspace; descriptions of Spencer having a subdrop/bad subspace experience because he masturbates without the reader there (this is a very brief part of the fic and all other moments of subspace are described pleasantly); the word 'MILF’ is used to describe the reader - as a joke, and because Spencer doesn’t fully understand the context.
The actual smutty meat of the fic (aka girl dinner) consists of: panty kink - Spencer wears a pair of lacy panties under his clothes while in public because it turns the reader on; praise kink - Spencer loves being praised; public/semi-public 'sex’ (they don’t have full-blown sex, it’s just groping through clothing, and they are in a secluded area of a public place when it happens); risk of getting caught; strength kink - the reader exerts her strength over Spencer and he likes it; heated making out; hair pulling (Spencer receiving); groping through clothes (reader and Spencer receiving); Spencer cums in his pants while being groped; clothes sharing - Spencer wears the reader’s clothes; the reader calls Spencer honey, sweetie, baby, pretty boy, good boy; Spencer calls the reader Miss; this fic does feature Mommy kink - Spencer starts calling the reader Mommy partway through; mentions of the reader wearing traditionally feminine lingerie; hand kink - the reader likes Spencer’s hands; finger sucking (the reader sucks on Spencer’s fingers); vaginal fingering/clitoral stimulation - the reader teaches Spencer how to finger her; Spencer edges the reader unintentionally; guided masturbation - Spencer masturbates for the reader; Spencer cums on the reader (by accident?); the reader licks some of Spencer’s cum; mentions of pregnancy (Spencer likes the idea of getting the reader pregnant, but she is on birth control so it won’t happen in this fic lmao); some mentions of aftercare (not as in depth as the previous fic); and I believe that’s it.
A/N: I do intend for each part of this to possibly be read as a oneshot, so you don’t have to read Lesson One in order for this to make sense narratively. But if you want more sub!Spencer stuff, then you should go back and read Lesson One just for your enjoyment. This makes reference to things that have happened in the first part, but you won’t be utterly confused if you jump into reading this without reading the other one first. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy it, if you're reading this for the first time or re-reading it.
...
When you woke up the next morning, you had almost forgotten about what had happened. 
You were drowsy, your body almost entirely sunken into the soft bed. If not for the ripe scent of coffee drifting through the air and undertone of something uniquely masculine stuck to the pillow - Spencer’s aftershave - then you likely would have thought that you were comfortable in your own apartment and simply turned over to go back to sleep. 
But then it all came flooding back to you. 
The Chinese take-out date, gifting Spencer the fleshlight - tying him to the chair in order to ‘help’ him use it. His moans, the sweet way he had looked up at you with those big eyes. The way he had called you ‘Miss’ with such utterly beautiful desperation, how perfect he had looked covered in his own cum. 
You sighed with delight as you remembered it all, a gentle tingle coming over your body as you thought about it. 
It was then that you realized what the pungent smell of coffee meant: Spencer must have been brewing a pot. You had no clue what time it was or when you had to be ready for work - but coffee sounded fucking amazing after the eventful night the two of you had. 
You were surprised that Spencer wasn’t still in bed, cuddled up to you. 
He had spent the whole night clinging to your back like a koala in the most endearing way. You had no clue how a man so large could make himself seem so small at times, but he definitely accomplished that by hooking his leg around your hip and whining whenever you tried to pull away from him even a slight bit. 
(You hated that it was something that would have been intensely annoying from any other partner or one night stand, but when he did it, you found it adorable. You knew that you were letting him get away with too much already, but you couldn’t help yourself.) 
What you didn’t realize: yes, Spencer would have loved to be cuddled up with you in bed all morning. But he had woken up before you - and he would deny the amount of time he had taken to stare at you while you were sleeping, ogling your beautiful, peaceful face. After he had gotten out of bed, he had taken the initiative to attempt to prepare breakfast. 
He rarely cooked for himself. When he did cook, it was usually simple, plain, unimpressive dishes that were more meant to kill hunger than to actually taste nice. And he was even further screwed by the fact that his fridge wasn’t even well stocked because the team had been so busy on cases that he hadn’t even thought to go grocery shopping in a while. 
Of course, he had coffee (and cream, and sugar - because he wasn’t a monster, he made himself a cup every morning). And he had some basics like eggs, so he was trying his best to make something nice for you. 
When you walked into the kitchen, still dressed in nothing but your camisole and your panties, the chill of the morning air was biting and Spencer looked invitingly warm. 
He was standing at the stove, concentrating on some sizzling pan, and you couldn’t resist the urge to walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. He had gotten dressed since getting out of bed, so he was wearing a bright blue cotton tee shirt (that you didn’t yet see had the Superman logo on the front) and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. It was an entirely adorable sight: Spencer in loungewear. You indulged in pressing your face lightly between his shoulders, loving the feeling of the soft cotton against your cheek. 
You noticed that the radio was on in the background - a low hum compared to the pan sizzling on the stove. But from what you could tell, the news was playing. He was such an old man in some ways. 
“Please tell me that’s coffee I’m smelling.” You moaned quietly, feeling snuggled by his soft embrace. 
“A teaspoon of sugar and just a little bit of cream,” He said, taking his hand off the handle of the frying pan to reach over to the side, grabbing a coffee cup and hoisting it in your direction - which was slightly awkward with you behind him. 
You met him halfway, taking the coffee thankfully. Then you moved to lean against the counter to actually drink your coffee. He was rueful that the hug didn’t last longer, but he didn’t say anything about it. 
“You remembered,” You grinned at him, referring to the fact that he had made your coffee exactly how you liked it. 
When you took the first sip, it tasted amazing, and began to wake up your senses from the drowsy lull that you had been feeling. 
“It’s quite literally impossible for me to forget.” He replied, giving you a grin. 
“Hmm,” You hummed thoughtfully, clutching the warm coffee cup with both hands. “I’d like to test that theory one of these days.” 
If you could make Spencer so incoherent with an orgasm, even just begging for one, you were willing to bet that you could feed him information that he wouldn’t be able to repeat back to you when he was so fucked out. It would be one of the ultimate victories - proving the genius’s perfect eidetic memory wrong. 
Spencer saw that look in your eyes - the same one you had given him last night before you had gifted him the fleshlight. (Which was still propped up in the drying rack, a sight that had startled him when he had first gotten into the kitchen that morning). He had a feeling that, based on that look alone, he knew what you meant. He shied away then, looking back down to the pan of eggs as your brain moved on to another subject. 
“I still can’t believe that you listen to the radio in the morning,” You commented, nodding toward the device that was propped up on the half-wall that partitioned off the kitchen from the living room. “You’re such an old man.” 
“I’m younger than you!” He chuckled. 
“No, no.” You easily corrected him, your voice taking on a very typical joking tone. “Being an old man is a way of life. It’s not about your age. It’s why you and Gideon get along so well.” 
Spencer snorted with laughter at this. He turned off the stove, deciding the eggs were done, and began to scrape them onto a plate, hoping that it wasn’t too measly or unimpressive. 
“Well then… you had sex with an old man last night.” Spencer chuckled, trying to sound confident in this ‘joke’. 
You couldn’t help but to laugh at his nervousness. 
“You need to work on your comebacks, too.” You told him with a grin. “I should get you one of those ‘yo mama’ joke books that seventh graders pass around.” 
“Oh, that explains why I suck at comebacks. I skipped seventh grade.” He shrugged casually. 
You laughed even harder at this. For him, it was a simple statement of fact, but to you, it sounded like he was purely bragging, and that turned out to be a better joke than the one he actually intended as humor. 
Spencer bit his lip to hold back a grin. 
Mornings with you - it was so much better than he had expected. He had expected things to be intensely awkward after what had taken place last night. He had expected that the entire tone of your relationship might change. And that was something he was fearful of. But you were still making jokes, still absolutely not afraid to insult him in that joking way that you did. 
Spencer felt a yearning deep inside of him at the realization - like the string of a harp being plucked, setting off vibrations of bitter harmony through his entire being. He wanted his life to be like this every single morning. He wanted to make coffee for you every day - he wanted to be yours. 
You picked up a fork and took a small bite of the eggs he had offered up, and Spencer felt his heart drop when your face immediately coiled into disgust. 
“What’s wrong?” He asked quietly, fearing he had terribly disappointed you. 
“Honey… how much salt did you put in this?” You asked, your words slightly muffled by the food cradled on your tongue. 
You walked over to the sink and spit the eggs out, and Spencer rushed to pick up a fork for himself as he answered. 
“Not much, I think.” He said, taking his own bite of the food. Then he immediately understood. “Oh my god. That’s so bad.” He said, feeling a gag curling in his throat at just how putridly salty it was. 
He leaned over and spat his bite in the sink next to yours, and before the fear of disappointing you could fully set in, you burst out laughing brightly. 
“Oh god.” You chuckled. “You don’t usually cook, do you?” 
“Not really.” He said, giving you a timid smile. “I’m sorry.” 
“It’s okay.” You assured him, rubbing a hand gently across his back. “We can just get some breakfast on the way to work.” 
He would learn to cook for you too. Most definitely. 
The sweetness and peace was disrupted by a sharp digital chirping - a cellphone ringing. You didn’t think to question if it was your phone or Spencer’s before you put your coffee cup on the counter and rushed toward the sound, finding the small silver object buzzing in the middle of the coffee table (still off to the side of the room where you had pushed it the night before). You grabbed it up and flipped it open, and answered without hesitation. 
“Hello?” You said politely. 
Spencer stood in the doorway of the kitchen then, watching on with curiosity, wondering if the two of you were being called in for a case. 
“Y/N?” JJ’s voice came from the other end of the line - but she sounded oddly confused. 
“Yeah.” You confirmed. “What’s up?” 
“What are you doing answering Spencer’s phone?” She asked, an eager curiosity coming through her voice. 
Your work phones were practically identical, so it was a crapshoot. 
You scrambled to make up an excuse, even though you knew her mind had likely already strayed to something in the realm of ‘adult sleepover’. 
“He and I were hanging out last night and I fell asleep on the couch watching movies.” You said. “You know Reid, he went on that whole rant about how driving tired is like driving drunk, he insisted that I stay over-” 
JJ let out a hardy laugh, cutting you off. 
“Yeah, keep working on that.” She said. “I’m sure the others will definitely believe it.” You rolled your eyes at this, and JJ continued. “Did the two of you use a condom, or should we be expecting some genius babies coming our way nine months from now?” 
You wanted to conjure up a crude (but truthful) joke about how Spencer had cum into a silicone pussy and you didn’t think babies could come from that. But for once, you managed to hold your tongue. You wanted to respect his privacy rather than flaunting your sexual exploits in front of other people and embarrassing him. You did have some sense of tact. 
“Do we have a case or are you just calling around cause you’re lonely?” You fired back, trying to get her off this topic. 
“Yes, we do.” She said. “And you just saved me a phone call. So you and your little boyfriend get in here as soon as possible, okay?” 
You sighed. “Yeah, of course.” 
You snapped the phone shut before she could make any more cute comments, and then you walked over and handed it to Spencer. 
“There’s a case?” He asked. 
“Yeah.” You told him. “Sweetie, would you mind running down to my car and grabbing my go-bag? I need a fresh change of clothes.” 
“Yeah, yeah, of course. I can do that.” 
His overall obedience toward you kicked in again, and he found himself nodded eagerly. He knew that if he were a dog, his tail would have been wagging relentlessly as he shoved on a pair of shoes and a sweater and you tossed him your keys from your purse in order to go and do the task. 
You chugged down your coffee and headed toward the bathroom for a quick shower to freshen up. As Reid went down to the parking garage, he had to wonder about the things he had just heard you say on that call. 
He knew that you had made up the excuse about you ‘falling asleep on the couch’ to JJ because you didn’t want to simply expose the fact that the two of you had played around the night before. It was a private thing that should be kept between the two of you. Even though you were relatively shameless about toting other private matters in public. You were never ashamed about announcing to the world when you were on your period or if certain foods had upset your stomach - in great detail. 
So - if you weren’t so eager to announce being with Reid, did it mean that you were ashamed of him? Did it mean that you didn’t want to tell everyone that you had a sexual partner like him? 
He tried not to stew in that thought as he brought your bag back upstairs. When he closed the door to the apartment and you heard him come in, you called him and told him to come toward the bathroom, and he heard the shower shutting off. 
It was only then that it occurred to him that you were using his shower - you were naked in the shower. You were naked in his apartment. 
He felt warmth in his pelvis at the thought, and he tried dampening it down (tried thinking of horror, sadness, dead bodies) - because he really didn’t have time to masturbate or ‘play’ more with you before work. He didn’t have time to take care of an erection right now. Would this be a recurring problem? Getting erections around you so easily now because you had awakened something in him? Because now he knew that you would actually touch him? 
When Spencer came to the bathroom door, it was partially cracked open, and there was warm, hazy air pouring out - clearly steam from how hot you had the shower. 
“Did you find the bag?” You asked, clearly having heard Spencer’s footsteps in the hallway. 
“Y-yeah.” He answered. 
“Okay, well, you can come in and bring it to me.” You chuckled, bright and confident as ever. 
Spencer pushed the door open fully. 
He felt like he was stepping into an early morning heaven when he stepped into that humid air and saw you standing in the middle of the bathmat, wrapping a towel around your naked, dripping body. 
The way you held it kept your breasts and vagina fully covered, shielding all of the ‘important’ parts from Spencer’s view. But when you pulled it back to adjust the tightness of the towel around your chest, you clearly didn’t care about the skin that was revealed. The thickness of your hip and the plushness of the side of your stomach was bared to his eyes; his gaze devoured the large strip of skin all the way up the side of your body, just barely kissing the side of your breast where the towel covered you. It looked so scandalous even though it showed so little of you before you covered yourself back up and tucked the towel into itself, securing the fabric around your body. 
“Thank you, Spencer.” You said, reaching out and grabbing the bag from him. 
Spencer stood there for a moment longer, watching in utter awe as his eyes traced a droplet of water down your neck and into your cleavage. He wondered what it might be like to lean over and lick it up, wondering what your skin might taste like-
“Spence, shouldn’t you go get ready now?” You posed, looking up from rooting around your bag that you now had propped up on the closed toilet lid. 
“Right.” Spencer said. “Right. Yeah.” 
Spencer rushed off to his bedroom, doing just that. 
He did have to masturbate before he could focus at all on getting dressed. He felt slightly shameful for it, but he picked up your discarded blouse from his bedroom floor, left there by you from the night before, holding it to his nose while he pumped his cock with his hand. And with it, he came faster than he ever had by his own touch. And then he rushed to clean up and get dressed and managed to meet you just as you were emerging from the bathroom, looking as beautiful as ever in another button up blouse and simple black pants. 
You gave him a grin and didn’t at all seem to suspect that he had touched himself, and he felt so utterly victorious - like he had a secret, like he had gotten away with something. 
… 
You had to laugh as you watched Spencer struggle to clean the dried cum off his glasses in the car with a couple of wet wipes. It was something you had forgotten to do the night before, and you found it entirely amusing as he muttered and grunted to himself, trying to get the lenses fully clean while you drove. 
By the time you got to the office, Spencer’s glasses were glimmering clean and you recklessly pulled into the first parking spot you saw in the garage, hoping that you weren’t terribly late. (Unfortunately you hadn’t had time for breakfast, and hunger was gnawing at you, but you would take care of that later.) 
Spencer began voicing complaints about your parking job and the likelihood of your doors getting dented by someone else getting out of their car, but you simply dragged him forward with a hand on his wrist and told him that it would be your problem as you shoved him into the elevator. 
Nobody else was lingering in the bullpen, which worried you, and surely enough - everybody else was already sitting at the roundtable as you and Spencer walked down the hall. Many prying eyes stared at the two of you from the doorway, clearly expectant of the two of you. When you got in, you noticed that the only absent face was Gideon. At least you and Spencer weren’t the only ones holding up the presentation of the case. 
“You’re late.” Hotch grumbled as Spencer shut the door behind the two of you. “Again.” 
“So sue me.” You shrugged, causing Hotch to roll his eyes, and causing a smirk from Morgan and Elle - who generally loved your snark. 
“Don’t blame her, Hotch, she probably had a hard time finding her keys after Boy Genius rocked her world.” Elle said, making an obvious joke about the fact that you and Spencer had come in together. 
That, and you wouldn’t put it above JJ not to tell everyone that you had spent the night at Spencer’s place (especially if she delivered that news under suspicion that the two of you had sex). 
Reid - who had gone to the counter off to the side to get himself yet another cup of coffee - dropped a packet of sugar on the floor out of nervousness when he heard Elle’s comment. You found it entirely adorable when he scrambled to pick it up, clearly trying his hardest not to seem suspicious. 
“So come on, how was it?” Morgan said, looking right at you as he hopped onto the joke. “Did he spread you open like a good library book?” 
Hotch sighed, pressing his fingers into the bridge of his nose, knowing he could do nothing to stop the conversation. He looked to his phone, desperately trying to ignore this as it went on around him. 
“Very funny.” You griped sarcastically. “If I look tired, it’s because this loser had me up all night rambling on about Star Wars - fun facts, behind the scenes trivia.” You said, motioning toward Spencer for emphasis when you said ‘this loser’. “I absolutely did not need to know the difference between a protocol droid and an astromech droid, but now I do.” 
On any other occasion, you casually throwing around the word ‘loser’ in reference to Spencer would have hurt his feelings. 
But during this moment, Spencer found himself suppressing a grin. Everyone in the room had basically invited you to openly mock him for his lack of sexual ability, to spill his secrets as office gossip. But instead, you had chosen to keep those secrets close to your chest, clearly as a way to protect him from future mockery. And on top of that, you had made a clever reference to a previous conversation that the two of you did have about Star Wars. He was proud that you remembered the term ‘astromech droid’ off the top of your head at all. 
He felt proud, sharing a filthy secret with you. And he knew that he was definitely not a loser after what had happened last night. 
“Star Wars?” JJ questioned, looking at you with an expression that said she definitely knew you were lying, but she obviously didn’t have any proof. 
You had told her that you fell asleep on his couch by accident, and now you were telling the others that he had kept you up all night? 
“Yeah, that sounds more like it.” Morgan chuckled, receiving a knowing nod from Elle. 
Spencer passed by you, placing a coffee cup in front of your chair as you took your jacket off and sat down. He highly resisted the urge to give you a grin - knowing that it would give away your sweet little secret to the rest of the room. He simply walked around the table and took his own seat, and before any further discussion about the possible antics of your private lives could occur, Gideon walked in with a file in hand and JJ began presenting the case. 
… 
It was a case like any other. (Unfortunately.) Women strangled, sexually assaulted, left in areas of the woods that weren’t too difficult to find. 
As you looked at the horrific crime scene photos, you couldn’t help but to think that perhaps part of the reason you loved to dominate subservient men was to take back your personal power. Because deep down, you knew that you were terrified of ending up like that, and you loved the small piece of the world that you could take back when you got your hand around a man’s neck and made him beg for mercy (consensually, of course). 
But you couldn’t dwell on that for too long, because you had a job to do. 
There was a fresh crime scene when the team arrived, and Hotch sent you and Morgan to investigate it while he and Gideon went to speak to the victim’s family. The others left to set up at the local police station, and you couldn’t help but to notice Spencer’s eyes lingering on you as you parted ways. 
There were some drag marks in the dirt and a camera perched on a public bathroom that insisted the victim (and her attacker) could have been seen, so Morgan stepped away to call Garcia to see if she could pull anything from the camera’s feed. You did some more looking around, but couldn’t find anything of note. 
When you walked back over to where Morgan was perched beside the SUV, grinning with his phone beside his ear, you couldn’t hold back a comment at his final words before he hung up. 
“-oh, of course. Well you are beautiful and brilliant as always, my love. Thank you.” 
“You didn’t tell me Reid was on the phone.” You commented snidely, giving a wide smirk as you walked around into Morgan’s view. 
You thought you were being clever, making the joke that he would call Reid beautiful, or playfully call him ‘my love’. But of course, he turned this right back around on you. 
“No, that was just Garcia. She said the camera’s a dud and she couldn’t get anything off it.” Before you could comment on this fact, he continued. 
“But I took a message from Reid earlier. He said he left his panties at your place and he wants them back,” He smirked widely himself as he said this. 
Likely the exact opposite of what he had intended, this caused a distinct image in your mind. One of Spencer wearing a pair of pink lacy panties - his long, hard cock straining to fit inside the skimpy material, and leaky wildly inside of it, making everything so wet. 
You forced yourself to refocus, and purposefully put on a sour look, pretending that you were annoyed by his crude comment. 
“Ha-ha.” You griped sarcastically. “You know Reid and I aren’t a thing. So you can stop with the jokes before you embarrass him.” 
Truthfully, you did want the jokes to stop before it hurt Reid. You knew that he likely wanted to keep his sex life private. You didn’t want his shyness to come back tenfold before you could truly open him up and explore his filthy side. 
Morgan snorted, clearly in disbelief. 
“Oh, so you’re gonna act like that whole bit this morning wasn’t you and boy genius stumblin’ in late because of a late night booty call?” Morgan posed. “A real one. Not him fallin’ asleep on his phone.” 
You shifted your attitude then. If he wasn’t going to drop it, then you were going to arm yourself. 
“Okay, if you’re so invested in my sex life, you wanna talk about the size XXL purple leopard thong that I found in your back seat three weeks ago?” You posed sharply, a stone cold look on your face even though you were holding back the urge to laugh. 
At the time, Morgan had offered to give you a ride home because your car battery had died. And when you tossed your bag into his back seat, you randomly spotted the streak of bright color - very out of place among the few gray sweatshirts he had in the back. And when you picked it up, wondering what it was, you held it in your hands and in a moment, based on the size, knew who it belonged to. 
But he had been denying where it had come from (and the lustful tryst behind it) ever since. Clearly he wanted to keep his inter-office sex life private too. 
“I-” Morgan began stuttering out an explanation, then swallowed it up. “We should get going.” He said, motioning toward the SUV. 
“We should.” You easily agreed. 
… 
The whole time the team spent working the case, you found it difficult to interact with Spencer. 
You really wanted to say that having sex with him wouldn’t change your working relationship, but it wasn’t like you had fucked just anybody. It was Spencer. If you had railed Elle or Derek or anybody else on the team, you probably could have gone to work the next day and pushed it to the back of your mind with grace. 
But knowing that Spencer was inexperienced, knowing that you had likely been the first person to ever hear him moan like that, the first to ever see him covered in his own cum - it was definitely something that stuck in your head (to a painfully distracting extent). 
Every time you so much as looked at him, saw that thoughtful expression with those glasses perched on his face, you immediately pictured him blissfully fucked out with large spots of his own cum covering the lenses. 
So you tried your best to avoid him for the majority of the work. You volunteered to leave the station whenever possible, and left him with his maps, making a geographical profile, doing what he did best. You tried to keep yourself distracted and focused on a case. 
This - somehow - had you and Gideon following a lead, following up with someone who had spoken to the first victim a few minutes before she was murdered. While the two of you searched the man’s property looking for him, he managed to sneak up behind you and put you in a chokehold, attempting to strangle you. 
Because yeah - he was the killer. Great. 
And apparently, once again, your sick sense of humor paid off. Because when your hand reached for your gun upon instinct and you realized that in your Spencer Reid sex-haze distractions, you had somehow forgotten it in the car, you cursed yourself, and then you began to physically struggle. And then you realized that this man was too strong, and there was no good way for you to escape the hold with physical methods. 
With your vision becoming hazy, your instinct was to start moaning in a very exaggerated, pornographic way and tell him how much you liked the feeling of being strangled - which led him to loosen his grip out of shock. And that gave you more than enough room to elbow him in the face, knocking him loopy so you could call to Gideon for help. 
The two of you had him in cuffs in minutes and when everyone else got there and asked you how you managed to escape, you told them that you were simply too fierce of a fighter for the man to hold you down. They didn’t need to know what actually happened or where your mind went when faced with danger. 
Spencer looked at you with incredibly sad eyes when he saw the irritated strangle marks around your neck, but you pointed to the marks and told him you were fine with a chuckle. That it looked worse than it was. You were surprised and kind of hurt when he didn’t say anything to you in return. 
Spencer didn’t sit next to you during the plane ride home (which you took slight offense to). But he did come up to you in the parking garage when you were getting ready to leave. You had been inspecting a large bump in one of your doors (cursing the fact that Spencer always had to be right), and you became distracted when you heard his footsteps echoing through the large space behind you. 
You thought that maybe he needed a ride since you had been the one to drive him there after your heated night together. But he stood a few feet away with his hands in his pockets, so you took your hand off the key that was poised in your car door and made it clear that you were prepared to pay attention to him - clearly he had something to say. 
“Are you mad at me?” He asked timidly. 
“What? No.” You let out breathily, almost laughing. “Why would you think-?” You began to ask, and then cut yourself off, realizing the answer to your own question halfway through speaking it. “Because I’ve been avoiding you.” You spoke aloud. 
Spencer nodded, seeming very solemn and downtrodden by this fact. 
“You wouldn’t even look at me over the past few days.” He said. “I mean, I understand if I did something wrong.” He declared, his voice taking on the same broken wetness that his eyes had, as though he was on the verge of crying. “But I - I thought that what happened the other night, what we did, I thought it was special. I-” 
“Spencer. Come here.” You summoned him closer, not wanting to talk loudly across the parking garage at him. You didn’t want your voices to echo when speaking about your sex life - just in case anybody did happen to come by. 
You found it achingly adorable that he called what had happened ‘special’. Like he was a young woman talking about ‘making love’. It was tooth-rotting sweet. Especially considering that he wasn’t referring to some night where the two of you had laid in bed together with candles and Barry Mantilow playing. But rather, a time where you had tied him to a kitchen chair and fucked him senseless with a fake pussy. 
Spencer easily followed your order, finding nothing but natural order in listening to you. He came to stand just a few inches from your body where you were leaning up against the door of your car, and then you began to speak quietly. 
“What we did was special.” You assured him with a smile. The sadness on his features broke up slightly at this. “In fact, it was so special that I couldn’t get it out of my head. Every time I looked at you, I just imagined you moaning for me, covered in your own cum. I kept hearing your pretty voice in my ears saying ‘please’ in that gorgeous way you do.” 
Of course, you did angle your words more into dirty talk, and you leaned into him slightly when you said these things, whispering in a low, seductive voice. You loved how his Adam’s apple bobbed heavily as he swallowed thickly, and a slight flush moved across his cheeks at your words. 
When he didn’t say anything, clearly stunned into silence by your words, you continued. 
“I didn’t want to be turned on, or distracted when we have an important job to do.” You had to leave out the fact that you had been so distracted that you had almost made a fatal mistake. But nobody needed to know about that. “So… I just tried to focus on something other than you for a while. I do apologize if it seems like I was avoiding you out of anger, but that is definitely not the case.” You told him, easily capping off your explanation. 
“I understand.” Spencer nodded. “That’s… kind of how I feel every day. But I guess I’m just used to it by now. So I’m better at not being distracted.” 
You felt intensely flattered, and slightly turned on as he unintentionally fluffed your ego. 
“Because you’re a good boy.” You told him, knowing that praise was one of his weak spots. 
You swore you saw his knees shake when the words hit him, and he cleared his throat loudly before he spoke again. 
“Is - is it always going to be like this?” He asked. 
He would have mourned your friendship if that were the case. He didn’t want to trade off your jokes and your everyday interactions for the sex, as amazing as the sex was. Selfishly, he wanted both. 
“No.” You easily assured him. “I just need a bit of time to get my head on straight. I need some time to get used to it. Like you said, I need to get better at not being distracted.” 
Spencer nodded at this. 
He was very tempted to ask if you wanted to come over to his place that night. If you wanted to ‘sleep-over’ again. Not only had he enjoyed the spectacular orgasm, learning from you, but he had genuinely enjoyed the kind of domesticity that came from waking up with you there. He loved having someone in his kitchen in the morning. He knew he would miss that sorely if he woke up tomorrow morning and you weren’t there. (Perhaps you had spoiled him too much already.) 
However, before he could work up the courage to ask, you leaned up on your toes and kissed him on the cheek, muttering ‘goodnight, Spence’. And in return, he muttered something about paperwork before he walked back toward the elevator. 
… 
That night, Spencer went home and grabbed the fleshlight off the dishrack as soon as he spotted it. He knew that you had bought it for him with the intention of him using it independently, but as he grabbed the bottle of lube off the living room coffee table, he just felt… lonely without you there. 
But he supposed that he had to learn how to do it on his own, because you wouldn’t be there all the time to help him. It was only a fantasy - the two of you getting a place together, so he could serve you in every possible way, doing so gleefully, and in return, you would play with him whenever he wanted. 
He stripped naked and slicked up his cock and the toy just like you had shown him. He couldn’t help but to miss the feeling of your hand on his cock as he did it. When he got the tight softness of the fake pussy around him, he screwed his eyes closed tight - and all he could think about was you. 
He missed you like a tree missing sunlight, and he felt his head spinning - felt like he had no greater sense of control without your voice telling him what to do. It made him anxious and on edge the whole time he had that fake pussy wrapped around his cock, rather than the beautifully, buttery warmth he had felt before. 
By the time he came, he was practically sobbing. A deep ache for you in his chest as he missed your touch over him - missed the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, missed your voice calling him ‘good boy’ as that tingling ran through his gut. 
After he rinsed out the toy with hot water and put it back in the dish rack to dry (wondering if he was cleaning it right) and jumped in the shower, he wondered if he would ever be content to masturbate alone again. He wondered if you had ruined him, if he would ever truly feel satiated without your touch. 
… 
The next few days passed without much of note happening. 
You and Spencer stayed away from each other in the office and everyone began to whisper, theorizing that you were in some kind of fight. But of course, they didn’t notice the glances the two of you exchanged over the partition of your close desks - a deeply knowing stare that only the other person could decipher. 
Also, unknowingly, Derek had given you a fantastic idea. 
One day during your lunch break, you visited a lingerie store that you loved, and picked up a pair of lacy pink panties that would definitely be too small for you - but that you hoped would fit a certain genius’ slim hips just right. 
… 
At the end of the week, you were intensely thankful to have a day off. 
You were tempted to turn your phone off completely, not wanting to be cursed with being called in on your day off. You could say that you lived with the hope that nobody out there was needing the BAU’s help, but truly, you were just annoyed and wanted some time to relax. 
You woke up naturally around mid morning, and you were feeling hungry so you hesitantly rolled out of bed. You washed your face and did a light, lazy morning routine. On your way to the kitchen in your modest, cozy, but very well decorated apartment, you heard a knock on the door. 
You felt all of your muscles tense up unconsciously. You really hoped that it wasn’t someone from the team, needing something. (You also hoped that it wasn’t one of your exes, showing up unannounced to beg for you back because the sex had been too good and had ruined them for anyone else - which had happened before. Multiple times unfortunately.) 
You hesitantly walked over to the door (so tempted to pretend that you weren’t home and simply be left unbothered). When you looked through the peephole, you were delightfully surprised to see that it was Spencer. He was standing there, dressed like he usually did for work, holding a tray with two takeout coffee cups in one hand and a large brown paper bag in the other. 
He had brought breakfast. 
A sweetheart with a big dick and a pretty face who begged so pretty and brought food? Fuck, you might just have to marry him. 
You eagerly opened the door and grinned widely at him. 
“Spence!” You greeted him with excitement. “Fancy seeing you here.” 
“Um, hi.” He gave you a smile himself, and nodded at you rather than waving because his hands were full. “Can I come in? I brought breakfast.” He motioned toward the items in his hands, and you nodded, moving aside to let him in. “I wanted to make up for those… abysmal eggs that I made you the other morning.” 
“They weren’t abysmal.” You told him with a chuckle as you shut the door. “And I do admire you for trying.” 
Spencer naturally navigated his way to your small kitchen, to the small round table that you had in there to set the items down. This was only his third time in your apartment. 
Two of the other times he had been there, it had been to hang out and play board games with you, JJ, Elle, and Penelope. Something that had started out as a joke - Derek telling him that he might have fun ‘tagging along on girls’ night’. So he had. And he did have fun. 
And one of the times it had been because he had gotten quite drunk and you had brought him here to take care of him. Because he had been so drunk that he couldn’t tell you where his house keys were. Waking up on your couch that morning to the smell of pancakes had been delightfully confusing. 
Either way, he found your apartment wonderfully homey. Decorated in jewel tones with girly touches. And there was always a nice smell lingering in the air from some kind of scented candle or nice perfume you were wearing. 
“Yeah, well, food is definitely not one of my areas of expertise.” Spencer admitted, carrying on the conversation as he took your coffee out of the tray and handed it to you. 
You noticed the distinct motion of his eyes going up and down your body, lingering around your thighs and your breasts, distracting him from picking up his own coffee for a few moments. 
It was only then that you became hyper-aware of the fact that you were still wearing your pajamas. 
It was a matching set made of a thin cotton fabric with a floral pattern on it - the top was a tank top with thin little spaghetti straps (and of course, you had just gotten out of bed, so you weren’t wearing a bra). The shorts were intensely short, revealing most of your wide thighs. It didn’t leave much to the imagination, so you realized why it caused Spencer’s eyes to wander. You loved his keen gaze, though. And you pretended not to notice as the conversation continued. 
“The genius finally admits that there’s something he doesn’t know!” You chuckled. 
“There are still plenty of things I don’t know.” Spencer said quietly - the glint in his eye told you that he was definitely referring to the pivotal conversation that the two of you had the other night. The conversation where he had lovingly begged you to teach him about sex. “Plenty of things I still need to learn.” 
There was a pause where the air was filled with intense sexual tension, but Spencer broke it by grabbing the paper bag with the food in it and opening it up. 
“I got you a breakfast sandwich.” He said. “Bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel.” 
“Sounds perfect.” You nodded. “Plates are in the cupboard above the sink. I’m gonna go down to my mailbox and see if my newspaper has been delivered.” You told him, walking over to the door to shove on your slippers. 
“Getting your news from the paper? What an old lady you are,” Spencer said, clearly recycling your own words from the other morning back at you. 
“That just means you like old ladies.” You chuckled, recycling his comment from the other day. “You must be into MILFs,” 
“‘MILFs?’” Spencer questioned, that adorably confused look coming across his features again. 
You became filled to the brim with glee at the realization that you would get to explain this to him. 
“It means ‘Mother I’d Like To Fuck’ or ‘Mommy I’d Like To Fuck’.” You told him. “Usually it’s used to describe a sex fantasy where someone wants to fuck - well, a mother. Someone who’s had children, because they’re attracted to the concept of motherhood. Or it can be describing a porn category, usually anything with a curvy older woman and a younger man… some people say that a MILF doesn’t necessarily have to be a woman who’s had kids, just a woman who’s older than you and hot.” 
Spencer’s lips gaped with lustful shock, and a flush came over him. He wanted to confirm that you were definitely a MILF - because you were a woman who was technically older than him, curvy, and very hot. And he definitely wanted to fuck you. All the time. But that would mean using the word ‘Mommy’ to describe you, and as much as that brought a tingle through him - that was not a can of worms that he was ready to open. Yet.
You left him standing there, gaping with shock and you couldn’t help but to laugh at this as you walked out the door to go to the mailbox. 
When you came back, you and Spencer sat on the couch and ate with the TV playing quietly in the background. A random network was playing Pretty Woman and you left it on because Spencer remarked that he had never seen it before, and you found it adorable how closely he paid attention to the film as it progressed. 
When you finished your food, you opened your newspaper and began reading. At some point, you had stretched out, and your feet had wandered into Spencer’s lap. Before you could wonder if he found it annoying, he began to lightly massage them. 
It was a delicate kind of peace, and you couldn’t help but to enjoy the silent, easy company as he watched the film and you read an article about a new baby penguin being given to two male penguin parents at the local zoo. 
You didn’t know that Spencer’s skin was crawling, eagerness building up inside of him as he sat in silence. Seeing you just sitting there, your face gently concentrated as you read. You putting your feet so carelessly in his lap, using him like he was just a lovely piece of furniture, just a footrest for you. All if it seemed to be checkmarks on some unknown list of things that only made him more lustful. 
And for the past ten minutes, he had been slowly losing focus on the plot of the film and found himself staring more and more at your thighs or sneaking glances at you over top of the newspaper. 
He had the urge to simply nudge your legs apart and crawl between them. To start touching you until he found out what was pleasurable for you. Until you called him ‘good boy’ in that way that made him melt again. But he wasn’t nearly confident enough to just do that. So he was just sitting there quietly. Slowly going insane as he thought about all the things that he wanted you to be doing to him now that the two of you were alone with free time. 
Of course, you noticed him becoming more antsy. You felt him moving more in his seat, you felt him becoming tense under your feet. So you decided to ask and see what he would say. You wondered if he would come right out and admit that he was feeling lustful, or if you would have to pull it out of him. 
“What’s up, Spence?” You asked, glancing over the newspaper at him. 
Then, Spencer said something incredibly stupid. 
“They’re hosting some of Van Gogh’s original sketches at the Smithsonian Art Museum this month.” Spencer said, motioning toward the back page of the newspaper that you had extended in one hand. It was all advertisements, but one of them did say something about a Van Gogh exhibit including some of his original art. 
He had been feeling dangerously nervous and wanted to deflect from himself. 
“Hmm.” You said after you read it. “Maybe we should go check it out.” 
Spencer’s face fell to disappointment at this suggestion, and you held back laughter. 
“What? Did you have some other grand plans for the day?” You posed, knowing this would get the right reaction out of him. 
“I…” Spencer let out a breath, clearly hesitating. “I was kind of hoping we could… play.” 
You couldn’t hold back your grin. You loved that he was using the language you had taught him, feeling confident in putting the vocabulary to good use. 
“How about this?” You posed, knowing that you were fully in charge, and it was up to you to make the plan. “We go and check out the art exhibit, and if you behave yourself on this little outing, then you can have whatever you want as a reward when we come back home.”
Spencer’s eyes lit up at this. He seemed highly motivated at the idea of having a ‘reward’. 
“What would ‘behaving myself’ entail?” He asked, ever eager to have a set of rules to follow. 
“Don’t touch me without permission.” You told him. “Keep your hands to yourself. Don’t nag me or keep asking when we’ll come home and play. And… well, there is one more thing. Something special that you could do for me.” 
Spencer’s face knit with confusion at this. 
“What’s that?” He asked. 
“Hold on.” You told him. 
Then you got up off the couch and abandoned your newspaper on the coffee table, leaving Spencer nervously fidgeting as he waited for your return. He was surprised when you came back with a bright pink shopping bag - something fairly small and girly. The shop logo on the side wasn’t one that he recognized, so he had no idea what could be inside the bag. 
He waited patiently as you stood on the opposite side of the table and put the bag in the middle of it, and peeled back the pink tissue paper to take out the object inside the bag. He was slightly confused when you pulled out a small, delicate pair of lacy pink panties. 
When you unfolded them and held them up to display them to him, he easily saw that they would be too small for you, and the confusion racked him even harder. If you hadn’t bought the underwear for yourself then-? 
“I wanted you to wear these for me.” You told him, your voice steady. “Under your clothes all day. So just you and I know.”
Instantly, a wave of anxiety swept over Spencer. 
You hated the look that came across his face and you tossed the underwear down as he spoke. 
“Would - why?” He stuttered out. “Do you think it’s funny or something?” 
Spencer hated it, but he was immediately brought back to a time in his childhood. A time when, as a child prodigy in a public high school, he had been forced to take a gym class with a bunch of older teenagers, and forced to change in the same locker room as everyone else, because the coach refused to ‘treat him special’ just because he was ‘a smartass’. 
And at the time, he had thought nothing of his Ninja Turtles underpants until the other boys started pointing and laughing at them. They had thought his underwear was so funny, in fact, that they took his clothes, forcing him to walk out into the hallway in nothing but his underwear, fighting to get his clothes back. 
Back then, he didn’t understand why someone’s underwear would be funny. But it had changed him and left him guarded and feeling small - even now. 
“No, no, no, baby. Of course not.” You rushed to assure him otherwise, sitting down on the coffee table in front of him and putting a tender hand on his knee. 
“I would never want to laugh at you. Or humiliate you.” You told him very sincerely. 
You distinctly held back the urge to say ‘unless you want me to’. You didn’t think he was ready to know that some people role played humiliation on purpose. That would be for another day. 
“Baby, I only wanted to do this because it’s a turn-on for me.” You continued. “But you don’t have to do it if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t want to make you upset or uncomfortable.”
“It - it turns you on?” Spencer’s face knit with intense confusion, contemplating your words carefully. 
This was a brand new aspect that - now that it was presented to him, definitely had him processing the concept with fresh eyes. 
He knew that films or comedic shows presented the idea of men wearing women’s clothing as a form of public humiliation. Even though during Shakespearan times it was artistic, a beautiful form of theater. In modern times, men were publicly mocked and shamed for parading around in clothing that wasn’t ‘meant’ for them. 
Of course, growing up in Las Vegas, he was well aware of the existence of Drag Queens - people who fell somewhere between that Shakespearan theater and the Saturday Night Live style of comedy that was usually straight men wearing dresses. But drag performers dressed up in women’s clothing for money. They did it as a type of paid performance. 
No part of Spencer’s mental catalog had any idea that people dressed in clothing that didn’t align with their gender as, well… a fetish. 
Spencer imagined himself wearing the underwear - especially knowing that you would be looking at him with a lustful gaze while he wore it, and he felt a distinct tingle in his gut. He felt his mood shifting from anxiety to something warmer, but he was still on edge. 
“Tell me what’s on your mind, baby.” You pleaded gently, rubbing your hand on Spencer’s knee. “I know that look. So come on, tell me what’s going on inside that big brain of yours.”  
Spencer hadn’t realized that he had been sitting there for a prolonged moment, perhaps more than a few, a look of deep thought cast over his features as he considered all of this. 
“I… I don’t hate the idea.” Spencer said tentatively. 
He was still timid about his own desires, and he was unsure what it meant that he himself was becoming turned on by the idea of wearing women’s underwear. It was supposed to be a show for you, right? Was he supposed to enjoy it? 
“You’re not just saying that because you’re trying to please me?” You replied. 
You wanted to be sure that he was comfortable. You wanted to ensure that he knew he could say ‘no’ if he needed to. 
Spencer shook his head. 
“I - I think I could like it.” He said quietly, clearly shy about his own words. “I think I do. Just… can you tell me more about… why you like it?” 
You gave a small grin, always happy to explain these kinds of things to him. 
“Well, I think you would look good in them.” You said, being entirely honest. “To me, there’s something profoundly beautiful about the sight of a cock trapped in pretty lace. It’s unconventional and just so… pretty.” You explained, choosing your words carefully. 
Spencer felt a unique twist in his gut when you used that word - ‘pretty’. 
People had used that word to describe him before, but it always felt like it was teasing, or ironic. But when you said it, it sounded so genuine. It made Spencer want more. It made him want to hear it more because he wanted to feel pretty, especially in your eyes. It was something he had never wanted in his life before. It exponentially boosted his desire to wear those panties for you - if that would make him pretty to you, then he would certainly do it. 
But he held back on voicing that for now, and simply let you continue. 
“Plus, I do enjoy the idea of the two of us having a secret.” You told him. “The fact that you would be wearing those pretty panties under your clothes and we would be the only two people who know.” 
Spencer definitely understood that. He liked sharing secrets with you. 
It was how he felt all week - entirely filthy and victorious as he wielded his secret from everyone else. Having the knowledge that he had sex with you and the two of you were going about your days without anybody else knowing it. Sure, part of him wanted to brag to Morgan about it for some kind of social standing. But the bigger part of him much preferred the satisfaction of that secret. Having that secret side of you all to himself. 
“But like I said, you don’t have to do anything that you’re uncomfortable with. You don’t have to do it just to please me.” You reiterated the point, entirely open with him. 
“You really think I’m pretty?” Spencer asked quietly. 
You found it adorable that he had become fixated on this word, clearly slightly distracted from the overall point. 
“Yes.” You assured him. “You’re very pretty. You’re one of the most attractive people I’ve ever met, Spence.” You reached up and brushed your knuckles gently across his cheek, and he shivered lightly at the touch in combination with the brutally honest praise. 
“Thank you.” He said, giving you a small smile. Then, he had a thought. “Can - can I try them on, and then… see how I feel? Before wearing them for the rest of the day?” He asked, nodding toward where you had set down the pink lacy panties. 
It was such a brilliant idea - you weren’t sure how you hadn’t thought of it yourself first. 
“Of course, baby. That’s a really good idea.” You nodded. “Do you want to go in the other room and put them on, or do you want me to help you?” 
He found a warmth curling in his stomach at the idea of you helping him get dressed, and he absolutely couldn’t deny that offer. 
“Can you help me?” He asked, looking at you with the sweetest doe eyes. You resisted the urge to simply climb on top of him, kiss the life out of him and make him cum again. 
No. Today was going to be about making him wait. Making him needy - making him truly want. 
“Okay, baby, stand up for me.” 
Of course, he thrived on you giving him orders, so he did just as you told him without any hesitation. 
He stood up in front of you and you guided him around the coffee table to have more room. He was wearing such a perfectly Spencer outfit - a navy blue knitted sweater vest with a button up shirt underneath, a pair of gray slacks with a brown belt, and his usual mismatched socks (one red with navy stripes and the other dark gray). He also had a gray blazer that he had ditched on the back of one of your kitchen chairs shortly after coming in. 
It was interesting to know that even on his days off, Spencer still wore such ‘business’ clothing. But you supposed that it was all his wardrobe was made up of, because he likely didn’t consider it appropriate to leave the house in his loungewear. 
In a lot of ways, much like everything else that he did - it was intensely adorable. 
You put your hands on his belt and undid it, and unzipped his pants - when you slid them down over his thighs, you weren’t surprised to see that he was wearing the most Spencer kind of underwear: a pair of plain white briefs. He was half-hard, making a prominent shape in the cotton that caused you to hold back a wicked grin. 
“I’m sorry, my underwear isn’t… sexy.” He said, his arms hovering awkwardly around his front as he clearly considered covering himself but hesitated in doing so. 
“Don’t apologize, baby.” You said, getting down on your knees to take his pants the rest of the way down and untangle them from his ankles. Naturally, he put a hand on your shoulder and stepped out of them, a flush coming over him at how intimate the entire thing felt. 
“That’s why I got these special just for you,” You told him, reaching over and grabbing the panties, holding them up for emphasis. 
“You did?” He questioned. 
You had taken the tags off shortly before presenting the underwear to him, and even though you had brought them out in a shopping bag, it wasn’t something he had considered. You had bought something like this with him in mind. This was the second time you had gone shopping and gotten him a special present and he couldn’t help but to feel so lovingly spoiled by you. 
“I did.” You confirmed with a smile, looking up at him in a way that made him melt. 
“Thank you, Miss.” He couldn’t help the title from spilling from his lips, and it immediately made your pussy throb with need. 
Once again, you forced yourself to focus. 
“I’m gonna take these off now, okay?” You said, reaching up and thumbing along the waistband of his underwear. 
Spencer nodded. 
“Use your words, please.” You reminded him sharply. 
“Yes, Miss.” He said, nodding more frantically. 
You took down his briefs and his cock swayed in the air - clearly on the way to being fully hard, smooth and beautiful. You found it adorable that his pubes were still entirely untamed. You loved that even after you had started showing sexual interest in him, he hadn’t felt the need to rush to groom himself. You preferred him like this, especially because the imagery of that bush entirely slick with his own cum would always be stuck in your mind, and you definitely wanted to recreate it again. 
You were tempted to get a hand on his cock, to tease him. To get him to full hardness, making him leaking and whining and then force him to go out for a full day of activities. But he was still new to this and you weren’t that mean. 
That, and you had a feeling that because it was Spencer, if he started begging you to cum, if he said ‘please’ in that pretty voice again, then you would most likely just give in to him and your whole plan would be ruined. Rather than going to the museum, you would simply spend the day with him tied to the bed and incoherent. 
But you wanted to see how far you could truly push him if he was needy. If he was absolutely desperate. And a few hours of your attention directed away from him when he wanted it most (focusing on paintings rather than on pleasing him) along with rough lace scrubbing up against his cock should do very nicely. 
You pulled the underwear down fully and just the same as you had with his pants, unhooked them from his ankles, leaving him fully dressed from the waist up, still wearing his socks. Then you picked up the panties again - you had chosen something that was aesthetically pleasing, and hopefully not too uncomfortable for him. It wasn’t anywhere near a thong in the back, but you knew that it would be snug on his cock - just what you were hoping for. 
The moment that Spencer felt the lace brush against his skin, he was greeted by a brand new experience. He always chose his clothing based on the comfort of the fabrics - and he had certainly never worn anything with this kind of underlying roughness to it. 
When you pulled it fully up over his hips and gently tucked his cock inside the waistband, he did find it thrilling. The fabric created a slightly irritated pain across his highly sensitive cock, and a tightness around his balls, but he found that in a way, he liked it. It was truly all brand new, and though he knew that the feeling was going to become an annoyance after a while, he was curious about the sexual aspects of it. He found that he wanted more. 
Especially when he saw the look on your face. 
Spencer looked utterly stunning like this. Infinitely better than you could have imagined. Seeing his half-hard cock trapped behind the pink lace as it was stretched over his slim hips almost had you drooling. You knew that the lust was clearly written across your face, and you couldn’t help but to reach up and gently stroke his cock through the fabric, getting a low moan from him. 
“How does it feel, baby?” You asked, looking up at him from where you were still positioned on your knees. 
With your warm hand on him through the fabric, with you looking at him like he was the most perfect thing in the world, there was only one possible answer. 
“Good.” He easily replied. “Really good.” 
You smiled at him. “Do you wanna keep them on for the day?” 
“Yes, Miss.” He nodded eagerly. Truthfully, he was excited to see where the day would take the two of you. 
You helped him put the rest of his clothes back on, then you sat him on the couch to wait for you so that you could go get dressed for the day. You found it entirely adorable when he wiggled around on the spot, clearly adjusting to the new feeling of wearing such tight, lacy panties. 
Spencer felt even more intense lustful warmth wash over him when you returned in a flowy red dress with small white polka dots on it. It was a dress with a deep V neck and a tie around the waist, one that looked like it wrapped around your whole body. It accentuated your curves so well, making you look like a gorgeous Hollywood starlet. 
You had on a pair of red heels and had a red purse with a long strap on your shoulder. You were truly a vision of beauty. He felt like he shouldn’t be allowed to go out in public with you, especially because people would see the two of you and assume that you were on a date. 
(Was it a date? How the hell was he allowed to date someone as perfect as you?) 
“And remember, baby. If you’re a good boy all day, then you can have a reward.” You told him, putting your foot up on the coffee table to adjust the strap of your shoe, not-so-subtly flashing him your underwear with how open and flowy the skirt of your dress was. 
Spencer was brain dead by the sight for a moment, but then thought to ask:
“What kind of reward?” 
“Well… whatever you want. You can pick.” You told him. “As long as you follow the rules.” 
Oh, it was going to be a good day. 
… 
It seemed that your plan worked far better than you originally expected. 
When the two of you first got into the museum, Spencer’s hands kept hovering around his waist, clearly resisting the urge to grab at his pants, to try and adjust the panties through his clothing. You combated this by grabbing one of his hands, and kept him busy by prompting him with questions about the paintings as you toured the non-Van Gogh sections of the museum for a while.
At times, Spencer became a bit too fixated on whatever he was saying, and you felt an eagerness to distract him from the art. As much as you enjoyed listening to him ramble on and always learned something from the sound of his sweet, soothing voice, you did have another goal in mind. 
When he became a bit too immersed in his thoughts and recollection about whatever art history books he had read, you would provide him with some kind of physical touch that sent his mind absolutely rocketing off the rails, and sent his mouth sputtering as he tried to remember what he had been saying. 
You would reach over and wrap your arms around his waist, possibly brushing your hand over his cock on the way. You might wrap an arm around his lower back and lean into his body, purposefully pressing your weight up against his side, letting him feel every single curve that you had to offer. You began to feel more bold as you wanted to get more of a reaction out of him, and you even reached up and planted stray kisses on the side of his neck, behind his ear. 
As time progressed, his insights about the paintings became much more shallow, and he began to fidget more. You knew that he was growing intensely needy, and you loved it. 
By the time the two of you got to the exhibit with Van Gogh’s original sketches that had drawn you to the museum in the first place, Spencer was oddly pensive and quiet. You let the silence linger as you carefully planned your next move. 
Spencer interrupted the peaceful silence with his gentle, prodding voice. 
“Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.” 
“What does that mean?” You asked, turning to look at him. 
“It was something Vincent Van Gogh said.” He noted, turning to look at you, mirroring your body language. “It means - well, I think it means that… that life can be full of trauma and darkness, but if you take the time to observe the beauties of your life, and realize how there are simplistic wonders all around us, then… the darkness doesn’t seem so big. The everyday parts of life can seem enchanting.” 
You reached up and gently brushed Spencer’s hair back from his forehead, eagerly listening to his sweet voice as he spoke. 
You knew - consciously or unconsciously - he was also speaking about the way that you made each other’s lives enchanting. Your job was full of darkness and horror, and it would be easy to fall to it. But you lifted each other up, and became that everyday enchantment that the other person needed. 
Spencer’s eyes pointedly flickered down to your lips and then back up to your eyes before he continued. 
“Van Gogh was famous for painting pictures of everyday sights. Flower vases, scenes from his village. The Starry Night was painted because he imagined that the stars above his village were a sure sign that God himself came down every single night to kiss the sky there. He didn’t see the mundane as simply… mundane. He saw it as beautiful and worth celebrating.” Spencer explained. 
“You’re beautiful.” You easily fired back, and Spencer crumbled under the direct compliment. 
In a moment, his cheeks dusted with pink and his posture shrunk. Where he was confident and tall when speaking about art history, he became small as he was trapped under your gaze, absolutely unsure how to take the compliment - especially as it was directed toward his looks. Especially as it made him feel oddly pretty. 
When his eyes jumped back up from looking at the floor, his gaze was locked on your mouth once again. He tugged on the bottom of his blazer, and you could tell that he was becoming fidgety and anxious. 
His anticipation was easily growing into need. 
And so was yours. 
Without telling him what was on your mind, you scanned the room. You thought you had seen something of note when you first walked into this section of the museum - and surely enough, in one of the corners, there was a thick black curtain covering a doorway. A curtain that had an ‘Employees Only’ sign pinned to it. Perhaps it led to some kind of storage closet, perhaps it led to another winding hallway. 
Whatever was behind there, you were about to find out. 
“Come here.” You told him, giving a gentle tug on his elbow that you were holding. 
Naturally, entranced by your every movement and having nothing but the ability to follow you - Spencer walked on easy feet, guided by you as you marched across the room with purpose. He thought perhaps you had seen a painting that particularly caught your interest across the room, or that you were finally ready to leave and it was time to go home and get his reward. 
But what happened next, he certainly did not expect. 
You pulled him toward a dark curtain that was labeled with a sign - Employees Only. 
Last time he checked, you hadn’t gotten a job at a museum. 
He found himself slightly filled with anxiety at this fact, but you seemed entirely unfazed. 
You simply pulled back the curtain and used Spencer’s anxious confusion to your advantage. You shoved him in first before he could question you, and then you climbed in yourself and carefully adjusted the fabric so it would seem completely undisturbed. 
The area behind the curtain seemed to be nothing more than a long hallway with a few doors. It was clearly a lesser traveled area of the museum - a few of the lightbulbs overhead blown out and not replaced, the floor dingy and dusty. Perhaps those doors led to storage rooms or the place’s security facilities - but either way, the two of you weren’t supposed to be here. 
His insides filled with panic at the idea of getting caught. 
“Y/N-!” He called out your name harshly, but you cut him off by putting a hand in the middle of his chest and shoving him back against the wall. 
Hitting the wall easily knocked the wind out of him. It was a surprising amount of force - you were much stronger than you looked. Of course, he had seen you take down suspects before. He had witnessed you tackle grown men to the grown with ease and marveled in awe at your strength, but you had never used that kind of force on him. He had never imagined what it would be like. 
He found that it turned him on more than he could have imagined. The presence of your hand fisting the front of his sweater vest spread a dizzying heat through his body. He stared at you with parted lips and a slacked jaw as the lust and shock overtook him. 
“Are you gonna be good for me?” You asked. 
You stood away from him for a moment, removing your hands from him completely and leaving a few inches of space between your two bodies in the dim, dingy space. 
You were giving him a clear opportunity to use his safeword if he truly wasn’t comfortable with fooling around in such a public space. 
“We - we’re gonna get caught!” He whispered urgently to you, his voice hushed but still strained at the very thought of it. 
You found it entirely adorable - how scandalized he was by this. You had done far worse and you hoped that you could get him to sink to your level over time. 
“You let me worry about that, pretty boy.” You told him firmly. “Now - are you gonna be good for me?” 
You asked one more time, your voice demanding and hopefully fully relaying the meaning of your words. 
Spencer had a choice. 
And with you standing there, staring him down with heat in your eyes, looking like such a vision of lustful beauty, when he had been waiting so long for your touch, for your attention… it wasn’t much of a choice at all.
He only wanted you. 
“Yes.” He squeaked out quietly, swallowing thickly around his own doubt. “Yes, I’ll be a good boy.” 
You grinned a wide Cheshire grin at his words, and in a moment, you were on him. 
You possessively gripped at both sides of his blazer, easily bending him to your will. You surged forward and met him as you forced his body to bend downward, capturing his mouth in a demanding, heated kiss.  
It was a tiny murmur in the back of your mind, reminding you that this was actually your first kiss with Spencer. You had already seen him naked and made him cum, and you were just now getting to taste his sweet lips. It was a funny thought. 
In that moment, any worry about potentially getting caught easily flew from Spencer’s mind - any logic quickly dripped out of his ears. 
He moaned beautifully into your mouth, and as you echoed a sound back, you had to wonder why you hadn’t kissed him sooner. He seemed to be a natural at it - or, this was the one thing that he had some real practice at. Which you were entirely thankful for. His lips were smooth against your own, heated and desperate, surging forward with intense gyrating motions - almost as if he was trying to consume you with his intense hunger. 
Though in a moment, he easily fell under your control. 
You reached a hand up to the back of his hair and took a tight grip there, holding him like he was a beautiful object that you owned, just a toy for you to play with. He let out a sharp whine from the back of his throat, and his jaw fell slack for a moment, allowing you to bite down on his bottom lip - hard, assuring him who was in charge. 
The shock of pain from the bite had his hips bucking forward, and surely enough, you felt him fully hard, brushing against your hip through both of your clothing. He whined even sharper as he felt the roughness of the lace pressing against his cock, brushing against him with more force as he humped himself against you. It stung roughly and sent beautiful shocks of pleasure pulsing through him. 
“What do you want, pretty boy?” You breathed against his lips. 
Still desperate, needy for contact, he left a sloppy kiss on your chin before he spoke to answer the question. 
“C-Can I touch you?” He whimpered out quietly. “Please.” 
Your lips formed a wicked grin against him at this. 
“Anything over my clothes.” You told him. When his hands still hung limply at his sides, you threw in some encouragement. “Come on, baby, touch me.” 
You did have to wonder if he would have been bold enough to reach under the hemline of your dress - even if you hadn’t given him explicit permission. You wondered what he would have done if his fingers had gotten as far as your underwear. But with your instructions, he had full access to your ass and breasts and you were curious to see what he would do within the rules. 
You dove in for another kiss, boldly possessing his mouth with a commanding strength once again. He whimpered against your lips and - feeling as needy as he was, he eagerly followed your instructions and began feeling you up over your clothing. His hands started out humbly on your hips as your experienced, certain lips battled against his needy, rapid ones. But soon enough, he became anxious and impatient with simply grabbing on your love handles through the cotton of your dress, and he needed more. 
You yanked on his hair again and took advantage of his gasp-parted lips to shove your tongue into his mouth, your body pressed firmly against his with him leaning against the wall for support. His hands began to eagerly wander, consuming your flesh for the first time and truly getting a taste of what it was like to not just be commanded by you, but what it was like to be with you. 
He began grabbing the roundness of your ass in needy handfuls, his touch truly exploratory - he didn’t touch you with any skill, didn’t touch you like he was trying to get you heated and turned on. He touched you because he wanted to touch your body, badly. He was simply displaying his own hungry need for you without even considering shame in doing so. 
And that was something that caused you to moan into his mouth as you raked your tongue along his teeth. He even reached a hand up and shoved it between your two bodies, groping at your breast with absolutely no grace. He was digging his fingers into the flesh like he was trying to rip it off your body and possess it entirely. It was something so filled with need that it made you so damn hot, made your cunt ache between your thighs. 
You knew that you wouldn’t be able to end the day without cumming - whether it be with his help or simply having him watch and beg to touch you.
You had so many plans for him. And you couldn’t wait to see them all play out before your eyes.  
You felt his erection against your leg, throbbing with just as much need, and you felt that devilish urge rise up inside of you again. 
You pulled away from his lips with a wet smack, the realization hitting you once again that - yes, technically, you were in a public setting. The thought sent a thrill through you, but you had to be at least somewhat careful, lest you get caught. 
“You like touching me, baby?” You cooed against his cheek. 
“Yes, Miss.” He breathed out. 
When you opened your eyes partially, you had to contain a gasp. 
His glasses were fogged up. 
Just like something out of your fantasies, his glasses were clouded with steam from the heated exchange. But he didn’t seem to notice or care. From what you could see through the layer of dew, his eyes were screwed shut and he was far too focused on his lust. He was concentrating more on groping your breast with one hand and your ass with the other, giving small, aborted humps against your hip, clearly trying not to cum in his pants. 
Oh god. You wanted to see him cum in his pants. Badly. 
And it was rare that you didn’t get what you wanted. 
“You want me to touch you?” You asked, nosing along his long, beautiful neck. 
“Should - should we go home first?” He asked quietly. 
Clearly, he was still afraid of getting caught. 
“Hey, shh.” You breathed against his skin, causing him to shudder. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. You let me do all the thinking, baby. Just answer the question,” 
“Yes.” He moaned quietly. “I want-” 
You didn’t let him finish, and cut him off with another heated kiss. 
You distracted him with this, and he whimpered sharply against your lips the moment your hand was on him. 
You groped his cock harshly through his pants, your hand skilled in a direct contrast to the way his touch was clumsy and only fueled by need. You knew exactly what you were doing, knew exactly how to drive him where he needed to go. 
Your demanding touch closed the pink lace of the panties roughly around the sensitive skin of his cock. The feeling of it - being reminded of his little filthy secret, the thing that the two of you shared. That, on top of the fact that he had already been so close from the thrill of getting to touch you and grope you freely for the first time - that set him off so damn easily. 
He didn’t have a moment to warn you that he was cumming or ask for permission. The only warning you got was a pathetic choked off moan that came from the back of his throat before his hips jolted into your hand, and the stuttering movement of his legs was a sure sign to you that he had cum inside his pants. 
You pulled away from his lips to admire your work. 
His face was nicely flushed, continuing to add to the fog clouding up the lenses of his glasses. His hair was entirely messy and tousled, giving an absolutely sex crazed look to him even though he still had all his clothes on - clothes that were wrinkled and messy, adding even more to the look. His pants with a slight damp spot forming on the crotch as his load soaked through the thin fabric of the panties and began to soak into his pants as well. You couldn’t help but to give his sensitive cock an extra little squeeze through his pants, causing him to whimper harshly and shake at the touch. 
You loved seeing him so fucked out and pathetic. 
“I - I’m sorry!” He immediately began to apologize, reaching to pull down his vest in an effort to cover his crotch, as though wanting to hide the evidence of his orgasm that was rapidly soaking into his clothes. “I’m sorry, Miss!” 
Of course, he thought he had made some grievous misstep but breaking the rule - by not asking permission before he had cum. When it was something you had been gunning for, wanting him to cum for you. 
“Hey, shh, shh, it’s okay baby.” You murmured against his skin. “It’s okay.” 
Before he could think too hard about it or get too swept up in his emotions (and frankly, before the two of you could get caught in such a state) - you grabbed one of his hands and then dragged him out of the museum completely. You barely slowed from a brisk walk until the two of you got back to the car. Even with Spencer holding his vest down over his crotch out of embarrassment, if anyone took a second look at his wrecked hair, dewey glasses and kiss-swollen lips, they absolutely would have known what had happened to him, and you loved the thought of it. 
… 
You spent the entire ride home assuring him that he had done nothing wrong. 
It took a lot of soothing from your voice and a few well placed gropes to his crotch over the car’s console with your other hand on the wheel. This got him hard again, made him distracted from beating himself up for not being able to follow the rules explicitly. Instead, now he was focused on the way his throbbing cock felt swimming around in his own cum-soaked underwear. 
He didn’t need to feel guilty for not following the rules. You didn’t intend to punish him for breaking that rule, because he had just been too pretty while breaking it. Besides - you couldn’t imagine spanking someone so soft and new. 
You couldn’t imagine saying no to him. 
In all honesty, you kind of hated yourself for going soft. This would be the first time since you had become a dom that you hadn’t punished a sub for breaking a rule. But this wasn’t just any sub, this was Spencer. You couldn’t explain why, but he was just allowed to get away with things. He deserved to be spoiled. 
By the time you did get home, Spencer was breathless and filled to the brim with need once again. If his tears had been from self punishment and guilt at first, they were now from sheer need. He was desperately wringing his hands in his lap to keep from pawing at you because he felt that he had not been given permission to do so during the car ride. 
When you pulled into your parking spot, he looked over at you through his now clearer glasses lenses with big, wanting eyes. 
“You’re sure that you’re not mad, Miss?” He asked quietly, giving an adorably dramatic sniffle. 
“I am absolutely not mad, baby.” You told him. “It’s difficult to ever be mad at you when you’re so damn pretty.” You ‘booped’ his nose at this, and the smile he gave was so genuine that it made your insides glow with pride. “Now, what do you say we get you out of those soiled clothes and into something more comfortable?” 
“I - I didn’t bring a bag.” He said, looking over to his car across the lot longingly. 
“You didn’t bring a bag to the sleepover?” You cooed. “How silly, baby.” Spencer looked entirely downtrodden, as though all of his plans for the day were ruined. “I’m sure that I can find something for you to wear.” 
This conjured up a delightful image in your mind of him wearing more lingerie. But no, you needed to find him something comfortable instead. He had been good, and he deserved to be rewarded for it. You were sure that despite the size difference, he would be able to fit into some of your pajama pants with the waist tie knotted up a few times. Hopefully the waistband wouldn’t absolutely fall off him. 
He seemed more upbeat at this, and the two of you got out of the car and went up to your apartment, Spencer easily following your lead, as always. He carried your purse loyally, something you found to be a covert turn-on. You liked seeing the subtle ways he could serve you. 
When you got up to your apartment, you tossed your keys into the bowl where you normally kept them, and Spencer made a point of hanging the long strap of your bag on the coat rack - something you found so entirely cute. 
You then took Spencer to the kitchen to get him a glass of water to help him calm down. The entire time he drank it, you gently stroked his hair and told him what a good boy he was. This seemed to relax him entirely, which satisfied you on a deep level. 
Then, you grabbed his hand and steered him in the direction of the bathroom to help him clean up. With his shoes already ditched near the front door, you peeled off his blazer and threw it over the back of the couch along the way, not giving him a moment to speak about hanging it up ‘properly’ or whatever else was gonna come out of his mouth before you bustled him along to the next room. 
In your quaint apartment, the bathroom was at the end of the hallway, and he caught a small glimpse into your bedroom before you continued shoving him down the hall. He saw twinkling lights and pink silken sheets and felt his stomach tingle - it was nothing like he had imagined it, but he kind of loved that. 
Your bathroom was just as entracing. 
The tiles were pearlescent blue - obviously vintage, along with a clawfoot tub to match, and you had decorated everything with quite a beautiful sense of style to match. A floral blue shower curtain, a fuzzy blue bath mat, and a small golden cart in the corner holding all of your different products. Spencer had the urge to pick up the bottles and start smelling them, wondering if he could get more of your amazing scent right from the source, or if it was the unique, distinct combination of those products along with your natural skin oils that made you so intoxicating. 
You shut the door gently behind the two of you when you got him into the small room. He found himself pressed right up against the counter of the small bathroom vanity, his back to the ornate mirror and your back to the door. This left only a few inches of space between your two bodies as you looked up at him with a gentle, sweet expression. 
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” You told him. 
Spencer smiled at you. 
“And then, after you’re all nice and clean, I think you can have your reward.” You told him, your voice low and dripping with decadent promise. “You were a very good boy today.” 
“I was?” He said eagerly. 
Then, after a moment, he realized that he shouldn’t be questioning it. Because it was against the rules to question your judgment, and because you had just told him that he was deserving of a reward. 
“I mean - yeah, I was.” He quickly corrected himself, trying to sound confident in this statement. 
You let out a soft chuckle at this. Then, you gently grabbed his chin and pulled him into a soft, sweet kiss. 
“You were, baby.” You told him confidently. “You were a very good boy today.” 
You absolutely adored the look on his face as you said this. His features became so soft and hazy, almost as if he was drunk. Clearly he was so high on the praise, loving knowing that he had behaved well for you, that you were giving him your stamp of approval and that he was about to be well rewarded for it. 
“Do you know what you want as your reward?” You asked, curiosity bubbling up inside of you. 
Spencer’s eyes filled with equal parts glee and contemplation. This was such a mighty question. 
As the question hung in the air, you reached up and gently took off his glasses, placing them on the counter beside the sink. As good as he looked in them, you didn’t want to accidentally knock them off his face and break them while you were stripping him out of his clothes. You then reached for the bottom of his sweater vest, still reeking with curiosity as to how he would answer the question. 
He imagined all kinds of things - one of the obvious ones was of course, sex. Full blown intercourse. But something deep inside of him told him that he wasn’t sure if he was quite ready for that. Part of him feared ‘messing up’ and still felt self conscious - like he should perform well and impress you, even though you quite clearly took the lead and hadn’t been unimpressed with anything from him so far. 
Deep down, he did know that his first time would be comfortable, safe, and beautiful if it was with you. And truthfully, he didn’t want it to be with anyone else. He couldn’t picture his first time having intercourse if it wasn’t with you in his ear, cooing about what a good boy he was. 
But still, he wasn’t quite ready for that yet. 
You got the vest off over his head, humming a calming tune quietly under your breath - a sign showing him that you were okay with the quiet, giving him time to contemplate his answer. As much time as he needed. You got to work on the buttons of his shirt, slowly and delicately undressing him as though he were a precious doll. It was something that caused goosebumps to form across his skin. 
He thought more about it. 
So - he didn’t want to ask for intercourse. 
He definitely wanted to touch you more. He liked touching you - he loved touching you. He definitely wanted permission to touch you under your clothes, to explore your naked body. He thought it might be silly to simply ask for his reward to be ‘touch naked breasts please’. You might find that silly. 
No, he could do better than that. 
When you began to peel the sleeves of the shirt off his shoulders and it caused a quiet shiver through him, that’s when it struck him. 
“I know.” He said quietly. “I know now.” 
“You know what you want your reward to be, baby?” You prodded gently, gathering the fabric of the shirt in your hands and tossing it into the laundry basket behind you. 
Perhaps you would get up early the next morning and do a load of laundry to wash his clothes so he could have something to wear home. You were struck with the vision of him wearing a pair of your sweatpants and one of your big comfortable tee-shirts walking back to his apartment from your car. You wondered - if the two of you were going to continue having these ‘sleepovers’ if you should clear a drawer for him to keep some clothes at your place and vice versa. That seemed far too domestic in your mind, but it just made good sense, didn’t it? 
You were snapped out those thoughts when Spencer finally gave you his answer. 
“I want to give you pleasure.” He breathed out quietly. “You’ve given me pleasure. I want to pleasure you.” 
His choice of words was somehow utterly adorable and spine-tingling at the same time. He sounded like a dreamy paperback smut novel come to life. But as you reached for the buckle of his belt to continue undressing him, you had to ask for clarification, just to be sure. 
“What do you mean by that, Spence?” You asked, punctuating the sentence with the click of the belt buckle. 
“I -” 
He let out a hot breath as you pulled his belt completely from the loops and let it fall to the bathroom floor with a quiet ‘clunk’. His next words were paired with the sound of the zipper teeth on his trousers coming down. 
“I want to give you an orgasm.” He let out a quiet whimper when your hand grazed his dick as you worked the fly of the pants apart. “I want you to teach me.” He said quietly, his voice a lot weaker as he became dizzy with pleasure once again. 
“You want me to teach you, huh?” You purred. 
You became temporarily distracted from this thought when you peeled his pants down further and the most delicious sight was revealed to you. His cock, half hard and still trapped inside the pink lace - which was now stuck to his shaft completely with his own cum. Just as you had imagined in your fantasies, it was absolutely wet. Slick like a pretty pink floral second skin as it sat below his waistline, making his sticky pubes and his sensitive cock look even more sinful while he sat marinating in his own load. 
You couldn’t help yourself - you reached forward and greedily groped his cock through the lace. You went so far as to trap the sensitive pink cockhead between your fingers and wring the roughness of the fabric around it, knowing that it would get a reaction out of him. Spencer sobbed with overwhelming pleasure and bucked his hips forward, such a beautifully broken sound. When you continued the motion, he surged a hand up to grab your wrist as he twisted his body slightly away from you - clearly overstimulated. 
You stopped the roughness in exchange for a gentle petting of your fingertips, and you leaned in to nose across the skin of his neck once again. 
You surprised yourself when your next words flew out of your mouth, almost without restraint. 
“Hey, shh. It’s okay, Mommy’s just looking.” You told him in a hushed tone. 
The moment that the word escaped your lips - Mommy - your gut dropped with crippling fear. You thought that he would hate it or become disgusted by it. But he let out another whimper, and when you looked into his eyes, you were met with nothing but a sharp burning and a reckoning that he had absolutely no clue he would have liked to call you that up until then. 
You left the air blank for a moment, giving him time to adjust - time to back down from it if he wanted to. Or time to rise to it if he wanted it just as badly as you did. 
“M-?” He squeaked out, and you gave him patience. “Mommy?” He said quietly, testing the waters. 
He found that a warmth washed over him, and he liked it far more than he thought he would have. 
Your breath caught in your throat and you held back a moan. Your muscles shook slightly as you resisted the urge to jump him - to make him say it again, with more desperation, with more lust. There would be plenty of time for that, you told yourself. 
“Yes, baby?” You answered quietly. 
“Can I take them off now?” He asked, referring to the panties feeling damp and cold and uncomfortable on his skin at this point. “You said you had some pajamas for me?” 
You smiled at him. “I’ll take these off and clean you up a bit and then I’ll get you some pjs. Okay, baby?” 
He nodded. 
“Yes, M-Mommy.” He stuttered slightly, still wearing in the nickname - but he loved it. 
He loved how it was warm and comfortable and familiar, and much less formal than calling you ‘Miss’. 
‘Miss’ was a nice teacher, someone good at making rules, but ‘Mommy’ was someone he could make a home out of. At least he hoped that’s what the two of you were doing. ‘Mommy’ didn’t seem too strict about the rules, and honestly, Spencer liked that. 
You helped him peel out of his slightly wet pants and completely ruined, soaked underwear. (You would definitely be washing those for a future use.) You tossed both items into the hamper, and then peeled off his cute (once again mismatched) socks and tossed those aside too before you grabbed a washcloth and soaked it with warm water to clean him off with. 
The entire time you wiped down his cock, he let out sweet whimpers and gently bumped into your touch. By the end, it was almost difficult to keep him clean, because his cock was fully hard and leaking precum slightly as you smoothed the warm cloth over his lower tummy and made sure to gently clean off his balls. It was oddly adorable, him making a mess faster than you could clean it up. 
When you were satisfied with this, you tossed the cloth into the sink and gave him a kiss on the cheek, telling him that you would be back shortly with a change of clothes for him. 
It was only when he was standing alone in the bathroom that he felt exposed - only then realizing how truly well… naked he actually was. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to be embarrassed by it as he awaited your return. 
After what felt like far too many minutes for his taste, you returned with something pink and soft looking in your hands. 
The panties had been surprising, and while itchy, had made him feel… oddly pretty. He would be hesitant to admit it aloud, but you were already making him grow to like the color pink and how it made him feel. 
You unfolded the piece of clothing and held it up for him to look at. It was a pair of long pajama pants that obviously belonged to you. (Spencer worried that the waistband would be too large for him, even with the tie that was available). They were made of a silken, soft material that seemed like it would be very light and comfortable to wear. They were a rosy pink color, very girly and feminine. Very pretty. He also noticed that you hadn’t brought a shirt for him, but he supposed that he didn’t have to worry too much about that. You had already seen him naked. Twice now. 
“Good?” You posed. 
Spencer nodded. “Thank you.” He said, giving you a small smile. 
He felt that warmth coming over him once again when you helped him step into the pants and even pulled the fabric up over his body, going so far as to secure the tie around his waist, making sure the loose fabric wouldn’t fall off his hips. The thin, very unforgiving fabric easily showed every single detail of his cock through it - his hardness now perfectly outlined in pink, which only made the heat growing under your skin swell to a dangerous level. 
Lastly, you grabbed his glasses off the counter and put them back on his face, making sure that he would be able to see fully and pay attention during his next ‘lesson’. 
“There.” You said, giving him another sweet kiss on the lips. “Mommy’s good boy is all clean.” Spencer preened at these words. “And pretty as a picture.” 
You delighted in the obvious blush that this last comment drew from him. You couldn’t help it - you loved praising him so sweetly, especially if it drew those kinds of reactions from him. 
“Now, baby, I want you to go sit on the couch and wait for me.” You told him gently. “I have to go and put on something a little more comfortable for myself.” 
You held back a devilish smirk. Of course, he had to think that this would mean you were going to put on some casual cotton pajamas - something genuinely comfortable and not at all a fulfillment to the male fantasy. And sure, you felt comfortable in lingerie. It made you feel beautiful. 
That was part of the reason you were going to do it. 
That, and you felt the need to make everything special for Spencer. This was going to be the first time he saw you in such a state of undress. Of course, you could argue that him seeing you in your panties and camisole a few nights ago had been pretty much the same, and he had looked upon you like you were a goddess then. But it had been practically dark then and you wanted this to be well lit and truly a fantasy come to life for him. 
“Yes, Mommy.” He said, giving a small nod. 
He left and walked out to the living room, going to sit on the couch as you had instructed, and you felt a delightful mischievous streak as you went into your bedroom and picked out what you would wear. 
As you got dressed, you thought more about what he had said. 
He wanted to give you an orgasm. 
It would be very nice to have him inside of you. He had one of the nicest cocks you had ever seen - he was so long and beautiful, and seeing him inside of the fleshlight had caused you to imagine what he would feel like inside of you. 
But you knew that if you let him fuck you, he would be clumsy. He didn’t have the technique or experience. Or the stamina. That was definitely something you wanted to work on first. And with how he had reacted from cumming in his pants earlier that day - something you had wanted, he likely would have a crash and be terribly anxious if he came while fucking you and you didn’t get to cum first. 
Making you cum seemed to be his primary goal. 
That brought you to the thought of putting him on his back - riding him, essentially using him like a human dildo. It would be intensely hot - having him below you, completely at your mercy. Getting to listen to his moans and whines and getting to see him completely fucked out underneath you while his perfect cock throbbed deep inside of your pussy. It would be perfect. 
But - he wouldn’t learn anything that way. If he wanted to learn how to make you cum, it certainly wouldn’t happen like that. He would be fucked stupid and you would cum, and you would certainly enjoy yourself. But he would be brain dead and cum drunk. He certainly wouldn’t learn or retain anything from the experience. 
No - if he wanted to learn how to make you cum, and if he wanted to put his genius to good use, then there was one certain way to do it. 
You were fully satisfied with your plan. You took one last look in the mirror, and you were fully satisfied with your look, too. 
You had put on a push-up bra with a black and red lace pattern, something that displayed your breasts well. With the padding and the ‘push-up’ effect, it definitely gave the cartoonish, fantasy effect that you were going for. You had on the matching garter belt, which had a few lacy roses adoring it. You didn’t have it attached to anything, though you had considered wearing stockings, you didn’t think Spencer would like the texture of them. You thought he would much prefer to feel your naked skin against him. You simply liked the look of the garter belt hanging around your waist, accenting the plushness of your stomach. 
You also put on a pair of the matching lacy black and red floral panties - they were fairly cheeky, letting half of your ass hang out, and fairly sheer so that your trimmed pubic hair could be seen through the fabric in the front. And lastly, you had thrown on a sheer, long black robe over the whole thing, giving a very ‘Moulin Rouge’ look to the whole thing. Along with a pair of six black heels - the kind that hurt your feet and you would only use to, well - go to bed and keep your legs above your head while wearing. 
You looked like a sex dream, if you did say so yourself. 
Rather than walking into the other room to get Spencer, you went over to your bed and propped yourself up on some pillows in the middle of it, making sure the fabric of your robe was billowing and appealing around you before you called out to him. 
“Spencer, honey, I’m ready!” You called out. “You can come in now!” 
You heard him coming down the hallway and you swelled with eagerness, almost too excited to see what his reaction would be. 
When he pushed the door open, he immediately froze when his eyes were met with the sight of you. 
Standing in the doorway put him right at the foot of your bed, and he thought for sure - at some point between here and the museum, he must have died and gone to heaven. Framed by the twinkling lights that were wrapped around the head of your bed, propped up on a variety of fluffy pillows - you were an image of perfection. 
Your breasts were pushed up to your chin, especially with the angle you were laying at, so perfectly framed by the floral lace of your bra. There was so much for his eye to greedily consume, and he didn’t think he should be allowed to consume it all so shamelessly. The curved planes of your body, the beautiful, soft zig-zags of your stretch marks, like guides laid out for his tongue. The fabric showing just enough skin, showing off every curve of your womanly body, so thick and ready to dominate him at a moment’s notice. 
There was a gentle power in the way you were lounging back, framed by the black, soft fabric of your billowing robe - your whole body relaxed as you waited for him. It made him want to press his forehead to the floor in a bow to you, made him want to beg just for the precious permission to touch you. 
“Is - that-? Your-? Paja-mas-?” He squeaked out, every single word becoming a pitch higher, making his shock all the more apparent. 
“Kind of.” You told him with a giggle. “This is what I wanted to wear for my good boy.” 
“You - you wore this for me?” He swallowed thickly around these words, clearly in disbelief. 
If you weren’t mistaken, you saw his cock twitch inside those silken pink pants. You loved how even though the fabric covered him, the outline of his cock was so entirely visible. The band of the pants being loose had caused them to slip so low on his hips, even causing the top bit of his pubic hair to be visible as he stood there, entirely uncaring (and likely unaware) of it. 
“Yes, baby.” You told him. “Now, come sit on the bed.” 
Spencer rushed to follow your instruction, almost tripping over your bedroom rug in the process. That caused you to bite your lip, holding back a grin - you wouldn’t want him to think you were laughing at him, after all. 
Spencer gently sat on the edge of the bed with his feet still on the floor, his bum just barely grazing against your thigh. You found it adorable that he was still being so timid about making contact. 
You spread your legs wide, and gestured between them. 
“Come sit here.” You told him. 
“Oh.” He said quietly. 
He stood up then and looked at the space between your legs. His expression was very comparable to a man afraid of heights looking like he was about to take a dive off a cliff into deep water. 
“It’s okay, Spencer.” You assured him. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, remember?” 
“I know.” He said quietly. “It’s just - it’s all so new.” He whispered. “I - I want to be good.” 
You wondered if the last part was about his ability to behave and follow the rules, or… if it was about something else. 
“Spencer, baby, are you worried about impressing me?” You wondered aloud. 
The expression on his face at this was very telling - a flicker of embarrassment, his hands twitching as he ached to play with his fingers, wanting to distract himself from the conversation. 
“Look, I know you’re new to all this. I’m not expecting you to be some sex expert, or a porn star or something.” You assured him. “That’s why I’m here to teach you, baby.” 
“What if I do it wrong?” He asked, his voice still so timid, so small. 
“Then I’ll show you how to do it right.” You told him. “That’s why I’m here. I’m not gonna laugh at you, or yell at you. I’m just gonna show you what I like and how to do it right.” 
It should have been obvious. Someone of his talent, his caliber, someone who had everything come so naturally to him his entire life, someone who had accomplished so much at such a young age - he was terrified of tackling something unknown, something he was afraid to mess up. He was afraid of being a bad student. 
He had just enough time in the living room to sit and stew in those insecurities, and now you had to lovingly battle them. 
“Come sit with me, baby.” You urged, leaning forward to pat the space on the bed between your thighs. 
You scrunched up the fabric of your robe so he wouldn’t sit on it, and finally, he moved to crawl between your legs - kneeling on the bed with his feet tucked underneath his bum and his hands fidgeting in his lap. His knees were slightly brushing against your inner thighs, but he wasn’t sitting terribly close to you. That was something you left alone for now. 
You sat up slightly, leveling your body with his, and ran your hand along his arm, trying to soothe him. 
“So, you said you wanted to learn how to give me an orgasm, right?” You posed. 
Spencer nodded. 
“Come on, use your words.” You told him. 
“Yes, Mommy.” He said quietly, clearly still feeling insecure and hesitant. “I want that.” 
He could only imagine how beautiful it would be so see you writhing in pleasure - to hear you calling out his name as you orgasmed, breathless. To see your body arching up off the bed as he brought you to climax. He could only imagine the headrush it would cause him to know that he had caused it for you. 
“Well, I think the best way for you to do that is by using your hands.” You explained. “Stimulating me with your fingers.” 
“My hands?” He questioned, looking from you down to his hands in his lap. 
Honestly, it was never something he had thought about. Yes - he used his hands to make himself orgasm, but that was only because he was alone. The act of masturbation was more like a mind-clearing chore for him than anything. (Before you came into his life and turned all of his ideas about sex upside-down.) 
He did have to consider that you used your hands to stimulate yourself, to masturbate - but he had no clue how. 
But he guessed that would be part of the learning process. 
“Yes, baby.” You smiled eagerly. “And I know you’re gonna be good with your hands. You’re very skilled because you do all that sleight of hand and close up magic.” 
Spencer felt a rush of confidence at the praise, and couldn’t stop the grin that formed over his face at your words. 
“Well, you see, sleight of hand doesn’t actually require that much dexterity or skill, like playing a sport does, because it’s more so about practicing the same movement over and over again until it becomes ingrained muscle memory.” He explained, easily sounding in his element. 
You couldn’t believe how easily he had set you up for your next words. It was almost like he had walked into a trap. 
“Well, what I’m going to teach you is also about repetitive movements.” You explained. “And it will definitely become muscle memory for you over time.” 
Spencer smiled fondly hearing this. He was now more confident that he would be good at what you were going to teach him. 
“So… where do we start?” He asked, becoming that eager student once again. 
“Here, let me look at your hands.” You told him. 
He was slightly confused by this, but didn’t have time to question it because you snaked your hands under his palms where they were sitting in his lap. His dick had wilted slightly from the anxiety, so he was only half hard in his pants. But he let out a small whimper when you accidentally crazed against it as you took his hands in yours and lifted them up to get a good look at them. 
“It’s important that your nails are trimmed.” You told him, lifting his hands up close to your face to get a good look. “You don’t want your nails to be too long, or you might accidentally hurt me. And that’s just a general rule whenever you’re putting your fingers inside someone.” 
He became slightly intimidated at the idea of putting his fingers inside you, but he tried not to let it show. 
“I trimmed my nails last night.” He said, proud that he had done something good. “It’s a good grooming habit.” 
He didn’t want to bring up the fact that - per his germophobia, he always kept his nails trimmed because he was afraid of too much build up getting under his nails and making him sick (even though he washed his hands multiple times a day). But he was just glad he could do something to please you. 
You couldn’t stop staring at his hands. It was something you had noticed before in passing - but they were gorgeous. He had such strong, prominent muscles here. Long, thick fingers - he was going to do very well at this. Once he was well trained up, you knew you weren’t going to be able to go for very long without having those fingers inside of you. 
“Very good, baby.” You said, finally snapping out of your lustful revere. 
You raised one of his hands up and kissed the back of it. And then, continued on, kissing a path along his hand to his knuckles until you reached the tip of his middle finger. As natural as ever, you gently sucked his middle and ring finger into your mouth. Of course, you were just playing around, admiring. His hands were so nice that you couldn’t help but to have one in your mouth. 
“Oh,” Spencer moaned quietly. 
When you looked over at him, he was staring you down with lustful eyes. His lips slightly parted as his gaze locked onto the place where your lips drew his fingers in, taking him down to the second knuckle. You gently swirled your tongue around the digits as you enjoyed the thickness in your mouth. You could lightly taste floral soap on his skin and knew that he had washed his hands in the kitchen sink when you had sent him out to wait for you. 
After a moment of this, you pulled back, your lips separating from his skin with a wet ‘smack’. (Though you wanted it to be longer - you loved those fingers, you could have easily held them in your mouth for a long time). 
“Yeah, these are good fingers.” You assured him, giving him a deliberate wink. “You’re gonna be good at this, Spence.” 
Spencer shuddered with pleasure at this. 
You leaned back onto your pillows, making yourself comfortable while he watched in awe. 
“I’m gonna take off my underwear now. Is that okay?” You asked gently. 
“Yes.” He said, nodding eagerly. “Yes, Mommy.” 
You lifted your hips to wiggle out of them. When the fabric was at your knees, he naturally met you halfway, taking the panties down your calves and very delicately untangling them from around your high heels. He concentrated on the task in a way that told you he wasn’t even trying to take a premature glimpse at your naked cunt. It was entirely endearing. 
Once he had the fabric completely untangled from your shoes, you naturally moved your legs to bracket them around his body once again. This completely exposed your wet pussy to the cool air, and he stared at the underwear in his hands, clearly perplexed about what to do with it now. 
“Just toss it on the floor, baby.” You told him. 
He did so, and then, with nowhere else to look, his eyes locked onto your naked pussy for the first time. 
Paintings and pictures had shown him the scientific side or even the objective beauty of the female anatomy. But seeing you laid bare before him, adorned in lacy accoutrements - this was truly sexy. 
His blood ran hot, and his cock throbbed to full hardness in a dizzying record time as he laid eyes on the glistening lips of your pussy. Seeing how real you were - the way your skin tone faded from the shade that matched the rest of your body to the more raw, wet skin of your inner folds, clearly swollen with need. Your pubic hair, slightly trimmed and glossy with your wetness - everything about you was so real and it made Spencer’s cock ache. 
“Scoot a bit closer, baby.” You told him, hitch your knees apart further, spreading yourself open for him. “Can you see okay?” 
Your pussy made a wet sound as it spread open for him, and he let out a quiet gasp in awe as more of you was bared to his eyes. You were so beautiful, so raw, so perfect, so hot - he almost couldn’t handle it. 
You knew he was likely becoming too entranced to answer the question. With the way his eyes were so tightly locked onto your cunt, you guessed that - yes, he could see just fine. Just seeing the utterly entranced expression on his face caused a throbbing heat through you, you were sure that if he paid enough attention, he would be able to see the wetness actively dripping out of you. 
“Spencer, look at me.” You ordered sharply. “Look at Mommy.” 
Spencer forced his eyes up to your face, and you smiled at him when he managed to follow the order. 
“How much do you know about the female anatomy?” You asked him. 
“I - I’ve read books.” He answered quietly. 
“Good.” You told him, trying to be encouraging. “Do you know where the clitoris is?” 
“I - um-” Spencer looked down at your pussy and found himself suddenly nervous again, not knowing if he should touch you, or if he should point, or-
“You can put your hands on me.” You told him. “I’m here to teach you, baby. Let me be your… in-person diagram.” 
Spencer nodded. 
Then, as naturally as he possibly could, he reached down and put a gentle hand on the top of your mound. He was so feather-light that you had to forcefully hold back a laugh, feeling ticklish at the touch. With his palm mostly spread out mostly over your pelvis, he used a thumb to pull your pussy lips back. 
Then, he saw that very obvious swollen button staring at him. With the pointer finger on his other hand, he sought it out like a guided missile, entirely confident in his answer. Before he could truly think about it - he poked your clit with that singular finger, pointing to it as his answer. 
“There.” He mumbled quietly. 
“Oh-!” You breathed out sharply, your hips surging toward his touch. 
His touch had been so abrupt (especially after so much anticipation on your part) that it sent an unexpected shockwave through your body. 
Spencer immediately recoiled, believing that he had hurt you. 
“I’m sorry.” He quickly apologized. “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?” 
He drew back both his hands instantly, curling them up to his chest as if he had done something terribly wrong. 
“No, no you didn’t hurt me!” You quickly assured him, putting your hands up in a surrendering motion to drive the point home. “Everything is fine, baby.” 
“Then what-?” He asked, his voice very meek and small. “What was that?” 
“I’m sensitive, baby. My body is sensitive. And I wasn’t expecting you to do that.” You chuckled. 
Spencer gave a small frown, clearly believing he had done something wrong. 
“The clitoris has a lot of nerve endings.” You explained, giving a chuckle to try and lighten the mood. “That’s kind of the point. That makes things more pleasurable.” 
“Oh.” He said. 
After a moment, his body began to relax as he chugged with thought, his eyebrows knitting tight like they always did when he was pondering something. 
“Oh… so that was… that was a good stimulation?” He posed. 
“Yes.” You told him. “I want you to touch my clitoris because it feels good. It’s one of the easiest ways to make a woman feel good.” 
He nodded, and then he moved his hands to touch you again. But you had a thought first. You caught his hands halfway, and held them in your own as you spoke. 
“Listen first.” You told him. 
He looked at your face obediently as you explained it to him. 
“Typically, for women, there are two types of orgasms,” You put on your ‘teacher’ voice once again, and he relaxed and put his hands back in his lap, clearly eager and ready to listen, wanting to absorb the information to the fullest. “A clitoral orgasm or a vaginal orgasm. Can you guess what that means?” 
Spencer thought about it for a moment. 
“An orgasm achieved by clitoral stimulation versus an orgasm achieved by vaginal stimulation?” He posed. 
You grinned. “Very good. Good boy.” 
He grinned back, easily soaking up the praise. 
“So, it depends on the person you’re with, but generally, most women achieve orgasm through a combination of both clitorial and vaginal stimulation. And a good rule of thumb is to always ask someone what they enjoy,” You told him. He nodded at this. “And also, looking at someone’s facial expressions and body language can tell you if you’re doing well at stimulating them. It’s like profiling.” 
“Well… what kind of facial expressions and body language should I be looking for?” He asked. 
You found this oddly amusing. To you, it was obvious that a back arching and lots of moaning and an ‘O’ face meant good sex, but Spencer was truly just that fresh. He simply didn’t know. 
“Well…” You took a moment to gather a mental list for him. “Typically, someone makes a lot of involuntary body movements if the stimulation is good. Good sex stimulates your nerve endings, so it makes your muscles twitch, and it can even make your limbs flail around or make your back arch off the bed.” 
Spencer nodded, his face still very intense and thoughtful as he took this in. 
“And when people are enjoying sex, they usually make a lot of sounds. Gasps, moans. They might swear or call out your name. And most people do just tell you that they’re enjoying it,” You giggled. 
Spencer nodded again. Then he posed a thoughtful question. 
“What about facial expressions?” He asked. 
“I know it might sound strange… but, you’ll know an expression of someone lost in pleasure when you see it.” You told him. 
These words made his whole body tingle. And naturally, made him wonder what your face would look like when you were lost in pleasure. 
“What do you prefer?” He asked. “Do you prefer clitoral stimulation or vaginal stimulation?” 
“I prefer a combination of both.” You told him. “That’s usually what makes me cum the hardest.” 
“You mean ‘cum’ as in orgasming?” Spencer said, repeating back this vocabulary to you with pride. 
“Yes, baby.” You told him with a nod. 
He beamed at getting the answer correct. 
“I thought we could start with clitoral stimulation and then move on to vaginal stimulation.” You explained. “Usually it’s easy to… warm up with clitorial stimulation. It makes the vaginal muscles more relaxed before penetration.” 
You found it odd to be using such clinical terms - the words were so stiff in your mouth, but you supposed that it was the healthiest way to explain everything to him. 
Spencer nodded eagerly at this. 
“You should wet your fingers first. Maybe spit on them?” You posed - this was a selfish request, wanting the delight of seeing him suck on his own fingertips. 
“That doesn’t sound the most sanitary…” He said quietly, cringing. 
Hearing him say this presented a new goal in your mind - getting him so fucked out and pliant that mister ‘it’s actually more sanitary to kiss’ would let you spit directly into his mouth. 
You chuckled at his words, though. 
“Okay, well… there’s lube in the drawer instead.” You said, motioning toward your nightstand. “Like I said last time, there’s no such thing as ‘too wet’.” 
Spencer nodded eagerly and sat higher up on his knees to reach for the drawer. When he pulled it open, his eyes immediately grew wide at the array of… objects you had in there. Thick, veiny things, some round things he couldn’t even begin to propose the purpose of, something with small dots on it that looked like a cartoon tentacle-? 
Knowing that he would become too distracted by these things and want to start asking questions, you reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube and snapped the drawer shut while his mind was still racing. 
“Focus, baby.” You told him, putting a hand on his cheek and forcefully prodding his attention back in your direction. 
He definitely had a lot of questions about those things. But he would ask you those questions later. (Because he certainly wasn’t going to forget about anything he had just seen.) 
You handed the bottle of lube to Spencer. It was almost exactly the same as the one you had given to him and used with the fleshlight, except it was strawberry scented and the liquid was lighted tinted tinted pink as an association with the scent. It was your favorite to use with toys because the scent was absolutely delicious as a perfume in their air (and at this point, it was something you knew that you unconsciously associated with an orgasm). 
You were naturally wet. You were throbbing and needy for him. But you knew that it would be nice to be extra slicked up to help him along. 
After a moment of struggling (in which you pondered if you should interfere) he popped the cap, and then he looked from the opened bottle of lube to his hands. 
“Right, so-” He mumbled quietly. 
He poured a dollop on his extended fingertips that easily got carried away and dripped into his lap, and he gasped and began looking around for something to wipe it off his borrowed pants with. 
“You can clean it up later, baby.” You told him. “Things are gonna get a little messy right now.” 
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Right. Yeah-” 
Then, he looked back to the bottle in his hand, and before putting it aside, he poured a dribble of the pink liquid (likely more than he had intended) onto the top of your mound, causing you to gasp quietly as the coolness dripped down over your hot, needy pussy. 
“Is that good, Mommy?” He asked quietly, moving to put the bottle aside. 
“That’s very good, baby.” You encouraged him gently. 
“Okay - I - I’m going to - touch you now.” Spencer told you, announcing his movements in an entirely adorable way. 
You nodded. “I’m ready for you, sweet boy.” 
Spencer put his non-lubed hand gently on your inner thigh, and then angled two of his fingers back toward your clit again. This time when he made contact, he was much gentler, and you let out a sharp breath through your nose, warm tingles spreading through your pelvis at the feeling of him touching your swollen clit with such intention. 
With his middle and pointer finger, he began a strange sort of spearing motion, rocking his hand into your pelvis. He touched your clit as though it were a literal button he was trying to push over and over again in order to make you cum. The movement didn’t do much for you - except draw a slight stinging from the area. 
“Baby,” You caught his attention, drawing his eyes up from where he was intensely focused, staring hard at the place where he was touching your pussy. 
“Spence, it’s - it’s more like this,” 
You motioned with two of your fingers in the air, drawing small circles, demonstrating to him what he should be doing. 
“Sorry.” He mumbled quietly. 
“It’s okay, baby.” You assured him, reaching out and petting a hand through his hair. “It’s okay. You’re learning, right?” 
He nodded. “I’m learning. I’m gonna do better.” 
“I know you will, baby. You’re Mommy’s good boy.” 
This bit of encouragement and praise seemed to fuel him, and he took this new instruction with vigor. 
He went back to work using the motion you had just demonstrated and immediately, the difference affected you. His thick, cautious fingertips circling tentatively around your needy clit sent tingles up your spine, causing a warming glow to spread through your body that was slowly, but surely building up your orgasm. The beautiful artificial smell of the lube wafted through the air, and with the sight of Spencer in front of you, his forearm flexing slightly as he worked, it was all too perfect. 
You let out a gentle moan, and Spencer smiled. 
“That’s good?” He asked, looking from the spot where his fingers worked on your pussy up to your face. 
“That’s good, baby.” You told him, the stimulation causing you to become slightly breathless already. “You’re doing so good for me.” 
Spencer continued like this, running his other hand along your thigh, clearly feeling needy to touch and enjoy the softness of your skin now that it was freely available under his hands. His touch spread a warmth throughout your body that had you squirming under him, letting out more gentle moans under your breath. 
Spencer watched you in awe, so entirely pleased with the results. 
“You - you can go a bit faster, baby.” You told him, finding your throat slightly dry as your breathing sped up, more blood pooling in your needy cunt as his touch demanded it. “Speed up your fingers.” 
“Yes, Mommy.” He easily obeyed. 
Hearing those words in his sweet voice in addition to his touch, his fingers now moving in fast, delicate circles on your throbbing clit - it brought sparks through your body and caused slight tremors through your thighs. 
It wasn’t going to be the most earth shattering orgasm you had ever experienced, but it was going to be a good one, mostly because it was Spencer. Because you had him in your bed, calling you Mommy, wearing a pair of your silky pink pajama pants that his hard cock was now leaking a stain into. All while he concentrated on learning how to please you like it was the most important book he had ever read in his life. 
“Oh, Spencer!” You called out, arching your hips toward him. “Doing so good for me, baby! So good-” 
Spencer stopped his movements suddenly, and your voice caught in your throat as you looked at him with tense confusion knit over your brows. 
“What - what about the vaginal stimulation?” He asked. “You said you wanted me to do both, right?” 
You couldn’t hold back the breathy chuckle in your throat. 
If it had been anybody else, you would have immediately thought that they were edging you intentionally. But no - that wasn’t even a thought in Spencer’s head. He was simply eager to learn more, wanting to do the most to give you the best orgasm possible. He wasn’t content with mediocre. When he learned something, he wanted to be the best at it. And that thought caused any disappointment about your fading orgasm to be replaced by pride - you had somehow captured the best, sweetest boy, and you were going to use that to your full advantage. 
“Right, baby.” You said, still catching your breath. You swallowed to gather some spit in your mouth to talk properly before you continued. “Okay, you’re going to continue what you were doing with this hand, but first,” You said this pointedly, motioning to the hand that was unmoving near your clit, not wanting him to continue and impair your ability to properly explain. “You’re going to work your fingers inside me.” 
“What if I hurt you?” He asked, clearly timid at the idea that he might hurt you in any way. 
“You won’t.” You told him. “You start with one finger, because that’s smaller, so you won’t hurt me. And then once my body has adjusted to that, you can add another. So it won’t hurt.” You assured him. 
“So, I just need to use two fingers?” He asked. “Also, how do I know when to put the next finger?” 
“You can add three fingers.” You told him. “And I’ll tell you when to add the next one. And you’ll know because you’ll feel the muscles relax around you.” 
Spencer nodded. 
“So… what’s the best… kind of… movement?” He asked, awkwardly gesturing with his free hand in a way that made you giggle. 
He blushed with embarrassment at this, and you rushed to speak in the hopes that he wouldn’t feel awkward. 
“You’re going to move your fingers in and out. Like simulating intercourse. The repeated penetration feels good.” You told him. “Be gentle at first, and I’ll tell you if you should go harder or faster.” 
Spencer nodded. 
He began slow, gentle circles on your clit again, and you let out a small moan at this. And then he moved his other hand down, skimming the fingertip of his pointer finger along your folds until he felt it - that pulsing entrance waiting for him, needy. He thought he imagined it, but it almost felt like your body was trying to suck him in. 
“It’s okay, baby.” You told him, your voice gentle and encouraging, slightly hazy with pleasure. “You’re doing so good for Mommy.” 
These words caused his cock to throb inside of the borrowed pants, and feeling a pulse of confidence because of it, he pushed the thickness of his finger forward and breached your entrance with his touch for the first time. 
It was such a brand new feeling - having your wetness surrounding his digit, feeling your muscles clamping down on him. Feeling how hot your body was, especially compared to the lifeless coolness of a silicone fleshlight. It made him moan louder than the sound you easily trapped in your chest. You found yourself dizzied with a wave of pleasure at seeing his face so fucked out and hearing him moan like that because he was touching you. 
“You like it, baby?” You asked breathlessly, angling your hips into his clumsy, unmoving hands. 
Clearly he was so pleasure drunk and hazy that he had forgotten that he was supposed to be fingerfucking you. He was simply exploring, enjoying the feeling. You didn’t fault him for it, and you didn’t want to rush him, even with a filthy, needy ache growing deep inside of you. 
“You’re so warm.” He replied, his quiet voice edging between awe and another moan of his own. 
His eyes flickered between the place where he was touching your pussy and your breasts, heaving slightly with your labored breathing, and your face. Your lips dropped open slightly with pleasure, your eyes becoming glassy. He loved it so much. He loved you. He couldn’t get enough of this. 
“Your body is so hot.” 
You grinned widely at this. 
Maybe a huge part of the endearment came from the fact that you knew he meant temperature, and not the typical slang meaning your appearance. It was something that clearly surprised him, feeling how hot your pussy was while being in direct contact with it. 
“Thank you.” You told him. “Can you fuck me now, Doctor Reid?” 
“I - Right.” 
Spencer resisted the urge to apologize again, knowing you probably wouldn’t like it. And he tried to ignore how much it turned him on to hear you call him ‘Doctor Reid’ in this context. Instead - he set his attention on pleasing you. 
He concentrated on picking up a good rhythm - moving his fingers on your clit in circles while he gently drew back the other hand and began moving it slowly in and out, trying to penetrate you in a pleasing way. He instantly became entranced by the natural wetness dripping out of your pussy, covering his finger, his knuckles, spreading to his palm the more he moved his finger. He was fascinated by the way your muscles did seem to give way to him, your body opening up as if you wanted more. 
“Add another one, baby.” You moaned quietly. “Another finger.” 
So his instincts served him right. At least somewhat. He hoped that he could remember this for next time, and please you better with less of your instructions, working more off of knowledge and instinct like this. 
When he drew back his hand to do as you instructed, you added on some further advice. 
“It also works better if your palm is facing up.” You told him. “The curve of your fingers is working with my body, not fighting against it.”
Spencer had been prodding into your entrance, poking his finger into you in a more exploratory way - but he definitely understood this. 
“Yes, Mommy.” He said. 
He flipped his hand so that his palm was facing the ceiling, immediately fascinated by how sticky his wet finger was. Then he gently prodded forward again, his middle finger joining the first. He continued to draw circles on your clit - a rhythm that became clumsy and unfocused at times, because he was easily distracted by the feeling of your tight pussy clamping down on his fingers, trying to figure out how hard he should go. 
He was being incredibly tame, almost sloth-like in his movements, clearly afraid to hurt you. And he left you burning up, aching for release. The thickness of his fingers felt so amazing inside of you, better than you could have imagined - but he was so timid, and you hoped that you could draw more out of him. 
“Spencer,” You moaned lightly. “Go faster. Come on, be a good boy for Mommy.” 
You reached out and got a hand in his hair once again, gently cupping the back of his head and scratching your nails along his scalp. 
“Yes,” He hissed out, leaning his head into your touch. “Yes, Mommy. I’ll be a good boy. I’ll be so good for you.” 
He kept his eyes locked on you then, and, entirely fueled by the intense feeling pumping through his body, the pure need to serve you - he began pumping his fingers faster. Though it was clumsy at first, after a few moments, both of his hands fell into a natural rhythm with each other. His fingers circling your swollen clit became well timed with the thickness of his fingers pumping in and out of you, and in a few minutes - it became perfect. 
You went from letting out a few solitary sounds to every other one of your breaths becoming a moan, your lips perfectly parted, showing him how well he was doing. 
When he saw your heated eyes and your lips wrapped around those moans so perfectly, that was when he knew it - that was a face of desire. The one he would spend the rest of his days trying to recreate in you. 
“So good, baby.” You moaned out, your words becoming less durable as he stole them away with pleasure. “Go harder.” 
“Harder?” He warbled back. 
His wrist was beginning to shake, not used to this kind of repeated effort. (Truthfully, he wasn’t used to any more effort than hefting around a thick book for a while.) But he would keep it up for as long as it took to make you cum. He would do it until his arm fell off if he got to see you fall apart beneath him. 
“Yes, harder!” You confirmed, giving a firm tug on his hair to encourage him. 
Spencer let out a sharp whimper at this, and angled his elbow further between your thighs, trying to put less strain on the muscles of his wrist so he could do as you instructed. 
He began rubbing your clit with more urgency, and fucked his fingers into you even harder. He let out a moan as the sound then got to his ears - the wet slapping of his knuckles smacking up against the edges of your cunt, so rough and careless. He really was fucking you, he was taking over your body at your command, his touch was being used for your pleasure, and you were definitely being pleasured by him. 
“Spencer!” You howled, a sound that would stick in his mind forevermore. 
It was something that caught his entire body on fire in seconds and made his dick ache with red hot pin-pricks. He was surprised that he didn’t cum in his pants from that alone. But he was far too concentrated on keeping up the pace, fascinated by the way your pussy spasmed around his fingers, the way your thighs jolted and shook in a similar fashion that his legs had a few nights ago. 
“Oh, Spence! Good boy! Good boy, oh-!” 
You let out a sharp gasp and your head tilted back, and you seemed to gulp for air for a few moments while he continued to brutally fuck his fingers into you and rock his fingertips against your clit, angling your hips into the touches as though you were trying to get more from him. 
Though it seemed impossible, his knuckles were flooded with an even further wetness. And though he almost couldn’t bear to look away from your face, he did chance a glance down to your beautifully raw, fluttering pussy and saw that there was a distinct puddle of wetness on the sheets below you. You were the most gorgeous fountain he had ever seen. 
If he didn’t think it was out of place, he would have leaned down to lick you, curious about what your natural wetness tasted like. 
“Oh, Spence!” You squealed, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it almost seemed like you were trying to squirm away from his touch. “Oh - oh, baby! You can s-slow down now! You did - did s-so good!” 
Spencer slowed down, as instructed. And then - when he put it together in his mind, he gently eased off touching you entirely, feeling your pussy spasming and throbbing harshly under his touch. It was fascinating really, the way your body responded to him. He badly wanted to explore it more - explore it for hours uninterrupted. But for now, he had a simple question. 
“Was that the orgasm?” He wondered aloud. 
The unadulterated curiosity bleeding through his voice when he said this had you clenching hard around his unmoving fingers, so entirely turned on by the fact that he was just as awed by you as he was fine art or any thousand page encyclopedia. 
You couldn’t hold back the bright, breathless chuckle that escaped your lungs in response. 
“Yes, baby, that was the orgasm.” You told him. “What did you think?” 
“That was… spectacular.” Spencer told you, sounding almost as breathless himself. 
“You can pull your fingers out of me now.” You instructed, feeling slightly sensitive, unconsciously clenching around the digits and accidentally overstimulating your raw pussy in the process. 
“Oh. Right.” Spencer mumbled. 
He moaned quietly as he did so - loving the purely wet sound it made, like pulling away from a good kiss. He found himself in awe of the string of wetness that followed his fingers from your opening, like a thick string of salvia. He began rubbing his fingers together, studying it with utter fascination as you watched him with that concentrated look on his face again. You wondered how you had stumbled upon such a treasure of a man. 
Your eyes fell from his face to the prominent bulge of his cock still pressing into the front of those thin pink pants, the wet spot his precum made now even wider, and you immediately came up with a new idea. 
“Why don’t you touch yourself for me, baby?” You posed. “Your hand is already so nice and wet.” 
“Oh - I - I - should-?” Spencer stuttered out, looking from his glistening hands to the tent in his borrowed pants, a million thoughts flying through his very vast mind. 
“Hey, shh, it’s okay.” You soothed him gently. “Just tell me if that’s something you want. Yes or no.” 
“Yes.” He said, a desperate whisper on his lips. “Can - can you untie my pants for me?” 
You hummed in agreement and reached over, untying the well secured knot on the pants and then pulling the loose waistband down over his thick, excited cock, letting it spring out to hit his pelvis. He moaned quietly at this. 
“Make yourself cum for me, baby.” You encouraged him. “You were so good for me, you made me cum so good. Such a good boy. You deserve this.”
You began running your fingers through his hair again, something he seemed to heavily enjoy. Spencer - now wildly chasing his instincts, working on need alone and trying to push back all those doubts, reached out with those glistening fingers and gently dipped into your pussy again. The contact on your beating folds caused you to gasp, and Spencer shuddered slightly at this, mumbling out at an excuse. 
“I wanted-” He muttered quietly. “I just… wanted it to be wetter.” 
“Good boy.” You moaned out. You definitely didn’t want to discourage him from doing things like this. 
You wanted to mention the fact that there was a bottle of lube sitting less than a foot away. But clearly he had developed a fascination for your wetness, and you didn’t want to stifle that fascination in him or embarrass him. 
Spencer then took those slicked up fingers and stroked them across his cock. Just the knowledge that it was your wetness, the essence of your pussy touching his cock - that had dizzying waves fluttering through him that almost had him crumbling to fall on top of you. 
It took all of his remaining composure to stay upright. He was so furiously turned on that his cock was leaking precum like a sputtering faucet. He easily took advantage of that, cupping his hand into a well-known grip around his shaft and spreading that natural lubrication down from the sensitive, leaking cockhead to the rest of his dick. This caused his neglected, needy cock to easily light up and unconsciously buck into his own hand. 
“‘s too fast,” He whined out. 
His face took on a desperate frown as he continued to pump his hand over his cock almost mildly, almost as if he were afraid to go harder. 
He looked so beautifully wrecked - with his brows creased downward and his lip caught between his teeth, with that messy hand pumping his own leaking cock. 
“Too fast?” You asked, unsure what he meant. 
“It’s - it’s not-” He stuttered out, his brain becoming scattered and wordless to describe the feeling rushing through him. 
“Hey, shh,” You scratched your nails against his scalp again, grounding him. “Use your words, baby. Come on, be a good boy.” 
“Mommy!” He whined, his hips bucking forward desperately into his own hand, wetly smearing precum to the point where it became noisy. Your pussy throbbed at this and you resisted the urge to reach down and touch yourself, not wanting to distract him. 
“Baby, come on. Tell Mommy.” You ordered firmly. 
He sniffled loudly before he attempted more words. 
“Gonna end too fast.” He whined sharply. 
He sounded entirely petulant - as though he were truly upset that he was going to cum too soon and the night’s activities would be over. As though the two of you didn’t have plenty more nights to play. 
“It’s okay, baby.” You told him, reaching a hand over to thumb across his cheek, wiping away some of the frustrated tears that had escaped. “You did so good for me. You’re so good.” 
“I want more.” He whined out, clearly frustrated. 
“Mommy will always give you more.” You assured him. “But right now, you’re gonna cum for me.” 
He let out a wounded noise, some kind of protest, but his hips jolted as he continued to fuck his own hand. You had him right there. 
“Cum for me.” You demanded, your voice dark and demanding. 
It was a command he absolutely couldn’t ignore if he tried. 
“Mommy! Oh! Oh!” 
He let out a sharp cry as he came, and pumped himself through it. 
Neither of you had considered where he was going to cum. On his knees in front of you like that, he ended up in the perfect position to spill his load right onto your exposed cunt. Just like the last time you had played, he exploded with a massive power. Though he didn’t seem to have any care for where he was angling his cock or what he was cumming on, simply continuing to chant ‘oh, oh, oh’ under his breath with his eyes beautifully screwed shut and his mouth wide open, delicately pumping his hand on his cock to ride his orgasm all the way through. 
Thick, white waves of his cum landed on your pussy - startlingly warm, almost blazen hot compared to the cool air of the room. Something that easily made you moan, especially when paired with the beautiful sight of his orgasmic face in front of you and the way he so carelessly fucked himself, clearly only wanting to achieve his own pleasure and not caring if it was a good show or not - which was what made him so damn beautiful. 
When Spencer had milked himself dry, his cock starting to go soft in his own hand and the pleasant tingles becoming more like harsh pin-pricks of overstimulation, he put a hand on the wideness of your thigh for support, his muscles shaking. And then he finally opened his eyes. 
He felt even dizzier when he saw the sight before him - your gorgeously lingerie clad body and naked pussy now covered in the thick white of his spend. A small voice in the back of his head wondered if you could get pregnant from this, and another told him that - yes, it would be good if you did. You would look so good pregnant with his child. A child the two of you made together would be smart, beautiful, charismatic, brilliant and perfect in every aspect. 
He hadn’t even fully acknowledged that he was in love with you yet, but that was the moment he knew for certain that he wanted you to be the mother of his children. There was no other woman in the world who would be comparable to you - no other woman as perfect for the task. 
(He didn’t know that you were on oral birth control, so it didn’t matter if he had cum inside you - you weren’t going to get pregnant. Not without intending to.) 
“Oh, did I-?” He motioned toward the mess, seeming worried. 
Before he could apologize for it, you reached your fingers down and began lightly padding through it, and Spencer let out a wrecked moan at the sight. 
“You did such a good job, baby.” You told him, still entirely certain. 
Before he could comprehend it, you brought a finger up to your mouth - one covered in the combined essence of yourself and Spencer, and curled your tongue around it, moaning at the taste. Spencer could do nothing more than make unintelligible noises, and you giggled as you released the finger. 
“Good boy.” 
Spencer was dizzy and hazy from all the pleasure, and there was only one thing on his mind. 
“Can I have a hug now?” He asked, his voice still sweet and soft. 
“Yes, baby. Come here.” You spread your arms wide and Spencer practically launched himself at you. 
He laid completely on top of you, and you wrapped your arms around him, stroking up and down his back lazily as you enjoyed the peaceful calm of his breathing. 
After only a few moments, you felt him start to fall asleep like that. His muscles turned to jelly, and his breathing came out in long, soft puffs. He looked so adorable nuzzled into your breasts that you didn’t want to wake him up, even if the drying mess between your thighs was becoming uncomfortable, and you knew that he definitely wouldn’t want to sleep in it for too long. 
You continued petting your fingers through his hair gently. You would wake him up in a little while and get cleaned up, you assured yourself. 
You definitely weren’t falling for him, feeling things that extended far outside of sexual attraction. 
Nope. Definitely not.
...
Note: This is a Capsule Series, so each fic can be read as an individual oneshot. There is no overarching story, and no specific ending.
I am not currently working on a continuation of this, and I don't know when I will be. If you enjoyed this and you want to see more from me, I highly encourage you to check out the rest of the works on my Criminal Minds Masterlist.
598 notes · View notes
totaly-obsessed · 3 months
Text
Revelations
Tumblr media
Katie McCabe x reader request
-> Katie and you watch Aine play football for the first time
-> 2 requests in one - I hope you like it!
➳ Masterlist
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
‘I want another one’ somehow happened quite fast and not even a year later – Aine was getting ready to be a big sister. Telling her didn’t quite go as Katie or you had planned…
“Baby in Mummy’s tummy!”
A deadly silence had fallen over the kitchen as your wife and you just exchanged glances, trying to figure out who had snitched, both convinced that it was not you.
“What do ya mean lovie?” Katie tried to act unknowingly but apparently forgot that Aine had gotten the sass from her.
“You need to listen better!” You could barely hold yourself up with how much you were shaking with laughter and the Irishwoman’s shocked face. “Watch ya tone, Missy!”
By now the young girl had attached herself to your leg, clawing at you for ‘uppies’ as she had once called it. When you finally caved and sat her on the kitchen counter, she was quickly joined by Cooper who nuzzled his head into her side.
“You’re right doll. There is a baby in Mummy’s tummy – you will be a big sister.” Both of you were curious about how the seven-year-old would react to the news, not even caring at this point how she had figured it out.
“Like Mama and Auntie Lauryn!” Cooper by now had enough of the excited bouncing, opting to leave and look for a pretty spot in the sun where he could nap until his small human companion would inevitably find him and smother him in pets.
“That’s right bub! What do you think of that?” Back was the tense silence, as Katie grabbed your hand, giving it a loving squeeze – this was much more terrifying than you had thought. At least you didn’t need to actually tell Aine the news, she had taken that upon herself.
The small brunette looked around the open kitchen and living space, her pigtails swishing through the air as she scooted closer to the edge of the countertop, getting her face right next to yours. Katie’s hands were ready in case she fell, which she wouldn’t but Katie would always worry. “Pssshh! Don’t tell - this was my biggest wish for Santa! And it came true!”
Your wife couldn’t help but laugh, kissing her daughter's forehead before hiding her face in the very familiar brown hair. “Well, Santa came early then, huh?” It was in the middle of November, but ever since last Christmas, the seven-year-old had started a wish list. “He did! Cause I wanted it so badly – and Mummy did too!”
This had gone over much better than you could have imagined, and for now, you were just fine with her thinking that Santa was the way her little sibling would find its way to her. “You’re right Lovie. Mummy and Mama wished for it really badly too.”
---
---
It was no secret that Aine wanted to be just like her Mama, so her playing football should really not come as a surprise to either of you but it turns out that seeing her little girl get accepted into the Arsenal U8s team was something entirely different.
The little brunette had tried out for them, just like any other kid (no matter what haters would say), and got accepted with no problem. At their age group, it wasn’t considered as ‘Academy’ training, but rather ‘Pre academy’, with two training sessions a week and ten games across the whole season. They also weren’t separated into a girls' and boys' team just yet, so the Arsenal U8’s was a mixed team that would compete against other fixed games and also just boys teams.
With spring break coming up, Aine’s first match was also coming closer and closer. Katie had never felt so many emotions. Seeing you at six months pregnant and now well rounded while her little girl went to training after training, each time coming home with a bigger smile.
“Look at this! You’ll look just like Mama!”
Katie really couldn’t hold her tears anymore – with you holding her hand Aine admired herself in the mirror, wearing her game-day kit for the very first time.
But instead of Katie's 15 on her back, she had a 10 – for Kim Little, the best Midfielder there was and your daughter's biggest idol, much to her mama's disappointment.
“You look so grown up, Doll.” Seeing your wife this emotional, and Aine so happy gave you the rest. Now both of you were bawling your eyes out while the little brunette hopped around the house, before running back with Katie’s phone in her little hands.
“Take a picture, Mummy! For Auntie Kim!”
In the picture you were holding the grinning girl in your arms, as she proudly kissed your tummy, refusing to properly pose as she wanted to show Kim her little sibling as well.
This was the best day yet for the young gunner. After all, she was going to be a big sister, so she had to be a good example and play good football – just like the grown-ups.
“Do me a favor, my love?” Aine stood in between her mother's legs when she finally composed herself a little. “Hmmm?”
“Grow up a little slower, will ya?”
---
---
Turns out preparing for gameday, and actually experiencing one, were completely different experiences – especially when it was a double game day.
Aine was already hopping through the house like an excited bunny when Katie made her way down the stairs to make breakfast.
The Irishwoman had kissed your forehead, gently waking you up with a mumbled “Mornin Love. Thirty minutes.” Before going downstairs. God was her morning voice attractive.
It was seven in the morning. On a Sunday. Entirely too early for a six-month pregnant you who had put a giddy child to bed, that didn’t want to sleep. But your wife was gracious, giving you thirty more minutes to wake up fully before helping her daughter bring breakfast in.
You could get used to this – a delicious meal in bed with your wife and daughter, although a little later would have been nice.
“Mummy, when do we have to go?” This was the third time Aine had asked in the last ten minutes, and every time either Katie or you had given her the answer but the small brunette couldn’t help herself – she was just too excited.
This was the fastest you had ever seen the seven-year-old get washed and dressed after breakfast. She was so fast, that she had gotten impatient with your much slower speed. Aine took it upon herself to get you dressed while you brushed your teeth while sat on the closed toilet.
“Foot please Mama!” You did as asked, picking up your legs off the floor so that your daughter could slip socks over your feet.
And with a quick zoom, she was in your bedroom again, just to return with wide, comfortable pants that you just knew that your wife chose. Instead of giving them to you, she threw them on the floor. “Step in please!” Good thing you were already wearing underwear, huh? As good as she could, Aine helped you get them up and over your bump, but not before giving it a kiss and whispering a small “Hi!”
It went like that until you were fully dressed and she pulled you to the hallway, where your wife helped you into shoes as you could barely see the ground anymore.
“Is this okay? I thought maybe I should have given her longer socks because it will be cold – but then we have a blanket so maybe you will get too hot an-“ Katie’s rambling was cut short with a passionate kiss. “It’s perfect – Thank you, my Love.”
“Let go, let go, let's go!”
---
---
“Now you know how it feels to watch you play!” Katie was tense as she leaned against one of the beams that surrounded the football pitch.
The drive here had gone by fairly quickly as Aine made sure to tell your wife all about her teammates. You had met most of them already during practice or while picking her back up again – the small brunette would always chat with anybody who would listen until you walked over to take her home. Her chattiness definitely came from your wife – but right now there was nothing in the world that could make the Irishwoman relax.
“She’s tougher than she looks, my Love.” By now you had taken the footballer's hand, rubbing calming circles on it in a desperate attempt to calm her down.
Aine was one of four girls on the pitch – two on her team and two on the other. The rest were all boys. And while you knew that she was feistier than she looked, much more like her mother than you, the size difference between her and some of the boys was terrifying.
“Oi Ref!” Your wife’s hand shot up when an opposing boy had clumsily taken your daughter down with him in an attempt to stop her from getting even closer to their goal. “That’s a free kick! Ref!” The guy refereeing the game didn’t see the incident at first, angering Katie even further – but when he did look over the first thing that he saw, was a tiny brunette shoving a boy at least a head taller off of her.
The shrill sound of a whistle agreed with Katie, and the Arsenal U8s were indeed allowed a freekick in a very good position for them, as your daughter had been very central on the field and closing in on goal.
Katie’s grip on your hand tightened with stress – she knew what she would do in this situation. But did her seven-year-old know it as well? They spent countless dinner conversations talking about football and plenty of different techniques, with impressive input from Aine, so she had to know what she was doing, right?
 And she did.
The brunette passed to one of her free strikers and started running through the masses. She was small, fast, and agile – and before the opposing team could blink, her striker passed back to her when she was standing directly in front of the goal.
“Yes! That’s my daughter!”
Katie couldn’t contain herself any longer – the ball had hit the back of the net with a surprising amount of force, their keeper jumping in the other direction, making this a perfect goal. Her first goal.
After high-fiving every player on her team your daughter sprinted over to where you stood and gave a quick kiss to your belly just like she had done earlier in the morning. “For you, baby!”
The match ended shortly after Arsenal's third goal, assisted by your daughter who once again looked at you and Katie, to see if you watched her – which you did.
One of the trainers had brought a box of mixed ice-creams and even though the young brunette wasn’t supposed to, she took three of them and quickly made her way to you and your wife.
“Don’t you wanna eat with your friends baby?”
“Nuh-uh. You are my best friends.”
Well, there go your hormones again as you couldn’t hold your tears at bay any longer. “I love you so much Aine. And you played so well.” The seven-year-old kissed your forehead much like Katie did, before ensuring that someone had recorded the game so that she could show Auntie Kim her goal.
“That was my first win for baby sister, Mommy! Now Mama needs to win tonight so it’s a perfect day!”
“Geez no pressure huh?” Everything was packed up now and the pitch was getting emptier by the minute as multiple parents made their way to their cars at the same time you did.
“Aine I have a question.”
“Yeah?”
“What if it’s a baby brother instead?”
She was now buckled into her car seat, with Katie still at her door trying to work out something that has been bothering her ever since your daughter had announced that you were pregnant again. Neither you nor Katie have been told the gender of the baby, yet the youngest family member seemed sure that it would be a girl again.
“It’s not. It’s a baby sister.”
“How do you know that?”
You tried to watch their interaction as well as you could from your passenger seat. Your Wife’s eyes were wide with curiosity, something that you saw in Aine nearly every day.
“I just do.”
“You terrify me, Kid.”
472 notes · View notes
ineffable-suffering · 6 months
Text
Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator
Part 1: The Story of Job
Tumblr media
I'm absolutely not the first one to talk about this on here and I probably shan't be the last either. Alas, here's my take on why all of the minisodes in Season 2 should be enjoyed with great care – and taken with a grain of angelic salt.
I'm gonna split this into 3 parts, aka the three minisodes we are shown, since I tend to get a bit waffley in my posts and want to still be able to include all the little details. Once I've written them, I'll link Part 2 & Part 3 here as well!
Alright, let's get into it under the cut of doom.
Episode 2 opens with the Story of Job. Right off the bat, I noticed that it sort of looks like an old film playing. At first I didn't read that much into it, but once we see the cut-away to Aziraphale at the bookshop, currently reading that part of the Bible (presumably), I immediately thought: "Oh! It's because it's his memory. He's remembering how it went down and therefore it plays like a figurative film in his head."
This, I then came to realize, is a very crucial difference to all the flashbacks of S1, which were exclusively told and narrated by God. May her intensions be as ineffable as they are: She did tell us all of these stories from an objective outsider's point of view. Now, however, it's Aziraphale who's re-telling those stories to us from memory.
And if there's one thing that's for certain, it's that a memory is something entirely different to an objective narration of a story. Just think about how you yourself remember things. Especially things that happened years, maybe even decades (or, in an angel's case, millenia) ago. What is it, that you really remember? Can you know for sure, that a conversation was held with those exact words? Are you 100% certain that the clothes someone wore weren't different? Had it really been snowing or would that make very little sense given what you're remembering happened in May? And did it even happen in May? Or does that just happen to be your favourite month, the current weather, your preferred style of clothing and what it was that you would imagine someone would have said to you?
What I'm trying to say is: The further away it is that something happened, the more your brain has to fill in the gaps. This is why, for example, your parents will remember the family summer holiday entirely different when you ask them about it 20 years later.
"No, it was Sarah who puked on the car ride home!" "Nonsense, Sarah never puked as a child. Bobby had that gone-off pizza, he's the one that was sick the whole ride long!"
We've all been there. Bobby made it out alive. Don't buy gas station pizza.
Alright, back to the plot: Naturally, Aziraphale is not actually human, so it is a pure assumption on my part that the way his memory works is similar to ours. However, the whole topic of "memory" is actually quite a recurring one on Good Omens.
Crowley seems to have lost his in the Fall, yet somehow managed to get most of it back. Not all of it, though, he clearly has some major gaps ("You used to jump on me back, little monkey in the waistcoat!"). Beelzebub helps Gabriel store all his memories in their little fly container before they get wiped entirely too, by the Metatron and/or Saraqael. Crowley and Aziraphale (and possibly Jimbriel) perform a miracle together that makes everyone in Heaven and Hell forget who Garbiel is or what he looks like. And we know that the Book of Life apparently has the ability to completely erase someone from existence – ergo also erasing them from everyone's memory and making it is as though the person had never been in them at all.
So, clearly, angels and demons being able to remember, forget, reconstruct and, if you're the Metadork, wipe memories, is very much canon. Apart from that very last one, it does make them quite human-like in a way. We too can forget or (wrongfully and incompletely) reconstruct memories, due to things like trauma, illness or simply a lot of time having passed.
So, just like Crowley remembers going into battle but doesn't remember Furfur being there, or just like Jimbriel has entierly forgotten who he is but still remembers the tune and lyrics to Buddy Holly's song Everyday, and just like archangel Michael was miraculously made to forget Gabriel and yet says "Don't I know you?" when seeing him again – just like that, Aziraphale's memories of the story of Job, the story of wee Morag and the story of the magic show in 1941, might not actually be the whole truth.
So, time to look at where the furniture isn't.
Now, it could very well be that the costume designers of S2 thought: "Fuck it, let's go crazy" – but given that this show has a track record of meticulously making sure to stick to accurate and cohesive character design, doesn't it strike you as odd that Crowley would go from this look at the Flood in Mesopotamia, 3004 BC:
Tumblr media
... to the (very iconic, don't get me wrong) Bildad the Shuhuite drip in 2500 BC:
Tumblr media
... back to this at the crucifixion of Jesus Christ in 33 AD:
Tumblr media
I mean ... I mean– come on, that seems like a bit of a far stretch, even for someone as enthusiastically experimental with fashion as Crowley.
And it's not just that: Where did the sunglasses come from, all of a sudden? And why do they look like some sort of obscure, ancient optometrist's device? It's a known historical fact that the Romans were the ones to have invented sunglasses, somewhere around 50-ish AD. Which actually matches perfectly with when Crowley and Aziraphale meet again in Rome 8 years after the crucifixion (51 AD).
So, where do the weird spectacles come from, over 2000 years too early? Maybe from Aziraphale's brain filling in some gaps? Hasn't Crowley always worn those ridiculous sunglasses? Was it Rome? Or Golgotha? Wessex? Oh, blimey, what does it matter!
And it's not just Crowley: Aziraphale's own clothes, as well as the other angels', seem to be very different from the rather plain linen we see him wear before and after the story of Job.
Tumblr media
They're laced with golden embroidery along the neckline and sleeves. The remind almost of the clothes angels are depicted wearing in biblical and historical drawings. Ornate and decadent. Not at all like we see Aziraphale in the other flashbacks of S1.
Even Bildad the Shuhite's hair within the minisode keeps changing, going from all pouffy and voluminous to rather deflated and straight-looking:
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The costume department either had to fix up two seperate wigs or manually straighten out the volume of the one again to give it a more sleek look. I'm not a professional in this field, but if there's anything I've learned from watching hours of behind-the-scenes material of movies and shows, it's that very little about costume, character, prop and set design is purely coincidental.
You know what it could be, though? An accurate representation of how memories aren't linear, historically correct and objective representations of a certain event, but rather an ever-changing, jumbled mess of impressions, emotions and exaggerations.
More specifically: Aziraphale's impression, emotions and exaggerations.
Like "remembering" Crowley with sunglasses because he's been wearing them for so long.
Like "remembering" himself wearing more luxurious, angelic clothes because that's how he thinks of the difference between Heaven and Hell.
Like "remembering" the permit as a ridiculously long scroll that folded out over an entire valley.
Like "remembering" Job's children to be weirdly sassy in an almost Aziraphale-esque way (Enon: "Don't be silly!") for the fact that Job would have probably taught them to be more humble and obedient in the presence of a literal angel.
Like "remembering" eating an entire fucking Ox after having just one bite of it while Crowley watched him lustfully, sipping on his wine.
Like "remembering" Crowley calling him 'angel', despite them having barely known each other back then.
There's a reason why the flashbacks in S2 seem so much more alive, quirky and, at many points, confusing and all over the place. Because they're not objective stories being told by a third party. They're Aziraphale's. So much of his own thoughts and feelings at the time get projected onto them because that's simply how memory works!
It's subjective. It's unrealiable.
It's not that I'm calling Aziraphale a liar. He's no more a liar than your parents are, mixing up Sarah and Bobby. Or you, remembering snow instead of sunshine. Memories aren't lies. They can simply be faulty, focus on things that you thought were more important and leaving out or changing things that weren't, to you.
The real challenge in all of this, is trying to filter through Aziraphale's stories to see what it actually is they're telling us. Where it is that the furniture isn't. And I think in this case, that's 6 main things (eff you, God, I know you like sevens, but I don't care):
God and Satan (still) talk to each other We see that Aziraphale is quite surprised when Muriel mentions that the whole Job thing is God's bet with Satan. But clearly, despite having made him and the rest fall, God still converses with Her number one traitor about whether or not the humans simply love Her because she gives them nice things or because they truly believe in Her.
God and Satan (and Heaven and Hell) can and do collaborate with each other when they feel like it So much for choosing sides, huh? Truthfully, this is not the first time this is shown to us, but still. It's another piece of evidence on the growing pile.
Aziraphale understands the World and humans way better than any of the other angels "Well, you see ... Citis is 58 ..."
Aziraphale, despite having troubles voicing it, absolutely disagrees and even condemns God's plan of destroying Job's children (and goats and camels and––)
Aziraphale is willing to lie and thwart the will of God Also not the first time we're being shown this but again, piiiile of evidence.
Angels don't automatically Fall simply by doing the above To me, this is one of the most important take aways. It's already hinted in S1 as well that 'Falling' seems to have been a one time even back when the first war broke out in Heaven. And I actually believe that ever since then, no other angels have Fallen again. Aziraphale is the best example for this. He has gone against God's plan numerous times and even lied to her very face (voice?) about it. And yet, nothing ever happened to him. Why exactly that is the case remains a topic for another meta (that I might or might not be working on already, teehee).
Alright, that concludes this first look at the Job minisode! If there's anything I missed, feel free to share it with me. I'll try and add Part 2 (the story of wee Morag) and Part 3 (the magic show of 1941) soon.
Update: Part 2 and Part 3 have officially been written, you can find it them right here:
Part 2: The Story of wee Morag
Part 3: The Story of the Magic Show in 1941
Hugs and kisses, (God)!
926 notes · View notes
generalllimaginesss · 3 months
Text
author’s note: I blacked out while writing this, so it will be as much of a surprise to me when I wake up and reread it as it will to you when you read it for the first time. It wasn’t requested, just something that my brain came up with and wouldn’t let me sleep until I finished it. It’s loosely based off of Olivia Rodrigo’s The Grudge and the movie Sweet Home Alabama (my favorite movie). Also, this is completely made up in my head and in no way reflects something that Luke Hughes has done, or will do. It’s also 2:06 AM and I can’t promise that it’s proofread very well because I can barely keep my eyes open (I worked a double today).
Warnings: cursing, ANGST, cheating, kinda sad but has a good ending. Slow beginning, but I promise it gets better!
Without further ado….
The Grudge
Tumblr media
“Hello?”
The single word that was the catapult for the demise of your relationship. The single word that changed the course of what you pictured your future as.
Luke’s side of the call was silent, the only noise able to be heard was his breathing, heavy as if the weight of the world was crushing his lungs, deflating him of life.
He wasn’t supposed to be calling. He had told you he was having a guys week, a time for him to regroup with his brothers and friends at the lake house. It was his own little sanctuary away from the life that he had worked so hard for. A quiet place. He had asked for that time, to which you agreed, he needed a break.
“Luke? Everything ok?”
He wanted nothing more than to hang up the phone in that instance. The reality that he was about to destroy the last bit of trust that you held for him constricting him as he fought with his vocal cords, trying like hell to form some form of vocalization.
“I need to tell you something,” He managed to squeeze the words out, every bit of courage mustered into it. The feeling of facing the mistake that he had made seemed impossible compared to simply just refusing to acknowledge it. He could ignore it all, ghost you, and pretend like he had never ruined everything. He had ruined your relationship, your love. You. He had ruined you, including everything that came from the relationship the two of you developed a couple of summers before he had left to play for Michigan.
Ironic that it would begin and end during the summer.
“Ok. Are you-”
“Are you alone?”
His brothers will kill him when they find out, but your family? The thought of them being there to wipe your tears and listen to your rants that have to do with him break his heart. He had developed a special relationship with your dad, your mom always put a stocking out for him during the holiday season, your brother? He had taught your little brother how to skate, how to play hockey. Even though he couldn’t coach your little brother’s team, he had supported him since the beginning. He had bought him his first jersey. 43.
“Yeah, Luke. You’re scaring me.”
“God, I fucking hate myself. I’m so sorry,” Sobbing, the sound of his arm wiping his nose could be heard. He knew he shouldn’t cry. He chose this.
He knew he didn’t always treat you like you should have, no deserved, to be treated. He didn’t spend time with you like he should have, he didn’t tell you he loved you enough. When you yelled at him about things, he would scream back. He would never hit you, but his words cut through your core, sometimes feeling worse than what you imagined the sting of one of his slaps might feel like.
The anxiety that stemmed from Luke’s call gripped your lungs, confusion coursing through your body outweighing the blood that sucked at carrying the oxygen at the moment. There was nothing random about your relationship, he didn’t surprise you with anything, much less a phone call.
Something is wrong.
The silence was deafening, overwhelmingly so.
“I tried to tell myself that you would never find this out, but there was somebody taking pictures and I need you to hear it from me first, ok?” He closed his eyes forcing himself to find some shred of courage left inside of him.
“Ok,” The word was breathy as it left your lips, a courtesy to encourage him to continue.
“I cheated,” It flowed out of his mouth in such a casual way that it felt like somebody had stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife and watching as you writhed in pain. The taste of iron flooded your senses as you bit your cheek to hold yourself together.
“We went to one of the local bars. She was the bartender, she knew us. Trevor invited her to the house after her shift and me and her ended up alone together while the others were out back and one thing led to another…one of the guys took a picture and posted it on their story. They forgot about you.” He tried to explain it in a way that redeemed himself. He was only 20 years old…this bartender could’ve taken advantage of him, but you knew him.
He didn’t get close to just anybody, he was the gate to his space. Nobody would get through the gate if he didn’t want them to, including this girl. Which made the bile that was building in your throat much more bitter. The fact that he not only cheated, but is trying to play victim makes you bubble with rage. Luke Hughes was very good at many things, but the one thing he had never quite mastered the role of was “victim.”
The shock coursed through your body like metal to a magnet, searching endlessly for something to smash into and deciding your heart was the place to do that. It felt like you forgot to breathe, your lungs aching for a breath.
“Y/N?” He willed you to talk, silence causing more anxiety than your anger ever would have.
“I never would have done this to you,” Your whisper spoke more volumes than a scream would have, cutting through the phone and going straight through Luke’s body. He wished you would scream at him, tell him he fucked up, but the way you said those words made him feel like this was it. He couldn’t come back from this one.
“I’m sorry,” His words were meaningless, but he spoke them nonetheless.
Those two words sent you into a silent rage, one that wrecked the inside of your mind but couldn’t be seen by anyone else. You hung up the phone, throwing it across your room and immediately packing everything that had to do with Luke into a box that you found.
Packing 4 years worth of things that you acquired from him was emotionally draining, each article triggering memories through the years.
His first Michigan Hockey sweatshirt that he had bought himself packed into the bottom of the box reminded you of the date he had planned. He had snuck the two of you into the arena when no one was there and taught you to skate, skills that still stick with you to this day. His first hoodie became yours that night, the smell of his cologne long gone from the comfort it brought you many nights when you felt lonely.
A Devils snow globe and jersey that was decorated with the number 43, his number, packed next. He had bought it for you the day he was drafted, convinced that it would be worth something one day. And it was. Just not to you anymore. The snow globe was attached to a memory that was better left forgotten. It was for your birthday, which happened to be the day after his. When you had gone all out for his 20th birthday, buying him a new custom suit and designer shoes that required months of savings, he gave you a snow globe that “you could add to your collection.” You had said some backhanded things to him, a huge fight came from that. A fight on your birthday, something else that you would’ve never done to him.
The last items consisted of hoodies, a few pairs of sweatpants and boxers, and a couple of jackets. The last thing, however, was something that you didn’t know if you could part with.
It was a letter that Luke had wrote you for Valentine’s Day the second year of your relationship, a sweet surprise that you weren’t expecting with your usual bouquet of daisies and roses, your two favorite flowers.
When you doubted your relationship with Luke in the past, when arguments and fights felt like it was all it consisted of, you always found your way back to his letter. He had told you that you were his end game, that there would never be somebody else that was better suited for him. He poured his heart out in that letter, telling you that he was going to marry you one day. One day when he had made it to the NHL and could roll in money, he was going to buy a rock for your finger and a huge house for all of the babies that you talked about.
Rereading the letter normally made you remember the good times, when things were good, but under the circumstances now it made you want to burn it, to watch his words turn to ash, just like the promises he had made to you.
Meaningless. His words were meaningless now.
It wasn’t always his fault, no. There were instances where you said things that you knew hurt him, things that echoed in the back of his head every now and then. Something along the lines of him never being as good as his brothers, that he would always be in their shadow. That Luke Hughes would be known as “just another Hughes brother.”
Some days he felt like that statement couldn’t be more true, that he would never live up to the records that Quinn and Jack seemed to break every time they stepped on the ice. Some days he just couldn’t see it coming together for him.
But other days he knew he was determined to make a name for himself, for Luke. The Hughes name was a force to be reckoned with. Luke wanted to be even better than his last name. Whatever it took, sometimes at the expense of those around him.
You snatched the letter that was stuck in the corner of the mirror that perched on top of your dresser, the sound of the paper crisp beneath your fingertips. As much as you wanted to destroy the letter, you figured it would be better to send it back to Luke. He needed to see all of the promises he broke and hurt he’s caused.
The paper was the last thing in the box, folded neatly on top of everything else.
Closing the box, you carried it to your car, placing it in the backseat behind the driver’s side. If there’s one thing that could be payback to Luke, it was telling his parents. He thrived on his parent’s approval, likely a symptom of being the youngest brother of an extremely successful family.
Ellen and Jim’s faces burned the back of your mind, so many memories that consisted of the two of them. Countless games at Michigan were spent with the two of them, as well as a couple of trips to New Jersey. You had helped Ellen cook supper many times, and watched as Jim coached his sons. Ellen’s pep talks were rarely intended for you, but you always felt like something could be learned from her wisdom.
The drive was silent, muscle memory the only way you could manage to get there in the state you were in. You didn’t know if the lights were green or if you used your blinker, all you could think about was Luke admitting to cheating. All of the shit you had been through with each other, all of the petty fights, had finally come to a head. You may have gone low, below the belt at some point in time, but this? You never could have ruined him like this, no matter how bad you wanted to.
As hurt as you were, you were numb. Tears wouldn’t fall, your body still in shock over the news.
As you drove up the paved driveway to the house that had become your second home, the emotions hit you when you saw Ellen in the flower beds, digging up weeds and planting new flowers.
She had heard a car approaching, causing her to look up and recognize you. Although she loved for you to visit, you normally didn’t come over unless Luke was with you, especially now that him and Jack owned the lake house.
She wiped at the sweat that was beading her forehead, dirt from her work gloves sticking in some of her blonde locks that were glued to her face. She smiled at you, before confusion flashed and she saw that you were carrying a box.
“Hi, Doll! Luke’s not here, but I’m glad you stopped by!” Her warm tone and kind smile didn’t fade, even if she did notice something off about your demeanor.
Her voice broke you. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring her and Jim into this. Maybe you should have just threw everything that connected you to Luke in a garbage can and called it a day.
“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” She walked towards you with her arms open, noticing your quivering lips and teary eyes.
She was drenched in sweat from the summer sun, but you didn’t mind it. Dropping the box on the driveway, you allowed her to wrap her arms around you tightly. Her embrace gave you comfort as sobs racked through your body. How could such a loving mom and dad create such a jack ass? They had done perfect with 2/3 of their sons…what happened with Luke?
“Do you want to go inside? Jim’s working on a sink faucet, but he won’t mind,” She ushered you inside, her hand gently pushing your back.
Nodding, you wiped your nose on your sleeve and allowed her to walk you inside. She quickly washed her hands at the sink Jim was working at, earning a few objections from him, but she hushed him and motioned to you.
His face filled with concern as he noticed something wrong with you. He could fix a lot of things, but girls was something he would leave to his wife.
The leather of the couch soothed the heat that the summer sun had left on your skin. Ellen joined, sitting next to you as she rubbed your back, calming you. She truly was like a second mom.
“Is everything ok?” She held onto your arm, the pressure from her fingers sending tingles to your brain.
“No,” You croaked, the single word rattling your throat as it struggled to exit.
“What happened?” Her voice had dropped below her regular volume, but above a whisper. She cut her eyes at Jim who was attempting to listen from the kitchen.
“He cheated…”
The shock hit his parents as hard as it did you. Quinn would never cheat, Jack? It was questionable sometimes. But they’re baby? The one that had endured the lectures from his parents the longest, the one that had seen his brother’s mistakes and learned from them, the one that seemed so in love with you that nothing could ever separate you both? It seemed nearly impossible. Surely it was a mistake.
“How do you know? The press always lies…” She trailed off, your eyes connecting to hers.
“He told me,” The strength you tried to regain from your prior meltdown was useless as your voice trembled, “…said that he wanted to tell me before somebody else did.”
“Oh, Honey. I’m so sorry,” She pulled you into her arms, watching as Jim rounded the corner to join. You were like the daughter the two of them had always wanted, so seeing you hurt killed them in return. And at the hands of their son? They were immensely disappointed. They didn’t raise him like this.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do, and I probably should have left you both out of it,” Your attempts at stopping the free-flowing tears were useless, so you embraced each one as it fell, “…um, I brought his stuff back. I know he’s at the lake house, but I don’t think I can see him right now. I really wish we could have worked. You two will never know how much you and your boys mean to me.”
“Likewise, sweet girl. I wish I could make this all better. You may not feel like it right now, but our family will always hold a spot for you,” Ellen reassured, a hum of agreement resonating within Jim.
“Anytime you want, and I’m serious, our door will always be open for you. No matter the time or circumstance, do you understand?” Jim waited for you to respond, a nod of your head, before embracing you again.
Their words meant so much, but the hurt still ached, seemingly never ending.
You said your goodbyes, taking in the house that you would probably never see again. The walls holding memories that only those in the house would ever understand or appreciate.
Closing the front door felt like closing a chapter on your life. A chapter that felt like it was ending in the middle with no resolve, but it closed.
It needed to.
———
As the New Year approached, your parents reminded you of the plans they had that would draw them away from home. They claimed that they celebrated Christmas with you, but the New Year meant that you were alone in a house that felt big and lonely while they celebrated with their fellow group of middle aged parents.
The months had passed, agonizingly, since Luke’s cheating admittance. The summer turned to fall and fall into winter, getting colder like you were allowing your heart to do.
A few dates here and there did nothing but remind you that the guy wasn’t Luke. They should’ve been better than Luke since they actually treated you with respect and checked every box that a girl had.
But the lack of teasing, of being the biggest pain in your ass and best friend, made the hole in your life bigger. You were sure nothing would help, not even the texts from Ellen and Jim, periodically, made it better.
They all consisted of the same topic: “How are you doing?”
It was the same old same old, until it wasn’t. Until Ellen texted you after Christmas asking you about your plans for New Year’s Eve. The Hughes had always thrown a party for the New Year, packed to the brim with people.
When Ellen asked if you had plans, you had every intention on lying and saying yes. Saying that you had a date and that he was taking you to see the countdown and fireworks that followed, but something told you to tell the truth. So you did.
After you had admitted to her that you, in fact, would be all alone, she reached out and invitation to join them.
The invitation had toggled in your mind for a few days now. On one hand, you wanted to go see how everybody was, talk to his brothers, catch up with his friends. On the other, you wanted to stay home in your pajamas and watch Andy Cohen get shitfaced with Anderson Cooper while wondering if Luke would kiss somebody for the occasion.
The saying “curiosity killed the cat” proved to be true as you had finally decided to go, a sparkly gold dress accentuated your curves, hugging you in all of the right places, the places that Luke had once yearned for. You don’t know how, but your makeup was flawless, your eyeshadow bringing out your eyes in a way that you had never seen, but you loved it. Maybe this was revenge?
Even though you hadn’t made the drive in over 6 months, you still knew it like the back of your hand. Your nerves were working overtime, anxiety squeezing your thoughts the closer you got to the Hughes’ residence.
What if Luke had a new girlfriend? What if his parents were the only ones that wanted you there? Was this actually a good idea?
Too late now.
There was probably 25 or more cars that littered the driveway, most carrying a minimum of 2 people. It was a relief, maybe you could just blend in with the rest of them. A chameleon in the house of your ex lover.
Music blared, drifting from the backyard into the front, making the walk to the door less daunting of a task. There was no use in knocking, the sound of talking and music would most likely just drown it out, so you took a breath as you pushed the door open. It appeared to be the spot for the more mature crowd, Jim spotting you as soon as you walked in.
He was confused as to who you were at first, but as soon as you gave him a shy smile his face lit up with excitement. He had missed you more than he realized.
“Y/N! What a nice surprise! Come in, make yourself at home,” He squeezed you in a tight hug before relinquishing you.
“Y/N! Oh my, I wasn’t expecting you to come, but I’m so glad you did!” Ellen squealed, the clinking of her heels against the hardwood floors becoming faster as she did her best to jog to you, embracing you like her life depended on it. It lasted a few seconds before she held you out at arms length, examining you.
“Gosh, you look absolutely stunning! That dress was made for you!” She gushed.
“Thank you! I just decided to throw something together last minute. I should have let you know I was coming, but I honestly didn’t decide until right before I got dressed,” you chuckled, explaining the lack of communication on your part.
“Honey, you do not have to explain a single thing to me! I’m just so happy you’re here!” She hugged you again, rocking you side to side.
“The kids, sorry, young adults are out back. I do have to warn you…Luke did bring a date,” As she explained the dilemma, you expected yourself to break down. When it didn’t, relief washed over you. It had been almost 7 months, why wouldn’t Luke have moved on? You couldn’t be mad at him for that part, but you still held a grudge against him for allowing you to love him as much as you did and shattering your heart in the end.
There was never another conversation between the two of you. His parents never brought him up, he had never attempted to contact you, so the resolve was the fact that you returned everything. He had nothing left connecting him to you. That was how it was supposed to be, so there was no need to communicate with you. He had gotten the message loud and clear when he had returned home to a box of his things in his old bedroom and an ass-chewing from his parents and brothers. One that he would never wish on his worst enemy.
He learned from his mistake, but felt like the very toxic situation between the two of you was better left where it was: untouched.
He had been trying to move on ever since, sleeping with any girl that reminded him of you, sneaking them out before Jack had noticed, or simply just embracing the newness of being alone. It sucked at first, but he got used to it.
Ellen’s face flushed with concern at the momentary silence that followed her statement, scared that she would scare you off with the news of her son, your ex, having a date that wasn’t you.
“Ellen, it’s ok! I’m a big girl, I can handle it,” Making light of the situation was easier to fake on the outside, but trying to convince yourself was a bit harder.
You talked to Ellen and Jim for a few more minutes, catching them up on the latest details of your life, and then grabbed a Michelob to give you some liquid courage as you walked to the backyard.
There was people dancing, circles of people talking, various games being played, the scene never-ending as your eyes scanned over them. A few people locked eyes with you, recognizing you as the ex, but most everybody just continued to do whatever it was that they were doing. It wasn’t until Quinn’s eyes softened from his party vibes to concerned big brother that you felt nerves wrack your body. He immediately excused himself from the group he was talking to, making his way through the small sea of people to get to you.
For a split second you wanted to run away, but the rational side of you talked you down. It was just Quinn. Quinn had done nothing to you except loved you as if you were his own sister, so why would you run?
“Y/N! I wasn’t expecting you…how are you?” You immediately threw your arms around his torso, him returning the gesture, his hug similar to the way Ellen had hugged you.
“I’m good! I had no other plans and Ellen seemed like she really wanted me here…”
“Yeah, she hasn’t shut up about you,” He laughed, recalling how his mom mentions you anytime a girl was over, even one that Luke brought, and always comparing them to you when they left.
You were the standard that she held possible daughter-in-laws to, but they never lived up to you, she would admit.
“Gotta love her,” You chuckled, a slight awkward tension fell between you, a foreign, icky, awkwardness.
“That you do,” Quinn tried to repair the conversation, but some friends began to pull him away. He had mentioned to not leave before telling him bye, and then left with the group.
“Didn’t think you’d show up here,” The voice turned your blood to ice, freezing up what the beer had tried to let loose prior. No matter how many ways you envisioned this interaction to go down, nothing could have prepared you for hearing his voice after so long. It wasn’t like “nails on a chalkboard” irritating, but more along the lines when you pick a scab and it starts bleeding again.
That’s quite literally what it was. He was an old wound in your life that was becoming irritated because it was being messed with. No matter how much time had passed, it was still sensitive.
“Well, didn’t think I would be here either. It’s just as much a surprise to me as it is to you,” You turned around, met with the beautiful, curly-haired boy that was once your everything and a petit blonde that was his temporary. She was gorgeous, you’d give her that. But it wasn’t real beauty. It was bought. There’s nothing wrong with that, but her bleach blonde hair, fake tan, and push-up bra was irritating like nails on a chalkboard.
“Do you mind going to get us something to drink?” He turned to his date, giving him the empty bottle that his hand wrapped around.
“Is that a Michelob Ultra?” You almost snorted, her question a breath of fresh air in this unfortunate meeting.
“Not her and I, you and I,” Luke quickly cleared up.
She left with a smirk playing at her lips, kissing his cheek and heading inside.
“God, please let’s go somewhere else,” He grabbed your arm, tugging you to a secluded, area beside the shed out back. Your brain told you to rip your arm from his grip and scold him for thinking it was okay to ever touch you again, but your deemed in control and allow his touch to erupt butterflies in your tummy.
“I don’t know what I was thinking bringing her here,” he groaned, realizing he was still holding onto you, quickly letting go.
“She seems more Jack’s type, if you ask me,” You suggested, Luke squinting his eyes at your words.
“Good thing I didn’t ask…” He may have been the reason the relationship ended, but he wasn’t going to put up with any slander that you had for his current life. The life that didn’t include you.
“Whatever, why did you bring me here?” You looked around at the spot. It had definitely been a spot where the two of you had snuck off to make out several times, escaping the teasing of his older brothers.
“To talk…” He shift his weight to his heels, his hands finding warmth in the pockets on his pants.
“Oh! To talk about you being a complete dipshit and cheating on me this past summer? Yes, let’s talk about that!” Sarcasm dripped from your voice like venom from a snake, targeting the next victim: Luke.
“I’m sorry…” Again, the empty apologies were beginning to grind at you now. You didn’t want the apologies or the excuses. You wanted him to shut up for once, hear you out, and then come up with a genuine apology. He had said his piece, now it was time for you to say yours.
“No, Luke. You’re not sorry for cheating, you’re sorry you got caught. Save the apologies for when you actually mean them,” You started, him immediately shutting up and listening.
“We were so fucking toxic. You know it, I know it. The whole world probably knows it by now. But, God, I loved you so much. I would have spent my whole life trying to fight for that stupid relationship and you turned around and threw it all away. And for what? Some temporary pleasure? You couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to get back to me?” Your words shot through him, like bullets hitting glass, shattering the surrounding areas. He couldn’t argue because everything that you were saying was true, but he’d be damned if he let you find satisfaction in being right.
“You said it yourself, it was toxic! You probably would’ve found a problem with me being there without you, anyway!” He tried to defend himself, but he was fanning a flame that he shouldn’t be messing with right now.
“Don’t you dare try to manipulate me into thinking your cheating was justified! Luke Hughes, I’ve said some fucked up shit throughout the years, but I never have, and never will ruin your trust. That’s the type of shit that lasts a lifetime. I can’t date anybody else because there’s always that ‘what if’ of them cheating!” Tears brimmed your eyes, softening the wall that surrounded Luke’s heart. He was a tough guy, but the sight of you hurting was a soft spot for him, an Achilles heel.
“You promised me a future, and then turned around and burned it to the ground without a second thought once you got a taste of fame,” Your finger poked at his chest hard enough for him to wince, expecting to see bruises the next morning.
“You’re a liar! A fucking liar and cheater!” Your voice broke as the words left your mouth, but Luke took the verbal beating that he deserved.
“Do you think I want to be labeled as a cheater, Y/N?! I’ve prayed for months that I’d just wake up and it not be real, that we’d still be together!”
“Awe, so sad, Luke. Truly heart wrenching!” You grabbed at your heart, feigning compassion as he began to clench his jaw, the muscle flexing as his annoyance rose. It was hot, but not hot enough for you to do anything about it.
“Stop being such a bitch, it may suit you, but it doesn’t mean you have to wear it.” His eyes grew dark, almost challenging you to see who would win in a game of insults.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I was supposed to act however you deemed fit. Even if you’re a cheater…”
“I cheated, I’m not a cheater,” he tried to correct, a viscous chuckle tumbling from your mouth in response.
“I’m not! That’s the one and only time that it will ever happen, I can promise you that!” His voice rose in volume as he continued to defend himself.
“Oh, one and done Luke! How nice! My trust is fixed, so there’s nothing left to worry about!” The sound of people counting down in the background didn’t distract you.
10…9….8…
“If I’ve had anything in the past months it’s peace in knowing I don’t have to put up with your fucking nagging anymore!”
7…6…5…
“Yeah, and I don’t have to worry about you fucking some rando anymore!”
4…3…2…
“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”
1…
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The voices erupted behind the shed, but the whirlwind of a kiss muffled it all.
Luke eagerly pulled your face toward him, his lips colliding as intensely as a train hitting a car on the tracks. An accident waiting to happen, but there nothing that could be done about it.
It took a second or two, but you kissed back with the same passion as him, him pushing you backwards until your back hit the wall of the shed.
His lips were like home, sweet and comforting. The remnants of his vodka redbull tempting your taste buds to plunge deeper, but you didn’t, you let him set the pace.
One of his hands tilted your chin up, steadying it as the other pulled you closer from the small of your back. Every sense inside of you erupted in fireworks as his tongue tried to gain entrance into your mouth, but you stood your ground, or tried to at least.
The hand that steadied your chin found itself wrapped around your neck, the shock causing you to gasp as he gained entrance.
“Luke! I finally found something to drink, but we missed our-” The voice immediately tore the two of you apart, the fireworks over the lake and store bought pretty interrupting the fireworks that were going off inside of you. Your breathing was a little shallow as you tried to control it again.
“-kiss. What the hell.” She glanced between the two of you before storming off, her stiletto sinking into the grass as she desperately tried to remove it from her foot.
Luke groaned, but the chirping had just begun for you, “One and done, huh?”
“Me and her aren’t even dating!” He squealed.
“We’re talking about this tomorrow, Y/N. Do you understand me?” He pointed at you as he began to smooth over yet another failed attempt at dating, but he wasn’t going to reconcile that one.
“Aye aye, Captain,” You gave him a silly salute, earning an eye roll from him, but as soon as he turned away from you the smile wouldn’t disappear.
Call you crazy, but you hadn’t felt butterflies for a long time, probably since his note to you. What you felt tonight was an army of butterflies being obliterated by fireworks. The feeling of his fingers around your neck, his jaw muscle contracting, everything about him had turned you on.
Did you really fold that easily?
Oh well. The thought of the next day, the possibility of getting him back, along with his family far outweighed your pride.
He could be your Luke once more.
436 notes · View notes
hauntedrain · 3 months
Text
F1 Driver Dating Headcanons | Fem! Reader |
Tumblr media
Includes: Charles, Max, Oscar, And Lando
Disclaimer: these might be unrealistic but they are ofc headcanons. Also, I might do a part 2 of more or different drivers? Not edited.
Tumblr media
Charles Leclerc *°:⋆ₓₒ
A gentle lover.
Would do anything and everything for you. You want a specific food? He'll go pick it up for you. Looking at something online? He'll buy it for you. Literally everything and anything.
Like, "No Charles is okay, I don't need it right now, and plus it's too much." and he would be like, "No if you want it'll get it, anything for you." and then he would buy it even if you still say its too much or something like that.
He reminds me of a puppy, so I imagine him following you everywhere. However, if it was somewhere where there's a big crowd or a bunch of fans hell be in front to protect you.
I feel like he's more of a romantic person with dates and gestures.
like candle-lit dinners, flowers all the time, fancy dinners and outings, etc.
Would compliment you 24/7 in the sweetest ways whenever, wherever, about whatever.
Tumblr media
Max Verstappen .。*゚+.*.。
A dominant domestic lover.
His priorities are you and your safety.
He would most definitely be mad if someone hurt you. Like for example, if someone bumped into you at an event he would probably give them a slightly dirty look and then pull you closer to him so you do not get bumped again.
Would be really sweet with you.
On his hands and knees for you.
Like if you're sick, by the time you wake up there's a cup of tea, soup, and medicine. Or if you need help grabbing something would already be reaching for it. It's like he's 2 steps ahead of you but in a sweet way.
I think he would definitely like to hear about the little things about you. how your day was, or plans you have.
I also think he would like shopping with you for some reason, like showing him or trying on clothes that you like. its like a mini fashion show for him but with you as the model.
Tumblr media
Oscar Piastri ✧・゚: *
I feel like he would be the type of boyfriend that would meet your friends or family, and they initially think that he's mean or cold, but over time they realize he's really sweet and nice.
I think he would secretly make a playlist for you or about you. Like songs that remind him of you or that he knows you like.
He would probably form this by playing random music during drives and keeping note of what you like, and then once he has time he puts them into a playlist for you that he plays when you're with him or if he misses you.
He's probably more of a quality time lover. He enjoys doing things with you and he has dates that revolve around that.
I feel like he's the type to give random gifts for no reason at all. Like he just shows up with flowers, jewelry, or a book or something.
for example, he would randomly show up with a stuffed animal or something he saw while he was away and explain that he saw it and thought of you so he bought it to give you.
I think he would like to keep your guy's relationship more private but not secret.
Tumblr media
Lando Norris ⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚
I think he would be a touchy bf. (Love language is physical touch)
He always has to be touching you at all times, whether that be holding your hand, hand on your hip, or having his hand on the small of your back.
You guys do "childish things" as dates. Like an arcade, coloring books, building legos, or board game nights. Though, on the other hand, I also think there's a side where it's more "romantic", like nice dinners or something fancy. It would be a mix but either way it's something special.
obsessed bf x pretty gf type beat.
If you ask him to take pictures for you or of you he would be making sure you look good and he's getting the best pictures he can get as if it's his 9-5 job.
You would also probably get messages from Oscar during the season telling you how he won't shut up about you.
I feel like he would buy matching things with you, like jewelry, hoodies, or even something that's just the same color.
I think he would soft-launch your relationship tbh, but once it's public he wont shut up about you.
Tumblr media
I hope that you guys like this (sorry that it's so short) & thank you so much for 500 notes on my last fic <3
463 notes · View notes
frost-queen · 4 months
Text
The moment I knew // part 7 (Reader!Bridgerton x Tewkesbury)
Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly,@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco,@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @cayt0123, @powwowsworld, @yomamacrusty, @mileyy22, @omgsuperstarg, @helen06dreamer, @misscaller06, @l4venderia, @dracoflaco, @loliakeoghan23, @emotionaldamageemotionaldamage, @reallysparklychaos, @ok-boke, @the-fifth-marauder7, @asgards-princess-of-mischief, @cherrysxuya
Summary: The social season goes on continuing with another ball. Yet this ball holds some surprises. Will it make a change for the better? [ part 1 & part 2 & part 3& part 4 & part 5 & part 6 & part 8 & part 9 ]
Tumblr media
Tap
Tap
Tap
Tewkesbury tapped his finger mindlessly against the hard glass. His mind somewhere else, vision unclear. The upmost bored expression on his face. He heard his grandmother tsk loud for him to change his posture. – “Sit up straight boy!” – she called out as the carriage took a turn, riding on a gravely road. When Tewkesbury wouldn’t move she revealed her fan, giving him a hard slap against the hand with it.
“Au!” – Tewkesbury snapped awake, startled by the sudden whip on his fingers. His grandmother hummed loudly with a glance that it was his own fault. He exhaled deep rubbing his poor fingers. He straightened his posture, leaning back against the fabric as the carriage toggled a bit. His grandmother gave him a look for off judgement. Tsking her tongue again.
Tewkesbury tilted his head slightly knowing she just had a comment burning on her tongue. – “It’s the third ball already. When are you going to show any REAL interest in a young woman.” – she emphasized on the matter of real. – “I sure hope you don’t thinking to form an alliance with that wild girl.”
Tewkesbury knew she was referring to Enola. – “She was quite nice to return my child back to me, but good heavens her features aren’t standard. She has a heart too wild. Marrying a girl like that will only give you trouble, I’ll give you that.” – she spoke glancing out of the window. The skies light dimming out. A greyness colouring all that was bright away for the night to take over.
Tewkesbury turned to look out of the window. Watching the street lights being lighted up with their bright fires. Two men standing on a ladder to give the lantern light. A couple walking arm in arm just passing them by. – “What about the season’s diamond? She isn’t the fairest…” – his grandmother brushed her skirt with her gloves.
“Whatever possessed the queen to chose her. No foul words to her majesty.” – she quickly added as if speaking ill of the queen would cause her harm. – “Yet, she would be a good match. Marrying the season’s diamond always hyphen’s up once’s status.”
Tewkesbury sighed deep as a sign of protest. He wasn’t at all interested in the season’s diamond. There was only one calling his heart, yet she no longer wishes to commit herself to him. Perhaps it was partly his fault. He still didn’t know what possessed him that faithful night at the first ball. He had been exciting all day eager to see you again. A year. An entire year he hadn’t seen you. Only making him yearn for your presence more. It was nice to have you around. His feelings still a bit unclear at that moment. In the beginning it was merely out of boredom.
That was how it all started at the opera. The moment he found a willingly victim to laugh with him. To make the dreadful opera bearable. At first he teased a lot. Playing in on the signals you were sending him. A young girl gushing over a boy. Probably the first boy around her age she had met. As girls at that age were, falling hopelessly in love with each boy that flashed them a smile. Then he started to get to know you better. See more sides of you.
It was perhaps then that he had already started to fall for you, yet it wasn’t known to him yet. A bundle of feelings he couldn’t name yet, tumbling in his stomach. Spiralling and tumbling. It became clear to him the moment you returned the acorn to him. That stupid thing he foolishly had given to you in exchange for his ring. His father’s ring he should’ve never parted from.
Holding the acorn in his hand and watching you dance with someone else made him realize what he was losing. How much nights he had wasted with not being near you. It had created a drift between the two of you. – “No foolish sauntering this time. I expect you to be married off by the end of the season. It is my dying wish.” – she had clasped her hands together, looking up to the ceiling. Tewkesbury scoffed silently.
“To have me out of the house.” – he mumbled to himself. – “What was that boy?” – she snapped at him. – “Nothing grandmother.” – he responded quickly avoiding her stern eyes. – “Thought so.” – she flapped out needing to have the last word. Tewkesbury turned to look out of the window again seeing how much the sky had darkened already. The blinding estate of the next ball coming up in sight.
You had followed your siblings inside. Hand on Anthony’s arm. He sighed loud upon entering. You quirked your lips teasingly up. – “Oh how dreadful it is.” – you acted out dramatically with the back of your hand against your forehead. Your little act made Anthony look at you, puzzled. – “Another ball I have to keep my sisters save from. God forbid they find a match and leave from under my wings.” – you added sounding as silly as you could.
Anthony stared in shock at you as Francesca laughed loud. – “It isn’t funny.” – Anthony told you sternly. It made you press your lips together to withhold yourself from laughing at him. – “Oh come on Anthony.” – Benedict pitched in grabbing him by the shoulder. – “I thought Y/n did a great performance of you.” – he chuckled afterwards squeezing his fingers in Anthony’s shoulder. You let go of him arm, standing in front of him to curtsy as if being applauded.
Anthony brushed Benedict’s hand off him with annoyance. – “Poor Anthony being so teased by his younger siblings.” – Colin interfered wanting to have a say in it. Anthony turned to look at Mother. Violet tried her best to hide her smile, yet failed miserably. To Anthony’s annoyance as he stormed off. – “Oh Anthony don’t be so… it was a mere tease.” – Violet called out going after him.
Benedict came to your side, holding his palm up to you. You pressed your palm against him, snickering at your own tease. Arms locked in you followed mother who tried to reach Anthony. Anthony took halt by a set of vases. Half filled with flowers and peacock feathers. Francesca came running up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. – “You are so easily teased.” – she said with a smile. Anthony looked up to the ceiling not wanting to give in, but when you joined her.
Wrapping your arms around him at his other side, he couldn’t withhold himself anymore. Holding both of you for a warmful hug. The moment was ruined when Benedict decided to join in from behind, giving him a good squeeze. Nearly making him fall forwards. He nudged his elbow back at Benedict to get him off his back. Benedict let go of him, winking at you. Benedict stretched out making Anthony roll his eyes at him.
“I thought you had learned manner yet.” – Anthony spoke. Benedict lowered his arms from stretching up. – “Oh brother you must know me.” – he chuckled out giving him a hard slap against his back. A gentleman came over around Colin’s age. He invited him for a game of cards. Colin accepted dragging Benedict with him.
You stood with Francesca and mama, watching the dancers. A girl you had met before once came running over. – “They have peacocks in the garden!” – she called out unable to control her enthusiasm. Francesca and you looked at each other with delight and shock. – “Girls!” – Mama called out the moment the two of you started to run. Wanting to get to the gardens and see a peacock for real. – “Oh I wish it would open it’s feathers.” – Francesca huffed out pressing herself between people to get across.
Holding onto her hand tightly, you were behind her, trying to squeeze through those your sister just went passed. You were near the glass doors that lead up to the stone pedestal with steps downwards into the gardens. Many people wished to gaze upon the peacocks to be found in the garden. Francesca and you came to a brief halt as you locked eyes with a certain girl on your right.
The one who had danced with Tewkesbury. Her expression neutral. She went on going through the glass doors as Francesca followed taking the doors on the left. You had remained still, allowing your hand to slip out of hers as she got swept up in the crowd. Somehow the moment seemed ruined. No longer you contained any excitement for the animals. Moving a bit backwards, you went back further in.
Yet you didn’t wish to return to your mother who was clearly searching for Francesca and you. Neither did you wish to return to your brothers. Not even being allowed in the rooms where they played cards and gambled on the side. It was a secret, a hush-hush but everybody knew about it anyways. You decided to leave the ballroom for what it was. The music fading out when you went into the corridor. Most of the doors were closed. Others were open.
A group of people chattering and laughing loud with drinks in their hands. You passed them all feeling no need of entering a room full of strangers without the presence of your brothers. By the end of the corridor you were intrigued by a door partly opened. Not enough to peer inside, but wide enough to see a warmth glow come from inside of it. You neared the door staring through the creak to have a look inside.
Eyes widening at the sight of Tewkesbury. You gasped loud when he suddenly turned around spotting you. It had startled you, making you bump your shoulder against the door and trying to make a run for it. Tewkesbury hastened himself to the door, opening it more. – “Y/n!” – he called out. It made you stop. – “I mean Miss Y/n.” – he corrected himself. You took a step forwards not sure if you wanted to be around him. A second step was impossible as you felt a force keep you in place by your skirt.
Looking over your shoulder down, you saw Tewkesbury’s grip on your skirt. Your gaze went up to meet his. Full of sadness his eyes were. Perhaps yours were too. – “Please…” – he whispered, a hush almost unheard. Taking a deep breath, your shoulders slouched down. Unspoken you followed him back into the room, not sure why you did. The room was not that grand. Rather small. An armchair and small table positioned in the room.
White curtains with patterns on them. Here and there some trinkets. You went to sit down on the armchair, hands folded in your skirt. Tewkesbury stood up straight looking down at a small table. It contained a perfume bottle and a fan. It felt weird. Awkward to say the least. As if you were strangers again. Tewkesbury cleared his throat picking up the perfume bottle. You turned your head to look around the room.
Tewkesbury leaned forwards trying to sniff the smell. Accidently spraying in his face. He coughed loud, waving a hand in front of his face. Setting the perfume bottle back. – “I saw that girl head outside to see the peacocks.” – you said having the urge to cut through the silence. – “Enola.” – Tewkesbury replied as it made you hum confused.
“Oh…” – hearing him say her name made you turn your head away. It felt strange. Strange how your heart still yearned for him. Even in this moment. You wanted to run over to him, leap in his arms and hear him say how much he wants you. Tewkesbury understood the notion of your reaction, looking down at the table. He picked up the fan to occupy himself. – “Where is your suitor?” – he asked. You hummed confused looking up to him. Tewkesbury looked back at you opening the fan with a smooth movement.
It made you blink startled. – “That boy you danced with.” – Tewkesbury flapped the fan at himself keeping his eyes on you. – “I’m sure he has proposed by now.” – He went on unable to stop himself from yearning for you. For hoping you’d contradict his words. As a response you snorted loud. It made him curl up a smile not fully understanding what was this amusingly. – “I’ve danced with him once. Let’s not get too far ahead.” – you responded with a smile.
Tewkesbury’s smile got brighter feeling the tense atmosphere from before falter. – “Besides he’s not a prince.” – you added with a smile. – “Or a Viscount.” – Tewkesbury whispered out of ears reach. – “Enola seems nice.” – you told him. Tewkesbury flashed the fan in front of him again near his cheek. To you unknown, but to him full of words.
“She’s a terrible dancer.” – he commented making you laugh. – “Laugh all you want, I have the bruised toes to speak for me.” – he added as you started to laugh even harder. Hearing your laugh made him smile widely. In this moment it felt like heaven to him. He drew the fan down his cheek again to you. – “What are you doing?” – you questioned seeing it was the third time he had performed it. – “Fanning.” – he responded with a cheeky smile. – “It is hardly warm here… unless you are doing something else…” – you answered.
“Nothing else.” – he muttered out, looking away. Having a sense of time, you got up. Tewkesbury hasting him to your side. – “My siblings must wonder where I am.” – you spoke hearing your heart thump louder in his presence. – “Of course.” – he answered staring smitten down at you. You wanted to open the door as Tewkesbury was ahead of you. Opening it for you and allowing you to walk out. You went on, looking briefly over your shoulder back to him.
Unable to hide the fact you still much desired him. Your plans of marrying him still present, never buried away. You entered the ballroom once more. You watched a few more dances with mama at your side. Then there was a sudden announcement. Maken everyone hasten outside. The sky full dark now. Starless and cloudless. A blank canvas ready to be painted in with delights.
You neared the already standing crowd. Mama spotted Francesca going over to her. Not far from her you noticed Enola. Getting on the tips of your toes, you couldn’t help but see if Tewkesbury was near her. A part of you hoping he wasn’t. Your brothers were coming outside too, laughing loud. Colin holding a little sack in his hands. Probably the coins he had won with gambling.
They were getting behind some people to wait for what was to come. Setting your heels back down, you felt a presence near your right. Slowly letting your gaze go to your right to see who it was. Your heart leaped, expression softening when he stood beside you. Tewkesbury. Staring right back at you. Half a smile on his lips.
A whistle went off followed by a loud blow. It startled you and Tewkesbury as the night sky busted with colours. First a bright red. Then a bright blue. Tewkesbury and you looked up to the sky as the fireworks exploded. Bright yellow, green and red filled the night sky. Colours popping in the air. People were pointing and reacting startled with laughter.
You were amazed by the colours, watching them with excitement. A gentle nudge against your knuckles made you dim your enthusiasm. Trying to figure out what it was doing to you. Another nudge against the back of your hand. Pressing gently against your hand. A tingle went up your spine as you continued to watch the fireworks.
Slowly turning your palm and stretching your fingers out. Fingers glided over yours as they caught your hand. Another firework popped as the green colours reflected on your faces. Two hands intertwined for no one to see. Standing together in a heaven of bright colours.
--------------------------------------------
Read more of my fics on my Masterlists! 
312 notes · View notes
mixtape-racha · 8 months
Text
heaven is a place on earth | lee minho
watching you go through a rough breakup was hard enough for minho, regardless of the fact he was in love with you. now it was up to him to make you feel better // 18+ minors dni
words: 5.24k // warnings: best friend!minho x fem!reader, ex boyfriend!lee juyeon (mentioned), minho calls reader bub, reader calls minho bunny/bun, unprotected sex, drinking, brief mentions of recreational drugs, cursing, creampie, praise
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
minho couldn’t help but roll his eyes as you threw your phone down on the bed for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour. why were you so hung up on this? it was literally just boy problems - you never gave a fuck before.
but at the same time – he got it. you were with this guy for 2 years, and all of a sudden he ended things just because (in his words) something “better” came along. what bullshit. there was no way his newest fuck of the season would ever compare to you.
it was a very conflicting situation for him. on one hand he wanted to tell you to pull yourself together, pour some shots and go get fucking blasted. but, at the same time, he wanted to wrap you up in blankets with ice cream, and cuddle you while you cried to shitty y2k movies.
it was complicated for him, so he could only imagine how you felt.
but as you let out another over-exaggerated sigh, he decided he’d had enough.
“(y/n), i swear to fuck if you sigh one more time i’m shoving a harmonica down your throat so i can at least get some entertainment out of it.”
looking up at you from the sofa bed tucked in the corner of your room, he was met with your flushed face - a huge pout adorned your lips and your eyes were watery and bloodshot. you looked awful.
for a moment he felt bad, but when he saw your eyes dart back down to your phone at the sound of a notification, all sympathy was lost. he lifted himself off the sofa, and snatched your phone away before you could pick up on what he was doing.
“minho! what the fuck?!” you cried, launching a cushion at him which he expertly dodged - this was far from the first time you’d tried to take him out with a pillow.
“no,” stuffing your phone in his pocket, he crossed his arms and glared at you in a way that had you looking away in embarrassment. “i didn’t come over to watch you wallow in self pity and pray that juyeon will call you and beg to take you back.”
as harsh as it was, you realized he was right. it wasn’t fair to have him over and not even pay attention to him. clearly, juyeon was over your relationship the second he ended it - all he’d been doing was going to parties and staying out all night with a new girl attached to his hip each time. and what were you doing? laying in bed with cookie dough ice cream and enough depressing romance movies to stock a video store.
it was with that realization that the tears started again - but at that point you were so used to them that you didn’t even notice. but minho did. minho always noticed. flopping next to you on your bed, he scooped you into a hug and began stroking your hair - it was a habit he’d had since the two of you were children, and one you much appreciated now.
“how about we check out changbin’s party tonight, hmm? we need to get you out of the house, but we can leave the party as soon as you want, yeah?” he suggested, fingers gracefully gliding between locks of your hair, and you nodded.
“okay, min… thank you.”
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- –
‘thank you’ his fucking ass. 
you’d only been at the party half an hour before you disappeared from minho’s side, and 20 minutes later he still couldn’t find you. sure, changbin’s parents had a big house, but this was fucking ridiculous.
last thing he knew, you were downing shots with felix. before that, playing beer pong with jisung, changbin and chan. hyunjin mentioned that you had stolen his drink not long before that. but now no-one knew where you’d gone - and honestly, most of them were too fucked up to care.
every time he thought he saw the back of your head, it appeared to be a completely different person. every time he heard giggling with one of your friends, it was a random girl who happened to have your hair color.
he had no idea where you’d disappeared to, and he was getting close to rounding up a damn search party.
until he saw juyeon laughing with his friends, and suddenly he knew exactly where you were. he didn’t know why he didn’t think of it sooner.
everytime you’d all hang out at changbin’s house, ever since you were children, you’d always had a designated hiding spot. whether it was because jisung was telling a scary story, and seungmin had made you all watch a horror film, or even during a game of hide-and-seek. the closet next to changbin’s sister's room was always your hiding spot.
without much other thought, minho darted up the stairs and down the third hallway to the right. he almost had the pathway embedded in his mind at this point. he knew you were also extra sensitive when you’d been drinking, and seeing juyeon may have pushed you over the edge.
when he opened the closet door and looked down to see you on the floor, curled in a ball with your hands over your face, he felt like he was eight years old again.
“why are you crying? girls are so silly.” minho laughed, grinning down at your delicate form, clinging to one of changbin’s stuffed animals.
he liked annoying you - you were the only one who stood up to him and it made him laugh even more. it was funny, seeing a girl be more loud and argumentative than his other friends.
but he also understood why you were crying; chan promised that ‘the witches’ was a good movie - and it was, but it was also terrifying. deep down, minho was scared too, but he didn’t want the boys to laugh at him.
really, minho didn’t know how to cheer people up, especially girls. you were the first girl he was friends with. but he knew people found it funny when he teased, so he teased you all the time to take your mind off of whatever was making you sad or scaring you.
and more often than not - it worked.
“sh-shut up. girls aren’t silly. you’re silly for thinking that.” was all you could get out, tucking into yourself further and trying to shut out the round-faced boy laughing down at you.
you knew he didn’t really mean it, that he was just trying to wind you up. but the face of the big, scary grand high witch was stuck in your head no matter what you did, and you hated it.
he stood there in silence for a second, trying to comprehend whether your sniffles were fake or not, before deciding to be the nice, good boy that his mom always told her friends that he was.
he scooted into the closet, sitting beside you before hesitantly placing a small hand on your shoulder.
“girl’s are silly, but you’re not silly. you’re our (y/n), and we wouldn’t be friends with you if you were silly.” he tried, hoping his words would be comforting. which, luckily, they were.
you lifted your head to smile tearily at him, before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.
“this is why you’re my favorite, min.”
he was always your favorite. he always had been, everyone knew it, and he probably always would be. but he was okay with that, because you were his favorite too.
almost instinctively, he crouched down, brushing your hair out of your face.
“you good, (y/n)?” he said softly, trying not to scare you with his voice.
you sniffled, wiping your nose on your sleeve before looking up at him with those big-doe eyes you often used to get your own way.
“he spoke to me like nothing had happened. like nothing we had mattered. can we please go?”
he nodded, holding his hands out to help you up before you could even finish your request. once you were stood, he shrugged off his jacket to wrap it around you and lead you downstairs towards the front door.
“are we not going to say goodbye?” you asked, brows furrowing as you looked over to where your friends were huddled in the kitchen.
but between the clouds of awful smelling smoke, and the hoards of people sharing baggies of pills and lines of powder, minho couldn’t bring himself to take you into the kitchen. not when you’d find juyeon in there too.
“i’ll message the group chat. c’mon, it’s supposed to rain in 10 minutes and i wanna get back to mine before that happens.” he decided, opting to help you out of the door instead.
he knew you were by no means drunk - you could handle your alcohol better than anyone he knew - but he was still worried about you. not only had you been drinking, been around weed, but you were also very emotionally fragile right now.
miraculously, it didn’t take long for the two of you to wind up at the entrance of minho’s dorm building, just managing to miss the rain as you climbed into the elevator up to the fifth floor. you stayed quiet the whole time, which only deepened minho’s worry and he internally cursed himself for suggesting a party of a host that juyeon was known to frequent.
you, on the other hand, were watching minho silently, trying to gauge his reactions. you knew that deep down he probably wanted to go back and give juyeon a piece of his mind - but he wasn’t a confrontational person so that was never going to happen. you could read minho like a book, and you could tell he was beating himself up for dragging you out, but honestly you could never bring yourself to be mad or upset with him.
so instead, you wrapped yourself around his arm and rubbed your cheek against his shoulder to grasp his attention.
“can i stay with you tonight? like– can we have a sleepover in your bed?” you mumbled, cheeks not hesitating to flush red at your choice of wording. you felt like a child again, asking minho to cuddle after seungmin made you watch chucky with him.
and just like that night all those years ago, minho couldn’t have agreed quicker. 
“of course, bub. we’ll stick a movie on and cuddle, yeah?” he grinned, ruffling your hair as he unlocked his front door. although he was roommates with jeongin and jisung, they had opted to stay at changbin’s tonight rather than come home drunk, so that was one less worry for him.
the second you were through the door, you peeled off your heels - your ankles were killing and you could guarantee you would have blisters the next morning. you knew they were a bad idea to begin with, but they were expensive and you had to get some use out of them before writing them off.
suddenly you felt a lot smaller than minho, falling a few paces behind him as he walked towards his bedroom. obviously, you were - at least a few inches - shorter than him, but you’d never noticed it so much, and it had never had your stomach clenching the way it currently was. god, you had definitely drunk too much.
but nonetheless, you followed behind him like a lost puppy as he rooted around in his drawers for a shirt and some boxers for you to sleep in like he always did. sleepovers for the pair of you were like routine, except you didn’t normally insist he sleep beside you, even when you’d been drinking.
he disappeared to the kitchen to get you both water bottles and pain killers for when you woke up, as well as a peach iced tea for himself and a cherry pepsi for you - you always had a bottle each when you watched a movie together. you quickly changed while he was out of the room, before joining him to choose a snack before bed.
“got any cheese puffs left?” you asked, nudging him as he rooted through his snack cupboard, pouting when he shook his head.
“pretty sure you and ji finished them last smoke sesh. i have pringles though?”
“oh, fuck yeah,” you giggled. “i’m calling dibs on the salt and vinegar ones.”
minho chuckled, passing you the tube. “i bought them for you anyway, you fucking sicko.”
it was an ongoing joke between the pair of you that the other had awful taste in crisps. you liked salt and vinegar, minho liked prawn cocktail, and you both detested the others choice in flavor. it was so much of a running joke that last time minho tried to open a pack of prawn cocktail crisps in your apartment, you locked him in the hallway until he’d finished them.
giggling at each other, and softly shoving each other in your own little world, somehow you managed to make it back to his room and curl up under his duvet, some - in his words - shitty little romcom on tv.
“hey, don’t diss twilight like that. i love these movies.” you pouted, flicking his forehead and grinning when he winced.
“okay, okay, sorry. makes sense though. you do have an awful taste in movies.” he muttered through a mouthful of crisps, poking your side to make you jump.
“dickhead.” you smiled, cuddling further into his side, the buzz of the alcohol slowly wearing off. but nonetheless, you stayed wrapped in your best friend’s arms as the movies continued playing and sleep began to befall you.
you didn’t know when you both had fallen asleep, but when you checked your phone the dimly lit screen told you it was 4am. you squirmed out of minho’s unnaturally tight grip, desperate to get some water but unable to find your bottle in the darkness of his room.
but no matter how hard you tried, his hands wouldn’t leave their grip on your - well, his - shirt. and fuck, did he just whimper? was he that desperate for you to stay curled up in his arms all night? that might have been the cutest thing you’d ever fucking heard.
so naturally, you gave up on the idea of water, opting to get straight back into your previous position, reveling in minho’s vulnerable state where he was actually willing to show you unlimited affection.
but…oh.
sure, you knew minho was a guy and he didn’t have control over it, but did he have a fucking boner? you didn’t know what to do. should you ignore it? should you wake him? should you leave and sleep on the couch?
you opted to gently nudge his shoulder, whispering to him softly.
“min, wake up. minnie, c’mon. wake up, bunny.”
a pout adorned his lips, and small whimpers kept falling until his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes opened lazily. maybe this wasn’t a good idea, because he looked really annoyed.
“what, fuckface?”
oh god. his voice was all raspy, and his eyes were still practically glazed over with sleep. why were you finding it cute?
“uh…” you didn’t know how to approach this, you were like a deer in headlights. “i think that– uhm… minho you’ve got a fucking boner and its all i can feel right now.”
curse your fucking word vomit. but minho’s cheeks flushed scarlet and he shot up, pushing you across the bed in the process.
“oh shit, i’m so sorry, (y/n)!”
why was he so upset? it was natural, and yeah a little uncomfortable, but you weren’t about to hate him for it.
“it’s fine, min. do you want me to go sleep on the couch so you can… uhm…” you gestured vaguely with your hands, both of you avoiding eye contact desperately.
“i love you, but there’s no fucking way i’ll be able to get off knowing you’re in my living room and know what i’m doing.”
minho’s first lie of the evening. honestly, the idea of you hearing him get off was wildly attractive to him, but he couldn’t admit that to you, could he? you were his best friend for crying out loud. and you were hurting tenfold from seeing juyeon so fresh after your breakup. he couldn’t think like that.
but you took his comment in your stride as always, rolling your eyes playfully and huffing.
“puh-lease,” you grinned, accentuating your words. “we both know that me hearing you get off would be the most action you’ve got in a while. you’re basically celibate.” you couldn’t help but giggle at yourself, especially with the way minho’s face twisted.
“whatever, loser. i could be the best fuck of your life and you wouldn’t even know it.”
oh. well, that sparked an idea in your head. you both loved teasing and pushing each other, and with your proximity and minho’s current predicament - why not see how far you could push it after all?
“oh, yeah? why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, lee minho.” you wiggled your eyebrows suggestively, grin ever growing as you watched the realization drop over minho’s face.
“what the fu– (y/n) did you just ask me to fuck you?” he looked bewildered, and honestly - he was. were you still drunk? was the breakup affecting you that much? …were you, like, mentally okay?
but you simply shrugged, moving to sit on your knees opposite your best friend. sure, it was a reckless move, but you would’ve been blind if you hadn;t picked up on the way minho treats you, and looks at you. friends don’t act the way he does towards you.
and honestly, you were single now, so what was stopping you? your mom always commented on how much juyeon looked like minho, and how you were projecting, but could she have been right? they were pretty similar after all, looks and personality wise, so was she that far from the truth?
were you so torn up about losing juyeon because it was the closest you’d get to dating someone like minho, or even your best friend himself?
you guessed it wasn’t just minho putting his money where his mouth was.
taking a deep breath, you shrugged at the boy opposite you again. “i guess i did. you said you could be the best fuck of my life? prove it. or are you all talk, hmm?”
what you weren’t expecting, however, was for him to be completely and utterly confused.
“are you– are you still drunk? what are you talking about? you’re still getting over juyeon, (y/n), i can’t fuck you while you’re out of it like that, and i’m not allowing myself to just be a rebound for you.”
“just… be a rebound? min, have you thought about this before?”
the sincerity in your voice proved to minho that you weren’t drunk like he wanted to assume. he wanted an easy way out of this, one where he didn’t ruin your friendship and didn’t have to face you remembering your words the next day - especially if this was a one-time rebound, or worse, a mistake.
he sighed, running a hand through his hair and looking at you with those gorgeous cat-like eyes that you’d adored since you first met.
“yes. okay? yes, i have. i think about it a fucking lot, (y/n), okay? i think about fucking you senseless. but i also think about holding your hand, and taking you out, and looking after you when you’re sick and coming home to you after a rough day. is that good enough for you? can we please go to fucking sleep now?”
you were stunned.
absolutely, utterly and completely stunned. you never realized just how deeply minho may have wanted you. and you honestly weren’t expecting a dampness to form between your legs at his words - especially confusingly, you were more turned on at the domestic stuff. he really wanted that with you?
“but, min… why didn’t you say?”
“because you were with juyeon, (y/n). you were happy. you were in love. and i’m just your best friend, i couldn’t take that away from you just to get my feelings off my chest. are you going to sleep or not?”
you could tell he was embarrassed, he was never good at hiding that. you could also tell he wanted you to drop it, to forget what he said. he cherished you too much as a friend to lose you like this. but you wanted more.
you wanted to know everything. you wanted to understand what was going on inside his head. you wanted to fall for him the way he had fallen for you; and honestly you were already more than half way there.
it had always been minho, and it took 2 years with a shitty ex, a drunken meltdown, a sleepy boner and a heart wrenching confession for you to realize that. god, you were so stupid.
grasping his hands softly, you threw all common sense to the wind and went with what your heart and gut were pushing you towards. everything suddenly made sense, everyone thought you were together anyway. why not screw your courage to the sticking place? why not take a chance, a risk, of finally taking what - deep down - your heart had always wanted?
“minho,” you started softly. “please. make me fall for you so hard my breath gets swept away. make me miss you even when we’re together. make me need you like an antidote to the world’s worst poison. i want all of it. all of you.”
and while you had rendered him speechless many times over the course of your friendship, he was not expecting that in the slightest. unknowingly, he squeezed your hands, brows furrowing as his nose twitched (you didn’t call him bunn for no reason, after all). he looks down-right adorable.
but as your eyes wandered, taking in all his features, your mind quickly flipped. his predicament. the one that got you here. he was almost throbbing in his boxers, his tip leaking and staining his boxers so prettily at your words. did you really have that much control over him? it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.
“let me prove it, hmm? how about i help you out, bunny?” you teased, eyes fixed on the spot between his legs, his cheeks heating at your suggestion.
“don’t fuck with me right now, bub, seriously. i’m not doing this if you’re not in your right mind. i couldn’t do that to you. please,” you could’ve sworn his eyes were glistening - with excitement or fear you weren’t sure. “i just– fuck i’ve needed you for so long i can’t have it ripped away from me.”
“i’m sure, min. i promise. i’m a hundred percent sure, more sure than i ever have been. i need you to fuck me silly, and make me yours.”
it was like a flip switched in his head, and his gaze hardened at the sight of you on your knees in front of him. so pliant, so willing. so needy.
“i’m gonna kiss you now, yeah?” he spoke softly, hands reaching out, itching to hold you in them. all it took was a simple nod from you, and he captured your lips with his own with so much heat that you felt like you were on fire.
had you reached heaven? you were almost sure you had with the way minho manhandled you onto his lap, your core mere inches away from his cock, and it had your heart doing backflips. just two thin pieces of material, keeping you from feeling all of him. your hands tangled in his hair as he began pressing hot kisses to your neck, long swipes with his tongue after his teeth pressed into the surface of your skin enough to make you hiss softly.
his hands were on your hips, a place they’d been many times before when he’d been comforting you, but this… this was so much better. this had an end goal with you collapsing into his arms, tired and spent. this had an end goal of you waking up next to him tomorrow, able to do it all again. because you were his, and you were damn sure he was yours.
you didn’t even notice you’d began grinding your core onto his until his fingers dug into your skin, halting you to a stop. he pulled away from your neck, already out of breath, and his pupils blown wide.
“don’t.” he hissed, his tone and the look on his face making you clench around nothing. “don’t do that, or i’ll bust in my pants. i don’t wanna be cumming anywhere but inside you, yeah?”
you keened at his words, a whine spilling from your lips. yeah, you wanted that. wanted that more than you needed to breathe. why were his words affecting you this much? you felt all fuzzy, all safe and warm. it was never like this with juyeon – it was all missionary, his face screwed up above you when he came as soon as you started to feel something, waiting until he fell asleep to pull out your favorite vibrator.
but minho… he was like magic. every touch had your skin lighting up, every kiss making your knees weak. he couldn’t be human, no ordinary man could do that. but you supposed he was no ordinary man. he was minho. your minho. he always had been, and he always would be. and you couldn’t be happier for realizing that.
you could’t help but pull miho’s hands off you, shushing his protests as you raised your hips to rid yourself of his shirt and boxers - now, unfortunately, soaked in your slick, his actions having more of an effect on you than you ever thought possible.
it took him a second to fully comprehend your actions, but he quickly scrambled to do the same. clearly, he’d been waiting a long time for this, and you were going to make him wait much longer. not when you needed him too.
his cock sprung free from its restraints, and it was like tunnel vision had taken over. it was… really pretty. not too long, but not too thick. a delicious blush of red coating his tip, but not angrily red. the drip of precum leaking making your core clench beautifully. and that curve… yeah, minho was going to make you scream, no doubt about it.
“like what you see?” he teased, and you rolled your eyes, flipping him off.
“would like it more if you were inside me, jackass.”
and before you knew it, he had you pinned underneath him, his grip on your wrists held either side of your head both too tight and not tight enough.
“don’t wind me up, bubs. not when i can leave you here begging for me to let you cum, yeah?”
his tone had you feeling like you were floating, your brows furrowing as your hips bucked - a silent beg for him to just hurry up and get on with it. he could be the brat tamer he needed to be, and that you desperately wanted, later but right now you just needed him to fuck you senseless.
“besides, i don’t really think you’re in a position to demand, are you?”
that was all it took for you to decide you needed him inside you right at that second. you unhooked your hand from his hold and reached down between your bodies, grasping his leaking cock gently. he hissed at the action, turning into a groan as you lead the tip to your folds - letting your wettess spread between the two fo you like wildfire.
“please, min. i need you to fuck me..” you whimpered, teasing his cock against your clit, and flinching at the stimulation.
“fuck,” he whispered, hips rocking on their own accord, your slick overwhelming all his senses. “okay, fuck, yeah, gonna ruin you, bub.”
he used your guidance to push his length into you gently, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he left out a moan at the way your walls fluttered around him. inching in slowly, you could’ve sworn you’d never felt so full. it was like heaven on earth.
when he finally bottomed out inside you, he pressed a searing kiss to your lips, one hand next to your hips to hold himself up, while the other was holding your face, his scent filling all of your senses at once.
he began rocking his hips gently as you let out a moan into his mouth, his tongue carressing yours in a way that had you ascending closer to an orgasm than any man had ever brought you. it was embarrassing, wasn’t it? he’d barely been inside you for a minute and you were desperate to coat his cock in your cum.
when your lips detatched, you both instinctively reached to plant sloppy kisses and bites against whatever skin you could reach. god, you wanted to be covered in him. wanted the world to know he’d taken ownership of you. wanted to do the same to him.
it was hot, and sticky, and sweaty, but it was perfect. minho’s cock dragging against your gummy walls, you clenching around him every time his teeth dug a little too deep into your shoulder. why hadn’t you done this sooner?
you could tell he was getting close when he wrapped a hand around your hips, fingers digging in as his thrusts began to get sloppy and unfocused. god, you hoped you had a bruise where he’d held you tomorrow. 
as you nipped at you lips, initiating another kiss, you reached your hand down between you to rub your clit in time with each stroke of his hips. you had to cum with him, you needed to. more than anything.
you felt your high approaching fast, your walls fluttering and clenching madly as he moaned and whined against you. his hips were quickly losing their pace, and you can he just wanted to cum and paint your walls with his seed. maybe he just needed some encouragement…
“c’mon, bun. make a mess in me, yeah? need to feel you cum inside me, bunny, please.” you begged, rubbing your clit faster, trying to bring yourself to release for him.
and miraculously, it worked. he thrusted a few more times, before his hips halted and you felt him drenching your insides white. every throb of him cock, every push of more cum leaving him. it sent you over the edge, your head throwing back as you cried out.
the way your walls tightened around him milked him dry, yet he pushed through the overstimulation so shallowly fuck you through your orgasm, which you greatfully appreicated.
once you had both taken a moment to catch your breath, he began peppering your face with sift kisses to take your mind away from the sting of him pulling his softening cock from your hole.
“did so well, bubs,” he muttered, accentuating each word with a kiss. “so, so proud of you. took me so well, baby.”
your heart soared, eyes tearing up slightly which took him by surprise. you shushed down his questions quickly, because you were more than okay. in fact, you’d never been better.
“i just– i love you. i love you so much, lee minho.”
“i love you too.”
Tumblr media
taglist: join taglist here @pretty-racha @chubbyanarkiss @taeriffic @mits-vi @chanssmiles @5kayzee @bunniieesstuff @torixx80
713 notes · View notes
fuckyeahgoodomens · 8 months
Text
ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS S2 BTS VIDEO! :)❤ 🐍😊
Tumblr media
David: Good Omens 2 will be once more unto the breach...
Tumblr media
Michael: The kind of world that Neil and Terry Pratchett created here. It's... it seems to be expanding out into the world in all kinds of unexpected and and truly joyful ways.
Tumblr media
Douglas Mackinnon (the directior): If Season one was a comedy about the End of the World, Season Two is a comedy about the beginning of everything else.
Tumblr media
Miranda Richardson (demon Shax): The Bromance is continuing.
Tumblr media
Doon Mackichan (Archangel Michael): What a cast, is all I can say, incredible, incredible cast.
Tumblr media
Liz Carr (angel Saraqael): But of course a script of Good Omens is a whole different thing because anything can happen.
Tumblr media
Shelley Con (Prince of Hell Beelzebub): There's always a smirk somewhere around the corner in a Good Omens script.
Tumblr media
Quelin Sepulveda (angel Muriel): I had no idea what to expect, where this character was gonna go...
Liz: I feel quite honored that when they were thinking of the realms of sarcasm they thought of me.
Tumblr media
Gloria Obianyo (angel Uriel): Seven-year-old me is like, 'Oh my God! This is the stuff of dreams!'
Tumblr media
Maggie Service (human Maggie): A whole Fantastical Universe of joy that we just get to playing and you'll get to watch.
Tumblr media
Tim Downie (Mr Brown): I am immeasurably, immeasurably excited.
Tumblr media
Jon Hamm (Archangel Gabriel / Jim): You know I was very pleased when when I was brought back to be a part of that story.
Tumblr media
Neil Gaiman: Ppeople are excited and I'm working so hard to tell them absolutely nothing. I'm very lucky because Michael Sheen and David Tennant love Crowley and Aziraphale. I think the first moment that I saw David and Michael acting together... all of a sudden there was Crowley and there was Aziraphale, it was like seeing two friends who I hadn't seen for years.
Tumblr media
David: There's something about the way Neil sees the mundane that is extraordinary and there's something about the way things filter through his imagination and of course in this world it also sprinkled with the imagination of Terry Pratchett and those two together created this cocktail that is it's unlike anything you've seen anywhere else and yet it feels utterly familiar.
Michael: And they both have a sense of the absurdity of what it is to be a human.
Tumblr media
Rob Wilkins: When you've got David and Michael in front of the camera David and Michael evaporate and you have Crowley in Aziraphale and that relationship it needed it needed interrogating more and of course we all know that Terry and Neil had conversations about what the sequel would be and Neil has taken that and he's blown it up in a way that the viewers are just going to love so what would Terry think? Terry would pat Neil on the back and he would push Good Omens forward, he would break a bottle of champagne over its bows and be absolutely delighted and I know that, I'm the one person on Earth who's been entrusted to know that for certain and I promise you Terry would be absolutely delighted.
Tumblr media
David: We've got some cast members coming back, returning but playing different parts which is a lovely little addition to things isn't it, so Miranda Richardson is back not playing the same role as Season One, she's now Shax, my replacement - Crowley's replacement on Earth.
Tumblr media
Neil: Shelley Conn came in as Beelzebub and it feels in a weird way kind of like a Doctor Who Regeneration. We have a new demon called Furfur played by Rheece Shearsmith who was our Shakespeare in Season One.
Tumblr media
David: Nina and Maggie were two of the Sisters in Season One, The nunnery of Doom, and now they are two characters imaginatively called Nina and Maggie.
Tumblr media
Maggie: In season one really it was just me and the nuns, it was the nun gang, so to actually get to meet Aziraphale and Crowley... I hadn't been prepared for how delightful Aziraphale is.
Neil: Season Two begins about threem four years after the events of Season One.
Michael: Aziraphale and Crowley now are, you know, out on their own, they're.. they're a team to themselves.
Neil: Everything changes when Aziraphale gets an unexpected visitor.
Michael: A familiar face comes along with a mystery that needs solving and as Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to solve that mystery they realize that there are much more terrifying things ahead than they've had to deal with in the past. That involves having to go back through history as well to get clues as to what might be going on.
David: When we go back into these stories set within Aziraphale and Crowley's personal history there are moments within those stories where where their relationships sort of pivots or develops in some way. Himself and Aziraphale I think rely on each other even more in season two than they did in Season One because they are by necessity and by circumstance they're a they're a double act that nobody else can join.
Michael: It's extraordinary to see how important these characters and this story have become to a lot of people and how much people enjoy expressing themselves through art, through fan fiction.
David: I went to a Comic-Con and the amount of Crowleys and Aziraphales that I saw everywhere, the cosplaying just took off, and always in twos, which was joyous because of course the characters in my mind only exist in relation to each other. They are the Ying and the Yang.
Michael: It's such a... I think it's such a compliment and I think Neil feels the same way as well.
Maggie: Always clever Neil Gaiman, isn't he?
Nina: Yeah yeah, you'd have to sort of admit that at some point, yeah-
Maggie: He's quite good at his job.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
tenpintsofsundrop · 6 months
Text
Lessons For A Genius - Lesson Two
Tumblr media
Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader
Lesson Two: Magic Metacarpals
(aka the one where Spencer learns how to finger you)
Summary:
After his first 'lesson', Spencer is even more eager to learn from you.
And while both of you are ignoring your growing yearning for something more, you teach him the next logical thing: how to pleasure you in return.
Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. (Pining) Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set during early Season 2.
Word Count: 26,300
Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist
If you want to be notified whenever I post a new fic, make sure to follow my library blog @sundropslibrary and turn on notifications there.
Please read my pinned post before interacting. (Basically, I will block you if you look like a bot.)
Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: General themes for a CM episode - murder/killing/mentions of gun violence/mentions of women being murdered and sexually assaulted/mentions of strangling; once again, there is a mention of a case that isn't in the canon (one that I have made up) and this fic is not case-centric; the reader is held in a choke-hold by the killer and uses dark humour to get out of it; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; mentions of the reader wearing a dress/very girly outfit; the reader is heavily implied to be plus-sized; mentions of the reader being older than Spencer, but there is no specific mention of how much the age difference is/number of years (tbh the way I am playing it, it could be months, a year, or years of difference because they make jokes about it) (because this takes place in early S2, Spencer would be 24/25, so if you're younger than that, just imagine? lmao); the team being very nosy about Spencer and the reader's sex life and the reader lying about it in order to spare Spencer because he's shy (not because she's embarrassed of him); heavily implications of Morcia as a background couple; mentions of drinking/drunkenness (does not take place in this fic, it's just mentioned in passing); mentions of Spencer being bullied as a child.
General sexual themes; ongoing dom/sub relationship - Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; a safeword is in place but it's not used; Spencer is generally inexperienced and the reader is 'teaching' him things about sex, including slang, kinks, sexual technique, and the emotional consequences of sex, generally helping him explore his sexual side; mentions of using sex toys (a fleshlight, passing mentions of dildos, including a tentacle dildo that is not used); mentions of Spencer masturbating independently from scenes/playtime with the reader (these scenes are not detailed); descriptions of subspace; descriptions of Spencer having a subdrop/bad subspace experience because he masturbates without the reader there (this is a very brief part of the fic and all other moments of subspace are described pleasantly); the word 'MILF' is used to describe the reader - as a joke, and because Spencer doesn't fully understand the context.
The actual smutty meat of the fic (aka girl dinner) consists of: panty kink - Spencer wears a pair of lacy panties under his clothes while in public because it turns the reader on; praise kink - Spencer loves being praised; public/semi-public 'sex' (they don't have full-blown sex, it's just groping through clothing, and they are in a secluded area of a public place when it happens); risk of getting caught; strength kink - the reader exerts her strength over Spencer and he likes it; heated making out; hair pulling (Spencer receiving); groping through clothes (reader and Spencer receiving); Spencer cums in his pants while being groped; clothes sharing - Spencer wears the reader's clothes; the reader calls Spencer honey, sweetie, baby, pretty boy, good boy; Spencer calls the reader Miss; this fic does feature Mommy kink - Spencer starts calling the reader Mommy partway through; mentions of the reader wearing traditionally feminine lingerie; hand kink - the reader likes Spencer's hands; finger sucking (the reader sucks on Spencer's fingers); vaginal fingering/clitoral stimulation - the reader teaches Spencer how to finger her; Spencer edges the reader unintentionally; guided masturbation - Spencer masturbates for the reader; Spencer cums on the reader (by accident?); the reader licks some of Spencer's cum; mentions of pregnancy (Spencer likes the idea of getting the reader pregnant, but she is on birth control so it won't happen in this fic lmao); some mentions of aftercare (not as in depth as the previous fic); and I believe that's it.
A/N: I do intend for each part of this to possibly be read as a oneshot, so you don't have to read Lesson One in order for this to make sense narratively. But if you want more sub!Spencer stuff, then you should go back and read Lesson One just for your enjoyment. This makes reference to things that have happened in the first part, but you won't be utterly confused if you jump into reading this without reading the other one first. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy it, especially those of you that have been waiting for this part to come out!
...
When you woke up the next morning, you had almost forgotten about what had happened. 
You were drowsy, your body almost entirely sunken into the soft bed. If not for the ripe scent of coffee drifting through the air and undertone of something uniquely masculine stuck to the pillow - Spencer’s aftershave - then you likely would have thought that you were comfortable in your own apartment and simply turned over to go back to sleep. 
But then it all came flooding back to you. 
The Chinese take-out date, gifting Spencer the fleshlight - tying him to the chair in order to ‘help’ him use it. His moans, the sweet way he had looked up at you with those big eyes. The way he had called you ‘Miss’ with such utterly beautiful desperation, how perfect he had looked covered in his own cum. 
You sighed with delight as you remembered it all, a gentle tingle coming over your body as you thought about it. 
It was then that you realized what the pungent smell of coffee meant: Spencer must have been brewing a pot. You had no clue what time it was or when you had to be ready for work - but coffee sounded fucking amazing after the eventful night the two of you had. 
You were surprised that Spencer wasn’t still in bed, cuddled up to you. 
He had spent the whole night clinging to your back like a koala in the most endearing way. You had no clue how a man so large could make himself seem so small at times, but he definitely accomplished that by hooking his leg around your hip and whining whenever you tried to pull away from him even a slight bit. 
(You hated that it was something that would have been intensely annoying from any other partner or one night stand, but when he did it, you found it adorable. You knew that you were letting him get away with too much already, but you couldn’t help yourself.) 
What you didn’t realize: yes, Spencer would have loved to be cuddled up with you in bed all morning. But he had woken up before you - and he would deny the amount of time he had taken to stare at you while you were sleeping, ogling your beautiful, peaceful face. After he had gotten out of bed, he had taken the initiative to attempt to prepare breakfast. 
He rarely cooked for himself. When he did cook, it was usually simple, plain, unimpressive dishes that were more meant to kill hunger than to actually taste nice. And he was even further screwed by the fact that his fridge wasn’t even well stocked because the team had been so busy on cases that he hadn’t even thought to go grocery shopping in a while. 
Of course, he had coffee (and cream, and sugar - because he wasn’t a monster, he made himself a cup every morning). And he had some basics like eggs, so he was trying his best to make something nice for you. 
When you walked into the kitchen, still dressed in nothing but your camisole and your panties, the chill of the morning air was biting and Spencer looked invitingly warm. 
He was standing at the stove, concentrating on some sizzling pan, and you couldn’t resist the urge to walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. He had gotten dressed since getting out of bed, so he was wearing a bright blue cotton tee shirt (that you didn’t yet see had the Superman logo on the front) and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. It was an entirely adorable sight: Spencer in loungewear. You indulged in pressing your face lightly between his shoulders, loving the feeling of the soft cotton against your cheek. 
You noticed that the radio was on in the background - a low hum compared to the pan sizzling on the stove. But from what you could tell, the news was playing. He was such an old man in some ways. 
“Please tell me that’s coffee I’m smelling.” You moaned quietly, feeling snuggled by his soft embrace. 
“A teaspoon of sugar and just a little bit of cream,” He said, taking his hand off the handle of the frying pan to reach over to the side, grabbing a coffee cup and hoisting it in your direction - which was slightly awkward with you behind him. 
You met him halfway, taking the coffee thankfully. Then you moved to lean against the counter to actually drink your coffee. He was rueful that the hug didn’t last longer, but he didn’t say anything about it. 
“You remembered,” You grinned at him, referring to the fact that he had made your coffee exactly how you liked it. 
When you took the first sip, it tasted amazing, and began to wake up your senses from the drowsy lull that you had been feeling. 
“It’s quite literally impossible for me to forget.” He replied, giving you a grin. 
“Hmm,” You hummed thoughtfully, clutching the warm coffee cup with both hands. “I’d like to test that theory one of these days.” 
If you could make Spencer so incoherent with an orgasm, even just begging for one, you were willing to bet that you could feed him information that he wouldn’t be able to repeat back to you when he was so fucked out. It would be one of the ultimate victories - proving the genius’s perfect eidetic memory wrong. 
Spencer saw that look in your eyes - the same one you had given him last night before you had gifted him the fleshlight. (Which was still propped up in the drying rack, a sight that had startled him when he had first gotten into the kitchen that morning). He had a feeling that, based on that look alone, he knew what you meant. He shied away then, looking back down to the pan of eggs as your brain moved on to another subject. 
“I still can’t believe that you listen to the radio in the morning,” You commented, nodding toward the device that was propped up on the half-wall that partitioned off the kitchen from the living room. “You’re such an old man.” 
“I’m younger than you!” He chuckled. 
“No, no.” You easily corrected him, your voice taking on a very typical joking tone. “Being an old man is a way of life. It’s not about your age. It’s why you and Gideon get along so well.” 
Spencer snorted with laughter at this. He turned off the stove, deciding the eggs were done, and began to scrape them onto a plate, hoping that it wasn’t too measly or unimpressive. 
“Well then… you had sex with an old man last night.” Spencer chuckled, trying to sound confident in this ‘joke’. 
You couldn’t help but to laugh at his nervousness. 
“You need to work on your comebacks, too.” You told him with a grin. “I should get you one of those ‘yo mama’ joke books that seventh graders pass around.” 
“Oh, that explains why I suck at comebacks. I skipped seventh grade.” He shrugged casually. 
You laughed even harder at this. For him, it was a simple statement of fact, but to you, it sounded like he was purely bragging, and that turned out to be a better joke than the one he actually intended as humor. 
Spencer bit his lip to hold back a grin. 
Mornings with you - it was so much better than he had expected. He had expected things to be intensely awkward after what had taken place last night. He had expected that the entire tone of your relationship might change. And that was something he was fearful of. But you were still making jokes, still absolutely not afraid to insult him in that joking way that you did. 
Spencer felt a yearning deep inside of him at the realization - like the string of a harp being plucked, setting off vibrations of bitter harmony through his entire being. He wanted his life to be like this every single morning. He wanted to make coffee for you every day - he wanted to be yours. 
You picked up a fork and took a small bite of the eggs he had offered up, and Spencer felt his heart drop when your face immediately coiled into disgust. 
“What’s wrong?” He asked quietly, fearing he had terribly disappointed you. 
“Honey… how much salt did you put in this?” You asked, your words slightly muffled by the food cradled on your tongue. 
You walked over to the sink and spit the eggs out, and Spencer rushed to pick up a fork for himself as he answered. 
“Not much, I think.” He said, taking his own bite of the food. Then he immediately understood. “Oh my god. That’s so bad.” He said, feeling a gag curling in his throat at just how putridly salty it was. 
He leaned over and spat his bite in the sink next to yours, and before the fear of disappointing you could fully set in, you burst out laughing brightly. 
“Oh god.” You chuckled. “You don’t usually cook, do you?” 
“Not really.” He said, giving you a timid smile. “I’m sorry.” 
“It’s okay.” You assured him, rubbing a hand gently across his back. “We can just get some breakfast on the way to work.” 
He would learn to cook for you too. Most definitely. 
The sweetness and peace was disrupted by a sharp digital chirping - a cellphone ringing. You didn’t think to question if it was your phone or Spencer’s before you put your coffee cup on the counter and rushed toward the sound, finding the small silver object buzzing in the middle of the coffee table (still off to the side of the room where you had pushed it the night before). You grabbed it up and flipped it open, and answered without hesitation. 
“Hello?” You said politely. 
Spencer stood in the doorway of the kitchen then, watching on with curiosity, wondering if the two of you were being called in for a case. 
“Y/N?” JJ’s voice came from the other end of the line - but she sounded oddly confused. 
“Yeah.” You confirmed. “What’s up?” 
“What are you doing answering Spencer’s phone?” She asked, an eager curiosity coming through her voice. 
Your work phones were practically identical, so it was a crapshoot. 
You scrambled to make up an excuse, even though you knew her mind had likely already strayed to something in the realm of ‘adult sleepover’. 
“He and I were hanging out last night and I fell asleep on the couch watching movies.” You said. “You know Reid, he went on that whole rant about how driving tired is like driving drunk, he insisted that I stay over-” 
JJ let out a hardy laugh, cutting you off. 
“Yeah, keep working on that.” She said. “I’m sure the others will definitely believe it.” You rolled your eyes at this, and JJ continued. “Did the two of you use a condom, or should we be expecting some genius babies coming our way nine months from now?” 
You wanted to conjure up a crude (but truthful) joke about how Spencer had cum into a silicone pussy and you didn’t think babies could come from that. But for once, you managed to hold your tongue. You wanted to respect his privacy rather than flaunting your sexual exploits in front of other people and embarrassing him. You did have some sense of tact. 
“Do we have a case or are you just calling around cause you’re lonely?” You fired back, trying to get her off this topic. 
“Yes, we do.” She said. “And you just saved me a phone call. So you and your little boyfriend get in here as soon as possible, okay?” 
You sighed. “Yeah, of course.” 
You snapped the phone shut before she could make any more cute comments, and then you walked over and handed it to Spencer. 
“There’s a case?” He asked. 
“Yeah.” You told him. “Sweetie, would you mind running down to my car and grabbing my go-bag? I need a fresh change of clothes.” 
“Yeah, yeah, of course. I can do that.” 
His overall obedience toward you kicked in again, and he found himself nodded eagerly. He knew that if he were a dog, his tail would have been wagging relentlessly as he shoved on a pair of shoes and a sweater and you tossed him your keys from your purse in order to go and do the task. 
You chugged down your coffee and headed toward the bathroom for a quick shower to freshen up. As Reid went down to the parking garage, he had to wonder about the things he had just heard you say on that call. 
He knew that you had made up the excuse about you ‘falling asleep on the couch’ to JJ because you didn’t want to simply expose the fact that the two of you had played around the night before. It was a private thing that should be kept between the two of you. Even though you were relatively shameless about toting other private matters in public. You were never ashamed about announcing to the world when you were on your period or if certain foods had upset your stomach - in great detail. 
So - if you weren’t so eager to announce being with Reid, did it mean that you were ashamed of him? Did it mean that you didn’t want to tell everyone that you had a sexual partner like him? 
He tried not to stew in that thought as he brought your bag back upstairs. When he closed the door to the apartment and you heard him come in, you called him and told him to come toward the bathroom, and he heard the shower shutting off. 
It was only then that it occurred to him that you were using his shower - you were naked in the shower. You were naked in his apartment. 
He felt warmth in his pelvis at the thought, and he tried dampening it down (tried thinking of horror, sadness, dead bodies) - because he really didn’t have time to masturbate or ‘play’ more with you before work. He didn’t have time to take care of an erection right now. Would this be a recurring problem? Getting erections around you so easily now because you had awakened something in him? Because now he knew that you would actually touch him? 
When Spencer came to the bathroom door, it was partially cracked open, and there was warm, hazy air pouring out - clearly steam from how hot you had the shower. 
“Did you find the bag?” You asked, clearly having heard Spencer’s footsteps in the hallway. 
“Y-yeah.” He answered. 
“Okay, well, you can come in and bring it to me.” You chuckled, bright and confident as ever. 
Spencer pushed the door open fully. 
He felt like he was stepping into an early morning heaven when he stepped into that humid air and saw you standing in the middle of the bathmat, wrapping a towel around your naked, dripping body. 
The way you held it kept your breasts and vagina fully covered, shielding all of the ‘important’ parts from Spencer’s view. But when you pulled it back to adjust the tightness of the towel around your chest, you clearly didn’t care about the skin that was revealed. The thickness of your hip and the plushness of the side of your stomach was bared to his eyes; his gaze devoured the large strip of skin all the way up the side of your body, just barely kissing the side of your breast where the towel covered you. It looked so scandalous even though it showed so little of you before you covered yourself back up and tucked the towel into itself, securing the fabric around your body. 
“Thank you, Spencer.” You said, reaching out and grabbing the bag from him. 
Spencer stood there for a moment longer, watching in utter awe as his eyes traced a droplet of water down your neck and into your cleavage. He wondered what it might be like to lean over and lick it up, wondering what your skin might taste like-
“Spence, shouldn’t you go get ready now?” You posed, looking up from rooting around your bag that you now had propped up on the closed toilet lid. 
“Right.” Spencer said. “Right. Yeah.” 
Spencer rushed off to his bedroom, doing just that. 
He did have to masturbate before he could focus at all on getting dressed. He felt slightly shameful for it, but he picked up your discarded blouse from his bedroom floor, left there by you from the night before, holding it to his nose while he pumped his cock with his hand. And with it, he came faster than he ever had by his own touch. And then he rushed to clean up and get dressed and managed to meet you just as you were emerging from the bathroom, looking as beautiful as ever in another button up blouse and simple black pants. 
You gave him a grin and didn’t at all seem to suspect that he had touched himself, and he felt so utterly victorious - like he had a secret, like he had gotten away with something. 
… 
You had to laugh as you watched Spencer struggle to clean the dried cum off his glasses in the car with a couple of wet wipes. It was something you had forgotten to do the night before, and you found it entirely amusing as he muttered and grunted to himself, trying to get the lenses fully clean while you drove. 
By the time you got to the office, Spencer’s glasses were glimmering clean and you recklessly pulled into the first parking spot you saw in the garage, hoping that you weren’t terribly late. (Unfortunately you hadn’t had time for breakfast, and hunger was gnawing at you, but you would take care of that later.) 
Spencer began voicing complaints about your parking job and the likelihood of your doors getting dented by someone else getting out of their car, but you simply dragged him forward with a hand on his wrist and told him that it would be your problem as you shoved him into the elevator. 
Nobody else was lingering in the bullpen, which worried you, and surely enough - everybody else was already sitting at the roundtable as you and Spencer walked down the hall. Many prying eyes stared at the two of you from the doorway, clearly expectant of the two of you. When you got in, you noticed that the only absent face was Gideon. At least you and Spencer weren’t the only ones holding up the presentation of the case. 
“You’re late.” Hotch grumbled as Spencer shut the door behind the two of you. “Again.” 
“So sue me.” You shrugged, causing Hotch to roll his eyes, and causing a smirk from Morgan and Elle - who generally loved your snark. 
“Don’t blame her, Hotch, she probably had a hard time finding her keys after Boy Genius rocked her world.” Elle said, making an obvious joke about the fact that you and Spencer had come in together. 
That, and you wouldn’t put it above JJ not to tell everyone that you had spent the night at Spencer’s place (especially if she delivered that news under suspicion that the two of you had sex). 
Reid - who had gone to the counter off to the side to get himself yet another cup of coffee - dropped a packet of sugar on the floor out of nervousness when he heard Elle’s comment. You found it entirely adorable when he scrambled to pick it up, clearly trying his hardest not to seem suspicious. 
“So come on, how was it?” Morgan said, looking right at you as he hopped onto the joke. “Did he spread you open like a good library book?” 
Hotch sighed, pressing his fingers into the bridge of his nose, knowing he could do nothing to stop the conversation. He looked to his phone, desperately trying to ignore this as it went on around him. 
“Very funny.” You griped sarcastically. “If I look tired, it’s because this loser had me up all night rambling on about Star Wars - fun facts, behind the scenes trivia.” You said, motioning toward Spencer for emphasis when you said ‘this loser’. “I absolutely did not need to know the difference between a protocol droid and an astromech droid, but now I do.” 
On any other occasion, you casually throwing around the word ‘loser’ in reference to Spencer would have hurt his feelings. 
But during this moment, Spencer found himself suppressing a grin. Everyone in the room had basically invited you to openly mock him for his lack of sexual ability, to spill his secrets as office gossip. But instead, you had chosen to keep those secrets close to your chest, clearly as a way to protect him from future mockery. And on top of that, you had made a clever reference to a previous conversation that the two of you did have about Star Wars. He was proud that you remembered the term ‘astromech droid’ off the top of your head at all. 
He felt proud, sharing a filthy secret with you. And he knew that he was definitely not a loser after what had happened last night. 
“Star Wars?” JJ questioned, looking at you with an expression that said she definitely knew you were lying, but she obviously didn’t have any proof. 
You had told her that you fell asleep on his couch by accident, and now you were telling the others that he had kept you up all night? 
“Yeah, that sounds more like it.” Morgan chuckled, receiving a knowing nod from Elle. 
Spencer passed by you, placing a coffee cup in front of your chair as you took your jacket off and sat down. He highly resisted the urge to give you a grin - knowing that it would give away your sweet little secret to the rest of the room. He simply walked around the table and took his own seat, and before any further discussion about the possible antics of your private lives could occur, Gideon walked in with a file in hand and JJ began presenting the case. 
… 
It was a case like any other. (Unfortunately.) Women strangled, sexually assaulted, left in areas of the woods that weren’t too difficult to find. 
As you looked at the horrific crime scene photos, you couldn’t help but to think that perhaps part of the reason you loved to dominate subservient men was to take back your personal power. Because deep down, you knew that you were terrified of ending up like that, and you loved the small piece of the world that you could take back when you got your hand around a man’s neck and made him beg for mercy (consensually, of course). 
But you couldn’t dwell on that for too long, because you had a job to do. 
There was a fresh crime scene when the team arrived, and Hotch sent you and Morgan to investigate it while he and Gideon went to speak to the victim’s family. The others left to set up at the local police station, and you couldn’t help but to notice Spencer’s eyes lingering on you as you parted ways. 
There were some drag marks in the dirt and a camera perched on a public bathroom that insisted the victim (and her attacker) could have been seen, so Morgan stepped away to call Garcia to see if she could pull anything from the camera’s feed. You did some more looking around, but couldn’t find anything of note. 
When you walked back over to where Morgan was perched beside the SUV, grinning with his phone beside his ear, you couldn’t hold back a comment at his final words before he hung up. 
“-oh, of course. Well you are beautiful and brilliant as always, my love. Thank you.” 
“You didn’t tell me Reid was on the phone.” You commented snidely, giving a wide smirk as you walked around into Morgan’s view. 
You thought you were being clever, making the joke that he would call Reid beautiful, or playfully call him ‘my love’. But of course, he turned this right back around on you. 
“No, that was just Garcia. She said the camera’s a dud and she couldn’t get anything off it.” Before you could comment on this fact, he continued. 
“But I took a message from Reid earlier. He said he left his panties at your place and he wants them back,” He smirked widely himself as he said this. 
Likely the exact opposite of what he had intended, this caused a distinct image in your mind. One of Spencer wearing a pair of pink lacy panties - his long, hard cock straining to fit inside the skimpy material, and leaky wildly inside of it, making everything so wet. 
You forced yourself to refocus, and purposefully put on a sour look, pretending that you were annoyed by his crude comment. 
“Ha-ha.” You griped sarcastically. “You know Reid and I aren’t a thing. So you can stop with the jokes before you embarrass him.” 
Truthfully, you did want the jokes to stop before it hurt Reid. You knew that he likely wanted to keep his sex life private. You didn’t want his shyness to come back tenfold before you could truly open him up and explore his filthy side. 
Morgan snorted, clearly in disbelief. 
“Oh, so you’re gonna act like that whole bit this morning wasn’t you and boy genius stumblin’ in late because of a late night booty call?” Morgan posed. “A real one. Not him fallin’ asleep on his phone.” 
You shifted your attitude then. If he wasn’t going to drop it, then you were going to arm yourself. 
“Okay, if you’re so invested in my sex life, you wanna talk about the size XXL purple leopard thong that I found in your back seat three weeks ago?” You posed sharply, a stone cold look on your face even though you were holding back the urge to laugh. 
At the time, Morgan had offered to give you a ride home because your car battery had died. And when you tossed your bag into his back seat, you randomly spotted the streak of bright color - very out of place among the few gray sweatshirts he had in the back. And when you picked it up, wondering what it was, you held it in your hands and in a moment, based on the size, knew who it belonged to. 
But he had been denying where it had come from (and the lustful tryst behind it) ever since. Clearly he wanted to keep his inter-office sex life private too. 
“I-” Morgan began stuttering out an explanation, then swallowed it up. “We should get going.” He said, motioning toward the SUV. 
“We should.” You easily agreed. 
… 
The whole time the team spent working the case, you found it difficult to interact with Spencer. 
You really wanted to say that having sex with him wouldn’t change your working relationship, but it wasn’t like you had fucked just anybody. It was Spencer. If you had railed Elle or Derek or anybody else on the team, you probably could have gone to work the next day and pushed it to the back of your mind with grace. 
But knowing that Spencer was inexperienced, knowing that you had likely been the first person to ever hear him moan like that, the first to ever see him covered in his own cum - it was definitely something that stuck in your head (to a painfully distracting extent). 
Every time you so much as looked at him, saw that thoughtful expression with those glasses perched on his face, you immediately pictured him blissfully fucked out with large spots of his own cum covering the lenses. 
So you tried your best to avoid him for the majority of the work. You volunteered to leave the station whenever possible, and left him with his maps, making a geographical profile, doing what he did best. You tried to keep yourself distracted and focused on a case. 
This - somehow - had you and Gideon following a lead, following up with someone who had spoken to the first victim a few minutes before she was murdered. While the two of you searched the man’s property looking for him, he managed to sneak up behind you and put you in a chokehold, attempting to strangle you. 
Because yeah - he was the killer. Great. 
And apparently, once again, your sick sense of humor paid off. Because when your hand reached for your gun upon instinct and you realized that in your Spencer Reid sex-haze distractions, you had somehow forgotten it in the car, you cursed yourself, and then you began to physically struggle. And then you realized that this man was too strong, and there was no good way for you to escape the hold with physical methods. 
With your vision becoming hazy, your instinct was to start moaning in a very exaggerated, pornographic way and tell him how much you liked the feeling of being strangled - which led him to loosen his grip out of shock. And that gave you more than enough room to elbow him in the face, knocking him loopy so you could call to Gideon for help. 
The two of you had him in cuffs in minutes and when everyone else got there and asked you how you managed to escape, you told them that you were simply too fierce of a fighter for the man to hold you down. They didn’t need to know what actually happened or where your mind went when faced with danger. 
Spencer looked at you with incredibly sad eyes when he saw the irritated strangle marks around your neck, but you pointed to the marks and told him you were fine with a chuckle. That it looked worse than it was. You were surprised and kind of hurt when he didn’t say anything to you in return. 
Spencer didn’t sit next to you during the plane ride home (which you took slight offense to). But he did come up to you in the parking garage when you were getting ready to leave. You had been inspecting a large bump in one of your doors (cursing the fact that Spencer always had to be right), and you became distracted when you heard his footsteps echoing through the large space behind you. 
You thought that maybe he needed a ride since you had been the one to drive him there after your heated night together. But he stood a few feet away with his hands in his pockets, so you took your hand off the key that was poised in your car door and made it clear that you were prepared to pay attention to him - clearly he had something to say. 
“Are you mad at me?” He asked timidly. 
“What? No.” You let out breathily, almost laughing. “Why would you think-?” You began to ask, and then cut yourself off, realizing the answer to your own question halfway through speaking it. “Because I’ve been avoiding you.” You spoke aloud. 
Spencer nodded, seeming very solemn and downtrodden by this fact. 
“You wouldn’t even look at me over the past few days.” He said. “I mean, I understand if I did something wrong.” He declared, his voice taking on the same broken wetness that his eyes had, as though he was on the verge of crying. “But I - I thought that what happened the other night, what we did, I thought it was special. I-” 
“Spencer. Come here.” You summoned him closer, not wanting to talk loudly across the parking garage at him. You didn’t want your voices to echo when speaking about your sex life - just in case anybody did happen to come by. 
You found it achingly adorable that he called what had happened ‘special’. Like he was a young woman talking about ‘making love’. It was tooth-rotting sweet. Especially considering that he wasn’t referring to some night where the two of you had laid in bed together with candles and Barry Mantilow playing. But rather, a time where you had tied him to a kitchen chair and fucked him senseless with a fake pussy. 
Spencer easily followed your order, finding nothing but natural order in listening to you. He came to stand just a few inches from your body where you were leaning up against the door of your car, and then you began to speak quietly. 
“What we did was special.” You assured him with a smile. The sadness on his features broke up slightly at this. “In fact, it was so special that I couldn’t get it out of my head. Every time I looked at you, I just imagined you moaning for me, covered in your own cum. I kept hearing your pretty voice in my ears saying ‘please’ in that gorgeous way you do.” 
Of course, you did angle your words more into dirty talk, and you leaned into him slightly when you said these things, whispering in a low, seductive voice. You loved how his Adam’s apple bobbed heavily as he swallowed thickly, and a slight flush moved across his cheeks at your words. 
When he didn’t say anything, clearly stunned into silence by your words, you continued. 
“I didn’t want to be turned on, or distracted when we have an important job to do.” You had to leave out the fact that you had been so distracted that you had almost made a fatal mistake. But nobody needed to know about that. “So… I just tried to focus on something other than you for a while. I do apologize if it seems like I was avoiding you out of anger, but that is definitely not the case.” You told him, easily capping off your explanation. 
“I understand.” Spencer nodded. “That’s… kind of how I feel every day. But I guess I’m just used to it by now. So I’m better at not being distracted.” 
You felt intensely flattered, and slightly turned on as he unintentionally fluffed your ego. 
“Because you’re a good boy.” You told him, knowing that praise was one of his weak spots. 
You swore you saw his knees shake when the words hit him, and he cleared his throat loudly before he spoke again. 
“Is - is it always going to be like this?” He asked. 
He would have mourned your friendship if that were the case. He didn’t want to trade off your jokes and your everyday interactions for the sex, as amazing as the sex was. Selfishly, he wanted both. 
“No.” You easily assured him. “I just need a bit of time to get my head on straight. I need some time to get used to it. Like you said, I need to get better at not being distracted.” 
Spencer nodded at this. 
He was very tempted to ask if you wanted to come over to his place that night. If you wanted to ‘sleep-over’ again. Not only had he enjoyed the spectacular orgasm, learning from you, but he had genuinely enjoyed the kind of domesticity that came from waking up with you there. He loved having someone in his kitchen in the morning. He knew he would miss that sorely if he woke up tomorrow morning and you weren’t there. (Perhaps you had spoiled him too much already.) 
However, before he could work up the courage to ask, you leaned up on your toes and kissed him on the cheek, muttering ‘goodnight, Spence’. And in return, he muttered something about paperwork before he walked back toward the elevator. 
… 
That night, Spencer went home and grabbed the fleshlight off the dishrack as soon as he spotted it. He knew that you had bought it for him with the intention of him using it independently, but as he grabbed the bottle of lube off the living room coffee table, he just felt… lonely without you there. 
But he supposed that he had to learn how to do it on his own, because you wouldn’t be there all the time to help him. It was only a fantasy - the two of you getting a place together, so he could serve you in every possible way, doing so gleefully, and in return, you would play with him whenever he wanted. 
He stripped naked and slicked up his cock and the toy just like you had shown him. He couldn’t help but to miss the feeling of your hand on his cock as he did it. When he got the tight softness of the fake pussy around him, he screwed his eyes closed tight - and all he could think about was you. 
He missed you like a tree missing sunlight, and he felt his head spinning - felt like he had no greater sense of control without your voice telling him what to do. It made him anxious and on edge the whole time he had that fake pussy wrapped around his cock, rather than the beautifully, buttery warmth he had felt before. 
By the time he came, he was practically sobbing. A deep ache for you in his chest as he missed your touch over him - missed the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, missed your voice calling him ‘good boy’ as that tingling ran through his gut. 
After he rinsed out the toy with hot water and put it back in the dish rack to dry (wondering if he was cleaning it right) and jumped in the shower, he wondered if he would ever be content to masturbate alone again. He wondered if you had ruined him, if he would ever truly feel satiated without your touch. 
… 
The next few days passed without much of note happening. 
You and Spencer stayed away from each other in the office and everyone began to whisper, theorizing that you were in some kind of fight. But of course, they didn’t notice the glances the two of you exchanged over the partition of your close desks - a deeply knowing stare that only the other person could decipher. 
Also, unknowingly, Derek had given you a fantastic idea. 
One day during your lunch break, you visited a lingerie store that you loved, and picked up a pair of lacy pink panties that would definitely be too small for you - but that you hoped would fit a certain genius’ slim hips just right. 
… 
At the end of the week, you were intensely thankful to have a day off. 
You were tempted to turn your phone off completely, not wanting to be cursed with being called in on your day off. You could say that you lived with the hope that nobody out there was needing the BAU’s help, but truly, you were just annoyed and wanted some time to relax. 
You woke up naturally around mid morning, and you were feeling hungry so you hesitantly rolled out of bed. You washed your face and did a light, lazy morning routine. On your way to the kitchen in your modest, cozy, but very well decorated apartment, you heard a knock on the door. 
You felt all of your muscles tense up unconsciously. You really hoped that it wasn’t someone from the team, needing something. (You also hoped that it wasn’t one of your exes, showing up unannounced to beg for you back because the sex had been too good and had ruined them for anyone else - which had happened before. Multiple times unfortunately.) 
You hesitantly walked over to the door (so tempted to pretend that you weren’t home and simply be left unbothered). When you looked through the peephole, you were delightfully surprised to see that it was Spencer. He was standing there, dressed like he usually did for work, holding a tray with two takeout coffee cups in one hand and a large brown paper bag in the other. 
He had brought breakfast. 
A sweetheart with a big dick and a pretty face who begged so pretty and brought food? Fuck, you might just have to marry him. 
You eagerly opened the door and grinned widely at him. 
“Spence!” You greeted him with excitement. “Fancy seeing you here.” 
“Um, hi.” He gave you a smile himself, and nodded at you rather than waving because his hands were full. “Can I come in? I brought breakfast.” He motioned toward the items in his hands, and you nodded, moving aside to let him in. “I wanted to make up for those… abysmal eggs that I made you the other morning.” 
“They weren’t abysmal.” You told him with a chuckle as you shut the door. “And I do admire you for trying.” 
Spencer naturally navigated his way to your small kitchen, to the small round table that you had in there to set the items down. This was only his third time in your apartment. 
Two of the other times he had been there, it had been to hang out and play board games with you, JJ, Elle, and Penelope. Something that had started out as a joke - Derek telling him that he might have fun ‘tagging along on girls’ night’. So he had. And he did have fun. 
And one of the times it had been because he had gotten quite drunk and you had brought him here to take care of him. Because he had been so drunk that he couldn’t tell you where his house keys were. Waking up on your couch that morning to the smell of pancakes had been delightfully confusing. 
Either way, he found your apartment wonderfully homey. Decorated in jewel tones with girly touches. And there was always a nice smell lingering in the air from some kind of scented candle or nice perfume you were wearing. 
“Yeah, well, food is definitely not one of my areas of expertise.” Spencer admitted, carrying on the conversation as he took your coffee out of the tray and handed it to you. 
You noticed the distinct motion of his eyes going up and down your body, lingering around your thighs and your breasts, distracting him from picking up his own coffee for a few moments. 
It was only then that you became hyper-aware of the fact that you were still wearing your pajamas. 
It was a matching set made of a thin cotton fabric with a floral pattern on it - the top was a tank top with thin little spaghetti straps (and of course, you had just gotten out of bed, so you weren’t wearing a bra). The shorts were intensely short, revealing most of your wide thighs. It didn’t leave much to the imagination, so you realized why it caused Spencer’s eyes to wander. You loved his keen gaze, though. And you pretended not to notice as the conversation continued. 
“The genius finally admits that there’s something he doesn’t know!” You chuckled. 
“There are still plenty of things I don’t know.” Spencer said quietly - the glint in his eye told you that he was definitely referring to the pivotal conversation that the two of you had the other night. The conversation where he had lovingly begged you to teach him about sex. “Plenty of things I still need to learn.” 
There was a pause where the air was filled with intense sexual tension, but Spencer broke it by grabbing the paper bag with the food in it and opening it up. 
“I got you a breakfast sandwich.” He said. “Bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel.” 
“Sounds perfect.” You nodded. “Plates are in the cupboard above the sink. I’m gonna go down to my mailbox and see if my newspaper has been delivered.” You told him, walking over to the door to shove on your slippers. 
“Getting your news from the paper? What an old lady you are,” Spencer said, clearly recycling your own words from the other morning back at you. 
“That just means you like old ladies.” You chuckled, recycling his comment from the other day. “You must be into MILFs,” 
“‘MILFs?’” Spencer questioned, that adorably confused look coming across his features again. 
You became filled to the brim with glee at the realization that you would get to explain this to him. 
“It means ‘Mother I’d Like To Fuck’ or ‘Mommy I’d Like To Fuck’.” You told him. “Usually it’s used to describe a sex fantasy where someone wants to fuck - well, a mother. Someone who’s had children, because they’re attracted to the concept of motherhood. Or it can be describing a porn category, usually anything with a curvy older woman and a younger man… some people say that a MILF doesn’t necessarily have to be a woman who’s had kids, just a woman who’s older than you and hot.” 
Spencer’s lips gaped with lustful shock, and a flush came over him. He wanted to confirm that you were definitely a MILF - because you were a woman who was technically older than him, curvy, and very hot. And he definitely wanted to fuck you. All the time. But that would mean using the word ‘Mommy’ to describe you, and as much as that brought a tingle through him - that was not a can of worms that he was ready to open. Yet.
You left him standing there, gaping with shock and you couldn’t help but to laugh at this as you walked out the door to go to the mailbox. 
When you came back, you and Spencer sat on the couch and ate with the TV playing quietly in the background. A random network was playing Pretty Woman and you left it on because Spencer remarked that he had never seen it before, and you found it adorable how closely he paid attention to the film as it progressed. 
When you finished your food, you opened your newspaper and began reading. At some point, you had stretched out, and your feet had wandered into Spencer’s lap. Before you could wonder if he found it annoying, he began to lightly massage them. 
It was a delicate kind of peace, and you couldn’t help but to enjoy the silent, easy company as he watched the film and you read an article about a new baby penguin being given to two male penguin parents at the local zoo. 
You didn’t know that Spencer’s skin was crawling, eagerness building up inside of him as he sat in silence. Seeing you just sitting there, your face gently concentrated as you read. You putting your feet so carelessly in his lap, using him like he was just a lovely piece of furniture, just a footrest for you. All if it seemed to be checkmarks on some unknown list of things that only made him more lustful. 
And for the past ten minutes, he had been slowly losing focus on the plot of the film and found himself staring more and more at your thighs or sneaking glances at you over top of the newspaper. 
He had the urge to simply nudge your legs apart and crawl between them. To start touching you until he found out what was pleasurable for you. Until you called him ‘good boy’ in that way that made him melt again. But he wasn’t nearly confident enough to just do that. So he was just sitting there quietly. Slowly going insane as he thought about all the things that he wanted you to be doing to him now that the two of you were alone with free time. 
Of course, you noticed him becoming more antsy. You felt him moving more in his seat, you felt him becoming tense under your feet. So you decided to ask and see what he would say. You wondered if he would come right out and admit that he was feeling lustful, or if you would have to pull it out of him. 
“What’s up, Spence?” You asked, glancing over the newspaper at him. 
Then, Spencer said something incredibly stupid. 
“They’re hosting some of Van Gogh’s original sketches at the Smithsonian Art Museum this month.” Spencer said, motioning toward the back page of the newspaper that you had extended in one hand. It was all advertisements, but one of them did say something about a Van Gogh exhibit including some of his original art. 
He had been feeling dangerously nervous and wanted to deflect from himself. 
“Hmm.” You said after you read it. “Maybe we should go check it out.” 
Spencer’s face fell to disappointment at this suggestion, and you held back laughter. 
“What? Did you have some other grand plans for the day?” You posed, knowing this would get the right reaction out of him. 
“I…” Spencer let out a breath, clearly hesitating. “I was kind of hoping we could… play.” 
You couldn’t hold back your grin. You loved that he was using the language you had taught him, feeling confident in putting the vocabulary to good use. 
“How about this?” You posed, knowing that you were fully in charge, and it was up to you to make the plan. “We go and check out the art exhibit, and if you behave yourself on this little outing, then you can have whatever you want as a reward when we come back home.”
Spencer’s eyes lit up at this. He seemed highly motivated at the idea of having a ‘reward’. 
“What would ‘behaving myself’ entail?” He asked, ever eager to have a set of rules to follow. 
“Don’t touch me without permission.” You told him. “Keep your hands to yourself. Don’t nag me or keep asking when we’ll come home and play. And… well, there is one more thing. Something special that you could do for me.” 
Spencer’s face knit with confusion at this. 
“What’s that?” He asked. 
“Hold on.” You told him. 
Then you got up off the couch and abandoned your newspaper on the coffee table, leaving Spencer nervously fidgeting as he waited for your return. He was surprised when you came back with a bright pink shopping bag - something fairly small and girly. The shop logo on the side wasn't one that he recognized, so he had no idea what could be inside the bag. 
He waited patiently as you stood on the opposite side of the table and put the bag in the middle of it, and peeled back the pink tissue paper to take out the object inside the bag. He was slightly confused when you pulled out a small, delicate pair of lacy pink panties. 
When you unfolded them and held them up to display them to him, he easily saw that they would be too small for you, and the confusion racked him even harder. If you hadn’t bought the underwear for yourself then-? 
“I wanted you to wear these for me.” You told him, your voice steady. “Under your clothes all day. So just you and I know.”
Instantly, a wave of anxiety swept over Spencer. 
You hated the look that came across his face and you tossed the underwear down as he spoke. 
“Would - why?” He stuttered out. “Do you think it’s funny or something?” 
Spencer hated it, but he was immediately brought back to a time in his childhood. A time when, as a child prodigy in a public high school, he had been forced to take a gym class with a bunch of older teenagers, and forced to change in the same locker room as everyone else, because the coach refused to ‘treat him special’ just because he was ‘a smartass’. 
And at the time, he had thought nothing of his Ninja Turtles underpants until the other boys started pointing and laughing at them. They had thought his underwear was so funny, in fact, that they took his clothes, forcing him to walk out into the hallway in nothing but his underwear, fighting to get his clothes back. 
Back then, he didn’t understand why someone’s underwear would be funny. But it had changed him and left him guarded and feeling small - even now. 
“No, no, no, baby. Of course not.” You rushed to assure him otherwise, sitting down on the coffee table in front of him and putting a tender hand on his knee. 
“I would never want to laugh at you. Or humiliate you.” You told him very sincerely. 
You distinctly held back the urge to say ‘unless you want me to’. You didn’t think he was ready to know that some people role played humiliation on purpose. That would be for another day. 
“Baby, I only wanted to do this because it’s a turn-on for me.” You continued. “But you don’t have to do it if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t want to make you upset or uncomfortable.”
“It - it turns you on?” Spencer’s face knit with intense confusion, contemplating your words carefully. 
This was a brand new aspect that - now that it was presented to him, definitely had him processing the concept with fresh eyes. 
He knew that films or comedic shows presented the idea of men wearing women’s clothing as a form of public humiliation. Even though during Shakespearan times it was artistic, a beautiful form of theater. In modern times, men were publicly mocked and shamed for parading around in clothing that wasn’t ‘meant’ for them. 
Of course, growing up in Las Vegas, he was well aware of the existence of Drag Queens - people who fell somewhere between that Shakespearan theater and the Saturday Night Live style of comedy that was usually straight men wearing dresses. But drag performers dressed up in women’s clothing for money. They did it as a type of paid performance. 
No part of Spencer’s mental catalog had any idea that people dressed in clothing that didn’t align with their gender as, well… a fetish. 
Spencer imagined himself wearing the underwear - especially knowing that you would be looking at him with a lustful gaze while he wore it, and he felt a distinct tingle in his gut. He felt his mood shifting from anxiety to something warmer, but he was still on edge. 
“Tell me what’s on your mind, baby.” You pleaded gently, rubbing your hand on Spencer’s knee. “I know that look. So come on, tell me what’s going on inside that big brain of yours.”  
Spencer hadn’t realized that he had been sitting there for a prolonged moment, perhaps more than a few, a look of deep thought cast over his features as he considered all of this. 
“I… I don’t hate the idea.” Spencer said tentatively. 
He was still timid about his own desires, and he was unsure what it meant that he himself was becoming turned on by the idea of wearing women’s underwear. It was supposed to be a show for you, right? Was he supposed to enjoy it? 
“You’re not just saying that because you’re trying to please me?” You replied. 
You wanted to be sure that he was comfortable. You wanted to ensure that he knew he could say ‘no’ if he needed to. 
Spencer shook his head. 
“I - I think I could like it.” He said quietly, clearly shy about his own words. “I think I do. Just… can you tell me more about… why you like it?” 
You gave a small grin, always happy to explain these kinds of things to him. 
“Well, I think you would look good in them.” You said, being entirely honest. “To me, there’s something profoundly beautiful about the sight of a cock trapped in pretty lace. It’s unconventional and just so… pretty.” You explained, choosing your words carefully. 
Spencer felt a unique twist in his gut when you used that word - ‘pretty’. 
People had used that word to describe him before, but it always felt like it was teasing, or ironic. But when you said it, it sounded so genuine. It made Spencer want more. It made him want to hear it more because he wanted to feel pretty, especially in your eyes. It was something he had never wanted in his life before. It exponentially boosted his desire to wear those panties for you - if that would make him pretty to you, then he would certainly do it. 
But he held back on voicing that for now, and simply let you continue. 
“Plus, I do enjoy the idea of the two of us having a secret.” You told him. “The fact that you would be wearing those pretty panties under your clothes and we would be the only two people who know.” 
Spencer definitely understood that. He liked sharing secrets with you. 
It was how he felt all week - entirely filthy and victorious as he wielded his secret from everyone else. Having the knowledge that he had sex with you and the two of you were going about your days without anybody else knowing it. Sure, part of him wanted to brag to Morgan about it for some kind of social standing. But the bigger part of him much preferred the satisfaction of that secret. Having that secret side of you all to himself. 
“But like I said, you don’t have to do anything that you’re uncomfortable with. You don’t have to do it just to please me.” You reiterated the point, entirely open with him. 
“You really think I’m pretty?” Spencer asked quietly. 
You found it adorable that he had become fixated on this word, clearly slightly distracted from the overall point. 
“Yes.” You assured him. “You’re very pretty. You’re one of the most attractive people I’ve ever met, Spence.” You reached up and brushed your knuckles gently across his cheek, and he shivered lightly at the touch in combination with the brutally honest praise. 
“Thank you.” He said, giving you a small smile. Then, he had a thought. “Can - can I try them on, and then… see how I feel? Before wearing them for the rest of the day?” He asked, nodding toward where you had set down the pink lacy panties. 
It was such a brilliant idea - you weren’t sure how you hadn’t thought of it yourself first. 
“Of course, baby. That’s a really good idea.” You nodded. “Do you want to go in the other room and put them on, or do you want me to help you?” 
He found a warmth curling in his stomach at the idea of you helping him get dressed, and he absolutely couldn’t deny that offer. 
“Can you help me?” He asked, looking at you with the sweetest doe eyes. You resisted the urge to simply climb on top of him, kiss the life out of him and make him cum again. 
No. Today was going to be about making him wait. Making him needy - making him truly want. 
“Okay, baby, stand up for me.” 
Of course, he thrived on you giving him orders, so he did just as you told him without any hesitation. 
He stood up in front of you and you guided him around the coffee table to have more room. He was wearing such a perfectly Spencer outfit - a navy blue knitted sweater vest with a button up shirt underneath, a pair of gray slacks with a brown belt, and his usual mismatched socks (one red with navy stripes and the other dark gray). He also had a gray blazer that he had ditched on the back of one of your kitchen chairs shortly after coming in. 
It was interesting to know that even on his days off, Spencer still wore such ‘business’ clothing. But you supposed that it was all his wardrobe was made up of, because he likely didn’t consider it appropriate to leave the house in his loungewear. 
In a lot of ways, much like everything else that he did - it was intensely adorable. 
You put your hands on his belt and undid it, and unzipped his pants - when you slid them down over his thighs, you weren’t surprised to see that he was wearing the most Spencer kind of underwear: a pair of plain white briefs. He was half-hard, making a prominent shape in the cotton that caused you to hold back a wicked grin. 
“I’m sorry, my underwear isn’t… sexy.” He said, his arms hovering awkwardly around his front as he clearly considered covering himself but hesitated in doing so. 
“Don’t apologize, baby.” You said, getting down on your knees to take his pants the rest of the way down and untangle them from his ankles. Naturally, he put a hand on your shoulder and stepped out of them, a flush coming over him at how intimate the entire thing felt. 
“That’s why I got these special just for you,” You told him, reaching over and grabbing the panties, holding them up for emphasis. 
“You did?” He questioned. 
You had taken the tags off shortly before presenting the underwear to him, and even though you had brought them out in a shopping bag, it wasn’t something he had considered. You had bought something like this with him in mind. This was the second time you had gone shopping and gotten him a special present and he couldn’t help but to feel so lovingly spoiled by you. 
“I did.” You confirmed with a smile, looking up at him in a way that made him melt. 
“Thank you, Miss.” He couldn’t help the title from spilling from his lips, and it immediately made your pussy throb with need. 
Once again, you forced yourself to focus. 
“I’m gonna take these off now, okay?” You said, reaching up and thumbing along the waistband of his underwear. 
Spencer nodded. 
“Use your words, please.” You reminded him sharply. 
“Yes, Miss.” He said, nodding more frantically. 
You took down his briefs and his cock swayed in the air - clearly on the way to being fully hard, smooth and beautiful. You found it adorable that his pubes were still entirely untamed. You loved that even after you had started showing sexual interest in him, he hadn’t felt the need to rush to groom himself. You preferred him like this, especially because the imagery of that bush entirely slick with his own cum would always be stuck in your mind, and you definitely wanted to recreate it again. 
You were tempted to get a hand on his cock, to tease him. To get him to full hardness, making him leaking and whining and then force him to go out for a full day of activities. But he was still new to this and you weren’t that mean. 
That, and you had a feeling that because it was Spencer, if he started begging you to cum, if he said ‘please’ in that pretty voice again, then you would most likely just give in to him and your whole plan would be ruined. Rather than going to the museum, you would simply spend the day with him tied to the bed and incoherent. 
But you wanted to see how far you could truly push him if he was needy. If he was absolutely desperate. And a few hours of your attention directed away from him when he wanted it most (focusing on paintings rather than on pleasing him) along with rough lace scrubbing up against his cock should do very nicely. 
You pulled the underwear down fully and just the same as you had with his pants, unhooked them from his ankles, leaving him fully dressed from the waist up, still wearing his socks. Then you picked up the panties again - you had chosen something that was aesthetically pleasing, and hopefully not too uncomfortable for him. It wasn’t anywhere near a thong in the back, but you knew that it would be snug on his cock - just what you were hoping for. 
The moment that Spencer felt the lace brush against his skin, he was greeted by a brand new experience. He always chose his clothing based on the comfort of the fabrics - and he had certainly never worn anything with this kind of underlying roughness to it. 
When you pulled it fully up over his hips and gently tucked his cock inside the waistband, he did find it thrilling. The fabric created a slightly irritated pain across his highly sensitive cock, and a tightness around his balls, but he found that in a way, he liked it. It was truly all brand new, and though he knew that the feeling was going to become an annoyance after a while, he was curious about the sexual aspects of it. He found that he wanted more. 
Especially when he saw the look on your face. 
Spencer looked utterly stunning like this. Infinitely better than you could have imagined. Seeing his half-hard cock trapped behind the pink lace as it was stretched over his slim hips almost had you drooling. You knew that the lust was clearly written across your face, and you couldn’t help but to reach up and gently stroke his cock through the fabric, getting a low moan from him. 
“How does it feel, baby?” You asked, looking up at him from where you were still positioned on your knees. 
With your warm hand on him through the fabric, with you looking at him like he was the most perfect thing in the world, there was only one possible answer. 
“Good.” He easily replied. “Really good.” 
You smiled at him. “Do you wanna keep them on for the day?” 
“Yes, Miss.” He nodded eagerly. Truthfully, he was excited to see where the day would take the two of you. 
You helped him put the rest of his clothes back on, then you sat him on the couch to wait for you so that you could go get dressed for the day. You found it entirely adorable when he wiggled around on the spot, clearly adjusting to the new feeling of wearing such tight, lacy panties. 
Spencer felt even more intense lustful warmth wash over him when you returned in a flowy red dress with small white polka dots on it. It was a dress with a deep V neck and a tie around the waist, one that looked like it wrapped around your whole body. It accentuated your curves so well, making you look like a gorgeous Hollywood starlet. 
You had on a pair of red heels and had a red purse with a long strap on your shoulder. You were truly a vision of beauty. He felt like he shouldn’t be allowed to go out in public with you, especially because people would see the two of you and assume that you were on a date. 
(Was it a date? How the hell was he allowed to date someone as perfect as you?) 
“And remember, baby. If you’re a good boy all day, then you can have a reward.” You told him, putting your foot up on the coffee table to adjust the strap of your shoe, not-so-subtly flashing him your underwear with how open and flowy the skirt of your dress was. 
Spencer was brain dead by the sight for a moment, but then thought to ask:
“What kind of reward?” 
“Well… whatever you want. You can pick.” You told him. “As long as you follow the rules.” 
Oh, it was going to be a good day. 
… 
It seemed that your plan worked far better than you originally expected. 
When the two of you first got into the museum, Spencer’s hands kept hovering around his waist, clearly resisting the urge to grab at his pants, to try and adjust the panties through his clothing. You combated this by grabbing one of his hands, and kept him busy by prompting him with questions about the paintings as you toured the non-Van Gogh sections of the museum for a while.
At times, Spencer became a bit too fixated on whatever he was saying, and you felt an eagerness to distract him from the art. As much as you enjoyed listening to him ramble on and always learned something from the sound of his sweet, soothing voice, you did have another goal in mind. 
When he became a bit too immersed in his thoughts and recollection about whatever art history books he had read, you would provide him with some kind of physical touch that sent his mind absolutely rocketing off the rails, and sent his mouth sputtering as he tried to remember what he had been saying. 
You would reach over and wrap your arms around his waist, possibly brushing your hand over his cock on the way. You might wrap an arm around his lower back and lean into his body, purposefully pressing your weight up against his side, letting him feel every single curve that you had to offer. You began to feel more bold as you wanted to get more of a reaction out of him, and you even reached up and planted stray kisses on the side of his neck, behind his ear. 
As time progressed, his insights about the paintings became much more shallow, and he began to fidget more. You knew that he was growing intensely needy, and you loved it. 
By the time the two of you got to the exhibit with Van Gogh’s original sketches that had drawn you to the museum in the first place, Spencer was oddly pensive and quiet. You let the silence linger as you carefully planned your next move. 
Spencer interrupted the peaceful silence with his gentle, prodding voice. 
“Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.” 
“What does that mean?” You asked, turning to look at him. 
“It was something Vincent Van Gogh said.” He noted, turning to look at you, mirroring your body language. “It means - well, I think it means that… that life can be full of trauma and darkness, but if you take the time to observe the beauties of your life, and realize how there are simplistic wonders all around us, then… the darkness doesn’t seem so big. The everyday parts of life can seem enchanting.” 
You reached up and gently brushed Spencer’s hair back from his forehead, eagerly listening to his sweet voice as he spoke. 
You knew - consciously or unconsciously - he was also speaking about the way that you made each other’s lives enchanting. Your job was full of darkness and horror, and it would be easy to fall to it. But you lifted each other up, and became that everyday enchantment that the other person needed. 
Spencer’s eyes pointedly flickered down to your lips and then back up to your eyes before he continued. 
“Van Gogh was famous for painting pictures of everyday sights. Flower vases, scenes from his village. The Starry Night was painted because he imagined that the stars above his village were a sure sign that God himself came down every single night to kiss the sky there. He didn’t see the mundane as simply… mundane. He saw it as beautiful and worth celebrating.” Spencer explained. 
“You’re beautiful.” You easily fired back, and Spencer crumbled under the direct compliment. 
In a moment, his cheeks dusted with pink and his posture shrunk. Where he was confident and tall when speaking about art history, he became small as he was trapped under your gaze, absolutely unsure how to take the compliment - especially as it was directed toward his looks. Especially as it made him feel oddly pretty. 
When his eyes jumped back up from looking at the floor, his gaze was locked on your mouth once again. He tugged on the bottom of his blazer, and you could tell that he was becoming fidgety and anxious. 
His anticipation was easily growing into need. 
And so was yours. 
Without telling him what was on your mind, you scanned the room. You thought you had seen something of note when you first walked into this section of the museum - and surely enough, in one of the corners, there was a thick black curtain covering a doorway. A curtain that had an ‘Employees Only’ sign pinned to it. Perhaps it led to some kind of storage closet, perhaps it led to another winding hallway. 
Whatever was behind there, you were about to find out. 
“Come here.” You told him, giving a gentle tug on his elbow that you were holding. 
Naturally, entranced by your every movement and having nothing but the ability to follow you - Spencer walked on easy feet, guided by you as you marched across the room with purpose. He thought perhaps you had seen a painting that particularly caught your interest across the room, or that you were finally ready to leave and it was time to go home and get his reward. 
But what happened next, he certainly did not expect. 
You pulled him toward a dark curtain that was labeled with a sign - Employees Only. 
Last time he checked, you hadn’t gotten a job at a museum. 
He found himself slightly filled with anxiety at this fact, but you seemed entirely unfazed. 
You simply pulled back the curtain and used Spencer’s anxious confusion to your advantage. You shoved him in first before he could question you, and then you climbed in yourself and carefully adjusted the fabric so it would seem completely undisturbed. 
The area behind the curtain seemed to be nothing more than a long hallway with a few doors. It was clearly a lesser traveled area of the museum - a few of the lightbulbs overhead blown out and not replaced, the floor dingy and dusty. Perhaps those doors led to storage rooms or the place’s security facilities - but either way, the two of you weren’t supposed to be here. 
His insides filled with panic at the idea of getting caught. 
“Y/N-!” He called out your name harshly, but you cut him off by putting a hand in the middle of his chest and shoving him back against the wall. 
Hitting the wall easily knocked the wind out of him. It was a surprising amount of force - you were much stronger than you looked. Of course, he had seen you take down suspects before. He had witnessed you tackle grown men to the grown with ease and marveled in awe at your strength, but you had never used that kind of force on him. He had never imagined what it would be like. 
He found that it turned him on more than he could have imagined. The presence of your hand fisting the front of his sweater vest spread a dizzying heat through his body. He stared at you with parted lips and a slacked jaw as the lust and shock overtook him. 
“Are you gonna be good for me?” You asked. 
You stood away from him for a moment, removing your hands from him completely and leaving a few inches of space between your two bodies in the dim, dingy space. 
You were giving him a clear opportunity to use his safeword if he truly wasn’t comfortable with fooling around in such a public space. 
“We - we’re gonna get caught!” He whispered urgently to you, his voice hushed but still strained at the very thought of it. 
You found it entirely adorable - how scandalized he was by this. You had done far worse and you hoped that you could get him to sink to your level over time. 
“You let me worry about that, pretty boy.” You told him firmly. “Now - are you gonna be good for me?” 
You asked one more time, your voice demanding and hopefully fully relaying the meaning of your words. 
Spencer had a choice. 
And with you standing there, staring him down with heat in your eyes, looking like such a vision of lustful beauty, when he had been waiting so long for your touch, for your attention… it wasn’t much of a choice at all.
He only wanted you. 
“Yes.” He squeaked out quietly, swallowing thickly around his own doubt. “Yes, I’ll be a good boy.” 
You grinned a wide Cheshire grin at his words, and in a moment, you were on him. 
You possessively gripped at both sides of his blazer, easily bending him to your will. You surged forward and met him as you forced his body to bend downward, capturing his mouth in a demanding, heated kiss.  
It was a tiny murmur in the back of your mind, reminding you that this was actually your first kiss with Spencer. You had already seen him naked and made him cum, and you were just now getting to taste his sweet lips. It was a funny thought. 
In that moment, any worry about potentially getting caught easily flew from Spencer’s mind - any logic quickly dripped out of his ears. 
He moaned beautifully into your mouth, and as you echoed a sound back, you had to wonder why you hadn’t kissed him sooner. He seemed to be a natural at it - or, this was the one thing that he had some real practice at. Which you were entirely thankful for. His lips were smooth against your own, heated and desperate, surging forward with intense gyrating motions - almost as if he was trying to consume you with his intense hunger. 
Though in a moment, he easily fell under your control. 
You reached a hand up to the back of his hair and took a tight grip there, holding him like he was a beautiful object that you owned, just a toy for you to play with. He let out a sharp whine from the back of his throat, and his jaw fell slack for a moment, allowing you to bite down on his bottom lip - hard, assuring him who was in charge. 
The shock of pain from the bite had his hips bucking forward, and surely enough, you felt him fully hard, brushing against your hip through both of your clothing. He whined even sharper as he felt the roughness of the lace pressing against his cock, brushing against him with more force as he humped himself against you. It stung roughly and sent beautiful shocks of pleasure pulsing through him. 
“What do you want, pretty boy?” You breathed against his lips. 
Still desperate, needy for contact, he left a sloppy kiss on your chin before he spoke to answer the question. 
“C-Can I touch you?” He whimpered out quietly. “Please.” 
Your lips formed a wicked grin against him at this. 
“Anything over my clothes.” You told him. When his hands still hung limply at his sides, you threw in some encouragement. “Come on, baby, touch me.” 
You did have to wonder if he would have been bold enough to reach under the hemline of your dress - even if you hadn’t given him explicit permission. You wondered what he would have done if his fingers had gotten as far as your underwear. But with your instructions, he had full access to your ass and breasts and you were curious to see what he would do within the rules. 
You dove in for another kiss, boldly possessing his mouth with a commanding strength once again. He whimpered against your lips and - feeling as needy as he was, he eagerly followed your instructions and began feeling you up over your clothing. His hands started out humbly on your hips as your experienced, certain lips battled against his needy, rapid ones. But soon enough, he became anxious and impatient with simply grabbing on your love handles through the cotton of your dress, and he needed more. 
You yanked on his hair again and took advantage of his gasp-parted lips to shove your tongue into his mouth, your body pressed firmly against his with him leaning against the wall for support. His hands began to eagerly wander, consuming your flesh for the first time and truly getting a taste of what it was like to not just be commanded by you, but what it was like to be with you. 
He began grabbing the roundness of your ass in needy handfuls, his touch truly exploratory - he didn’t touch you with any skill, didn’t touch you like he was trying to get you heated and turned on. He touched you because he wanted to touch your body, badly. He was simply displaying his own hungry need for you without even considering shame in doing so. 
And that was something that caused you to moan into his mouth as you raked your tongue along his teeth. He even reached a hand up and shoved it between your two bodies, groping at your breast with absolutely no grace. He was digging his fingers into the flesh like he was trying to rip it off your body and possess it entirely. It was something so filled with need that it made you so damn hot, made your cunt ache between your thighs. 
You knew that you wouldn’t be able to end the day without cumming - whether it be with his help or simply having him watch and beg to touch you.
You had so many plans for him. And you couldn’t wait to see them all play out before your eyes.  
You felt his erection against your leg, throbbing with just as much need, and you felt that devilish urge rise up inside of you again. 
You pulled away from his lips with a wet smack, the realization hitting you once again that - yes, technically, you were in a public setting. The thought sent a thrill through you, but you had to be at least somewhat careful, lest you get caught. 
“You like touching me, baby?” You cooed against his cheek. 
“Yes, Miss.” He breathed out. 
When you opened your eyes partially, you had to contain a gasp. 
His glasses were fogged up. 
Just like something out of your fantasies, his glasses were clouded with steam from the heated exchange. But he didn’t seem to notice or care. From what you could see through the layer of dew, his eyes were screwed shut and he was far too focused on his lust. He was concentrating more on groping your breast with one hand and your ass with the other, giving small, aborted humps against your hip, clearly trying not to cum in his pants. 
Oh god. You wanted to see him cum in his pants. Badly. 
And it was rare that you didn’t get what you wanted. 
“You want me to touch you?” You asked, nosing along his long, beautiful neck. 
“Should - should we go home first?” He asked quietly. 
Clearly, he was still afraid of getting caught. 
“Hey, shh.” You breathed against his skin, causing him to shudder. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. You let me do all the thinking, baby. Just answer the question,” 
“Yes.” He moaned quietly. “I want-” 
You didn’t let him finish, and cut him off with another heated kiss. 
You distracted him with this, and he whimpered sharply against your lips the moment your hand was on him. 
You groped his cock harshly through his pants, your hand skilled in a direct contrast to the way his touch was clumsy and only fueled by need. You knew exactly what you were doing, knew exactly how to drive him where he needed to go. 
Your demanding touch closed the pink lace of the panties roughly around the sensitive skin of his cock. The feeling of it - being reminded of his little filthy secret, the thing that the two of you shared. That, on top of the fact that he had already been so close from the thrill of getting to touch you and grope you freely for the first time - that set him off so damn easily. 
He didn’t have a moment to warn you that he was cumming or ask for permission. The only warning you got was a pathetic choked off moan that came from the back of his throat before his hips jolted into your hand, and the stuttering movement of his legs was a sure sign to you that he had cum inside his pants. 
You pulled away from his lips to admire your work. 
His face was nicely flushed, continuing to add to the fog clouding up the lenses of his glasses. His hair was entirely messy and tousled, giving an absolutely sex crazed look to him even though he still had all his clothes on - clothes that were wrinkled and messy, adding even more to the look. His pants with a slight damp spot forming on the crotch as his load soaked through the thin fabric of the panties and began to soak into his pants as well. You couldn’t help but to give his sensitive cock an extra little squeeze through his pants, causing him to whimper harshly and shake at the touch. 
You loved seeing him so fucked out and pathetic. 
“I - I’m sorry!” He immediately began to apologize, reaching to pull down his vest in an effort to cover his crotch, as though wanting to hide the evidence of his orgasm that was rapidly soaking into his clothes. “I’m sorry, Miss!” 
Of course, he thought he had made some grievous misstep but breaking the rule - by not asking permission before he had cum. When it was something you had been gunning for, wanting him to cum for you. 
“Hey, shh, shh, it’s okay baby.” You murmured against his skin. “It’s okay.” 
Before he could think too hard about it or get too swept up in his emotions (and frankly, before the two of you could get caught in such a state) - you grabbed one of his hands and then dragged him out of the museum completely. You barely slowed from a brisk walk until the two of you got back to the car. Even with Spencer holding his vest down over his crotch out of embarrassment, if anyone took a second look at his wrecked hair, dewey glasses and kiss-swollen lips, they absolutely would have known what had happened to him, and you loved the thought of it. 
… 
You spent the entire ride home assuring him that he had done nothing wrong. 
It took a lot of soothing from your voice and a few well placed gropes to his crotch over the car’s console with your other hand on the wheel. This got him hard again, made him distracted from beating himself up for not being able to follow the rules explicitly. Instead, now he was focused on the way his throbbing cock felt swimming around in his own cum-soaked underwear. 
He didn’t need to feel guilty for not following the rules. You didn’t intend to punish him for breaking that rule, because he had just been too pretty while breaking it. Besides - you couldn’t imagine spanking someone so soft and new. 
You couldn’t imagine saying no to him. 
In all honesty, you kind of hated yourself for going soft. This would be the first time since you had become a dom that you hadn’t punished a sub for breaking a rule. But this wasn’t just any sub, this was Spencer. You couldn’t explain why, but he was just allowed to get away with things. He deserved to be spoiled. 
By the time you did get home, Spencer was breathless and filled to the brim with need once again. If his tears had been from self punishment and guilt at first, they were now from sheer need. He was desperately wringing his hands in his lap to keep from pawing at you because he felt that he had not been given permission to do so during the car ride. 
When you pulled into your parking spot, he looked over at you through his now clearer glasses lenses with big, wanting eyes. 
“You’re sure that you’re not mad, Miss?” He asked quietly, giving an adorably dramatic sniffle. 
“I am absolutely not mad, baby.” You told him. “It’s difficult to ever be mad at you when you’re so damn pretty.” You ‘booped’ his nose at this, and the smile he gave was so genuine that it made your insides glow with pride. “Now, what do you say we get you out of those soiled clothes and into something more comfortable?” 
“I - I didn’t bring a bag.” He said, looking over to his car across the lot longingly. 
“You didn’t bring a bag to the sleepover?” You cooed. “How silly, baby.” Spencer looked entirely downtrodden, as though all of his plans for the day were ruined. “I’m sure that I can find something for you to wear.” 
This conjured up a delightful image in your mind of him wearing more lingerie. But no, you needed to find him something comfortable instead. He had been good, and he deserved to be rewarded for it. You were sure that despite the size difference, he would be able to fit into some of your pajama pants with the waist tie knotted up a few times. Hopefully the waistband wouldn’t absolutely fall off him. 
He seemed more upbeat at this, and the two of you got out of the car and went up to your apartment, Spencer easily following your lead, as always. He carried your purse loyally, something you found to be a covert turn-on. You liked seeing the subtle ways he could serve you. 
When you got up to your apartment, you tossed your keys into the bowl where you normally kept them, and Spencer made a point of hanging the long strap of your bag on the coat rack - something you found so entirely cute. 
You then took Spencer to the kitchen to get him a glass of water to help him calm down. The entire time he drank it, you gently stroked his hair and told him what a good boy he was. This seemed to relax him entirely, which satisfied you on a deep level. 
Then, you grabbed his hand and steered him in the direction of the bathroom to help him clean up. With his shoes already ditched near the front door, you peeled off his blazer and threw it over the back of the couch along the way, not giving him a moment to speak about hanging it up ‘properly’ or whatever else was gonna come out of his mouth before you bustled him along to the next room. 
In your quaint apartment, the bathroom was at the end of the hallway, and he caught a small glimpse into your bedroom before you continued shoving him down the hall. He saw twinkling lights and pink silken sheets and felt his stomach tingle - it was nothing like he had imagined it, but he kind of loved that. 
Your bathroom was just as entracing. 
The tiles were pearlescent blue - obviously vintage, along with a clawfoot tub to match, and you had decorated everything with quite a beautiful sense of style to match. A floral blue shower curtain, a fuzzy blue bath mat, and a small golden cart in the corner holding all of your different products. Spencer had the urge to pick up the bottles and start smelling them, wondering if he could get more of your amazing scent right from the source, or if it was the unique, distinct combination of those products along with your natural skin oils that made you so intoxicating. 
You shut the door gently behind the two of you when you got him into the small room. He found himself pressed right up against the counter of the small bathroom vanity, his back to the ornate mirror and your back to the door. This left only a few inches of space between your two bodies as you looked up at him with a gentle, sweet expression. 
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” You told him. 
Spencer smiled at you. 
“And then, after you’re all nice and clean, I think you can have your reward.” You told him, your voice low and dripping with decadent promise. “You were a very good boy today.” 
“I was?” He said eagerly. 
Then, after a moment, he realized that he shouldn’t be questioning it. Because it was against the rules to question your judgment, and because you had just told him that he was deserving of a reward. 
“I mean - yeah, I was.” He quickly corrected himself, trying to sound confident in this statement. 
You let out a soft chuckle at this. Then, you gently grabbed his chin and pulled him into a soft, sweet kiss. 
“You were, baby.” You told him confidently. “You were a very good boy today.” 
You absolutely adored the look on his face as you said this. His features became so soft and hazy, almost as if he was drunk. Clearly he was so high on the praise, loving knowing that he had behaved well for you, that you were giving him your stamp of approval and that he was about to be well rewarded for it. 
“Do you know what you want as your reward?” You asked, curiosity bubbling up inside of you. 
Spencer’s eyes filled with equal parts glee and contemplation. This was such a mighty question. 
As the question hung in the air, you reached up and gently took off his glasses, placing them on the counter beside the sink. As good as he looked in them, you didn’t want to accidentally knock them off his face and break them while you were stripping him out of his clothes. You then reached for the bottom of his sweater vest, still reeking with curiosity as to how he would answer the question. 
He imagined all kinds of things - one of the obvious ones was of course, sex. Full blown intercourse. But something deep inside of him told him that he wasn’t sure if he was quite ready for that. Part of him feared ‘messing up’ and still felt self conscious - like he should perform well and impress you, even though you quite clearly took the lead and hadn’t been unimpressed with anything from him so far. 
Deep down, he did know that his first time would be comfortable, safe, and beautiful if it was with you. And truthfully, he didn’t want it to be with anyone else. He couldn’t picture his first time having intercourse if it wasn’t with you in his ear, cooing about what a good boy he was. 
But still, he wasn’t quite ready for that yet. 
You got the vest off over his head, humming a calming tune quietly under your breath - a sign showing him that you were okay with the quiet, giving him time to contemplate his answer. As much time as he needed. You got to work on the buttons of his shirt, slowly and delicately undressing him as though he were a precious doll. It was something that caused goosebumps to form across his skin. 
He thought more about it. 
So - he didn’t want to ask for intercourse. 
He definitely wanted to touch you more. He liked touching you - he loved touching you. He definitely wanted permission to touch you under your clothes, to explore your naked body. He thought it might be silly to simply ask for his reward to be ‘touch naked breasts please’. You might find that silly. 
No, he could do better than that. 
When you began to peel the sleeves of the shirt off his shoulders and it caused a quiet shiver through him, that’s when it struck him. 
“I know.” He said quietly. “I know now.” 
“You know what you want your reward to be, baby?” You prodded gently, gathering the fabric of the shirt in your hands and tossing it into the laundry basket behind you. 
Perhaps you would get up early the next morning and do a load of laundry to wash his clothes so he could have something to wear home. You were struck with the vision of him wearing a pair of your sweatpants and one of your big comfortable tee-shirts walking back to his apartment from your car. You wondered - if the two of you were going to continue having these ‘sleepovers’ if you should clear a drawer for him to keep some clothes at your place and vice versa. That seemed far too domestic in your mind, but it just made good sense, didn’t it? 
You were snapped out those thoughts when Spencer finally gave you his answer. 
“I want to give you pleasure.” He breathed out quietly. “You’ve given me pleasure. I want to pleasure you.” 
His choice of words was somehow utterly adorable and spine-tingling at the same time. He sounded like a dreamy paperback smut novel come to life. But as you reached for the buckle of his belt to continue undressing him, you had to ask for clarification, just to be sure. 
“What do you mean by that, Spence?” You asked, punctuating the sentence with the click of the belt buckle. 
“I -” 
He let out a hot breath as you pulled his belt completely from the loops and let it fall to the bathroom floor with a quiet ‘clunk’. His next words were paired with the sound of the zipper teeth on his trousers coming down. 
“I want to give you an orgasm.” He let out a quiet whimper when your hand grazed his dick as you worked the fly of the pants apart. “I want you to teach me.” He said quietly, his voice a lot weaker as he became dizzy with pleasure once again. 
“You want me to teach you, huh?” You purred. 
You became temporarily distracted from this thought when you peeled his pants down further and the most delicious sight was revealed to you. His cock, half hard and still trapped inside the pink lace - which was now stuck to his shaft completely with his own cum. Just as you had imagined in your fantasies, it was absolutely wet. Slick like a pretty pink floral second skin as it sat below his waistline, making his sticky pubes and his sensitive cock look even more sinful while he sat marinating in his own load. 
You couldn’t help yourself - you reached forward and greedily groped his cock through the lace. You went so far as to trap the sensitive pink cockhead between your fingers and wring the roughness of the fabric around it, knowing that it would get a reaction out of him. Spencer sobbed with overwhelming pleasure and bucked his hips forward, such a beautifully broken sound. When you continued the motion, he surged a hand up to grab your wrist as he twisted his body slightly away from you - clearly overstimulated. 
You stopped the roughness in exchange for a gentle petting of your fingertips, and you leaned in to nose across the skin of his neck once again. 
You surprised yourself when your next words flew out of your mouth, almost without restraint. 
“Hey, shh. It’s okay, Mommy’s just looking.” You told him in a hushed tone. 
The moment that the word escaped your lips - Mommy - your gut dropped with crippling fear. You thought that he would hate it or become disgusted by it. But he let out another whimper, and when you looked into his eyes, you were met with nothing but a sharp burning and a reckoning that he had absolutely no clue he would have liked to call you that up until then. 
You left the air blank for a moment, giving him time to adjust - time to back down from it if he wanted to. Or time to rise to it if he wanted it just as badly as you did. 
“M-?” He squeaked out, and you gave him patience. “Mommy?” He said quietly, testing the waters. 
He found that a warmth washed over him, and he liked it far more than he thought he would have. 
Your breath caught in your throat and you held back a moan. Your muscles shook slightly as you resisted the urge to jump him - to make him say it again, with more desperation, with more lust. There would be plenty of time for that, you told yourself. 
“Yes, baby?” You answered quietly. 
“Can I take them off now?” He asked, referring to the panties feeling damp and cold and uncomfortable on his skin at this point. “You said you had some pajamas for me?” 
You smiled at him. “I’ll take these off and clean you up a bit and then I’ll get you some pjs. Okay, baby?” 
He nodded. 
“Yes, M-Mommy.” He stuttered slightly, still wearing in the nickname - but he loved it. 
He loved how it was warm and comfortable and familiar, and much less formal than calling you ‘Miss’. 
‘Miss’ was a nice teacher, someone good at making rules, but ‘Mommy’ was someone he could make a home out of. At least he hoped that’s what the two of you were doing. ‘Mommy’ didn’t seem too strict about the rules, and honestly, Spencer liked that. 
You helped him peel out of his slightly wet pants and completely ruined, soaked underwear. (You would definitely be washing those for a future use.) You tossed both items into the hamper, and then peeled off his cute (once again mismatched) socks and tossed those aside too before you grabbed a washcloth and soaked it with warm water to clean him off with. 
The entire time you wiped down his cock, he let out sweet whimpers and gently bumped into your touch. By the end, it was almost difficult to keep him clean, because his cock was fully hard and leaking precum slightly as you smoothed the warm cloth over his lower tummy and made sure to gently clean off his balls. It was oddly adorable, him making a mess faster than you could clean it up. 
When you were satisfied with this, you tossed the cloth into the sink and gave him a kiss on the cheek, telling him that you would be back shortly with a change of clothes for him. 
It was only when he was standing alone in the bathroom that he felt exposed - only then realizing how truly well… naked he actually was. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to be embarrassed by it as he awaited your return. 
After what felt like far too many minutes for his taste, you returned with something pink and soft looking in your hands. 
The panties had been surprising, and while itchy, had made him feel… oddly pretty. He would be hesitant to admit it aloud, but you were already making him grow to like the color pink and how it made him feel. 
You unfolded the piece of clothing and held it up for him to look at. It was a pair of long pajama pants that obviously belonged to you. (Spencer worried that the waistband would be too large for him, even with the tie that was available). They were made of a silken, soft material that seemed like it would be very light and comfortable to wear. They were a rosy pink color, very girly and feminine. Very pretty. He also noticed that you hadn’t brought a shirt for him, but he supposed that he didn’t have to worry too much about that. You had already seen him naked. Twice now. 
“Good?” You posed. 
Spencer nodded. “Thank you.” He said, giving you a small smile. 
He felt that warmth coming over him once again when you helped him step into the pants and even pulled the fabric up over his body, going so far as to secure the tie around his waist, making sure the loose fabric wouldn’t fall off his hips. The thin, very unforgiving fabric easily showed every single detail of his cock through it - his hardness now perfectly outlined in pink, which only made the heat growing under your skin swell to a dangerous level. 
Lastly, you grabbed his glasses off the counter and put them back on his face, making sure that he would be able to see fully and pay attention during his next ‘lesson’. 
“There.” You said, giving him another sweet kiss on the lips. “Mommy’s good boy is all clean.” Spencer preened at these words. “And pretty as a picture.” 
You delighted in the obvious blush that this last comment drew from him. You couldn’t help it - you loved praising him so sweetly, especially if it drew those kinds of reactions from him. 
“Now, baby, I want you to go sit on the couch and wait for me.” You told him gently. “I have to go and put on something a little more comfortable for myself.” 
You held back a devilish smirk. Of course, he had to think that this would mean you were going to put on some casual cotton pajamas - something genuinely comfortable and not at all a fulfillment to the male fantasy. And sure, you felt comfortable in lingerie. It made you feel beautiful. 
That was part of the reason you were going to do it. 
That, and you felt the need to make everything special for Spencer. This was going to be the first time he saw you in such a state of undress. Of course, you could argue that him seeing you in your panties and camisole a few nights ago had been pretty much the same, and he had looked upon you like you were a goddess then. But it had been practically dark then and you wanted this to be well lit and truly a fantasy come to life for him. 
“Yes, Mommy.” He said, giving a small nod. 
He left and walked out to the living room, going to sit on the couch as you had instructed, and you felt a delightful mischievous streak as you went into your bedroom and picked out what you would wear. 
As you got dressed, you thought more about what he had said. 
He wanted to give you an orgasm. 
It would be very nice to have him inside of you. He had one of the nicest cocks you had ever seen - he was so long and beautiful, and seeing him inside of the fleshlight had caused you to imagine what he would feel like inside of you. 
But you knew that if you let him fuck you, he would be clumsy. He didn’t have the technique or experience. Or the stamina. That was definitely something you wanted to work on first. And with how he had reacted from cumming in his pants earlier that day - something you had wanted, he likely would have a crash and be terribly anxious if he came while fucking you and you didn’t get to cum first. 
Making you cum seemed to be his primary goal. 
That brought you to the thought of putting him on his back - riding him, essentially using him like a human dildo. It would be intensely hot - having him below you, completely at your mercy. Getting to listen to his moans and whines and getting to see him completely fucked out underneath you while his perfect cock throbbed deep inside of your pussy. It would be perfect. 
But - he wouldn’t learn anything that way. If he wanted to learn how to make you cum, it certainly wouldn’t happen like that. He would be fucked stupid and you would cum, and you would certainly enjoy yourself. But he would be brain dead and cum drunk. He certainly wouldn’t learn or retain anything from the experience. 
No - if he wanted to learn how to make you cum, and if he wanted to put his genius to good use, then there was one certain way to do it. 
You were fully satisfied with your plan. You took one last look in the mirror, and you were fully satisfied with your look, too. 
You had put on a push-up bra with a black and red lace pattern, something that displayed your breasts well. With the padding and the ‘push-up’ effect, it definitely gave the cartoonish, fantasy effect that you were going for. You had on the matching garter belt, which had a few lacy roses adoring it. You didn’t have it attached to anything, though you had considered wearing stockings, you didn’t think Spencer would like the texture of them. You thought he would much prefer to feel your naked skin against him. You simply liked the look of the garter belt hanging around your waist, accenting the plushness of your stomach. 
You also put on a pair of the matching lacy black and red floral panties - they were fairly cheeky, letting half of your ass hang out, and fairly sheer so that your trimmed pubic hair could be seen through the fabric in the front. And lastly, you had thrown on a sheer, long black robe over the whole thing, giving a very ‘Moulin Rouge’ look to the whole thing. Along with a pair of six black heels - the kind that hurt your feet and you would only use to, well - go to bed and keep your legs above your head while wearing. 
You looked like a sex dream, if you did say so yourself. 
Rather than walking into the other room to get Spencer, you went over to your bed and propped yourself up on some pillows in the middle of it, making sure the fabric of your robe was billowing and appealing around you before you called out to him. 
“Spencer, honey, I’m ready!” You called out. “You can come in now!” 
You heard him coming down the hallway and you swelled with eagerness, almost too excited to see what his reaction would be. 
When he pushed the door open, he immediately froze when his eyes were met with the sight of you. 
Standing in the doorway put him right at the foot of your bed, and he thought for sure - at some point between here and the museum, he must have died and gone to heaven. Framed by the twinkling lights that were wrapped around the head of your bed, propped up on a variety of fluffy pillows - you were an image of perfection. 
Your breasts were pushed up to your chin, especially with the angle you were laying at, so perfectly framed by the floral lace of your bra. There was so much for his eye to greedily consume, and he didn’t think he should be allowed to consume it all so shamelessly. The curved planes of your body, the beautiful, soft zig-zags of your stretch marks, like guides laid out for his tongue. The fabric showing just enough skin, showing off every curve of your womanly body, so thick and ready to dominate him at a moment’s notice. 
There was a gentle power in the way you were lounging back, framed by the black, soft fabric of your billowing robe - your whole body relaxed as you waited for him. It made him want to press his forehead to the floor in a bow to you, made him want to beg just for the precious permission to touch you. 
“Is - that-? Your-? Paja-mas-?” He squeaked out, every single word becoming a pitch higher, making his shock all the more apparent. 
“Kind of.” You told him with a giggle. “This is what I wanted to wear for my good boy.” 
“You - you wore this for me?” He swallowed thickly around these words, clearly in disbelief. 
If you weren’t mistaken, you saw his cock twitch inside those silken pink pants. You loved how even though the fabric covered him, the outline of his cock was so entirely visible. The band of the pants being loose had caused them to slip so low on his hips, even causing the top bit of his pubic hair to be visible as he stood there, entirely uncaring (and likely unaware) of it. 
“Yes, baby.” You told him. “Now, come sit on the bed.” 
Spencer rushed to follow your instruction, almost tripping over your bedroom rug in the process. That caused you to bite your lip, holding back a grin - you wouldn’t want him to think you were laughing at him, after all. 
Spencer gently sat on the edge of the bed with his feet still on the floor, his bum just barely grazing against your thigh. You found it adorable that he was still being so timid about making contact. 
You spread your legs wide, and gestured between them. 
“Come sit here.” You told him. 
“Oh.” He said quietly. 
He stood up then and looked at the space between your legs. His expression was very comparable to a man afraid of heights looking like he was about to take a dive off a cliff into deep water. 
“It’s okay, Spencer.” You assured him. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, remember?” 
“I know.” He said quietly. “It’s just - it’s all so new.” He whispered. “I - I want to be good.” 
You wondered if the last part was about his ability to behave and follow the rules, or… if it was about something else. 
“Spencer, baby, are you worried about impressing me?” You wondered aloud. 
The expression on his face at this was very telling - a flicker of embarrassment, his hands twitching as he ached to play with his fingers, wanting to distract himself from the conversation. 
“Look, I know you’re new to all this. I’m not expecting you to be some sex expert, or a porn star or something.” You assured him. “That’s why I’m here to teach you, baby.” 
“What if I do it wrong?” He asked, his voice still so timid, so small. 
“Then I’ll show you how to do it right.” You told him. “That’s why I’m here. I’m not gonna laugh at you, or yell at you. I’m just gonna show you what I like and how to do it right.” 
It should have been obvious. Someone of his talent, his caliber, someone who had everything come so naturally to him his entire life, someone who had accomplished so much at such a young age - he was terrified of tackling something unknown, something he was afraid to mess up. He was afraid of being a bad student. 
He had just enough time in the living room to sit and stew in those insecurities, and now you had to lovingly battle them. 
“Come sit with me, baby.” You urged, leaning forward to pat the space on the bed between your thighs. 
You scrunched up the fabric of your robe so he wouldn’t sit on it, and finally, he moved to crawl between your legs - kneeling on the bed with his feet tucked underneath his bum and his hands fidgeting in his lap. His knees were slightly brushing against your inner thighs, but he wasn’t sitting terribly close to you. That was something you left alone for now. 
You sat up slightly, leveling your body with his, and ran your hand along his arm, trying to soothe him. 
“So, you said you wanted to learn how to give me an orgasm, right?” You posed. 
Spencer nodded. 
“Come on, use your words.” You told him. 
“Yes, Mommy.” He said quietly, clearly still feeling insecure and hesitant. “I want that.” 
He could only imagine how beautiful it would be so see you writhing in pleasure - to hear you calling out his name as you orgasmed, breathless. To see your body arching up off the bed as he brought you to climax. He could only imagine the headrush it would cause him to know that he had caused it for you. 
“Well, I think the best way for you to do that is by using your hands.” You explained. “Stimulating me with your fingers.” 
“My hands?” He questioned, looking from you down to his hands in his lap. 
Honestly, it was never something he had thought about. Yes - he used his hands to make himself orgasm, but that was only because he was alone. The act of masturbation was more like a mind-clearing chore for him than anything. (Before you came into his life and turned all of his ideas about sex upside-down.) 
He did have to consider that you used your hands to stimulate yourself, to masturbate - but he had no clue how. 
But he guessed that would be part of the learning process. 
“Yes, baby.” You smiled eagerly. “And I know you’re gonna be good with your hands. You’re very skilled because you do all that sleight of hand and close up magic.” 
Spencer felt a rush of confidence at the praise, and couldn’t stop the grin that formed over his face at your words. 
“Well, you see, sleight of hand doesn’t actually require that much dexterity or skill, like playing a sport does, because it’s more so about practicing the same movement over and over again until it becomes ingrained muscle memory.” He explained, easily sounding in his element. 
You couldn’t believe how easily he had set you up for your next words. It was almost like he had walked into a trap. 
“Well, what I’m going to teach you is also about repetitive movements.” You explained. “And it will definitely become muscle memory for you over time.” 
Spencer smiled fondly hearing this. He was now more confident that he would be good at what you were going to teach him. 
“So… where do we start?” He asked, becoming that eager student once again. 
“Here, let me look at your hands.” You told him. 
He was slightly confused by this, but didn’t have time to question it because you snaked your hands under his palms where they were sitting in his lap. His dick had wilted slightly from the anxiety, so he was only half hard in his pants. But he let out a small whimper when you accidentally crazed against it as you took his hands in yours and lifted them up to get a good look at them. 
“It’s important that your nails are trimmed.” You told him, lifting his hands up close to your face to get a good look. “You don’t want your nails to be too long, or you might accidentally hurt me. And that’s just a general rule whenever you’re putting your fingers inside someone.” 
He became slightly intimidated at the idea of putting his fingers inside you, but he tried not to let it show. 
“I trimmed my nails last night.” He said, proud that he had done something good. “It’s a good grooming habit.” 
He didn’t want to bring up the fact that - per his germophobia, he always kept his nails trimmed because he was afraid of too much build up getting under his nails and making him sick (even though he washed his hands multiple times a day). But he was just glad he could do something to please you. 
You couldn’t stop staring at his hands. It was something you had noticed before in passing - but they were gorgeous. He had such strong, prominent muscles here. Long, thick fingers - he was going to do very well at this. Once he was well trained up, you knew you weren’t going to be able to go for very long without having those fingers inside of you. 
“Very good, baby.” You said, finally snapping out of your lustful revere. 
You raised one of his hands up and kissed the back of it. And then, continued on, kissing a path along his hand to his knuckles until you reached the tip of his middle finger. As natural as ever, you gently sucked his middle and ring finger into your mouth. Of course, you were just playing around, admiring. His hands were so nice that you couldn’t help but to have one in your mouth. 
“Oh,” Spencer moaned quietly. 
When you looked over at him, he was staring you down with lustful eyes. His lips slightly parted as his gaze locked onto the place where your lips drew his fingers in, taking him down to the second knuckle. You gently swirled your tongue around the digits as you enjoyed the thickness in your mouth. You could lightly taste floral soap on his skin and knew that he had washed his hands in the kitchen sink when you had sent him out to wait for you. 
After a moment of this, you pulled back, your lips separating from his skin with a wet ‘smack’. (Though you wanted it to be longer - you loved those fingers, you could have easily held them in your mouth for a long time). 
“Yeah, these are good fingers.” You assured him, giving him a deliberate wink. “You’re gonna be good at this, Spence.” 
Spencer shuddered with pleasure at this. 
You leaned back onto your pillows, making yourself comfortable while he watched in awe. 
“I’m gonna take off my underwear now. Is that okay?” You asked gently. 
“Yes.” He said, nodding eagerly. “Yes, Mommy.” 
You lifted your hips to wiggle out of them. When the fabric was at your knees, he naturally met you halfway, taking the panties down your calves and very delicately untangling them from around your high heels. He concentrated on the task in a way that told you he wasn’t even trying to take a premature glimpse at your naked cunt. It was entirely endearing. 
Once he had the fabric completely untangled from your shoes, you naturally moved your legs to bracket them around his body once again. This completely exposed your wet pussy to the cool air, and he stared at the underwear in his hands, clearly perplexed about what to do with it now. 
“Just toss it on the floor, baby.” You told him. 
He did so, and then, with nowhere else to look, his eyes locked onto your naked pussy for the first time. 
Paintings and pictures had shown him the scientific side or even the objective beauty of the female anatomy. But seeing you laid bare before him, adorned in lacy accoutrements - this was truly sexy. 
His blood ran hot, and his cock throbbed to full hardness in a dizzying record time as he laid eyes on the glistening lips of your pussy. Seeing how real you were - the way your skin tone faded from the shade that matched the rest of your body to the more raw, wet skin of your inner folds, clearly swollen with need. Your pubic hair, slightly trimmed and glossy with your wetness - everything about you was so real and it made Spencer’s cock ache. 
“Scoot a bit closer, baby.” You told him, hitch your knees apart further, spreading yourself open for him. “Can you see okay?” 
Your pussy made a wet sound as it spread open for him, and he let out a quiet gasp in awe as more of you was bared to his eyes. You were so beautiful, so raw, so perfect, so hot - he almost couldn’t handle it. 
You knew he was likely becoming too entranced to answer the question. With the way his eyes were so tightly locked onto your cunt, you guessed that - yes, he could see just fine. Just seeing the utterly entranced expression on his face caused a throbbing heat through you, you were sure that if he paid enough attention, he would be able to see the wetness actively dripping out of you. 
“Spencer, look at me.” You ordered sharply. “Look at Mommy.” 
Spencer forced his eyes up to your face, and you smiled at him when he managed to follow the order. 
“How much do you know about the female anatomy?” You asked him. 
“I - I’ve read books.” He answered quietly. 
“Good.” You told him, trying to be encouraging. “Do you know where the clitoris is?” 
“I - um-” Spencer looked down at your pussy and found himself suddenly nervous again, not knowing if he should touch you, or if he should point, or-
“You can put your hands on me.” You told him. “I’m here to teach you, baby. Let me be your… in-person diagram.” 
Spencer nodded. 
Then, as naturally as he possibly could, he reached down and put a gentle hand on the top of your mound. He was so feather-light that you had to forcefully hold back a laugh, feeling ticklish at the touch. With his palm mostly spread out mostly over your pelvis, he used a thumb to pull your pussy lips back. 
Then, he saw that very obvious swollen button staring at him. With the pointer finger on his other hand, he sought it out like a guided missile, entirely confident in his answer. Before he could truly think about it - he poked your clit with that singular finger, pointing to it as his answer. 
“There.” He mumbled quietly. 
“Oh-!” You breathed out sharply, your hips surging toward his touch. 
His touch had been so abrupt (especially after so much anticipation on your part) that it sent an unexpected shockwave through your body. 
Spencer immediately recoiled, believing that he had hurt you. 
“I’m sorry.” He quickly apologized. “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?” 
He drew back both his hands instantly, curling them up to his chest as if he had done something terribly wrong. 
“No, no you didn’t hurt me!” You quickly assured him, putting your hands up in a surrendering motion to drive the point home. “Everything is fine, baby.” 
“Then what-?” He asked, his voice very meek and small. “What was that?” 
“I’m sensitive, baby. My body is sensitive. And I wasn’t expecting you to do that.” You chuckled. 
Spencer gave a small frown, clearly believing he had done something wrong. 
“The clitoris has a lot of nerve endings.” You explained, giving a chuckle to try and lighten the mood. “That’s kind of the point. That makes things more pleasurable.” 
“Oh.” He said. 
After a moment, his body began to relax as he chugged with thought, his eyebrows knitting tight like they always did when he was pondering something. 
“Oh… so that was… that was a good stimulation?” He posed. 
“Yes.” You told him. “I want you to touch my clitoris because it feels good. It’s one of the easiest ways to make a woman feel good.” 
He nodded, and then he moved his hands to touch you again. But you had a thought first. You caught his hands halfway, and held them in your own as you spoke. 
“Listen first.” You told him. 
He looked at your face obediently as you explained it to him. 
“Typically, for women, there are two types of orgasms,” You put on your ‘teacher’ voice once again, and he relaxed and put his hands back in his lap, clearly eager and ready to listen, wanting to absorb the information to the fullest. “A clitoral orgasm or a vaginal orgasm. Can you guess what that means?” 
Spencer thought about it for a moment. 
“An orgasm achieved by clitoral stimulation versus an orgasm achieved by vaginal stimulation?” He posed. 
You grinned. “Very good. Good boy.” 
He grinned back, easily soaking up the praise. 
“So, it depends on the person you’re with, but generally, most women achieve orgasm through a combination of both clitorial and vaginal stimulation. And a good rule of thumb is to always ask someone what they enjoy,” You told him. He nodded at this. “And also, looking at someone’s facial expressions and body language can tell you if you’re doing well at stimulating them. It’s like profiling.” 
“Well… what kind of facial expressions and body language should I be looking for?” He asked. 
You found this oddly amusing. To you, it was obvious that a back arching and lots of moaning and an ‘O’ face meant good sex, but Spencer was truly just that fresh. He simply didn’t know. 
“Well…” You took a moment to gather a mental list for him. “Typically, someone makes a lot of involuntary body movements if the stimulation is good. Good sex stimulates your nerve endings, so it makes your muscles twitch, and it can even make your limbs flail around or make your back arch off the bed.” 
Spencer nodded, his face still very intense and thoughtful as he took this in. 
“And when people are enjoying sex, they usually make a lot of sounds. Gasps, moans. They might swear or call out your name. And most people do just tell you that they’re enjoying it,” You giggled. 
Spencer nodded again. Then he posed a thoughtful question. 
“What about facial expressions?” He asked. 
“I know it might sound strange… but, you’ll know an expression of someone lost in pleasure when you see it.” You told him. 
These words made his whole body tingle. And naturally, made him wonder what your face would look like when you were lost in pleasure. 
“What do you prefer?” He asked. “Do you prefer clitoral stimulation or vaginal stimulation?” 
“I prefer a combination of both.” You told him. “That’s usually what makes me cum the hardest.” 
“You mean ‘cum’ as in orgasming?” Spencer said, repeating back this vocabulary to you with pride. 
“Yes, baby.” You told him with a nod. 
He beamed at getting the answer correct. 
“I thought we could start with clitoral stimulation and then move on to vaginal stimulation.” You explained. “Usually it’s easy to… warm up with clitorial stimulation. It makes the vaginal muscles more relaxed before penetration.” 
You found it odd to be using such clinical terms - the words were so stiff in your mouth, but you supposed that it was the healthiest way to explain everything to him. 
Spencer nodded eagerly at this. 
“You should wet your fingers first. Maybe spit on them?” You posed - this was a selfish request, wanting the delight of seeing him suck on his own fingertips. 
“That doesn’t sound the most sanitary…” He said quietly, cringing. 
Hearing him say this presented a new goal in your mind - getting him so fucked out and pliant that mister ‘it’s actually more sanitary to kiss’ would let you spit directly into his mouth. 
You chuckled at his words, though. 
“Okay, well… there’s lube in the drawer instead.” You said, motioning toward your nightstand. “Like I said last time, there’s no such thing as ‘too wet’.” 
Spencer nodded eagerly and sat higher up on his knees to reach for the drawer. When he pulled it open, his eyes immediately grew wide at the array of… objects you had in there. Thick, veiny things, some round things he couldn’t even begin to propose the purpose of, something with small dots on it that looked like a cartoon tentacle-? 
Knowing that he would become too distracted by these things and want to start asking questions, you reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube and snapped the drawer shut while his mind was still racing. 
“Focus, baby.” You told him, putting a hand on his cheek and forcefully prodding his attention back in your direction. 
He definitely had a lot of questions about those things. But he would ask you those questions later. (Because he certainly wasn’t going to forget about anything he had just seen.) 
You handed the bottle of lube to Spencer. It was almost exactly the same as the one you had given to him and used with the fleshlight, except it was strawberry scented and the liquid was lighted tinted tinted pink as an association with the scent. It was your favorite to use with toys because the scent was absolutely delicious as a perfume in their air (and at this point, it was something you knew that you unconsciously associated with an orgasm). 
You were naturally wet. You were throbbing and needy for him. But you knew that it would be nice to be extra slicked up to help him along. 
After a moment of struggling (in which you pondered if you should interfere) he popped the cap, and then he looked from the opened bottle of lube to his hands. 
“Right, so-” He mumbled quietly. 
He poured a dollop on his extended fingertips that easily got carried away and dripped into his lap, and he gasped and began looking around for something to wipe it off his borrowed pants with. 
“You can clean it up later, baby.” You told him. “Things are gonna get a little messy right now.” 
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Right. Yeah-” 
Then, he looked back to the bottle in his hand, and before putting it aside, he poured a dribble of the pink liquid (likely more than he had intended) onto the top of your mound, causing you to gasp quietly as the coolness dripped down over your hot, needy pussy. 
“Is that good, Mommy?” He asked quietly, moving to put the bottle aside. 
“That’s very good, baby.” You encouraged him gently. 
“Okay - I - I’m going to - touch you now.” Spencer told you, announcing his movements in an entirely adorable way. 
You nodded. “I’m ready for you, sweet boy.” 
Spencer put his non-lubed hand gently on your inner thigh, and then angled two of his fingers back toward your clit again. This time when he made contact, he was much gentler, and you let out a sharp breath through your nose, warm tingles spreading through your pelvis at the feeling of him touching your swollen clit with such intention. 
With his middle and pointer finger, he began a strange sort of spearing motion, rocking his hand into your pelvis. He touched your clit as though it were a literal button he was trying to push over and over again in order to make you cum. The movement didn’t do much for you - except draw a slight stinging from the area. 
“Baby,” You caught his attention, drawing his eyes up from where he was intensely focused, staring hard at the place where he was touching your pussy. 
“Spence, it’s - it’s more like this,” 
You motioned with two of your fingers in the air, drawing small circles, demonstrating to him what he should be doing. 
“Sorry.” He mumbled quietly. 
“It’s okay, baby.” You assured him, reaching out and petting a hand through his hair. “It’s okay. You’re learning, right?” 
He nodded. “I’m learning. I’m gonna do better.” 
“I know you will, baby. You’re Mommy’s good boy.” 
This bit of encouragement and praise seemed to fuel him, and he took this new instruction with vigor. 
He went back to work using the motion you had just demonstrated and immediately, the difference affected you. His thick, cautious fingertips circling tentatively around your needy clit sent tingles up your spine, causing a warming glow to spread through your body that was slowly, but surely building up your orgasm. The beautiful artificial smell of the lube wafted through the air, and with the sight of Spencer in front of you, his forearm flexing slightly as he worked, it was all too perfect. 
You let out a gentle moan, and Spencer smiled. 
“That’s good?” He asked, looking from the spot where his fingers worked on your pussy up to your face. 
“That’s good, baby.” You told him, the stimulation causing you to become slightly breathless already. “You’re doing so good for me.” 
Spencer continued like this, running his other hand along your thigh, clearly feeling needy to touch and enjoy the softness of your skin now that it was freely available under his hands. His touch spread a warmth throughout your body that had you squirming under him, letting out more gentle moans under your breath. 
Spencer watched you in awe, so entirely pleased with the results. 
“You - you can go a bit faster, baby.” You told him, finding your throat slightly dry as your breathing sped up, more blood pooling in your needy cunt as his touch demanded it. “Speed up your fingers.” 
“Yes, Mommy.” He easily obeyed. 
Hearing those words in his sweet voice in addition to his touch, his fingers now moving in fast, delicate circles on your throbbing clit - it brought sparks through your body and caused slight tremors through your thighs. 
It wasn’t going to be the most earth shattering orgasm you had ever experienced, but it was going to be a good one, mostly because it was Spencer. Because you had him in your bed, calling you Mommy, wearing a pair of your silky pink pajama pants that his hard cock was now leaking a stain into. All while he concentrated on learning how to please you like it was the most important book he had ever read in his life. 
“Oh, Spencer!” You called out, arching your hips toward him. “Doing so good for me, baby! So good-” 
Spencer stopped his movements suddenly, and your voice caught in your throat as you looked at him with tense confusion knit over your brows. 
“What - what about the vaginal stimulation?” He asked. “You said you wanted me to do both, right?” 
You couldn’t hold back the breathy chuckle in your throat. 
If it had been anybody else, you would have immediately thought that they were edging you intentionally. But no - that wasn’t even a thought in Spencer’s head. He was simply eager to learn more, wanting to do the most to give you the best orgasm possible. He wasn’t content with mediocre. When he learned something, he wanted to be the best at it. And that thought caused any disappointment about your fading orgasm to be replaced by pride - you had somehow captured the best, sweetest boy, and you were going to use that to your full advantage. 
“Right, baby.” You said, still catching your breath. You swallowed to gather some spit in your mouth to talk properly before you continued. “Okay, you’re going to continue what you were doing with this hand, but first,” You said this pointedly, motioning to the hand that was unmoving near your clit, not wanting him to continue and impair your ability to properly explain. “You’re going to work your fingers inside me.” 
“What if I hurt you?” He asked, clearly timid at the idea that he might hurt you in any way. 
“You won’t.” You told him. “You start with one finger, because that’s smaller, so you won’t hurt me. And then once my body has adjusted to that, you can add another. So it won’t hurt.” You assured him. 
“So, I just need to use two fingers?” He asked. “Also, how do I know when to put the next finger?” 
“You can add three fingers.” You told him. “And I’ll tell you when to add the next one. And you’ll know because you’ll feel the muscles relax around you.” 
Spencer nodded. 
“So… what’s the best… kind of… movement?” He asked, awkwardly gesturing with his free hand in a way that made you giggle. 
He blushed with embarrassment at this, and you rushed to speak in the hopes that he wouldn’t feel awkward. 
“You’re going to move your fingers in and out. Like simulating intercourse. The repeated penetration feels good.” You told him. “Be gentle at first, and I’ll tell you if you should go harder or faster.” 
Spencer nodded. 
He began slow, gentle circles on your clit again, and you let out a small moan at this. And then he moved his other hand down, skimming the fingertip of his pointer finger along your folds until he felt it - that pulsing entrance waiting for him, needy. He thought he imagined it, but it almost felt like your body was trying to suck him in. 
“It’s okay, baby.” You told him, your voice gentle and encouraging, slightly hazy with pleasure. “You’re doing so good for Mommy.” 
These words caused his cock to throb inside of the borrowed pants, and feeling a pulse of confidence because of it, he pushed the thickness of his finger forward and breached your entrance with his touch for the first time. 
It was such a brand new feeling - having your wetness surrounding his digit, feeling your muscles clamping down on him. Feeling how hot your body was, especially compared to the lifeless coolness of a silicone fleshlight. It made him moan louder than the sound you easily trapped in your chest. You found yourself dizzied with a wave of pleasure at seeing his face so fucked out and hearing him moan like that because he was touching you. 
“You like it, baby?” You asked breathlessly, angling your hips into his clumsy, unmoving hands. 
Clearly he was so pleasure drunk and hazy that he had forgotten that he was supposed to be fingerfucking you. He was simply exploring, enjoying the feeling. You didn’t fault him for it, and you didn’t want to rush him, even with a filthy, needy ache growing deep inside of you. 
“You’re so warm.” He replied, his quiet voice edging between awe and another moan of his own. 
His eyes flickered between the place where he was touching your pussy and your breasts, heaving slightly with your labored breathing, and your face. Your lips dropped open slightly with pleasure, your eyes becoming glassy. He loved it so much. He loved you. He couldn’t get enough of this. 
“Your body is so hot.” 
You grinned widely at this. 
Maybe a huge part of the endearment came from the fact that you knew he meant temperature, and not the typical slang meaning your appearance. It was something that clearly surprised him, feeling how hot your pussy was while being in direct contact with it. 
“Thank you.” You told him. “Can you fuck me now, Doctor Reid?” 
“I - Right.” 
Spencer resisted the urge to apologize again, knowing you probably wouldn’t like it. And he tried to ignore how much it turned him on to hear you call him ‘Doctor Reid’ in this context. Instead - he set his attention on pleasing you. 
He concentrated on picking up a good rhythm - moving his fingers on your clit in circles while he gently drew back the other hand and began moving it slowly in and out, trying to penetrate you in a pleasing way. He instantly became entranced by the natural wetness dripping out of your pussy, covering his finger, his knuckles, spreading to his palm the more he moved his finger. He was fascinated by the way your muscles did seem to give way to him, your body opening up as if you wanted more. 
“Add another one, baby.” You moaned quietly. “Another finger.” 
So his instincts served him right. At least somewhat. He hoped that he could remember this for next time, and please you better with less of your instructions, working more off of knowledge and instinct like this. 
When he drew back his hand to do as you instructed, you added on some further advice. 
“It also works better if your palm is facing up.” You told him. “The curve of your fingers is working with my body, not fighting against it.”
Spencer had been prodding into your entrance, poking his finger into you in a more exploratory way - but he definitely understood this. 
“Yes, Mommy.” He said. 
He flipped his hand so that his palm was facing the ceiling, immediately fascinated by how sticky his wet finger was. Then he gently prodded forward again, his middle finger joining the first. He continued to draw circles on your clit - a rhythm that became clumsy and unfocused at times, because he was easily distracted by the feeling of your tight pussy clamping down on his fingers, trying to figure out how hard he should go. 
He was being incredibly tame, almost sloth-like in his movements, clearly afraid to hurt you. And he left you burning up, aching for release. The thickness of his fingers felt so amazing inside of you, better than you could have imagined - but he was so timid, and you hoped that you could draw more out of him. 
“Spencer,” You moaned lightly. “Go faster. Come on, be a good boy for Mommy.” 
You reached out and got a hand in his hair once again, gently cupping the back of his head and scratching your nails along his scalp. 
“Yes,” He hissed out, leaning his head into your touch. “Yes, Mommy. I’ll be a good boy. I’ll be so good for you.” 
He kept his eyes locked on you then, and, entirely fueled by the intense feeling pumping through his body, the pure need to serve you - he began pumping his fingers faster. Though it was clumsy at first, after a few moments, both of his hands fell into a natural rhythm with each other. His fingers circling your swollen clit became well timed with the thickness of his fingers pumping in and out of you, and in a few minutes - it became perfect. 
You went from letting out a few solitary sounds to every other one of your breaths becoming a moan, your lips perfectly parted, showing him how well he was doing. 
When he saw your heated eyes and your lips wrapped around those moans so perfectly, that was when he knew it - that was a face of desire. The one he would spend the rest of his days trying to recreate in you. 
“So good, baby.” You moaned out, your words becoming less durable as he stole them away with pleasure. “Go harder.” 
“Harder?” He warbled back. 
His wrist was beginning to shake, not used to this kind of repeated effort. (Truthfully, he wasn’t used to any more effort than hefting around a thick book for a while.) But he would keep it up for as long as it took to make you cum. He would do it until his arm fell off if he got to see you fall apart beneath him. 
“Yes, harder!” You confirmed, giving a firm tug on his hair to encourage him. 
Spencer let out a sharp whimper at this, and angled his elbow further between your thighs, trying to put less strain on the muscles of his wrist so he could do as you instructed. 
He began rubbing your clit with more urgency, and fucked his fingers into you even harder. He let out a moan as the sound then got to his ears - the wet slapping of his knuckles smacking up against the edges of your cunt, so rough and careless. He really was fucking you, he was taking over your body at your command, his touch was being used for your pleasure, and you were definitely being pleasured by him. 
“Spencer!” You howled, a sound that would stick in his mind forevermore. 
It was something that caught his entire body on fire in seconds and made his dick ache with red hot pin-pricks. He was surprised that he didn’t cum in his pants from that alone. But he was far too concentrated on keeping up the pace, fascinated by the way your pussy spasmed around his fingers, the way your thighs jolted and shook in a similar fashion that his legs had a few nights ago. 
“Oh, Spence! Good boy! Good boy, oh-!” 
You let out a sharp gasp and your head tilted back, and you seemed to gulp for air for a few moments while he continued to brutally fuck his fingers into you and rock his fingertips against your clit, angling your hips into the touches as though you were trying to get more from him. 
Though it seemed impossible, his knuckles were flooded with an even further wetness. And though he almost couldn’t bear to look away from your face, he did chance a glance down to your beautifully raw, fluttering pussy and saw that there was a distinct puddle of wetness on the sheets below you. You were the most gorgeous fountain he had ever seen. 
If he didn’t think it was out of place, he would have leaned down to lick you, curious about what your natural wetness tasted like. 
“Oh, Spence!” You squealed, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it almost seemed like you were trying to squirm away from his touch. “Oh - oh, baby! You can s-slow down now! You did - did s-so good!” 
Spencer slowed down, as instructed. And then - when he put it together in his mind, he gently eased off touching you entirely, feeling your pussy spasming and throbbing harshly under his touch. It was fascinating really, the way your body responded to him. He badly wanted to explore it more - explore it for hours uninterrupted. But for now, he had a simple question. 
“Was that the orgasm?” He wondered aloud. 
The unadulterated curiosity bleeding through his voice when he said this had you clenching hard around his unmoving fingers, so entirely turned on by the fact that he was just as awed by you as he was fine art or any thousand page encyclopedia. 
You couldn’t hold back the bright, breathless chuckle that escaped your lungs in response. 
“Yes, baby, that was the orgasm.” You told him. “What did you think?” 
“That was… spectacular.” Spencer told you, sounding almost as breathless himself. 
“You can pull your fingers out of me now.” You instructed, feeling slightly sensitive, unconsciously clenching around the digits and accidentally overstimulating your raw pussy in the process. 
“Oh. Right.” Spencer mumbled. 
He moaned quietly as he did so - loving the purely wet sound it made, like pulling away from a good kiss. He found himself in awe of the string of wetness that followed his fingers from your opening, like a thick string of salvia. He began rubbing his fingers together, studying it with utter fascination as you watched him with that concentrated look on his face again. You wondered how you had stumbled upon such a treasure of a man. 
Your eyes fell from his face to the prominent bulge of his cock still pressing into the front of those thin pink pants, the wet spot his precum made now even wider, and you immediately came up with a new idea. 
“Why don’t you touch yourself for me, baby?” You posed. “Your hand is already so nice and wet.” 
“Oh - I - I - should-?” Spencer stuttered out, looking from his glistening hands to the tent in his borrowed pants, a million thoughts flying through his very vast mind. 
“Hey, shh, it’s okay.” You soothed him gently. “Just tell me if that’s something you want. Yes or no.” 
“Yes.” He said, a desperate whisper on his lips. “Can - can you untie my pants for me?” 
You hummed in agreement and reached over, untying the well secured knot on the pants and then pulling the loose waistband down over his thick, excited cock, letting it spring out to hit his pelvis. He moaned quietly at this. 
“Make yourself cum for me, baby.” You encouraged him. “You were so good for me, you made me cum so good. Such a good boy. You deserve this.”
You began running your fingers through his hair again, something he seemed to heavily enjoy. Spencer - now wildly chasing his instincts, working on need alone and trying to push back all those doubts, reached out with those glistening fingers and gently dipped into your pussy again. The contact on your beating folds caused you to gasp, and Spencer shuddered slightly at this, mumbling out at an excuse. 
“I wanted-” He muttered quietly. “I just… wanted it to be wetter.” 
“Good boy.” You moaned out. You definitely didn’t want to discourage him from doing things like this. 
You wanted to mention the fact that there was a bottle of lube sitting less than a foot away. But clearly he had developed a fascination for your wetness, and you didn’t want to stifle that fascination in him or embarrass him. 
Spencer then took those slicked up fingers and stroked them across his cock. Just the knowledge that it was your wetness, the essence of your pussy touching his cock - that had dizzying waves fluttering through him that almost had him crumbling to fall on top of you. 
It took all of his remaining composure to stay upright. He was so furiously turned on that his cock was leaking precum like a sputtering faucet. He easily took advantage of that, cupping his hand into a well-known grip around his shaft and spreading that natural lubrication down from the sensitive, leaking cockhead to the rest of his dick. This caused his neglected, needy cock to easily light up and unconsciously buck into his own hand. 
“‘s too fast,” He whined out. 
His face took on a desperate frown as he continued to pump his hand over his cock almost mildly, almost as if he were afraid to go harder. 
He looked so beautifully wrecked - with his brows creased downward and his lip caught between his teeth, with that messy hand pumping his own leaking cock. 
“Too fast?” You asked, unsure what he meant. 
“It’s - it’s not-” He stuttered out, his brain becoming scattered and wordless to describe the feeling rushing through him. 
“Hey, shh,” You scratched your nails against his scalp again, grounding him. “Use your words, baby. Come on, be a good boy.” 
“Mommy!” He whined, his hips bucking forward desperately into his own hand, wetly smearing precum to the point where it became noisy. Your pussy throbbed at this and you resisted the urge to reach down and touch yourself, not wanting to distract him. 
“Baby, come on. Tell Mommy.” You ordered firmly. 
He sniffled loudly before he attempted more words. 
“Gonna end too fast.” He whined sharply. 
He sounded entirely petulant - as though he were truly upset that he was going to cum too soon and the night’s activities would be over. As though the two of you didn’t have plenty more nights to play. 
“It’s okay, baby.” You told him, reaching a hand over to thumb across his cheek, wiping away some of the frustrated tears that had escaped. “You did so good for me. You’re so good.” 
“I want more.” He whined out, clearly frustrated. 
“Mommy will always give you more.” You assured him. “But right now, you’re gonna cum for me.” 
He let out a wounded noise, some kind of protest, but his hips jolted as he continued to fuck his own hand. You had him right there. 
“Cum for me.” You demanded, your voice dark and demanding. 
It was a command he absolutely couldn’t ignore if he tried. 
“Mommy! Oh! Oh!” 
He let out a sharp cry as he came, and pumped himself through it. 
Neither of you had considered where he was going to cum. On his knees in front of you like that, he ended up in the perfect position to spill his load right onto your exposed cunt. Just like the last time you had played, he exploded with a massive power. Though he didn’t seem to have any care for where he was angling his cock or what he was cumming on, simply continuing to chant ‘oh, oh, oh’ under his breath with his eyes beautifully screwed shut and his mouth wide open, delicately pumping his hand on his cock to ride his orgasm all the way through. 
Thick, white waves of his cum landed on your pussy - startlingly warm, almost blazen hot compared to the cool air of the room. Something that easily made you moan, especially when paired with the beautiful sight of his orgasmic face in front of you and the way he so carelessly fucked himself, clearly only wanting to achieve his own pleasure and not caring if it was a good show or not - which was what made him so damn beautiful. 
When Spencer had milked himself dry, his cock starting to go soft in his own hand and the pleasant tingles becoming more like harsh pin-pricks of overstimulation, he put a hand on the wideness of your thigh for support, his muscles shaking. And then he finally opened his eyes. 
He felt even dizzier when he saw the sight before him - your gorgeously lingerie clad body and naked pussy now covered in the thick white of his spend. A small voice in the back of his head wondered if you could get pregnant from this, and another told him that - yes, it would be good if you did. You would look so good pregnant with his child. A child the two of you made together would be smart, beautiful, charismatic, brilliant and perfect in every aspect. 
He hadn’t even fully acknowledged that he was in love with you yet, but that was the moment he knew for certain that he wanted you to be the mother of his children. There was no other woman in the world who would be comparable to you - no other woman as perfect for the task. 
(He didn’t know that you were on oral birth control, so it didn’t matter if he had cum inside you - you weren’t going to get pregnant. Not without intending to.) 
“Oh, did I-?” He motioned toward the mess, seeming worried. 
Before he could apologize for it, you reached your fingers down and began lightly padding through it, and Spencer let out a wrecked moan at the sight. 
“You did such a good job, baby.” You told him, still entirely certain. 
Before he could comprehend it, you brought a finger up to your mouth - one covered in the combined essence of yourself and Spencer, and curled your tongue around it, moaning at the taste. Spencer could do nothing more than make unintelligible noises, and you giggled as you released the finger. 
“Good boy.” 
Spencer was dizzy and hazy from all the pleasure, and there was only one thing on his mind. 
“Can I have a hug now?” He asked, his voice still sweet and soft. 
“Yes, baby. Come here.” You spread your arms wide and Spencer practically launched himself at you. 
He laid completely on top of you, and you wrapped your arms around him, stroking up and down his back lazily as you enjoyed the peaceful calm of his breathing. 
After only a few moments, you felt him start to fall asleep like that. His muscles turned to jelly, and his breathing came out in long, soft puffs. He looked so adorable nuzzled into your breasts that you didn’t want to wake him up, even if the drying mess between your thighs was becoming uncomfortable, and you knew that he definitely wouldn’t want to sleep in it for too long. 
You continued petting your fingers through his hair gently. You would wake him up in a little while and get cleaned up, you assured yourself. 
You definitely weren’t falling for him, feeling things that extended far outside of sexual attraction. 
Nope. Definitely not.
...
If this series is going to get a third part, I would love to see more than 30 comments and more than 60 reblogs, and I would love to know what you guys would like to see from a third part in the series.
I will be honest, I am kind of starting to lose steam on this series already - the reason I have titled is as a Capsule Series on my masterlist is because I want each individual part to be able to be read as a oneshot with no particular big arcs in the story, and no need for a big dramatic ending. Also, if I do come back to this series in a few months or years and want to write more for it, I can.
If you have any ideas for this series - kinks/concepts/moments you want to see happen with these characters, please let me know. Even if those moments don't make it into a full-length third part, I might write your idea into a short spin-off like I did with Loverboy. I always leave the anon option turned on so people can send me messages if they feel shy or they don't want to reblog a fic onto their blog.
461 notes · View notes
formulanando · 9 months
Text
Boy, It's You I Desire | Fernando Alonso x Reader
Tumblr media
part 1 | part 2
fem!reader x dbf! fernando
word count: 1.7k
minors dni please!
warnings: age gap, mentions of drinking, sexual innuendos, mentions of masturbation, delusion since i pretend fernando won the 2023 spanish gp
It was wrong. The deep, stirring feelings you had for Fernando. He was twenty years your senior, and had been friends with your dad for a decade and a half. You had pictures of him from his Renault days covering your bedroom when you were little, and he came to as many of your youth karting races as possible. These feelings? They had been there, transforming from a silly little crush when you were five to a tingling in your stomach when you turned sixteen. This summer was the first time you believed he felt the same.
Fernando had thought of you as a child. You were so much more than that to him, but the idea of loving you? That was wrong. Foreign. Somehow, the desire for you developed deep within him. Part of him loved the idea of having you as his secret.
Your father had met Fernando Alonso while your family was on vacation in Spain. There's a picture of you and your brothers as chubby elementary schoolers.You sitting in the sand in Oviedo with a twenty-something Fernando kneeling behind you. It is your mother’s favorite picture of her little family. Since Fernando was family to you and your two younger brothers. It sits in a wooden frame on the kitchen counter, in your family’s vacation home in Spain, where you now spend every summer. It used to feel like a happy memory, but now it seems to haunt you with what you can never have.
This summer in Oviedo felt no different than the many previous. You sat by the pool, spent time with some of your friends there, went out to eat, and occasionally went to the club. Dancing in a dark, sweaty room after a few drinks helped to ease the fact that you had not seen the older man in close to a year. It still mystified you at how you were practically in love with him. Whether it was actually him, or the figment of him your imagination romanticized, you were unsure.
Regardless, numerous boyfriends, and flings could not erase the crush that ate at the pit of your stomach. A flash of messy brown hair when you were walking downtown had your heart squeezing in your chest. Even worse, these feelings had recently crept back into play, at the dawn of the new Formula 1 season. He was your childhood crush. You reasoned that everyone had a goofy love for one of their distant relatives or parent’s friends when they were small, but at the age of twenty-three, you were unable to just write what you felt off.
Your parents had gone to see Fernando at the Spanish Grand Prix this weekend, and it was just you and your brothers flitting in and out of the house. They were eighteen, and sixteen, so you figured you would just stay out of each other’s way. You wished that you were able to travel with your parents to the Grand Prix, but you had never been deeply interested in autosport, and suddenly feigning interest would raise questions you felt no desire to answer. Your parents would tease you, saying you only wanted to go for Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, or Fernando’s teammate, Lance Stroll. Standing in the Aston Martin garage would have sent you over the edge. You would have embarrassed yourself trying to hide the feelings you felt to be very obvious. Interacting with Fernando in his natural environment practically would have had you purring, and pressing your thighs together. Which is obviously not something you were into happening in front of your fucking family.
You watched the race, and wished even more that you went. Max Verstappen's Red Bull had qualified ahead of the Aston Martin, but he had suffered a very convenient engine failure in the closing laps. Fernando moved into first with ease. It was his thirty-third win, coming over ten years after his last. You knew he had to feel on top of the world, winning at his home Grand Prix. The crackly radio message yells and celebrations heard on your television were nowhere near the extent of it all. You pretended to be excited to your parents on the phone, about them telling you all about the paddock, but in reality, there was only one person you really cared about.
You desired nothing more than to be the woman he finds after being the highest on the podium. The one waiting on the bed in his hotel room, ready to feel his illicit touch. The thrill you know you would feel from having him buried deep inside you, without your parents having any idea. It made you want to rush to him. You played these filthy scenarios in your head while you touched yourself, and before you fell asleep every night. And tonight would be no exception. Trying to pretend your fingers were his, after you had a few drinks to numb the intensity of what you were feeling. Desperately hoping he was lying awake, wishing he could roughly pull your hair, and capture your lips with a searing kiss. In summation: you wanted Fernando Alonso to ruin you.
You woke up the Tuesday following the race to your parents’ voices downstairs. Laughter, clinking dishes, and suitcases rolling across the tile floor awoke you earlier than expected. You laid in bed, a warm breeze flowing in from your room’s open windows. You listened, despite a grueling headache from the previous two nights’ crosses between self-care and self-pity. What you did not expect to hear was that Spanish accent dancing among your parents’ casual conversation. A sensation of overwhelming excitement and a pinch of fear mixed in your stomach. Maybe something would happen…
You knew you should have probably put something more appropriate on before you went downstairs. But Fernando seeing you in your threadbare, oversized Renault shirt and barely visible pajama shorts was worth any potential consequences. Your little ploy worked. As much as you paid attention to him, you missed the way his eyes flicked downward, roaming your chest, stopping at the top of your exposed thighs. He started to really look at you. Like you were some beautiful young woman he met at a track or club. He felt himself split, one half wanted to take you on your kitchen island, making you cry out from him. From him only, not the little boyfriend you probably had. The other half remembered who you were to him. You were one of his closest friends’ children. That truth he was unable to escape. What if he was able to bend this rule? He pushed any thought of you from his mind, and easily reentered the conversation after falling into his aforementioned daze.
You practically ran to Tío Fernando, greeting him with an overzealous hug. As you always had, you lovingly buried your face deep in his shoulder, inhaling his expensive cologne. You could have been mistaken, but it felt as if he pressed himself to you more eagerly than was technically appropriate. You were going insane, this man should be a father-figure to you. Not an older man you were objectifying to filth, though many other women would leap at the chance to.
“Hola, cariño. My favorite girl is doing well, yes?” You practically melted at the way he smiled down at you. He rubbed a small circle on your back, as he had not seen you in awhile. You had always known you were his favorite. It had been obvious since you were small. You were both fierce, stubborn, and proud. Yet you desperately held onto the possibility of something beyond the base relationship you already had. You wanted to clash with him. Fight him, and fuck him.
“Thank god you’re here! I missed my favorite tío.” You reluctantly left his warm embrace, and greeted your parents. He let out his signature laugh at your response. You felt your face burning underneath your skin, praying that a flush was not spreading across your cheeks. The conversation passing between the three other adults continued while you slowly ate breakfast. Your brothers eventually filed into the kitchen and were greeted by Fernando with quick claps on the back. Fernando was practically unable to turn his gaze away from you when there were lulls in the conversation. 
In the year that you had not seen each other, a lot had changed. Fernando looked more youthful, and less worn down after his departure from Alpine. You had seen the physical transformation on television and the internet, as every fan had. He had always been fine, but now, goddamn, you needed to watch out. Green was his color. It complemented his tanned, caramel skin, and his brown, almost hazel, eyes. 
You spent the rest of the morning, and into the early afternoon, laying by the pool as you usually did. You donned one of your prettiest, and coincidentally, smallest string bikinis to lay out and enjoy the warm Spanish sun. The sky was clear, and the air was miraculously less humid than usual. Both of your brothers and your parents had left to do something, but you had not listened when they told you their plans. Fernando was still home, but you figured he was probably busy in a meeting or debrief with his team, and you did not want to bother him any more than you already had. Now, the only noises to disturb you were a lawn mower a couple of houses away, or a car passing by the facade of your house. 
The warmth of the ground radiated from underneath the towel you were laying on, and you began to fade into a light sleep. You must have dozed off for a few minutes, as you were awoken by someone ghosting their hand across your back, having gently brushed your hair from where it had laid. You jolted upright, raising a hand to cover your eyes. They finally adjusted to the harsh afternoon sunlight once more, and you realized it was Fernando who had woken you up. He was crouching only inches away from where you had been laying. You could practically feel his breath on the side of your neck before you turned to look at him properly.
“You are going to burn if you keep laying out here like that,” He smiled, crinkles forming around his tan face. You shifted your arms to cover one another to disguise the goosebumps the small caress had given you. His focus shifted to your arms, and you were sure that he noticed exactly what you were trying to hide.
“Well, thank you for saving me from a nice tan.” You playfully rolled your eyes at him, and started to get up. Fernando quickly grabbed your arm, pulling you back down.
He sucked his tongue against his teeth to scold you. “Since you are already dressed for it,” His gaze dropped to your microscopic bikini top, where it settled for longer than it should have, “I think we should go for a swim.” Saying that you were surprised was an understatement.
“Alright.” you had not expected yourself to be so compliant, as you were not in a big swimming mood. Fuck, Fernando could make you do anything. 
author’s note: thank you so much for reading my first work! i don’t think this was very good, since writing fiction isn’t really my forte. but, this is my silly little hobby before i start college so whatever. the next part is coming soon and feel free to message me with ideas, if you want to be tagged, or anything like that. you are the goat for reading this :)
722 notes · View notes