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#the only thing they said i had was dyslexia
schemmentis · 23 hours
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Somethin' Stupid
Prompt: Melissa, as a teenager, needs you to help her with her lessons. Her dyslexia keeps her from writing an essay for class. Stubborn as always, she doesn’t want anyone to help. You make it your mission to help her anyway.
Warnings: Dyslexia and my poorly researched use of Philadelphia things from the late '70s/early '80s
Word Count: 2.6k
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You look up from the paper you’re working on at a groan across the table from you. A head of red hair lowers until a forehead lightly thunks against the wood of the kitchen table. You smile slightly at the dramatics of Melissa across from you. 
You met Melissa in second grade when your family moved to Philly. The two of you became fast friends with your shared interests. Though at seven years old it’s not really hard to have shared interests. Still, your friendship grew as the two of you did. Even as you aged and found your own interests, you and Melissa were inseparable. 
Now, you’re in high school and as close as you’ve always been. Most afternoons after school you walk home with Melissa to her house. You spend an hour or two going over homework with her in companionable silence. Sometimes you stay for dinner, others you head home in time to eat dinner with your parents. Your house is Melissa's second home just as hers is yours. Your parents have become friends simply because the two of you are and insist on being with the other so much.
“Do you want me to help?” You ask, propping your chin in your hand as your elbow leans on the table.
“No.” Melissa’s answer is muffled into the table.
You roll your eyes. She’s always had a hard time accepting help. You remember in third grade offering to help her color just to be doing it with her. She had looked at you and said she ‘didn’t need help’ but you could color with her as long as you weren’t helping her color. You smile softly at the memory. Your stubborn Mel, just like always.
“What are you working on, anyway?” You ask, still looking only at her hair since her forehead is pressed to the wood.
After a heavy sigh, Melissa lifts her head to look at you. She huffs one more time, extra hard, to blow the hair in her face away. “English.” She grumbles. “I have an essay for midterm.” 
“Midterm?” You repeat, your hand falling away from your chin to the table with a thud. “Mel, that’s next week. How much have you done?”
“My name?” Melissa sheepishly answers with a small shrug of her shoulders. She looks more at her paper and the table than at you.
“I can help, Mel.” You repeat your offer, quietly. “You know I’m the weird one that likes essays.”
“Yea, you've always been better with that stuff than me.” Melissa agrees, reclaiming the pencil she’d dropped onto the table. “No, I don’t need help. I’ll figure it out.”
You sigh. You know she’ll never ask for help, or accept it. You know, too, when not to push her though. So, you let it go. You refocus on finishing your own paper as Melissa returns her attention to her own. Though, when you glance across the table at her after a few minutes, you can tell she hasn’t added much, if anything. You’re about to make a comment when the door to the kitchen opens.
You quickly get up to help Melissa’s mother with the groceries she’s carrying in. She gives you a smile you know Melissa inherited when she thanks you for helping. A small, light, slap to the back of red hair. “How come Y/N gets up to help me and youse don’t even move an inch.”
“Okay, Ma, we all know by now Y/N is your real favorite child.” Melissa answers.
“If her parents weren’t who they are, I’d have adopted her already, yes.” Melissa’s mom agrees without hesitation. “Are ya stayin’ for dinner, Y/N?”
“Thanks, Mrs. Schemmenti, but I promised my mom I’d be home tonight. Something about how I’ve practically moved in here and she never sees me.” You roll your eyes but smile. You know Melissa’s mom has had times where she’d say something similar about Melissa always being at your house.
You start packing your notebook and textbooks back into your backpack. “Are we still going to The Gallery this weekend?” You ask with a glance back to Melissa.
“Duh,” She answers without hesitation. “I’m not stayin’ home with Kristen Marie. Oh, Joey said he might come.” 
You roll your eyes. Both at Melissa’s ongoing annoyance with her sister and the mention of Joey. “Ugh, does he have to?” You ask.
Before you even finish asking, Melissa is giving you those puppy pleading eyes. She really likes Joey, for what reason you don’t know. You think he’s just like any of the other boys in your school and neighborhood. All of whom you really just tolerate. 
Still, in the middle of the school year last year she apparently noticed he was kind of cute and kind of funny. From then, Joey was slowly entering your friend group with her input. You’re just waiting at this point for him to actually ask Melissa out. You’ve seen him stare at her the same way you’ve seen Mel stare at him. You’ve entertained giving them a push once or twice just to get them moving but you figure it’s better to let them figure it out themselves.
“Please?” Melissa pleads. “I promise I won’t let him bring all of his friends, too. We’ll keep it small.”
“Fine.” You reluctantly agree as you tug your backpack over your shoulder. 
Melissa rises from her seat at the kitchen table and hugs you as she says thank you a few times. You guess if it makes your friend happy you’re okay with enduring Joey for a few hours.
“Want me to walk ya home?” She offers.
“Why, so you can put off your essay another five minutes?” You tease, kissing her cheek. “Nah, you know it ain’t far, I’ll be fine.”
“Call me tonight?”
“Duh.” You answer with a grin before you make your way out of the Schemmenti house.
You make good on your promise to call Melissa after dinner and a bit more studying that night, She acts like she didn’t know you made it down the block safely until you call. Like she does every time you leave somewhere without her. You assure her you’re as put together as you were when she last saw you. 
The two of you occupy the phone lines of your houses until your mother is insisting you have to hang up and get ready for bed. You’ve already convinced her to put it off until nearly an hour and a half later than usual. You see Melissa all the time, every day. Neither of you necessarily have anything new to say, but you remained on the line anyhow. You didn’t need anything new to want to talk to each other and would gladly do this same song and dance tomorrow. And you do.
That weekend, you join Melissa at The Gallery. Window shopping through Gimbel’s and the other department stores there. Halfway through the afternoon Joey does join the two of you. You slip into the role of third wheel with as much grace as you can. Melissa at least still includes you and doesn’t shut you out of conversation or pretend you aren’t there at all. Joey…well, you don’t really care that he pretends you aren’t there. You do the same thing to him all the time. Today included.
“How’s your essay?” You ask Melissa as you walk home with her Monday afternoon. You share a few classes with the redhead but the time to actually check in between those classes are rather short. Plus, she’d had lunch with Joey. She offered you to join but you had enough of the Melissa and Joey show that weekend so you opted to sit with your other friends instead.
“Oh…” Melissa shrugs, her eyes darting away from you. “It’s fine.”
“You haven’t worked on it at all, have you?” You ask with a squint at her.
“No, but it’s fine, I got it under control!”
“Mel, it’s due Friday!”
“I told ya I got this, Y/N”
You sigh, shaking your head as you follow Melissa into her house. You’re staying the night tonight, thankfully. So, you decide you’re going to get your friend as much through this damn essay as you can. Otherwise, you know Melissa will just keep avoiding it.
You don’t mention it in the hour before dinner that you’re both working through homework. After dinner, though, once you and Mel have migrated to her bedroom for the night, you begin your plan.
Melissa, to her credit, is really trying to start her essay. She has her book in her lap as she sits at the head of her bed. Her notebook is on the bedspread next to her and she’s absentmindedly biting the pencil in her hand. She’s squinting at the book. She hasn’t turned the page since you came up here. 
You shift away from your chair at the desk in her room, joining her on the bed. You can see she’s trying. Just as easily as you can see her frustration building. Without saying anything you tear a blank page from your notebook and slip it beneath her hands over the page she’s trying to read.
Melissa looks up at you, something close to a glare at you for your unwanted help. You don’t let it deter you. You gently lift the finger she’d been trying to follow the line she was reading with. The paper held just below the line to block the rest of the text. You don’t say anything. You return to your own project in your new space next to Melissa. After a long moment, she whispers a thank you to you as she turns the page.
You knew Mel had dyslexia. You were the first person she told when she found out. You had hugged her and reassured her it didn’t mean she was stupid like she kept saying once she found out. She didn’t speak about it often, and neither did you. It was something she preferred to pretend didn’t exist most of the time. Still, you try to make things easier for her when you can. Even when she’s obnoxiously stubborn about it.
It’s a few hours later that the comfortable silence you’ve been sharing is broken. Your project is nearly done, and you know Melissa has gotten through quite a bit of the reading she needed to do.
“Okay.” Melissa says, the frustration she’s feeling practically leaking into her voice as she tosses the book away from her. She lifts her notebook, shaking it. “How the hell am I supposed to even understand what the requirements are when it’s so many different things? The page count, and the words, and then you have to make sure it’s structured right. It’s too much shit, Y/N!”
You wince when you hear a distant shout from Melissa’s mother about her language from somewhere else in the house. The detriment of your Italian friend’s passion. Sometimes she doesn’t realize her volume.
“Sorry, Ma!” Melissa yells back half-heartedly before she turns back to you, deflating once more.
“How about this…” You say, carefully fixing the book she’s thrown before the pages get stuck bent. You re-situate her notebook to her lap, gesturing for her to be ready to write. “Let’s start with the introduction, right? So, what is it you’re writing about?”
You press your index finger to Melissa’s lips when she goes to tell you. “Nuh uh, write it.” You say, your hand moving to point at her notebook. “Even if it’s just a sentence or two, write it down and we can come back.”
Melissa looks at you, ensuring you’re looking back before she rolls her eyes. Only once she’s shown you her exasperation with you does she look away from you to write.
“Okay, great.” You say when she looks back up at you. “So, then, let’s write…” You pause to consider how long her essay needs to be. “Three different important points from the book.” You watch as Mel’s pencil scribbles against the notebook. You’ve always been jealous of her handwriting. It’s easy for her to write nicely despite how she sometimes struggles to write. Her handwriting always looked nicer than yours. You guess it’s because she’s always moving her pencil so carefully and meticulously. 
“Now what?”
You blink as Melissa prompts you, realizing she’d written a few ideas down and was now looking at you for what to do next. “Now, what’s the most important takeaway from the book?”
After she writes a sentence for your prompt, Melissa looks up at you. “I dunno how but you made it way less overwhelming.” She grumbles. 
You smile despite her trying to sound upset. “You know I’m always happy to help.” You lightly bump your shoulder to hers. “And it’s okay to need help, y’know. It doesn’t make you any less capable, Mel.”
“I’d be a hell of a lot less capable without you, Y/N.”
“Nah, just getting in your own way more.” You tease her, turning back to your own assignment to finish it now that Melissa seems to have a better idea of how to approach her essay.
You finish your assignment after a few more minutes. You put your things for school away in your backpack, ignoring Melissa saying you don’t have to put things away immediately all the time. You’re the more neat of the two of you and you’re not about to leave things scattered around her room. You might consider the Schemmenti house your second home but you wouldn’t do that. Especially not to Mel’s space.
You check if Mel wants you to help any further. She waves you away but this time you can tell she’s in a working groove and not just being stubborn. You disappear to steal her bathroom for a shower and to get ready for bed. By the time you get back to Melissa’s room she’s just finishing writing.
“Will you look it over for me while I shower?” She requests as she hands you her notebook. You smile at how shy she sounds about it. You know she doesn’t like anyone reading anything she’s written. She’s always self conscious of it but you’re glad she trusts you at least in instances like this.
By the time Melissa returns, you’ve gone over her essay twice. “This is great, Mel!” You say as soon as she walks in. “There’s only a few little spellings I found proof reading but you did great. I think you could ace the midterm with this.”
“Yeah?” She asks, smiling with a brief duck of her head. “Well, you got my ass in gear. I owe you.”
You wait a half second for a yell about language from somewhere but it’s quiet. You’d guess Melissa’s parents are asleep by now. You doubt Kristen Marie is but you haven’t seen much of Mel’s sister today, anyway. 
“You don’t owe me. It’s what I’m here for.” You retort with a shake of your head, setting Melissa’s notebook to the top of her desk.
Once you’ve set it down, Melissa is lightly pulling your arm to get you both back to her bed. Though she’s tugging her covers back and over the both of you now. “I’m glad it’s good enough ‘cause I’m sick of staring at it.”
You laugh. “At least you don’t have to worry about it the rest of the week now.”
Melissa nods, curling up at your side. You’ve shared beds too many times to count in your years growing up together. You don’t even second guess or hesitate before your arms are wrapping around the redhead as her head lands on your shoulder. “Thanks, Y/N. For bein’ there for me.”
“Even when you’re a stubborn asshole.” You add teasingly.
Half heartedly, Melissa shoves at you but she’s also still cuddling into you so she doesn’t really try to get you away. “Even when I’m a stubborn asshole.” She agrees quietly after a beat.
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echo-s-land · 7 months
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Trying to figure out what kind of ND my dad is is very hard
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thesmutsideblog · 11 months
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Never Ever? - Spencer Reid x Reader
Summary: After a you and your long term ex breakup, some truths about your sex life come to light at the BAU and the idea that you've never had an orgasm, does not fly with Spencer Reid.
Reader is AFAB, and the story is using she/her pronouns, mostly because this one is really self indulgent and loosely based on me being pissed off about my ex.
Content warnings: dumbification of Spencer Reid, simp Spencer, shitty ex boyfriend, self indulgent writing, no beta or proof reading, cursing, smut, sexual worship, porn with plot I guess.
I have never written in second person before so I can only apologise for the shit quality of this, I havent written smut since 2018 and it's unedited, there is going to be spelling issues it's the dyslexia I'm sorry xx
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GIF by comeandjointhebigboys
Spencer is doing everything in his power to look like he is minding his business, mostly because he really is trying to not eavesdrop. He came over to make a cup of coffee because he got barely any sleep last night and he wants to keep focused. But with no case directly at hand, there was something else the team were paying attention to and it was impossible for Spencer to completely ignore it.
"So he just, broke up with you?" Emily asks, dumbfounded.
"Over the phone," you say tilting your mug towards yourself, choosing to stare down at the small remainder of your coffee rather than to make eye contact with your team members.
"What an asshole," JJ says, lacing her arms together, until she looks like a disapproving mother. "Did he say why?"
"He said, we were going different places, and it would be a disservice to the time we spent together to pretend to be happy and keep lying to eachother," you say, sighing and putting the mug down, choosing to accept this caring interrogation about your breakup as your fate for the next twenty minutes.
"He used those words?" Emily asks, still trying to grapple the concept that your boyfriend, who she had met on a few occasions and had some thoughts she kept to herself about, had broken up with you.
"He used those words but what he really meant was 'I want to start sleeping with my twenty year old coworker and you spend too much time at work, so I'm ending things,' but he won't have the decency to admit that, despite the fact he was sleeping with her before the week was out," you roll your eyes as Emily and JJ continue to voice their disgust, loudly across the bullpen. You catch Spencer's eye for a moment and give him a small sad smile across the room, he nods and then looks away.
The guilt is eating Spencer alive. It's not like he actually had anything to do with the end of your relationship, he actively kept himself far away from it and even discussing it with you as possible. But the facts still remained the same, he likes you. He has liked you since your first day at the BAU and his feelings have never faltered. But you have always been in that relationship since long before he met you, and he knew that he didn't stand a chance, and he wouldn't want to mess around with that anyway. But he was unable to disagree with Prentiss, his own feelings for you aside, the simple fact of the matter was you have always been well out of your exes league. You are beautiful, and intelligent and charismatic, and your ex thought he was those things but more often than not fell short.
It's not like he even wished that your relationship would end and could blame it on the unlikely event of magical intervention. But the sheer fact that he was undeniably happier that you were no longer dating a man you were once very much in love with, that was enough to have him feeling guilty. Which is one of the many reasons he is really trying to not get involved in this conversation. One of the many reasons he is trying to keep a distance.
"How long were you two together again, like three years?" JJ asks. You shake your head.
"High school sweethearts," you correct her, "it's been a lot longer than three years."
"And he broke up with you over the phone, for a co-worker?" Emily emphasis each word in the sentence as she slowly sounds them out.
"He denies the last part but, yes," you nod.
"What are you beautiful ladies being so loud about?" Derek asks, approaching the three of you with some files in hand.
"The fact that men never fail to both disappoint and astound me," Emily states looking up at Derek from her seat, "no offence."
"None taken, but a little context wouldn't go a miss," he says looking at each of you in turn.
"My ex is a pig," you explain as nonchalantly as you can manage. You're trying really hard to be very collected about this. You've had a few days to process the breakup and you knew it was coming, even if you won't admit that to yourself. But being broken up with hurts, whether you see it coming or not. He was the only person you ever really dated, and having spent so much of your life with him this was a big adjustment. But deep down you weren't exactly mad about the situation, as much as it made you feel a lot better to complain about it. Things had not been right between the two of you for quite some time, and you find yourself almost relieved that it's over. But that still gave him no right to be as much of an asshole about it all as he has been.
"So he is the only guy you've ever really dated then, huh?" Emily asks. You give her a look as the thought crosses through her mind. "Wait, does that mean?"
"We started dating when we were barely more than kids Emily," you defend.
"So it's just been that guy, that guy?" Emily is struggling to be even the smallest part composed. "What is wrong with men?"
"You need some strange," Derek says casually.
"Morgan," JJ scolds him but Emily is slowly nodding her head. "Emily..."
"Best way to get over someone," Emily points out.
"Wow, I am not getting under anyone," you state, holding up your hands.
"Look, I understand the appeal of someone you've been with for a long time, they know you, they know what you like," Derek leans back on the table, "so new is risky, and some people really don't have a clue what they're doing I'll admit," he chuckles, "but trust me the longer you leave it-" Derek knows he isn't crossing a boundary, you and him have had plenty of conversations, but as soon as you give him the look to stop talking, he stops.
"I appreciate your concern but sex, is really not at the top of my priority list," you say.
"Please don't let a guy like that ruin it for you," Emily is staring up at the ceiling all types of distressed at the idea of your ex and his general existence.
"I don't think you need to worry about him ruining anything for me, more like just wasting my time," you say before realising that may be revealing too much. All three of them look at you instantly. "Do not read into that."
"Disinterest," Emily states looking you up and down. "And no immediate desire to release that usually comes with a breakup."
"We're not really doing this, are we?" JJ asks looking between the two profilers concerned.
"She's been distant the last few months, talking less and less about him, so the breakup wasn't unexpected, which means the sexlife probably wasn't up to scratch at the time," Derek adds.
"Oh you guys are doing this," JJ gives you an apologetic look as they start rattling off assumptions.
You try your best to ignore them until Derek says something which does tiptoe over the line- by a mile. "Pretty boy, what are the statistics on post breakup sex?" He is half joking but it pulls Spencer directly into a conversation he had been trying to avoid.
Spencer knows the answer, and that's obvious, but answering will only encourage them to get him involved in the conversation. But not answering is suspicious and could cause worse problems. He pushes his thumb into the centre of his palm as he speaks. "27% of adults report having sex with an ex within a two-year period," Spencer states knowing that's not what Derek meant but hoping he could get away with it.
"No, I mean rebound sex," Derek corrects.
"Studies show that thirty-five percent of those who are broken up with have sex to get over their ex, and twenty-five percent as a form of revenge," Spencer says giving in and stepping closer to the group.
"Look sixty five percent of rebound relationships fail within six months," you say. That's a safe thing to say you believe, as you know the team would likely assign that research as an attempt to make an educated guess how long the fling with the coworker would last. But Spencer knows better. He cannot help but wonder if that's what has been making you act differently the last few months. If you saw the end in sight and wondered what that means for you when it's over.
"You're not looking for a relationship though, you're just looking for some fun," JJ points out.
"You do remember how to have fun, don't you beautiful," Derek asks giving you a wink.
"Yeah," you say brushing him off.
"Do you?" Derek asks, unconvinced.
"I told you, I'm not interested in going out and getting laid, it's not worth the energy," you say.
"When was the last time you had an orgasm?" Emily asks. Spencer chokes on his coffee.
"Emily!" JJ chastises her.
"Someone had to ask," Emily says.
"No one had to," you tell her.
"Come on, six months?" Emily asks. "A year?"
"Emily," JJ warns.
"Shit..." Derek whispers and you feel his gaze on you intensifying. He has you all figured out.
"What?" Spencer asks, not meaning to.
Derek is keeping his eyes on you and you cannot meet his eye. "Tell me I'm wrong pretty girl," Derek says, wanting himself to be wrong.
"I... I don't know... You're a profiler, how am I supposed to lie to you?" You huff.
"Are you kidding me?" Derek asks.
"Derek you're not helping," you state.
"Sorry," he says, "I just don't understand how that can be the case."
"You said it yourself, some people really don't have a clue what they're doing," you say.
"So you've never?" Emily asks cottoning on.
"Can we please stop talking about this," you say.
Spencer's brain is ticking over trying to read between the lines and when it clicks he is struck with a similar dumbfounding as Morgan. How? How?
He cannot help but have one clear thought scrambling around his brain at a million miles per hour. If he had ever had the chance, he wouldn't have wanted anything more than to make sure you felt good. To know he had made you feel good.
How inconsiderate could your ex be? How little attention must he have been playing to not even notice that you were not getting what he was out of it? How had he never cared to make that better?
And why did you not feel cheated by that fact?
"I'm not eavesdropping," Garcia defends bringing Spencer out of his head and back into the room.
"Okay why don't we just fax everyone the stats on my sex life," you groan, resting your head in your hands.
"I'm just saying," Garcia tries.
"I appreciate all of the unnecessary concern," you say, "but my sex life isn't a BAU case." Emily smiles as she goes to speak but you catch her thought right before she opens her mouth. "And it's no ones problem to solve either."
"It's a little tragic," JJ confesses.
"JJ," you're surprised, JJ is normally the one you can count on to get the others back on track but she just shrugs.
"Let's leave it be, Garcia do we have a case," Spencer is talking with his hands even more than normal and you cannot help but notice. He is trying to come to your rescue and you appreciate that. You appreciate everything Spencer does.
"Maybe," Garcia explains, waving her tablet at the group. "Hotch wants us in the conference room, five minutes ago."
You're quick to get out of your seat and away from the grilling you are receiving from the team and everyone else is quick behind you. Hotch and Rossi are at the desk when you all enter.
Hotch frowns. "You took a while," he notes.
"Discussing the breakup?" Rossi asks, looking you up and down.
"I dont even want to know what has given that away," you admit taking a seat. Hotch nods a half apology which you silently shrug off in return.
You were trying your best to pay attention, giving Hotch the respect he deserves, but the case he was talking about didnt feel like it required the BAU's involvement and Emily is quick to voice that opinion. You managed to register a few words about consulting and favours, but nothing is really sinking in, not when you can feel Spencer's gaze on you as hot as a fever.
You raise your eyes to meet his and they dart away. You think back, and it occurs to you that maybe conversations about your sex life or anyone of the teams sex lives for that matter wasnt exactly what Spencer signed up for. You feel a little guilty, knowing you kind of indulged the others and let him get pulled into the conversation even if that wasnt your intention.
You catch him looking at you again but he doesnt see you looking back, it's like he is trapped in a thought, and in this moment you've never seen Spencer look so without a clue.
"Reid?" Hotch asks, repeating the question.
Spencer looks to Hotch, and he buffers. You know he knows the answer to the question, you know he always knows, but his brain seems to have frozen up on him. "I... sorry what?"
"This is statistics kid," Derek says, "are you sick or something?"
Emily gently pokes Spencers shoulder. "Maybe he is getting a software update," she jokes.
You lean forward and give Hotch the answer he is looking for, remembering from a conversation you and Spencer had a few weeks back about Ohio. Hotch gives a side eye to Rossi before continuing.
You look back at Spencer and he is watching you again, you offer him a small smile and he returns it. You've always been better at reading Spencer than most members of the team but you don't recognize this behaviour at all.
"Are you okay?" You ask him as you both make your way down the steps of the BAU.
"Of course, why do you ask?"
"You blanked back there, Spence, pretty hard," you say as gently as you can, "I havent seen you like that since..."
"Since when?" Spencer looks curious, and softer somehow.
"Since we worked that case in Illinois, with the models, you took one look at that girl Annie Grant was it, and your IQ dropped like a hundred points," you laugh gently.
"She was pretty," Spencer confesses.
"I think Morgan got her number," you recall.
"He did," Spencer agrees.
"So, what is it? Because it's not a pretty girl in lounge wear," you say.
"You dont know that for sure," you can tell he is trying to joke around the subject, and normally youd find that cute. Cute in the kind of way you havent been able to admit to yourself before. Because having a crush on a coworker is not convenient at the best of times.
"Okay, Dr Reid, keep your secrets," you give him gentle shove and his smile is disarming, soft and so happy to just be involved. "Got any fun evening plans?"
"There's this new study into cognitive dissonance in specific trauma patterns I have been meaning to read," he offers. You bite back a chuckle.
"You've got a date with science," you nod to yourself, "of course you do."
He looks around, thinking for a moment. "Are you going to walk?" He asks.
"I usually do," you admit, "it's only a few blocks after all."
"Can I," he pauses, "can I walk you?"
"You want to walk me home?" You ask, a little suprised at the offer.
"If that's okay, the study can wait," he says. There is a look in his eyes you can't quite pinpoint, somewhere between pleading and hopeful. You nod.
"I'd love that Spence."
The distance to your apartment door had never felt so short, and you hadn't realised until now quite how much you enjoyed the moments when you were with Spencer, and no one else was watching. Maybe because he paid less attention to making sure no one noticed him watching you, and he just keeps watching.
Spencer looks at his feet as you fumble with your keys, he has no idea what he is doing. He didn't think any of this through, he just kept thinking about you, and what you deserved and what you should've always been given and now he is stood at the doorstep of your place with no plan, no idea of what compelled him to think any of this was a good idea and no idea of what to do next.
You smile at him, and bite your lower lip just a small bit, the look is so demure that Spencer wonders if he imagined the entire conversation in the bullpen, wondering if maybe he was really so wrapped up in these months of conflicted feelings for you that he managed to lapse from reality so badly that he got himself here.
"Do you want to come in for coffee?" You offer and his heart damn near stops in his chest.
"Coffee is never coffee kid," Derek's voice rings in his head. "It's an invitation."
"Got decaf?" Spencer asks, and you laugh.
"Like anyone who works at the BAU knows what decaf is," you open the door wide and walk through. "You coming?"
He doesn't answer but follows you, closing the door behind him. Your apartment isn't a mess but it's clear things have been moved around since your breakup, there is clear empty spaces where things once collected dust, like so many things once filled a place and vanished. You weren't dwelling on the relationship, because there wasn't a point. You had loved and you had lost, and you knew it went like that sometimes.
"You better not be profiling me Dr Reid," you quip as you catch him looking around.
"I wouldn't dare," he says.
"So, are you going to explain why you're being so sheepish?" You ask, reaching for a mug, to actually make coffee.
"I'm being sheepish?" he asks. He had hoped he was hiding it better.
"Nervous at the very least," you say putting the kettle on. He says nothing and you sigh. "Did we make you uncomfortable earlier?"
"What?" Spencer asks, caught off guard by the question.
"Talking about my ex," you offer up. "I know that sort of gossip isn't exactly for everyone-,"
"No," he is quick to defend, "that's not what's bothering me."
You smirk and he sees the trap you laid for him that he walked right into. "So something is bothering you pretty boy," Morgan's nickname for him falls from your lips and it sounds so different. It burns every nerve ending, each fibre of his being and he forgets how to speak for a moment too long. "Spence?"
"I," he brings himself back.
"I don't mean to pry, you don't have to tell me anything," you explain quickly.
"How was your ex such an idiot?" he asks outright. You laugh, it's short and shallow because you're not expecting anything close to that from Spencer.
"What?" It's your turn to feel dumb now as you spiral trying to process what Spencer is suggesting. That the conversation had gotten to him, but not in the way you'd thought. His problem hadn't been with the topic but the content, the confession. The kettle brings itself to a boil but you're interest is elsewhere now.
"I don't mean to speak out of place here, but if I were him there are so many things I would've done differently," he fidgets with his tie but doesn't stop. This confession is coming out now or not at all and he wants it finished. He needs it finished. He does not want blurred lines. Not between the two of you. "Not even touching the subject of how your relationship ended. I wouldn't have left you in the rain last October, I wouldn't have held all the things I knew about you when we met as reasons to run years after I agreed to love you regardless. I wouldn't have let you go to work angry all those times. I wouldn't have lied about plans. I wouldn't have let you go to sleep sad or angry, and be gone in the morning. I wouldn't have left you wanting, for anything. Because if I was him I would understand what a beautiful rarity it is to find someone who does what you do, with your compassion and determination and dedication and is still kind, still hopeful, even when things are dark. There are not a lot of things I don't know much about, and maybe relationships, and romance and sex are in that limited list, and maybe he would argue that hypotheticals hold no ground when your experience is as limited as mine, but I frankly don't care what his opinion would be. Because he didn't see you for what you are and that means his thoughts are of no value to me. I don't tell you this because I am expecting you to say anything, it's just burning me up that you weren't treated, hell worshiped, in the way you deserved and I had to tell you that I can't think of anything more wrong." He steps back and you're still catching your breath. "I, I am sorry I shouldn't have... I will see you at work."
He turns and strides to the door, and your breath heaves in and out of your chest and you wonder if you can find your voice before his hand finds purchase on your doors lock. "Spencer," you breathe out. He pauses, hand hovering over the door handle.
"Yes?" his voice is so quiet, and he doesn't turn to look at you.
"Please don't leave," the request falls from your lips and Spencer has never felt more of a need to do something than to do anything you ask of him in this moment. But his doubt still hangs gently in the space between the two of you.
"What?" he asks again, searching in the word to find something to hold onto, looking for some guidance or instructions he missed. He didn't have a plan, and he doesn't know what to do with this.
"Please," you say again, voice sturdier now as you start to close the distance between the two of you, "Spence," his breath hitches as you place a hand gently on his shoulder, encouraging him to turn back to you, and he does, "don't leave."
His eyes stare into yours and you swear you feel all the months of unsaid things, of quiet wanting, of stolen thoughts in weak moments, bursting at the seams. You had told yourself in another world, another life time, had you met Spencer Reid and the timing had been different, if you had been different, he would've been everything. You told yourself from that first day that those brown eyes may plead into you with every moment you meet them but it was never going to be the right time.
His eyes stare into yours and he feels the weight of all the things he long tired to bury, crawling their way up from the depths and pushing against his skin, desperate to get out. Desperate to be known. Desperate to correct the wrongs and do right by you. Desperate.
His hand hovers touch's length away, scared to close the distance, scared to make the move, to change everything. You both know in this moment, that all it takes is one touch and you're going over the cliff.
This is a road you do not turn back from.
You whisper one last time, like a prayer, "Spence," and in a blink gravity turns back on, and everything blooms in bright technicolour.
It unfolds in a rush, his hand to your waist, pulling you that much closer, both of your hands gripping to the fabric of his shirt as he pulls you up to him, other hand moving gently under your chin to guide the tilt of your head. His lips crash onto yours and there's a hunger you've never seen in him, and a hunger you've never known inside yourself.
There's a gentleness, a caution in his desperation, in his need, one that you don't have in your own. He keeps kissing you and you back up, footing not very careful as you tighten your grip on his shirt. Your back finds support against the edge of your counter and you find yourself letting on of the hands slip from the fabric of his button down to tug at his tie, to keep him closer at first, and then in an attempt to remove it entirely.
He pulls back for a moment, not to catch breath as either of you would be happy to drown in this moment, but his eyes are scanning you, like he is looking for something else, something missing.
You pause, slowly tugging the tie from his collar and letting it fall to your floor. "Spencer?" you ask.
He looks lost as he breathes in. "I don't know what I am doing," he says.
"You're doing great is what you're doing," you say, not looking away.
"Is this okay?" he finally asks. Your heart starts running away from you as you try to remember to breathe.
"This is more than okay," you assure him, "please Spencer, don't stop kissing me."
That's all he needs to hear and his lips are back on yours and the kisses are feverish and starved and he presses his hands into your hips and the gentle moan that leaves your lips sends Spencer's mind spinning.
He pulls his lips from yours and starts kissing a trail down to your neck, you lean more into the support of the counter top and let a hand find it's way into a tangle of his brown hair.
His tongue against your skin, the gentle brush of teeth on that spot that makes the sound from before seem like a draft of a masterpiece. Spencer knows that now he has heard you, voice like honey, moan trembling from your lips, nails dug into his scalp gently tugging on his hair, barely able to keep your eyes open yet again your breathing steady, no sound will ever compare.
In the the times he had let himself think about you, imagine all the things, let his fantasies and dreams run away with him, he had never come close to this moment. How your fingers shake as you start to unbutton his shirt, needing to do something, needing something.
Needing him.
And you can feel his need in return, in the way he holds onto you, on the way he is listening to your body, hearing every response, feeling every movement, determined to do this right.
He feels the way you press your tights together, tight against the counter, the need for something more radiating off of you, and you don't give time for the doubt to creep in. "We should," you breathe out as you feel the blood rushing through you, knowing that there will be marks from where he is kissing you that you won't be able to hide tomorrow, not that you want to, "move this to the bedroom."
"Is now a bad time to point out that I have mostly just a conceptual understanding of what we are about to do?" Spencer asks between kisses.
"I think you're worrying too much, because if you're basing this on theory," you take his hand leading him towards your room, "so far you're giving nothing but hard evidence."
You let your own innuendo slide as you both fall back onto your bed, he looks down as he leans over you, and there's a softness, a patience in this moment, as he needs to soak it all in.
You reach up and continue to undo the buttons on his shirt until they are completely undone, and he watches you as you do, you give the fabric a gentle tug and he catches on, slipping the rest of the shirt and the jacket off and letting it fall back somewhere out of mind. You trace a hand gently up his arm and he leans down to kiss you again, your lips, your jaw, your neck.
He runs a thumb over the deep red mark he has left and you feel the fever rising again. You need out of these clothes, you need more.
You start to undo your own shirt buttons and as each button comes undone Spencer follows the trail of exposed skin and leaves hot kisses on each new place.
You can feel the hard outline of his cock against your thigh as you reach to unzip the side of your skirt. The nervousness is still fluttering in Spencer's face as he helps you slip out of it. His fingertips brushing over exposed skin, his hand creeping up the inside of your thigh and you buck up gently at the touch.
His lips trace kisses up your torso to your chest and like this, each kiss so intoxicating, each touch so electrifying, his hand inching further and further up your thigh, as his lips dance over the skin around the fabric of your bra there is nothing he could ask of you that you would not do.
Sex may never have been perfect before, but you'd always thought it was at least decent, passing, respectable. But this build up with Spencer, his hands on your skin, his lips leaving evidence on your body that he has been here, this was more than you'd ever felt. And he hadn't even really touched you yet.
You reach to undo his trousers, eager to get him in less clothing but he pulls back, out of your reach. "Not yet," he whispers against your skin, "you start doing that and this will be over way too soon." He brings his lips to yours again, stealing a deep kiss as he unclasps your bra. "And this is about you, all about you," he is mumbling again, almost incoherent against you. He is determined, his mind is focused on you and your pleasure and what you deserve.
You don't think you've ever wanted anything as much as you want this.
His thumb brushes against the your clothed skin, and sparks shoot through your body, nails digging into his shoulder as you gasp at the contact.
He nudges closer, his forehead pressed to yours, and you look at him. Spencer, your colleague, your friend. Spencer who never forgets your coffee order. Spencer who stayed all night to help with paperwork because you lost a bet. Spencer who has accompanied you to every movie you've ever asked him to. Spencer who bought an extra ticket to every convention just in case you would want to come.
"Please," you plead, like you need to, as if it was possible that he wouldn't do anything for you in this moment. As if you even needed to ask.
He kisses you, pulling you up and towards him, breathing you in as his hand finds its way between the elastic of your underwear and your skin.
Your nerves are as quick to respond to his touch as fire to a accelerant. Every movement makes you wonder if Spencer was given some map of your body that you didn't know existed, a guide to movement and pressure and timing that couldn't be more perfect.
You are nodding at his movements, keening at every increase of pace, every finger curl, every swipe of his thumb. Your body shuddering in anticipation and a pleasure you never knew courses through you.
Spencer is leaving compliments with every kiss across your body, so eager to please, so desperate to worship. When he hits the spot, your body gives you away at alarming speed, you buck, moving your arms to prop yourself up on elbows, leaning into him, into the movements, rutting against him. "Fuck," you manage in the haze.
Spencer responds to this approval with dedication and vigour and then you feel it, that hot white coil of pleasure pulling at you, like a tight chord. "Shit," you start breathing heavier, faster, "shit, shit."
"You're so incredibly beautiful," you hear Spencer whisper. You can't keep your eyes open as your knees begin to shake.
"Spencer," you whimper, not for any reason but to say his name. The need to say his name over and over, and over as the chord pulls tight and finally snaps.
The pleasure explodes through you, every nerve tingling, like fireworks cascading through you. You shake, riding the high through and fall back onto the bed, slumped with a laboured breath.
Spencer moves back up to be level with you, gently brushes some stray hairs from your face and he smiles down at you. "That is what it's supposed to feel like?" You ask.
If this was all he could have for the rest of his life, Spencer would be a happy man. He plants a kiss on your forehead, and that look of devotion has not left his eyes.
But he has been filled with a new sense of purpose, like he was made for this. For you.
He doesn't have time to debate internally if your ex was purely just that poor at what he did or if it feeling so easy, coming so naturally to him was something else entirely. He didn't really care which it was, maybe both. Right now all he cared about was making up for lost time, lost opportunities, all your disappointment.
He kisses you again and the force of it is more knowing, more sure, it's hot and messy and every moment it feels like you need to be closer, deeper, more entwined. The whole time he keeps his hand in your underwear, thumb running in soft, intensely accurate circles as his fingers do most of the work.
It crosses your mind that maybe it should be almost embarrassing that he is making it so easy. It should be embarrassing that Spencer barely needed any time to bring that second orgasm to precipice. It should be embarrassing that you're convinced this man could make you come by the way he kisses you alone, but you're not embarrassed. Not because you've never felt the pleasure like this before, not because you think pleasure it never something to be embarrassed about and not because after everything you deserve this. But because it's Spencer Reid, and everything with him has always felt like it is exactly as it should be, and him making you feel this way, is no exception.
He holds you in the kiss as your second orgasm pulses through you, just as intense as the first one, he feels you shake as it floods you. A moan escaping into the kiss, from your mouth to his and he groans against your lips.
He is so focused on you that he isn't paying any attention to how this is effecting him, how hard he is against you. How desperate he is for you. His need for your pleasure overtaking any need of his own.
You know if left to his own devices Spencer would stay as the two of you are, skin pressed to skin, lips on yours, trying to write years worth of wrongs in one night. But you do not want to give into exhaustion before you have let him ruin your expectations in all the ways you know.
He moves from your lips to your neck and before you can process much of his plans you feel the kisses trailing your hipbone, and with the third orgasm approaching you can see where his mind has wondered to. You lean forward, gasping in pleasure, but determined to get his attention, you place a hand on the side of his face, tilting up his chin to meet your eyes. "Wait," is all you manage to moan out before the pleasure tears into you, your head falls back and you grab a fistful of sheet, trying to keep yourself up through the pleasure.
Spencer does as you ask and waits until you manage to gather your words, eyes on you. "Please," you try. He runs his eyes over your body trying to understand your request.
You reach down, pulling once again at the edge of his trousers, fumbling to undo them, to get him out of them. You've never known Spencer to be so slow to catch on, but he is practically drunk on you.
"Oh," he manages. "Oh."
Before he can start to explain all the reasons he doesn't think that's important right now you look up at him with those eyes so pleading. "Please," you whisper again.
And he is putty in your hand, happy to do anything you ask of him, he nods and you finish undoing his trousers and push them down, he finishes discarding them.
Now it's your fingertips against his skin and he holds his breath as you move for his boxers. "Is this okay?" you ask quietly.
"You're everything I have ever wanted," the honey leaves his lips and you kiss him, his lips focused on you as you help him out of his boxers and pull him down and close.
"I need you," you whisper. "Right now, I need you."
"I am yours," he responds.
You keep your fingers threaded in his hair, and you tug a little harder as you become overwhelmed with him. "Fuck," Spencer's voice shudders in pleasure and you understand his desperation to please you instantly, because you want nothing more than to give him everything.
Everything becomes a mixture of moans and names, lips pressed to skin, and fabric scrunched with every thrust. You kiss Spencer's neck, finding his sweet spot with a similar precision to which he found yours. Leaving a collection of marks on his neck before her buries his face into yours, repeating your name over and over, becoming more and more wanting. His neediness matching your own and as he digs his fingers into your hips that now familiar feeling starts to rush you.
"Spencer, I am going to cum again," you whisper. Spencer cannot form words, he just keeps kissing, sucking, digging at your skin, even now he isn't close enough to you. "Fuck!" You scream out and the pleasure of your orgasm is almost too much for Spencer.
"Fuck, I," Spencer's brain is doing flips trying to figure out what to do, what he is supposed to do. "I am going to."
"Please," you beg in his ear.
"I should, I haven't," he is trying to piece the words together but they're not coming. You know what is trying to say, what is cannot find the words to ask.
"Please stay with me," you say, nudging his nose with your own, "please."
Your gentle request is his breaking point and he crashes his lips back onto yours as his own orgasm comes to fruition.
He collapses down next to you, both catching your breath. "Fuck," you repeat, for what might be the millionth time, as you long lost count.
You cannot help it, you let out a little laugh and Spencer glances at you, a smile breaking out on his face. "For the record, I hadn't planned that," he says.
"For the record, I really planned on drinking my coffee."
"I can make you a coffee," Spencer offers, turning to his side.
"We should, get cleaned up first," you smile.
"Then coffee?"
"Then coffee."
1K notes · View notes
steddieas-shegoes · 10 days
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hiii not sure if you’re still taking requests but
no upside down au where teen single dad steve approaches eddie after hellfire bc every parenting stuff keeps mentioning how reading to babies is super important for their development but his dyslexia makes reading so hard let alone be expressive w it too and the kids keep mentioning how eddie is amazing on dnd. eddie is skeptical cause how come no ones has heard of king steve’s one year old ? but he accepts when steve offers paying but after seeing steve w his baby and understanding how he changed he refuses the money and cue them slowly falling in love and becoming a family <333
Sorry this took *checks watch* like 9 months to finish! I kinda took some creative turns, but it's done!
read on ao3
rated t | 5,182 words | no cw | tags: mostly fluff, single parent steve, not canon compliant, mutual pining, getting together, love confessions
📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚
Early August 1985
“Steve, it’s not like he’s gonna fuckin’ bite, dude,” Dustin said from the passenger seat.
“Language.”
“She’s not even awake,” Dustin whisper yelled. “I promise he’s cool. The worst he’ll say is no. It’s not like he’s gonna bully you.”
“No one else knows I’m asking him this, right?” Steve was suddenly worried that all the kids knew about Steve’s learning disability and they’d think he was actually stupid and-
“No, it’s just me. But if you don’t hurry up and go in before everyone else gets here, they’ll find out.”
Steve glanced in the backseat, smiling to himself at his sleeping daughter. She’d been out for nearly the entire drive from his house to Dustin’s to the high school, so she’d probably be waking up within the next 20 minutes and she’d be ready to stretch her legs.
She was a squirmy thing from the moment she figured out how to scoot around the floor, and it only got worse when she learned to walk at 11 months. The only time she was still and staying out of trouble was when she was asleep.
“If she starts crying, just sit back there with her. She just likes having company,” Steve reminded him as he unbuckled his seatbelt.
“Yep. I’ve literally babysat for you before. I can handle her for 5 minutes.”
“Attitude.” Steve shook his head and opened the door, getting out and only closing the door most of the way so it wouldn’t wake her up.
Eddie always showed up 30 minutes early for Hellfire Club to set up according to Dustin. He took this club very seriously, even as a third year senior. He kept it running all summer so that incoming freshmen would have time to get acquainted with his style of DMing or whatever.
Steve respected the dedication, though he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe that dedication were put into his homework, he would’ve graduated in May with Steve.
But Steve couldn’t actually judge. Not with the fact that he was pretty close to not graduating himself. He had a pretty good reason, but still.
The auditorium door closed loudly behind him, making him jump and clench his jaw painfully.
“Door’s broken. You gotta hold it while it closes so it doesn’t slam,” a voice said from the door to the backstage area.
Steve squinted through the semi-darkness and felt his stomach turn. Eddie.
“I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had to open it. Figured they would have fixed it by now,” Steve replied, walking closer to the guy he needed to talk to.
“No shit! Is that King Steve? In the flesh?” Eddie’s dramatics were endearing, even if it was slightly annoying that he pulled out the stupid high school nickname he’d lost well before he graduated.
“Yeah,” Steve sighed. This wasn’t gonna go well.
“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but none of your precious kiddos have made it yet. It’s still early.”
Steve nodded. “One of them’s sitting in my car in the parking lot. Um, Henderson? He’s an incoming freshman.”
“Ah. Dustin’s got a place in Hellfire if you’re worried. I don’t turn anyone away who wants to be here.”
“No, no, that’s not it.” Steve needed to just spit it out. “He said you’re like, great at storytelling or whatever. Like you’re the best DM he’s ever seen and he knows I could use those skills for something.”
“Oh? What could Steve Harrington need DM skills for?”
“My daughter.”
The silence following his confession was louder than the door slamming only a minute ago.
He probably could’ve revealed his motives a little better, work up to the fact that he even had a daughter maybe. Very few people actually knew, and he had to keep it that way until he could leave his parent’s house.
“Your…daughter.”
“Yes. She’s just turned one and the doctors said reading to her is like, super important for learning words and helping her learn how to have an imagination and stuff. And I do read to her!” Steve suddenly felt worried that Eddie would think he was a bad parent. “I try to. But I’m, well, Nancy says it’s dyslexia? So words are kinda hard and it gives me a headache if I try to read for more than a few minutes and I’m so busy focusing on the words I don’t think I’m making it very fun for her-“
“Woah. Steve. Slow down.” Eddie braced his hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed. “I didn’t even know you had a daughter. Does anyone know you have a daughter?”
“The kids do, yeah. My parents do because they kinda helped cover it all up and made sure I still graduated so I didn’t embarrass them or whatever.” Steve looked down at the floor, shoving his hands in his pockets. He didn’t really want to go through the whole thing with this guy. “Robin Buckley knows? She’s my best friend. The Byers and Wheelers, Hopper. Some teachers know but were sworn to secrecy.”
“Huh.”
Steve looked up to see Eddie stepping closer to him, soft smile on his face.
“So what do you need me for exactly?”
“Dustin said you’re really good at telling stories and I figured maybe you would be willing to read to her? Not every day, like I can work with your schedule or whatever. Evening would be best for me, but it’s not really a big deal if it has to be other times. She comes to work with me so if it had to be during the day, you could sit in the office or something, I dunno.” Steve shrugged. He hated asking for help. But Dustin insisted Eddie was actually a good guy and would keep his secret. No one who saw her at work assumed Steve Harrington was a single parent at 18. That would just be absurd. “I just don’t want her to miss out.”
Eddie’s hand drifted down his arm, holding his hand for a moment before he stepped back.
“My schedule is kinda random. But I’m sure we can work something out.”
Steve’s shoulders fell as his body relaxed. “Yeah? I can pay you. Not much. My parents mostly cut me off.” Steve was scrambling. “I can give you gas money and stuff for having to come to us. And like, food? I can cook.”
Eddie’s eyes were intense, watching his every move, making him nervous.
“How ‘bout a free trial? I’ll do it for a couple weeks and then we can see about payment.”
Steve nodded eagerly. “Yeah, yeah. Cool.” Jesus, he was embarrassing. What happened to his charm? “Would you be able to start soon?”
“Normally, I’d say I can come by after Hellfire, but I have an…appointment right after tonight. I can come by tomorrow?”
Steve smiled. “Tomorrow’s good. I work until five.”
“I can be at your house by seven.”
“Great! I have plenty of books. Right now, she’s really into Old Macdonald, but I think it’s just because it sorta sounds like her name and we get to make silly noises,” Steve smiled to himself, not seeing the way Eddie was smiling too. “I think she’ll probably like whatever you read to her, though.”
“What’s her name?”
“Mackenzie. Robin read it in a book and said it meant fire-born or something? It sounded cool. We call her Mac or Kenzie for short so she hears Macdonald and thinks we’re giving her another nickname,” Steve laughed. “Anyway, I better get back to the car. If she’s awake and Dustin has to deal with her crying for too long, he gets an attitude.”
“Mackenzie. I like it.” Eddie nodded once. “See you tomorrow, Stevie.”
Steve agreed and waved, turning around to leave. By the time he realized Eddie’s nickname for him, Eddie was already backstage.
****
Steve was nervous.
He nearly burnt the chicken he was cooking for dinner just from getting distracted by thoughts of Eddie being in his home.
He didn’t even know why. Maybe it was the fact that he’d always thought Eddie was kinda rough around the edges and was surprised he’d agreed so easily. Maybe it was bringing someone new into the small group he’d had around for a couple years. Maybe it was the way Eddie’s hand on his shoulder seemed to leave a permanent mark despite being one of the softest touches he’d felt from another adult in a while.
Mackenzie was in her high chair already, eating some of the noodles he’d made as a side. She’d been practicing using a fork, so quite a few had fallen on the floor, but Steve still smiled and told her she did a great job any time she managed to get one to her mouth.
The doorbell rang and Steve felt his heart stop.
“Daddy!” Mackenzie squealed when the bell rang. She knew that usually meant Hopper was here. Everyone else just came inside on their own. “Hop!”
“No, baby, not Hop. Not tonight. It’s my friend, Eddie. He’s gonna tell you a fun story, okay?” Steve ran his hands through her hair as he walked by to get the door.
When he opened the door, Eddie was standing there with a handful of books, a box of crayons, and what looked like a hairbow.
“I’m here to entertain the princess!” Eddie exclaimed. “Lead me to her highness!”
Steve couldn’t hide the grin on his face if he wanted to. “She’s currently trying to stab noodles to death. I’m sure you’ll be entertained.”
“Ah, they must have wronged her. I’ll assist,” Eddie made his way past Steve, walking towards the kitchen.
Steve knew he’d been to a couple of the parties he threw to sell, but had no idea he remembered the layout of his house. Maybe he had one of those picture minds.
As Steve entered the kitchen, he noticed that Eddie had set down the pile of books on the counter before he sat down in front of Mackenzie.
There were a few books he recognized: an ABC book that he was pretty sure he’d had when he was a kid but had since lost, a book of fairy tales with Rapunzel on the cover, something by Beatrix Potter, and a couple of coloring books that featured princesses and dragons and horses.
“She isn’t really old enough to color, is she?” Steve asked, interrupting what must have been a very amusing conversation of mostly babbling. “I don’t have any coloring stuff.”
“Coloring with skill? No. She definitely doesn’t have the motor skills to color in the lines or even use the right colors for the right things. But it does help her learn how to hold a crayon. My uncle couldn’t really afford much when I was a baby, so for every Christmas until I was in school he would get me new crayons and coloring books. I don’t really remember how I did, but I do remember having fun.” Eddie turned back to Mackenzie. “And sometimes it’s fun to just make a mess, right?”
Mackenzie clapped her hands together, sending the toddler fork she’d been using to the floor with a noodle attached to it. Steve wordlessly grabbed one of her spoons from the drawer and gave it to her, kissing the top of her head before he knelt down to pick up the fork.
Eddie watched silently, something soft about the way he didn’t interrupt anything even though he could’ve kept talking.
“I made chicken and pasta. It’s probably not my best work, but I made enough for you if you haven’t eaten yet,” Steve offered as he walked to the stove to start plating the food for himself.
“I wouldn’t turn it down. Wayne’s not exactly known for serving five star meals,” Eddie joked. “He believes in the power of fried bologna and cheese sandwiches with a bag of chips.”
Steve grimaced. “Okay, well I made enough for you to bring home some leftovers too.”
“You don’t have to-”
“You’re taking home leftovers.”
Steve turned to see Eddie’s widened eyes and open mouth that slowly formed into a smile.
“I guess I’m taking home some leftovers.” He turned to Mackenzie and tickled her neck. “Your daddy is pushy isn’t he?”
Steve blushed, but continued making up a plate for Eddie.
As they sat and ate, Eddie talked about all of his favorite books for little kids, and how he remembered sneaking into the library after school for years because he knew he didn’t wanna go home. He talked about the first time a teacher wrote a positive letter home, an English teacher who said his fictional essay was the best in the class and he should consider writing as a career. He even talked about his plans for the school year campaigns, but made Steve swear not to mention anything to the kids.
“I’ll know if you tell them,” Eddie winked.
Steve believed him.
When they were done, Steve grabbed Mackenzie from her chair.
“I’m gonna give her a quick bath if you wanna bring all that stuff to her room. Second floor, third door on the right. It’s a little messy right now. Someone decided to pull all her toys from her box yesterday and I haven’t had time to clean it up,” Steve tickled Mackenzie’s side, making her giggle and turn her head into his shoulder.
“You need me to clean this up?” Eddie asked, gesturing to the table.
“Nah, I’ll do it while you read to her.”
Despite his efforts, bath time was never truly quick. Mackenzie loved to splash around and play with her toys, and if he tried to wash her hair too quickly, she would be grumpy for the rest of the night. He definitely didn’t want that for Eddie.
He set a timer for 10 minutes and tried to explain to a very excited Mackenzie that when the timer went off, it would be time to wash her hair and get out.
“You wanna have time to play with Eddie, so we can’t play for too long in the water.”
She didn’t seem to pay any attention to him, already too busy making her rubber duck fight with her mermaid Barbie.
He observed while she played, bringing in the rubber car she liked to pretend to drive on the side of the tub.
When the timer went off, she let him wash her hair without a fuss, and he quickly wrapped her up in a towel to get her into pajamas.
Eddie was waiting in her room when he got there, coloring books spread out on the floor. He smiled up at them from where he sat, legs crossed, hands in his lap.
“Squeaky clean?” He asked, waving at Mackenzie.
“Definitely lacking noodles in places noodles shouldn’t be at least,” Steve said, making his way to her changing table to get her dressed. “She must be pretty excited about you being here. Usually bath time takes at least 30 minutes and I have to bribe her with chocolate milk to get out.”
“She knows we’re gonna have a lot of fun. I think I’m gonna read Goodnight Moon first. That’s one of my favorites.”
“She’ll love that,” he said as he buttoned the snaps of her onesie.
As soon as he set her on the floor next to Eddie, she reached for a coloring book with a mermaid on it.
“Daddy! Muh!”
“Yeah, baby, it’s a mermaid! Just like your doll in the bath.” Steve pointed to the fish next to the mermaid. “And that’s a fish. Fish swim in the ocean.”
He felt Eddie’s eyes on him while he pointed to some other sea creatures and told Mackenzie what they were.
Eventually, he looked over at Eddie, blushing at the soft smile on his face. “What?”
“You’re a really good dad, Steve.”
“Oh. Uh. Thanks,” Steve felt heat flood his body.
It’s not that no one had ever said that to him. Robin had told him plenty of times, Joyce had whispered it to him when no one else was paying attention, even Hopper had given him a handshake and said he was doing a good job once. But hearing it from Eddie, in this situation, when he’d been feeling like such a failure lately, was enough to make him want to cry.
He had to get out of this room.
“I should go clean up and leave you to it.”
“Sure, yeah. We’ll be right here.”
Steve booked it out of the room, rushing down the stairs to try to get busy with cleaning before his brain settled on crying over a compliment.
But the table was cleared. The high chair was wiped down. When he turned to the sink, the dishes were stacked up to dry in the rack. The counters were wiped, the dish towel had been put back on the handle of the oven to dry, and leftovers had been put in a container to finish cooling down.
Steve let the tears fall.
Fuck it, if Eddie was going to be this nice, he could have a little cry.
He walked quietly to the bathroom to put all the bath toys in the basket, but stopped outside Mackenzie’s bedroom when he heard giggling.
He’d closed the door halfway, just so she wouldn’t get too distracted if he walked by the room, but he couldn’t help looking in.
He felt like crying again when he saw Mackenzie sitting on Eddie’s lap, pointing at something in the book.
“Where’s the moon?” Eddie asked.
“Moo!” Mackenzie said, smacking at a place in the book.
“There’s the moon! Good job, little one.” Mackenzie leaned back against Eddie’s chest. “And where’s the…toys?”
She pointed again, but slightly less enthusiastically. Steve could see her energy dropping quickly.
He watched as Eddie told her she did a good job again and then continued reading.
Her eyes drooped more with every page. Eddie’s voice got closer to a whisper with every sentence.
Steve fell just a little bit more with every second that passed.
*****
October 1985
Eddie came every day. Despite the fact that Steve insisted he didn’t need to, that he didn’t want to ruin his schedule, Eddie showed up like clockwork at seven every single evening.
Steve learned to expect him, always made enough dinner for all of them to enjoy before Mackenzie had her bath and then got to read with Steve.
Every night, Eddie would clean up while she took a bath, and every night, he’d let her pick a page to color while he read something to her, switching to a bedtime story when she started crawling into his lap.
Steve would watch them often, laying down on the carpet and smiling as he listened to Eddie use different voices for characters, asking her questions so she was involved, and whispering when she started to drift off.
Other times, he’d try to get something done he’d been putting off, like cleaning the bathroom or folding laundry.
Eddie never accepted payment.
Steve tried bringing it up once school started, certain that this time spent here could’ve been better spent on homework or a part-time job that paid better than what Steve could offer. Eddie just shook his head and insisted that other than Hellfire every Thursday, he would be there for free.
They got to know each other over dinner, and Steve found that he was right to have butterflies every time Eddie smiled at him, every time he would touch his hand as he walked by to say hi to Mackenzie.
“Halloween costume ideas?” Eddie asked with his mouth full. Steve had given up long ago on trying to get him to wait until he was done chewing. It wasn’t that big of a deal. “What did this little miss go as last year?”
“Oh. She was a bumblebee.” Steve smiled at the memory. “Cutest costume I saw all night.”
“I bet.” Eddie took a sip of his water. “And you?”
“Oh, I didn’t dress up.”
“What? Why not?” Eddie sounded genuinely upset.
“Just got away from me, I guess? By the time I thought about it, nothing good was left at the store,” Steve shrugged, unbothered. He’d never been that into Halloween. His focus was making sure Mackenzie had fun.
“And no one offered to help you make something?” Eddie was no longer eating and Mackenzie had turned her attention to him when his tone became serious.
“I didn’t ask.”
“But no one offered.” Eddie stood up and walked over to his backpack. “Okay, we’ve gotta plan. Did you already pick something for her?”
He came back holding a notebook and a pencil, brows set in a straight line. Steve had never seen him look so serious.
“I had a few ideas, but I wanted to let her pick something at the store,” Steve said.
“Lay them on me.”
They discussed costumes for the next 30 minutes, but after only 10, Mackenzie whined to get out of her chair. Eddie wordlessly stood up and picked her up, setting her in his lap and letting her poke and prod at him and his notebook.
Steve watched them both, accepting for the first time that this wasn’t just a crush that was gonna go away.
He’d fallen completely head over heels for Eddie, and he had no clue what to do about it.
*****
November 1985
Steve was the only one who had space to host Thanksgiving.
He became manic a week before, realizing that his work schedule would not allow him to have much time to clean unless he did it at night. The problem was that he would get a migraine if he didn’t sleep.
“So let’s work on it together. I can come right after school. Cancel Hellfire this week,” Eddie offered.
“But you already won’t have it next week because of Thanksgiving. I can’t ask you to-”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering. If I’m gonna be eating here, I should probably help clean up at least.”
So they worked on a little at a time.
Eddie wasn’t always helpful, getting distracted by some of the smallest things. But his company was appreciated all the same.
“You could invite Wayne, ya know,” Steve offered while he dusted the shelves in the living room. “Plenty of room and food.”
“Thanks, but he always works Thanksgiving day for the double pay. We usually do something the day after,” Eddie answered while he cleaned up all of Mackenzie’s toys.
“If he decides not to work, just let him know.”
“Will do, Stevie.”
He didn’t just help clean, he helped him do the shopping, too.
“I know it’s way harder with a baby, so if you give me a list, I can handle the shopping,” Eddie said while Steve plated their dinners.
“You don’t-”
“Have to, I know. But I can and will.” Eddie’s hand brushed against Steve’s lower back. “Let me help.”
Steve could barely resist the shiver that took over his entire body.
“Okay. Sure.”
Some of the brands were wrong, and he forgot the apples for the apple pie, but Steve still felt immense relief knowing that he had someone to help.
And without it, Thanksgiving would’ve been a disaster.
It was still a bit of a mess, but that was mostly because the kid’s table turned into a food fight that Max started and Mackenzie, of course, continued, until everyone was involved.
But the picture Jonathan took would get framed and hang up near the fireplace in the living room anyway.
******
December 1985
“I cannot believe you waited until Christmas Eve to wrap gifts. That’s not what parents actually do, is it?” Eddie asked as he fought with the tape dispenser for the fifth time in less than an hour.
“I don’t know if I’m the best judge of what parents do. Mine weren’t around much and probably didn’t even wrap my gifts themselves.” Steve took the tape from him, pulled some loose from the roll, and handed it back. “But I kinda always pictured it like this.”
Robin made him swear he’d talk to Eddie about his feelings before the end of the year. The end of the year was soon, real soon.
What better shot did he have than while Mackenzie was asleep and they were wrapping presents together?
“You pictured last minute wrapping with bribed help in your living room?” Eddie asked, amusement in his tone.
“Not exactly,” Steve huffed out a laugh. “More like spoiling my kid with someone I care about.”
Steve watched Eddie’s hands freeze against the clothes box full of new finger puppets they’d both gotten her. He looked over and felt his stomach swoop as Eddie’s eyes found his.
“Stevie-” Eddie set the box down and turned to face Steve.
“Wait, I just. Before you break my heart, hear me out.” Steve already felt his world shrinking, his heart rabbiting in his chest at the thought of losing Eddie entirely. “I’ve spent a lot of time with you for months. Like, more than almost anyone else. I’ve watched you with Kenzie, and how much she loves you and always asks for ‘Ed’ even when it’s way before when you’re gonna be here. You make me smile and laugh and that’s not always easy to do these days. You helped me when you didn’t have to, when you had absolutely no reason to trust that King Steve was a better person. You’re there for all the other kids even though you’re trying to get through school for real this time. I didn’t really plan a big speech, sorry. This is just rambling, I’m doing what Robin does.”
“It’s okay,” Eddie placed his hand on the side of Steve’s neck. “I get what you’re saying.”
“You do?”
“I think so.” Eddie stepped in closer. “But I think you might just be lonely.”
It stung. It wasn’t inaccurate, but it still hurt to think Eddie thought so little of him.
“I think I know how I feel.”
Eddie’s hand dropped from his neck and he took a step back. “I don’t wanna argue, Stevie. I just think you might need to separate yourself from the situation. I’m just always around, ya know?”
“You’re always around because I want you around!” Steve was just a bit too loud, but he knew Mackenzie was a heavy sleeper. “When you aren’t here, I check the clock to know when you will be. I get excited to leave work now because I’m not coming home to do the same thing I always did before. I get to see you and hear about your day and talk to you about mine and see you with my daughter, who probably loves you as much as I do.”
“You…love me?”
“Yes. I do. And I promise it’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I still want you here, reading to Kenzie. But I know how I feel. I know why I feel the way I do. You can’t tell me how to feel.”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to.” Eddie sighed. “I’m just kinda surprised. Didn’t expect you to be into guys, let alone me. I’m not exactly good boyfriend material. Or stepparent material, either.”
“Oh, fuck that. You’re more her other parent than her mom ever was. She gave her to me the moment she had her and wished me luck before her entire family moved across the country.” Steve felt tears in his eyes. “I trust you. I want you around. I love you.”
Eddie swallowed, eyes pointed towards the carpet.
A minute passed, two. It was rapidly approaching awkward when finally Eddie spoke.
“But I’m so bad at wrapping presents.”
Steve snorted, but felt relief wash over him. “I can do the wrapping. This Christmas, next Christmas, as many Christmases as you’ll stay.”
“All of them?”
“Sounds good to me.” Steve leaned in slowly, let his hands grasp at the front of Eddie’s shirt to pull him closer. “How many Christmases do kids usually believe in Santa?”
“I dunno. I stopped believing when I caught my dad stealing the two presents under our tree when I was four.” Eddie let his hands fall to Steve’s hips. “But something tells me the little princess will be a believer for a while. Better get used to me ripping holes in the paper and using too much tape.”
“Think I can handle it.”
Every time Steve had pictured kissing Eddie before this, he’d thought it would be like any other first kiss, maybe a little awkward since it was his first with a guy.
Instead, it was soft, sweet, slow, perfect. He’d kissed a lot of girls in high school, had kissed them well. Not all of them were great, but even a less than good kiss was still decent.
This was more than any other kiss he’d ever had.
Eddie held him like he would never let go, like this kiss would last forever.
It couldn’t, but that’s how it felt.
When they finally pulled apart, Steve rested his head on Eddie’s shoulder.
“You wanna stay tonight? We can both do the Santa gifts with Kenzie before all the kids bother us,” Steve asked.
“I should call Wayne. I told him I’d be home by midnight.”
“He can come over in the morning, too,” Steve said. “If you want.”
“Are you sure you’re ready for Wayne? He can be a little…gruff.”
“I’m not worried,” Steve kissed Eddie’s cheek. “Hopper’s basically my dad. Plus, Mac’s got a way of breaking the tough old men down.”
“Bets?”
Steve pulled away and started wrapping another present before he got too distracted. “I give it ten minutes.”
“Oh, how generous. I’m giving it five.”
They both laughed as Eddie decided he’d be more help putting already wrapped presents in her stocking and under the tree and making sure everything was put away when Steve was done.
And for the first time, Eddie stayed the night, holding Steve against his chest while they slept.
They both cried when Mackenzie opened her presents excitedly. She was too little to do it herself last year, so seeing her tear through the paper and find joy in throwing it around the room was like a dream come true for Steve.
Eddie admitted he felt like he was intruding for some of it, but Steve quickly reminded him that he was the first person she toddled over to with her new set of princess books and said “Ed, read.”
She sat in his lap right then, even though she still had quite a few presents to open, and he read every single book to her, making her giggle with his high-pitched voices for the princesses and silly accent for the prince.
By the time the kids were coming through the front door, Steve was rushing to shush them, pointing at the couch where Eddie was passed out with Mackenzie curled up against his side.
Steve was never happier than in this moment.
Until the next one, and the one after that.
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stevesbipanic · 1 month
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@steddielovemonth Day 27: Love is just a four-letter word. @sal-si-puedes
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Reading and writing had never come easy to Steve. Surprisingly, numbers had been easy, which definitely helped as he moved into retail later in life. Letters though, they were often his enemy.
Nancy was a big reason he even was able to graduate let alone write college essays. He'd have her check and recheck until all the letters sat in their correct spots.
Working at Scoops had been relatively easy, he learnt what flavours looked like rather than reading their labels, memorizing their menu by reading it over and over again until he was sure he knew everything on it.
Working at Family Video had been harder, a lot more titles and words to read. Miserably watching the letters jump into wrong places, often placing titles in B rather than D.
Robin helped, mentioned a cousin with dyslexia, suggested a doctor but after Starcourt you'd have to drag him to a doctor. Instead he mostly manned the till, stocked the candy and rewound tapes.
He thought about college again, thought about his future and what he wanted. He knew everything would involve reading though so he put a pin in that for later, although becoming a math teacher sounded nice, he liked numbers and kids.
Part of him was jealous that he couldn't be someone to read to Eddie as he lay in the hospital, all the kids took turns, he didn't even know if Eddie would want him to read to him.
Eddie brought a new wave of words to his life, but in loud rambles like Robin. Steve expressed how he wished he could read as much as Eddie, explaining his difficulties.
"I could read to you?"
Steve smiled at Eddie's blush.
"I'd like that."
It became a thing to chase away nightmares, soft words lulling the younger boy to sleep, Eddie never seemed to mind claiming a bedmate helped with the nightmares.
Now Steve was in a new predicament. Butterflies in his stomach every time Eddie would use his soft voice knowing Steve was almost asleep or when they'd curl up together every movie night.
"You like Eddie!"
"Ok we're just skipping over me liking guys, yes I like Eddie!"
"Has more talent than Tammy I'll give you that."
He sat at his desk now, surrounded by scrunched up pieces of paper, "This was a stupid idea!"
"What you working on, Stevie?"
Shit, was it 3 o'clock already!? He hadn't heard Eddie get here, he wasn't meant to see this yet, it wasn't perfect yet.
"Um, nothing?"
"That a question or a statement, sweetheart?" Eddie laughed softly walking over to the desk quickly peering over Steve's shoulder before Steve had a chance to cover it.
"Aw a Valentine's letter! Who's the lucky lady that has Steve Harrington writing, she must be pretty special." There was a tightness in Eddie's voice but Steve could only feel the flush rising in his cheeks.
"They are and they're always writing such lovely words I wanted to show them I was serious." Steve said hoping Eddie didn't pick up he didn't say she.
"Let me take a look, Stevie, you know I don't mind proofreading your stuff," the paper was in Eddie's hands before Steve could stop him.
Roses are red, but you only like black,
You're so brave, always having my back.
Valentine's Day, only one thing to do,
Telling you, how much I levo you!
Happy Valentine's Day Eddie!
Love your, Stevie
Steve wanted Hawkins to open up again just to swallow him up. Eddie was quiet which he never is which terrified Steve.
After a moment Eddie reached over Steve again grabbing the pencil and carefully crossing out a word in the poem.
I levo love you
"I love you too, sweetheart, spelling mistakes and all."
And that was something Steve didn't need any help reading.
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A Critique of Riordan's: Neurodivergency
tldr: Rick made ADHD and dyslexia superpowers in the books which fit the time he wrote the books, but it's not accepted now cause it diminishes neurodivergent struggle. At the same time he made autism coded characters the 'annoying' ones and had a very racist thing of having the only neurotypical be Frank.
He tried to fix it in the show. It worked for about 3 seconds.
TW: Ableism, Autism speaks mention, r slur, anti-schizo stuff.
This paragraph is useless so don't read if you don't want to: Sitting in my drafts are 3 different 'A critique of Riordan's' posts i made as i tried to redo my full critique of the Riordanverse with a little more positive feedback and a little less Rick Riordan is the devil spawn. I have decided to not do it in order because because i watched the show and i noticed some things which were iffy and others which were great. So yeah neurodivergency first. Enjoy and think Critically.
Books
Research and Diversity
The books were written in the early 2000s for Rick's son who has ADHD and dyslexia
As a result, it takes on a very "your ADHD and dyslexia is a superpower" message which were popular during the time, but we recognise now has delegitimised neurodivergent struggles
Also as a result, the books were very focused on his son's symptoms, and represented ADHD as a monolith which quickly turned into stereotypes (e.g jumpy, impatient and fast reflexes becoming the connecting feature of half-bloods)
It got so unresearched that at one point he said:
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He also talks about coffee in a similar way, despite sugar and coffee not making us more hyperactive and instead making us sleepy. Unless all the scientists and people with ADHD are wrong i really don't know this works.
and also said this: "Leo was extremely ADHD even by demigod standards" Like what
But the worst part about the PJO books was that the neurodivergency was limited to the first book. Percy's ADHD and dyslexia magically vanish and honestly it's only really brought back up in HOO every now and then (not very well might i add)
Ways he could have improved:
He could have given other characters, like Annabeth, more diverse symptoms of ADHD. It wasn't that hard, For Annabeth recognise that she as a 'gifted kid' is more likely to have undiagnosed and so have to face the issues related to being undiagnosed and/or being both a gifted kid and having ADHD, and then also give her more symptoms common to girls like being really chatty or frequently daydreaming.
Continuing having ADHD (and dyslexia) as constant parts of the novels rather than throwaway lines. Build it into the characters actions and persona rather than add it on like an accessory
Research. Never stop researching. Always reach out to people with the disorders and ask them to help. Writing is nothing without research.
Get sensitivity readers
Grammar
This is really minor, but he keeps say ____ was ADHD, and like gramattically that's a no. I am not a disorder i am a person with a disorder . Note for autism, the prefered grammer is Autistic person (aka turn into adjective and describe, something we can't do with ADHD)
Nico and Leo
Making Leo and Nico the 2 characters who were annoying and unlikeable (to everyone else not to fans) was really weird cause these 2 characters were the autistic coded ones.
NOTE: I did see a post explaining it better in the past, and i will link it when/if i find it again.
Tyson and the R Slur
I genuinely think he tried to make the r-slur scene show that it was bad, but the way Percy reacted to it wasn't quite right. Especially for childrens books these things need to be really clear. So it was good to make a bad bully character who was hated say it, but he could have made it better by skipping Percy saying "He’s not r*tarded" and go straight to "I had to try really, really hard not to punch Sloan the face."
The scene was ok, it could have been better, but again these were written in the 2000s, we have to acknowledge that.
Percy and School
Now this is interesting because this is more recent. Percy tried really hard in school and was smart, it was part of his characterisation. But he never did well in school, because that's how his disability affected him (especially since it was the American school system which we all know is shit and even more shit for people with learning disabilities).
The problem stems from TSATS, where Percy is made out to skip school, and not try at all (feeds into people with ADHD do bad cause they don't try/are lazy)
credits to @aroaceleovaldez
Racism: Frank Zhang
Frank Zhang the only Asian member of the 7 has no form of neurodivergency, despite the rest of them all having. It must be a just coincidence that there's a stereotype that asians are really smart and good at maths and the fact that the rest of the Romans have dyscalculia/s.
It's not weird at all that the character instead has lactose intolerance, which is really common in East Asia unlike dyslexia, ADHD or dyscalculia, which has such a low rate of diagnosis because there is a large stigma behind the disorders and because white people don't think Asians can have learning disabilities/s. No not weird at all that the dude is described with symptoms of dyspraxia but Rick refuses to recognise he is not neurotypical/s
I'm stepping out of sarcasm speak to remind you that Asians with learning disabilities are significantly less likely to get diagnosed with anything because:
because their parents won't let them until they have no other choice (glares at my parents) because there's a massive stigma behind intellectual/learning/development disorders in these communities
When we do try to get diagnosed our claims are diminished because of racist stereotypes and the belief that booksmarts/giftedness = no learning disability. It means most psychologists and psychiatrists (who are usually white) think that all Asians are smart so they don't ever have any form of neurodivergency and we're left to struggle.
Schizo Rep
Octavian. Villain. Schizo. Again.
Do i even need to explain this?
Show
Not actually a specific disorder - Percy just has a learning disability
Interestly Percy's dyslexia is just never talked about, And even his ADHD is never mentioned by name. He's got a random learning disorder which isn't specified. At first i assumed it was still ADHD cause the books, but watching more, you realise they aren't actually focusing on what learning disorder he has and what he has to deal with as a result of that. It's just a generic learning disorder.
Which is weird because learning disorders are all different and we all face different things, even with the same disorder. So placing all learning disorders in the same group? not good. Don't know what i expected from disney, but it wasn't this.
Autism Speaks
So the show tried to acknowledge that Percy was constantly told he was special and heroic when he really wanted to have help for his issues and for people to recognise that he has problems and those are bad. It also represented less stereotypical adhd symptoms (though whether that's because the disorder is no longer adhd or whether they wanted more inattentive symptoms to be present, we'll never know)
but then it went ahead and used a broken puzzle metaphor for his neurodivergency?
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Puzzle piece metaphors when talking about any form of neurodivergency are a no go because the creators of the metaphor literally want Autistic people dead.
I DON'T GIVE A SHIT THAT HE DOESN'T HAVE AUTISM, WE ARE NOT ALLIES TO THE AUTISM COMMUNITY IF WE USE THE LANGUAGE AUTISM SPEAKS CREATED
Not only that but a broken puzzle is not a good way to represent us anyways because NEURODIVERGENTS AREN'T BROKEN.
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yonemurishiroku · 6 months
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Wondering the whole thing about loyalty being Percy's fatal flaw might actually be on a much more personal level rather than an encompassing "children of Poseidon"-trait.
This is to say that Percy's problem with unhealthy 'loyalty' could be a consequence of his upbringing. You see. The whole point is that Percy can be wary, yet once he deems someone an ally/ not-enemy, it's dangerously difficult for him to see them in a negative light. It's this sort of bipolar disorder but the categories are "Friend or Foe", each of which comes with a package of completely separate treatment. He put Luke in the Friend lot and he nearly died for that. He distrusted Nico but he didn't see him as an enemy and fell for the kid's trick still.
Revert back to his childhood. IIRC Percy had two parent figures growing up, i.e. Sally and Gabe. And here's a thing. They are basically two ends of the spectrum of Parenting. Gabe was an abusive, negligent, alcoholic, problematic stepfather whereas Sally was like a saint or something, who had sacrificed for him so much. So Percy had only experienced two types of attitude in his perspective-shaping phase: extremely loving and downright scornful.
This could thus limit his relationship categories, and later create a hole in his view of others' attitudes, I believe. His relationship table basically has only two columns, Friendly vs Not friendly. Percy puts people in those lots based on how they treat him, how they express themselves to him, how he sees them. But people are way more than just one facet. People can be many things at once, and so are the relationships. Percy's system is lacking, so he suffers from being twirled around in complicated, multilayer dynamics.
Imagine Percy, who only has two sets of acquaintances in his life, one of which gives him misery whilst the other fights for him, is thrown into a mess of two-faced lies and concealed intentions. He doesn't have the specialized code of reaction for that. There's no special section in his handbook dedicated to "People you need to beware of" or "These guys seem friendly, but better be safe than sorry". Once Percy has decided to put you in his mind as not an enemy - he would actively refuse to treat you as an enemy because that's not the way he does it.
And because Percy has so few 'Friends', you know, that he intrinsically, automatically puts you in the Friends column as long as he finds no hostility from you. Yeah, he has Sally, Grover, and Annabeth, but he also has Gabe and Nancy (?) and IIRC the bullies. He has always felt like he didn't fit in (no thanks to you, demigod-bonus ADHD and dyslexia). Percy has had to put too many in the unfavorable section that he, subconsciously or not, favors amicable acquaintanceships - that's why Luke got to him so effortlessly, just by treating him decently.
It's quite similar to the other category too. The best example I can come up with now is Bob/ Iapetus. Bob first made his entrance as Percy's enemy aka Iapetus, and later became harmless to him after getting his memories erased. You'd think Percy would rearrange the columns, but the fact is that Percy technically didn't even remember Bob, or Iapetus for that matter, after leaving him in Nico's care. If my theory is of any credit, I suppose Bob didn't make it into Percy's 'Friends' category, i.e. Percy hadn't considered him a friend. Bob landed in as a Foe and he stayed there in Percy's head - at least up until the Tartarus debacle.
So, like I said: a bipolar relationship classifying system.
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I imagine that Soap worked /hard/ to figure out how Ghost likes his tea.
Ghost wouldn't just tell him because he enjoyed seeing the sergeant becoming more and more frustrated with the fact that he couldn't get it right.
But Soap wasn't planning on giving up, when he is sets his mind on something he will eventually achieve it. He tried every single type and flavor of tea he found, he tried making it with milk and without it. Soap tried adding lemon. Ghost looked at him in disgust when he noticed a slice of citrus in his tea. Soap changed the sugar from normal to brown, he tried several types of honey.
Ghost was adamant saying that he still had it wrong.
One day Soap sat on Ghost's desk when the Lieutenant worked on some paperwork work. Ghost had his mask pulled up, sipping on his perfectly made tea. Soap talked to Ghost about the call he got from his sister, filling the office with noise.
Ghost pretended to be annoyed, but he appreciated Soap's company, his closeness. It was actually helping him with getting through the work faster since his mind wasn't occupied by all his unpleasant thoughts. Soap filled his mind with stories from his day, funny or not so funny attempts at jokes and his family drama.
Ghost was sure that he knew way to much about the MacTavish household than someone who was never a part of it should. Sometimes he wished he could be a part of it, to meet all the people Johnny spoke so highly about.
Soap looked at the cup of tea, scanning it like it held some big secret.
"You won't get it right just from looking at it, Johnny."
"I am painfully aware, Lt."
"Giving up, already?"
"Ohh, It's not at all what I said. I have a plan to make your tea better than how you make it."
Ghost crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "I would love to see that, Johnny."
Soap looked determinated but his fingers were tapping the desk in a frantic rythm- clearly stressed.
"Yeah?"
"You can go make it now, my cup is almost empty."
"Sure thing." But Soap didn't move, he grabbed Ghost's cup and drank the rest of the tea.
"Wha-" Suddenly Ghost was being yanked up from his chair by his collar. Their lips connected.
And oh yeah, Ghost could taste tea on Soap's lips but it wasn't what he was focused on. He could taste Johnny, Johnny's hand was caressing his cheek and God did the constant pulling on his collar do things to him.
Soap was the first to pull away- only a little bit so their noses still brushed against each other. Ghost's eyes were closed, lost in feeling. He could feel Soap's breath on his lips.
"Was it good enough, Simon?"
"Never had better, Johnny." Whispered Ghost.
"Ye can get more, if ye want." Soap smiled brightly, putting his hand on Ghost's chin to make him look up.
"Yes, please."
+ bonus
"So... Will you tell me now how you really drink your tea?"
"You made it perfect the forth time you tried. I just enjoyed your struggle."
"Ah, go 'n' bile yer heid!"
I am sorry for any mistakes, I read it two times but my dyslexia is not helping 👀 I hope you like it ❤️
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~ Chapter 1. 04 ~
I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistakes and how poorly written this fanfic is. English is not my first language and together with my dyslexia ass things can go wrong I'm sorry.
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My head was bobbing to the music that was playing through my headset while I was finishing doing the dishes. The rest of the day went by normally. Nobody was weird and everything was just normal.
Normal is all I needed right now in my life with not too much stress.
I turned around to grab something from the counter when my ears began to ring. Grabbing my headset I took it off thinking it was that, but it was still there.
"What the hell," I mutter when it got louder before completely disappearing.
Great, put that on the list with the other things I have.
My phone went off that was on my couch making me snap out of whatever that just was. When I grabbed it I saw that it was Ji-su. She asked if I could come to her apartment because she wanted to let me hear something that she made for a song we were working on. I typed yes, but also said I needed to change first because I was still in the clothes I wore to work.
I took a grey long-sleeved shirt from the chair that I had in my room slipping it on before taking the black dress with spaghetti straps from the door where it was hanging. Taking my phone from the counter I walked to the door and put on my black covers.
The moment I walked out the door something felt wrong. The air was so thick that it almost was hard to breathe. I could feel my stomach turn telling me that something was off. I had had this feeling before. Every time I walked into the orphanage and it was so quiet I could feel that something was wrong or something bad would happen.
Most of the time I would be right because quickly afterward there would be a fight in the orphanage where someone would be in danger and whatnot. I'm pretty sure I developed it because I have had to be in survival mode my whole life there. I always had to look over my shoulder making sure I was safe.
Quickly I just shrug it off telling myself that it's all in my head and that I'm safe here. I came around the corner where the elevators were and saw Eun-hyuk standing there.
"Hey, going to work?" I asked grabbing his attention.
"Yeah. You?" He asked pressing the button for the elevator.
"I'm going to hang out with a friend that lives upstairs." He nodded looking away before talking again.
"Do you know how Eun-yu paid for her lessons?" I gave him a confused look.
"Why would I know that?" I asked with a laugh at the end.
"You two hang out a lot and I'm pretty sure you're the only one she talked to for the last couple of months." A frown came to my face at first, but then it hit me.
She told me she quit her lessons, but I guess she doesn't want him to know that. I didn't want to lie to him because he was also my friend.
"Eun-hyuk you are putting me in a tough spot here. If I tell you I would betray Eun-yu's trust, but I also don't want to lie to you. It's like asking to choose between you guys," I said scratching the back of my head.
A chuckle left his lips while he looked down before looking back up at me.
"I admire your loyalty to my sister and my friendship. It makes you a good friend, which she needs because she hasn't had one in a while. Maybe you could keep her out of trouble as well." I was happy that he understood what I meant.
"Do you also need a good friend right now? Seeing how you're always working and stuff. I haven't really seen you do other stuff than that," I admitted looking down while playing with my hands.
"You already are a good friend to me." He answers after a few seconds of silence.
I look back up at him seeing him smile at me.
"You're a lot over at our place and you don't ignore me like Eun-yu wanted you to do. We have fun conversations about old video games we used to play or really serious once when you have to wait on Eun-yu because she disappeared again." I let out a chuckle nodding my head.
I can't count on my hands how many times Eun-yu had disappeared in the evening. It always results in a worrying Eun-hyuk standing at my door asking if I know where she is. Most of the time I help him go look for her or try to call her because she would answer more likely to me than him.
"I'm happy you think about it that way," I answer truthfully.
"Can you just do two things for me?" He asked and in response, I nodded my head.
"Can you take care of her when I'm not around? She has the habit of getting in trouble and she needs someone to pull her back when she's going to do something, well stupid." I laugh knowing he was right.
After knowing her for a few months I know her ways to do it.
"The second one?"
"Can you tell me when she did something dangerous even if she asks you not to?" A frown came to my face while I bit on my lip.
If it were my sister I would be worried too and I would be happy if someone could tell me if everything is already with her.
"Yeah, I can do that."
He smiled at me before looking at the elevator.
"That's weird."
With a confused look, I looked at him.
"What?"
He looks up and down the elevator door before answering.
"The elevator isn't here yet. It should have been here a few minutes ago." Because of the talking, we hadn't noticed that any sound or movement was coming from behind the elevator door.
Looking to my right I saw what was wrong.
"Look, it's under maintenance. It's the stairs for us today." I look back at him and see him letting out a deep sigh putting his hands on his neck before looking back up.
"I guess you're right." I let out a laugh while we began to make our way to the stairs.
"So how are you doing lately? Are you still having those nosebleeds?" I didn't intend to tell anyone about it, but a few days ago I was over at their apartment in the evening because Eun-yu wanted my help with something.
When suddenly my nose began to bleed.
A lot.
I was used to it by then, but they weren't. I tried to stop it at first with the tissues she had in her room, but when she saw that it didn't stop she yelled for her brother who came rushing into the room because she never yelled for him. She yelled at him to do something pointing at me which he did. Having a brother who got into medical school is always handy. The bleeding stopped, but I fainted quickly afterward.
I woke up the next day in Eun-yu's bed with her looking down at me. The first thing she said was that I scared the shit out of her before asking me if I was okay. Of course, after that, I had to tell them about how it has been happening for a few days now, but that I have no idea why and that I'm okay.
Eun-hyuk wanted me to go to the hospital and let them check if everything was alright, which I quickly said no to. I don't really like people touching me. It brings back bad memories.
"I'm actually fine. I haven't had a nosebleed or fainted in a day or so now." Which was a miracle because I had them a lot.
"That's great. If it would have lasted any longer I would have taken you myself to the hospital. It could have been something really dangerous." It could be, but it's over now. It was probably related to stress. Seeing how the last couple of months have been before and right after moving here.
"Ooooh, does Lee Eun-hyuk care for someone else than his sister? Eun-yu was wrong and you are a human with feelings and not some super smart robot someone had created to annoy her." I laugh teasing him.
He tried to hide his smile, but I could see the corner of his mouth move.
"Honestly, that is probably one of the more friendliest things she has called me." I laugh nodding at him.
We said goodbye to each other when we finally reached the stairs, both going different ways. Before I took my first step up I turned around yelling his name.
"Eun-hyuk, she isn't in any danger."
A frown came on his face not knowing what I meant.
"Her lessons. She didn't do anything stupid so don't worry about it."
I began to walk up the stairs hearing him chuckle before walking down.
I know that Eun-yu is adopted. She had told me that a few months ago. It was one of the first times she opened up to me. She had shown me a picture of them when they were little with their parents. I knew their parents had died in a car accident, but she hadn't told me that it was because they were on their way to her ballet performance that she begged she could go to.
She talked about how she was an orphan and that now she had made Eun-hyuk an orphan too. I had tried to comfort her, telling her that it wasn't her fault and stupid shit like that happens. I tried, but she didn't believe me. Maybe that was the right time to say that I was one too, but I didn't want to talk about my problems when she had just opened up to me.
My feet stopped walking when I came to the fourteenth floor. The door was open, but the thing that made me stop was the smear of blood that was on it. With slow steps, I began to make my way to it. Did someone get hurt here? I haven't heard anything unusual when I was home.
Carefully poking my head out the doorway I try to see if someone was there.
There was only silence which made things worse. The bad feeling in my stomach returned the moment I stepped a foot into the hallway. Everything seemed normal until I almost slipped on something. Lifting my foot from the ground I saw more blood. I looked up and saw that it was a trail.
Someone who was hurt must have come through here. I bite my lip debating whether to just turn around and get the guard, but then the thought of him being exhausted came back. Taking just a look never hurts someone. If someone is hurt I just call someone for help. Walking beside the blood trail I began to follow it.
The smell of metallic became stronger the more blood I found on the floor. I halted in my tracks when my ears began to ring again. It wasn't like the last time. This time it hurts my ears making me cover them with my hands thinking that they will begin to bleed. It lasted a few seconds before it died down.
Slowly I moved my hands from my hands afraid I would see blood, but there was nothing on them.
"What the hell?" I mutter out taking deep breaths.
My body spun around when I heard a sound from behind me. It sounded like someone was in pain, letting out a low groan.
"Hello? Do you need help?" I was about to make my way back from where the sound came from when someone stepped from behind the corner I just come from.
It was a girl, that was for sure, but the rest of her body was kinda hiding in the shadows because the light above her was broken.
"Hey, are you okay?"
A loud squeal came from her before I heard her voice.
"I'm so hungry." To my surprise, it sounded like the girl I bumped into today.
"Uhm, I don't have anything with me?" I said confused.
I didn't know if the blood was coming from her because she was so hidden in the dark, but when my eyes traveled down her hands I saw something dripping from her hands.
"So hungry."
She took a step forward, making me take a step back not trusting the situation at all.
My eyes widened when I saw her completely now. Her face was covered in blood around her mouth and nose. The blood was definitely coming from her. My body completely tensed up when I saw her hands. They were completely covered in a grey tint that was underneath the blood together with some black vines going up her arm.
I even think that her nails seemed longer than normal humans.
"I'm hungry."
I took a few steps back when her croaky voice came out.
"J...just stay there." I managed to get out my lips.
The girl let out a groan taking more steps forward. How can this be real? She doesn't look human at all. Is she pranking me because of earlier?
"I....I'm sorry I called you a bitch!" I yelled out taking faster steps backward.
My words didn't seem to go through her. My feet stepped on something crunchy, making me stop walking scared I stepped on something she had killed. My body froze completely when she began to charge at me with a loud chilling yell.
I braced myself for what she would do to me when there was the sound of a door opening beside me, a second later someone grabbed my arm pulling me away just seconds before the girl could get to me.
Previous Chapter ~ Next Chapter
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Hey guys! I hope you guys are liking the story so far! A lot more chapters are coming! I’m going to update this every other day! So it’s going to be a long ride on this one!
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visorforavisor · 1 year
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as an Irish (we don’t call it “Gaelic”, ever) speaker and a Sunny fan, I thought it would be fun to do a bit of a post about the Irish-language scene in The Gang’s Still in Ireland, because it’s not a scene I see widely discussed but I adore it.
some background. I am not a native Gaeilgeoir (Irish speaker) — my first language is English — but I started learning it age five and have always had very high grades in it and a huge love for it. I was hugely excited about Charlie Kelly being able to read Irish in the previous episode, and even more so when he turned out to be able to speak it.
Colm Meaney, the actor who plays Shelley Kelly, grew up in Ireland and as such would have learned Irish throughout his time in school. (this has been required by law more or less since Irish independence, and it was already quite common before that. nowadays, you can get exemptions for things like dyslexia but otherwise you have to do it.) this is clear in his ease with the language. (I will do a post about where in Ireland Shelley lives at some point, because there aren’t many areas where Irish is the principal language, but that is for another day!) both the actor and the character have easy and good Irish.
Charlie Day, as an Italian-American, obviously does not actually speak the language and presumably learned the lines as a bunch of gibberish sounds. (nonetheless, some of his pronunciations do suggest he had the words written down non-phonetically too.) his delivery of the lines is god damn amazing. Charlie Kelly’s Irish is not remotely American-accented. if I heard someone speaking Irish like that, I’d assume they sounded Irish when speaking English. he doesn’t even sound neutral in Irish; he does actively have an accent (the word choices are more non-regional, not pointing to any of the three distinct dialects, but this makes sense as the same is true of Shelley’s Irish). his pronunciation is so on point and his accent is seriously just a delight to listen to. that’s serious effort to have been put in by an American in a show that routinely makes fun of Irish-Americans! I cannot stress enough how cool it is to see my national language like this and how good a job he does.
as a side note, Charlie Kelly finding Irish much easier to read than English makes total sense! he clearly has dyslexia, as well as intellectual disabilities and autism, so literacy being tricky is totally fair, but is probably being made worse in English by how much of a god damn ridiculous illogical irregular mess the language is. English has around two hundred irregular verbs, and that’s before we even begin to consider the irregularity of its spelling. Irish has eleven irregular verbs, multiple of which are only irregular in one tense. its spelling is entirely consistent and, once the rules are known, any word (pretty much) can be flawlessly pronounced from reading it or flawlessly spelled from hearing it. (I promise Irish names make sense. just not if you try to use English rules on them. the languages are very different!) Irish is one of the most regular languages out there.
so, I thought I’d go through the actual scene. I’m going to put each line, the direct translation, the subtitle provided, and a comment. hopefully this will be interesting to someone other than me!
·—·
“is mise do pheannchara, a Charlie.” (Shelley)
direct translation: “I’m your pen pal, Charlie.”
subtitle provided: “I’m your pen pal, Charlie.”
okay, so they translate “pen pal” two different ways in this scene. the first, used here, is “peannchara”. this is a compound word, much like all those long words you get in German. it’s a perfectly good choice given there is no one standard choice for translating that concept.
“tá brón orm, ach ní thuigim cad atá ráite agat. is féidir liom gibberish a léamh, ach ní féidir liom í a labhairt.” (Charlie)
direct translation: “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you’ve said. I’m able to read gibberish, but I’m not able to speak it.”
subtitle provided: “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you just said. I read gibberish, but I don’t speak it.”
I would slightly disagree with the subtitles here. the “just” bit isn’t expressed at all. in fact, there is no Irish equivalent to that word, and we often just use the English one in the middle of an Irish sentence because of this. however, I expect that RCG (Rob McElhenney, Charlie Day, Glenn Howerton) wrote the subtitles and then handed them to an Irish translator, in which case the translator did a perfectly good job. a couple of notes about the use of “gibberish” here. I love it. firstly, we totally do drop English words into sentences like that. secondly, I really like the choice to use the feminine form of “it” here (that is, to make “gibberish” a feminine noun). all languages except English are feminine nouns in Irish as a rule, so it’s just a lovely detail calling back to the fact that Charlie thinks of it as the gibberish language. also, Charlie Day really does absolutely nail that voiceless velar fricative (the consonant sound in “ach”, as in Scottish “loch” or any number of German words), a sound even many natively English-speaking Irish people are lazy about. good on him.
“níl aon ciall le sin. sé á labhairt anois!” (Shelley)
direct translation: “there’s no sense to that. it’s being spoken now!”
subtitle provided: “that doesn’t make any sense. you’re speaking it now!”
I adore the phrasing of the first sentence here. thoroughly authentic. there are much more obvious ways to phrase it, but this is absolutely what a native speaker might go with. same goes for the second, actually. Colm Meaney says the second line in a sort of shortened way (same idea as how we might turn “do not” into “don’t”) so I’ve struggled slightly with how to directly translate it. interestingly, Shelley categorises “gibberish” as a masculine noun here, but this isn’t really wrong since it doesn’t have an official grammatical gender due to not being an actual Irish word. just a little odd. also, to fit better to the subtitle of the second sentence, I personally would’ve gone with “tá sé á labhairt agat anois” rather than “tá sé á labhairt anois” (the full version of what Shelley says), as this includes the information of by whom it is being spoken.
“’s é mo dheartháir mo chara pinn.” (Charlie)
direct translation: “it’s my brother that’s my pen pal.”
subtitle provided: “but my pen pal is my brother.”
firstly, to be clear, the nuance of the sentence structure here is not captured in either of the above translations because there simply is not an English equivalent to it. secondly, Charlie uses a contraction here by shortening “is é mo dheartháir mo chara pinn”. super cool. also, there’s that other translation of “pen pal”! this one is “cara pinn”, which uses the Irish genitive case (the word mutates instead of using an equivalent of the English word “of”; this case also exists in other languages including Swedish, German, Latin, and Greek). I like this translation very much too. both work! Charlie Day again delivers this line really nicely, even stressing the word for “brother” (and pronouncing its initial consonant mutation absolutely gorgeously)! I am truly very impressed.
“níl aon fhírinne le sin, a mhic. ’s é do chara pinn… d’athair.” (Shelley)
direct translation: “there’s no truth to that, son. it’s your pen pal who is… your father.”
subtitle given: “no son. your pen pal is your… father.”
so, I really disagree with the first sentence of the subtitles here. it works, but also misses a lot of the beautiful nuance that could have been got. I would have gone with “that’s not true, son” or, more likely, “that’s not right, son”. I also disagree with the placement of the ellipsis in the second sentence, as you see (and my frustrations in translating this sentence structure to English continue, as well). however I like the use of “a mhic” (“son”) here, very much. this is a mutated form of “mac”, meaning “son” (yes, as in all of those Irish surnames; they all just basically say who the person is the son of). it carries both meanings that exist in English: an actual son, but also the use of the word as an affectionate way to refer to any man younger than the (usually male) speaker. this is a really nice choice.
·—·
so, yeah! those are my thoughts. feel free to ask any questions you like. I love this scene so much. as well as the reasons above about how good the translation and delivery is, I also love two other main things about this.
firstly, the level of dignity given to the language. Sunny makes fun of Irish-Americans all the time, but doesn’t really do the same to Irish people from Ireland, which I like (I do also wanna talk about Mac and Charlie as members of the Irish diaspora because it is so so interesting, but that is for another day). Irish as a language is not often given dignity, especially in American or English media, so I really love that it isn’t the butt of the joke here.
secondly, that such a significant scene is delivered through this language. just wonderful. after fourteen and a half series, we finally discover the biological father, and the scene cannot be separated from this beautiful language. it just is so perfect.
RCG, and of course Charlie Day in particular, we Gaeilgeoirí (Irish speakers) thank you! our little language made it to the screens of so many people around the world.
I hope this was interesting haha.
·—·
edits: fixed some things I mistyped.
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So I decided back in September that it is Time. The time has come. I am going to try and get a formal diagnosis for my blatant and provable ADHD, because I am very interested in Doing Laundry
And in my defence it has only taken until this week (late January) to kick things off, which I am very aware should probably be part of the diagnostic criteria
Anyway
I have a plan! For the best chance of being taken seriously. If the university can do their in-house screening of me, I can go to my GP and make the following two points:
I am here because my boss felt I said "But everyone does that" one too many times while discussing the ND students, and she wants me to chase this in case it means she can support me better (I of course am charmingly bemused about it because I personally would never try and get diagnosed, no no, only those attention-seeking fakers do that)
An official educational institution i.e. my employer has in fact initially assessed me and deemed me Medically Distractible. I even have an ALN plan, look. So uhhhhh, maybe my boss is right? (I of course remain charmingly bemused about it because I obviously don't really believe it, no no, I could never be the expert on my own experience, but a Third Party is invested, so...)
Anyway yesterday the uni got in touch, and had me do the initial screening.
Now, they're doing it as part of a wider screening process of learning needs, so they also check you for dyslexia, dyscalculia, dyspraxia, and autism, as well as ADHD. Plus how good your reading/writing/maths is. Plus they make you do these really fun tests - one was like a classic American spelling bee, one was a spelling test where they read out increasingly lengthy fake words and you had to spell them (we started with "blit", and by the end she was saying things like "unintarcation" and "iffrig-oggonery" and "self-regulating free market" trololol I JEST), and the other was that she'd read out a string of numbers and I had to type them backwards to test my working memory
Good fun, actually. Anyway, my results were mostly completely fine:
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Study skills are good! I mean, we're going orange at the end, look, time management is bad - but that's the ADHD, so expected.
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No problems with the tests! I mean I'm slightly grumpy about the social and communication score going blue, because I'm pretty sure it's because I explained how I was bullied in school, which I feel is more about them than me. But eh.
Dyspraxia was a little less solid- that's the time blindness, I think. Also attention and concentration, that's expected. Maths, lol - that's not medical, I'm just bad at maths.
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The autism testing. Again, mostly fine, but some overlap with ADHD symptoms, so blue instead of green. Makes sense.
And then
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Fucking rinsed.
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decadentworld · 1 year
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Hi!! Can I request Steve having his first time bottoming with reader? Im sure he would tbe the one you would have to take more time with, specialy since hes always been the top and only been with woman. I really love reading your longer fics where it all builds up. thankyou!!!
Anon, tell me why I keep making my request fills longer and longer? I hope I’m not being too exaggerated with the length of this one.
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Notions.
A story divided into moments.
Steve thinks back to all the moments that lead to him being in this position. Literally.
※ Bottom Steve Harrington/Top Male Reader.
※ 23,391 words.
※ Requested by Anonymous.
※ +18. Minors do not interact.
※ Content and warnings: First time bottoming. Gentle manhandling. Praise kink. Slightest D/s dynamics (Submissive Steve Harrington/Dominant Male Reader). Brief allusion to subspace. Laughter during sex. Discussions about gender roles and stereotypes. Porn with a bit of plot. Allusions to dyslexia.
※ Both characters are canonically 18 or older.
※ Work available only on Tumblr and under ArchiveOfOurOwn pseud of the same name (DecadentWorld). Do not repost, edit, or redistribute. Do not use for TikTok videos.
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I.
It’s already scary enough for Steve to be in a relationship with a man. Steve from two years ago, no, one year ago… perhaps even less: Steve from six months ago would have never imagined he’d ever have a significant other he would call a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend. How curious are life’s many twists and turns. It just so happens that this latest relationship of his has been the steadiest in a good while. Just shy of three months, but Steve feels it so much different from any relationship he’s ever had.
Especially from Nancy.
How to describe the contrast between you and her? He could start by the obvious: she’s a girl, you’re a guy. That’s easy. It wasn’t that easy at first, though. Steve’s only known he’s bisexual for just a bit longer than you’ve been together. It wasn’t a smooth transition, being able to put in words that he was also interested in men. It has been like that for a long time for Steve, always noticing that maybe Harrison Ford seemed a bit more handsome to him than to other guys at school. Not that he ever said it out loud. What’s always been easy for him to understand is that he could not be saying these things out loud, lest he accidentally out himself. Even at the time he wasn’t aware of his own bisexuality.
It’s different, thinking about girls and thinking about guys —a single guy, for the moment. The girls he’s been with were usually dainty, pretty, curvaceous. Soft. All things that truly appeal to Steve.
But you? A man?
Oh, boy.
You’re nothing like them. Whereas they were small, you’re big. And while they normally let themselves be led —like they expected Steve to take the reins, because both they and Steve believed it was their and Steve’s God-given place—, you’re independent. You don’t wait for any of Steve’s cues for anything at all, because this has been discussed between the two of you, which at the time gave him the biggest realization of his life: that there’s no need for there to be roles if it doesn’t feel right for both parties.
Even as this has been said, understood, and internalized… Steve started wondering early into the relationship how it would feel like if these roles (again, non-existent if not desired) were… reversed.
And you noticed. And you started to respond in kind.
It’s something new and fun to explore.
There’s more. Steve’s a pretty tall guy, and, sure, it’s rare to find taller girls. He’s always been the one to be looked up to. That would absolutely not be a problem for him at all. He liked, when he was with girls, to lean on them, to playfully put his chin atop their head, to surprise them by hoisting them —Nancy— up when they —she— least expected it.
And now?
There was one time when you did exactly the same to him. He’ll never forget the fuzzy feeling he experienced at that moment. He gave you a screaming giggle, hoping you wouldn’t notice the strong blush on his face. (You did). And when you released him and he stumbled while looking for his footing once again, he turned around, looked up at you, and…
And made this face, see, like he was having an epiphany.
It was as if he only then realized how much taller and bigger and stronger than him you were.
It was something endearing to see, that time. Steve looked as if he didn’t know what to say. His mouth was trying to form the words, but he seemed like he was also embarrassed by his inability to speak, because he looked like he was holding in a nervous laugh at the same time. And when he realized that he was truly speechless, he could only emit a little titter, tip his eyes down with an even darker flush, and bring a hand up his head to put a lock of his hair behind his ear.
The hair behind the ear is what pretty much sealed the deal. It was at that moment that Steve thought for the first time: Is this how girls would usually feel?
“Everything okay, sweetheart?”, you asked then, if only to tease him further, because you somehow knew what he was going through.
And he could only mumble incoherently.
II.
Let’s go back to this change of dynamics for a second. Steve will never not be left reeling after he experiences any of the small pushes you give against his idea of ‘set role’. Any time he feels like his preconceptions are challenged, like when you experiment with his notion of a previously self-thought assertive person, he so gracefully takes it in stride. Enjoys it, even, which is great, and Steve senses you two are reaching an unspoken agreement of sorts:
He’s going to gradually let you take the reins of the relationship.
This is so new to him. Sometimes, it downright terrifies him how alright he is with it. He feels like he should be more combative about it, but…
Steve is curious, alright? He can’t stop recalling the time before you were together when you playfully asked him to compare hand sizes, one of the most overt romantic advances in history that he fortunately responded positively to. If not enthusiastically. And, oh, how very bothered he ended up when you actually pressed your right hand to his left one, palm to fingertips, because he only then became aware of how much bigger your hand was, compared to his. His reaction at that moment was unforgettable. It was similar to the one he had when you first surprise-hoisted him up. All blushy, unable to hide it.
One of the first few times in his life he was truly abashed.
He keeps remembering with each day that passes, with each newfound sensation he gets when he’s with you. There are a series of similar happenings he can’t get enough of. These involve the times when you’re teaching him how to cook.
Listen. Steve Harrington knows he sucks at cooking, alright? But that’s because no mother of his has ever taken the time to teach him basic stuff, such as the amount of time an egg needs to be boiled, and no father of his has ever handed him tongs or a spatula and told him how he’s exactly supposed to flip burgers at a barbecue. He knows he has some of the fault in this. His past as a spoiled brat has left him reliant on the housekeeper who always leaves the fridge stocked, with meals ready to be microwaved at a moment’s notice. And after, it’s not like he had any interest or time in reading any sort of cookbooks when he was constantly stressing over the end of the world.
The fact that every time he tries his hand at cooking he keeps burning that same meal leaves him crestfallen and uninterested in anything else.
So, when you one day visited him and saw how stressed out he was, fluttering around the kitchen, you knew you had to intervene.
“Are you okay, Steve?”, you asked worriedly, watching him turning his back to you, almost frenzied, stirring on a pot and attempting to do something else you couldn’t see from your position while also making quick glances at a book on the kitchen counter.
“Yeah. Uh, I mean…” Steve twisted his head at you and quickly back at the stove. “I mean…” He seemed to trail off, too busy and perhaps even frantic, fully focused on what he was doing.
“You sure?”, you pushed.
“Uh…” A quick turn of his head towards the book and you could suddenly feel his exasperation. “Shit! It was supposed to be half a spoonful? Not a— fucking spoonful and a half.” It was obvious that he was thinking out loud.
You approached him, then, from his left side so he could see what you were doing. A nervous and disheartened glance at your arrival told you everything you needed to know. You put your right hand on the low of his back. “Doesn’t look like ‘okay’ to me, sweetheart.”
Steve gave you a long, sad look, and turned off the dials on the stove. He heaved a brooding sigh. “It was supposed to be a surprise. I thought this’d be easier and quicker to make.”
You smiled at him. He was too sweet. “Honey. You were making me food?”
Steve looked to the side. “Yeah… but, apparently, I’m too stupid for that, too.” He didn’t want to cry over this. He thought he would look even more stupid if he did.
You knew he was spiraling, and you wouldn’t let him. You were familiar with how hard he was on himself on a good day, but you also knew how bad that would get when he was trying to give you his displays of affection. So you brought the hand you had on his lower back up to his chin, softly stroking it with your thumb, catching the gorgeous shy look he was giving you. “You’re not. I forbid you from calling yourself that.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Seriously, Steve. You’re not stupid. Whoever told you that, they’re all levels of wrong.”
His eyes strayed anywhere else, and he muttered: “I call myself that.”
“Well. You’re wrong, then.”
Steve quickly glanced up at you again. There was so much conviction in what you said that he just had to bite his lower lip to hold back a smile.
You smiled, too. You lead his head closer to yours, noticing how breathless he got, and gave him a slow and sweet kiss on his lips. When you withdrew, he was looking up at you with stars in his eyes. “You’re a sweet boy. You were cooking for me. That’s so lovely.”
Maybe you understood that he liked a little bit of praise, too, that day, if the way he looked down and to the side with the lightest dusting of pink on his face was indication enough.
But that expression was rapidly being overshadowed by dejection.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here. I can’t seem to follow basic instructions. It’s like the words get mixed up, or something.” He looked back at the cookbook and your hand fell from his chin.
“Hm.” You skimmed over the contents of the book, and glanced back at the previous preparations he had on the stove. “I got this one. Mind if I help you?”
Steve bit his lip. “How?”
And you—
You got behind him. Pressed your chest to his back. And took each of his hands in yours.
Steve gasped.
“Like this?”, you asked. “You might be able to learn a thing or two better if you have the muscle memory.”
Sure. Muscle memory, Steve thinks, among the haze that his mind has become. The warmth of your bigger body against his makes it hard to think of anything else. But he claws himself out of it long enough to answer: “Uh— Y-Yeah. Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay!”, he reiterates, with a giddy smile you can’t see and a nervous titter present in his voice.
You chuckle as well.
That day was the first time Steve sincerely felt like he was being… eased into a lighter headspace. The way you guided his hands while chopping ingredients on the cutting board, while sliding them into a pot, even while in the act of properly washing his hands under the faucet and drying them as well… It all had him almost breathless. It was the first occasion in which he didn’t mind relinquishing that previously-thought position he had believed he had to occupy, once upon a time.
And how to describe the feeling?
It felt like a weight off his shoulders. It felt like something he thought should’ve always been present in his life.
It felt natural. Not forced.
That feeling of being enveloped, not only by your bigger and warmer frame, but by this sense of a guiding hand you were giving him, was slowly turning him into mush on the inside, and setting off a fuzzy sensation inside him, like a tickling feeling. It was causing chaos inside his mind, and he didn’t want it any other way.
Which made following your instructions a lot harder, but, hey, that’s why you were being his puppeteer, right?
“Pay attention, baby.” Your murmuring next to his ear had the exact opposite effect.
“I am,” he choked out.
God. His cheeks were so red by that point. Steve found himself abashed knowing that you could see him, because your head was lying on his shoulder, right against his. And the way his heart was pounding, reverberating through his body and through yours against his, was so obvious he knew you would’ve been able to sense it even if you’d been on the other side of the room.
But he found some solace in the fact that yours was pounding, too.
That is the flashback —or rather, string of flashbacks, since you had to keep teaching him how to make different meals— that keeps him going whenever he gets too much into the particular idea that he’s doing something wrong. Because he’s not. Steve feels right when you make him feel like this, and no amount of bigoted ideas drilled into his mind since he had use of reason will stop him from coming back to those moments.
III.
And what moments. Steve has a little problem every time he remembers the first few times he was intimate with you. A man.
Hoo, boy. It’s so different with a guy. The change —or rather, lack— of dynamics would make for interesting situations in bed. And on the couch. And by the entrance door. And…
Well. You can’t blame Steve. It’s as if this new relationship, this new revelation, re-awakened his high libido he thought broken after the whole supernatural shebang. At first, it was he who would eagerly turn you around against the wall after you initially did, turning the previous make-out session into something hot and heavy that would leave him bothered. You would let him, because you understood how new and inexperienced he was with a male, and wanted him to be fully comfortable. He would fall into place and push his own hips against yours, feeling thoroughly thrown off in the best way at feeling something similar growing and pressing against himself. Then he would do it faster, harsher, getting light-headed when he’d feel your big hands on his lower back, urging him until he would muffle a shout in your chest and cum in his pants like it was the first time he’d ever had an orgasm.
But then, as more times followed, and more items of clothing would gradually disappear, Steve would find himself as the recipient of these same actions. The first time was the exact same situation: against the wall. Only, he was the one trapped against it and your body, and he was the one to be rutted against.
And this peculiar feeling of confinement wasn’t unpleasant.
The second time was on your couch. There was excitement in the fact that you two were slowly turning more horizontal. He tentatively let you arrange him to be sitting against one of the arm rests with his legs extended while you kneeled in the space between them. There was also comfort in the fact that you would check on him every five or so minutes, so that Steve would understand that that position was a choice fully of his own, and that he could tap out at any moment if he needed to. And so, the fun would heighten, and he would totally feel out of his depth when he understood that he didn’t have that much space or momentum to rut against you, and that he would have to receive more than he had to give.
He would have to take it.
And this knowledge made his heart beat so fast it’d feel like it was coming out of his chest, and it turned his face into the most appealing shade of pink, and it would pull the prettiest moans and the prettiest expressions out of him, and it made his legs shake like they had never before with a girl, and it had him coming in his pants and covering his mouth in shame at the loud moan that threatened to escape him.
And the third time was the first time he had the courage to ask to undress you, and you responded in kind and asked if you could undress him in turn, and suddenly you’d both be on your bed, only one layer of clothing left.
Steve would take off the last item of clothing of his by himself, the first time he’d ever be sheepish in a sexual encounter. You would compliment his size, because it was a very nice-looking cock indeed. There was no doubt over why he’d been called King Steve in the past.
But when your own underwear was off, he gasped and sat up in shock. In alarm, perhaps. Because, sure, he was King Steve, who was the subject of mainly nice rumors…
But you?
It was ridiculous. There had to be a limit.
So, understanding how apprehensive he was, you would comfort him, tell him you didn’t have to do anything if he changed his mind.
But Steve surprised you, and he smiled timidly, seeming to cover his mouth with one hand while he simply looked at it.
He would exhale, almost as if he was chuckling. Nervously, of course. “It’s…”
“Yeah. I know.” Your apologetic smile put him just a teeny bit more at ease.
Steve looked at your cock, then at you, then at it again, one jittery hand hovering in the air close to your body. “Um…”
“D’you wanna touch it?”, you encouraged him. You grabbed his right hand with all the softness in the world. You leant up on your right elbow and laid your head on your hand, trying to transmit as much ease as you could to him.
“Yeah. Okay,” he answered shyly, and he shortened the distance until his hand was gently palming your half-hard cock.
Steve heaved in a breath. It felt…
It felt so similar, yet so different. New. Exciting. He stroked with an open palm up and down once, releasing a small titter at your pleased hum.
You would not leave him unattended, of course. Your own left hand slowly approached him, first resting on his folded left leg. Your big hand stroked up and down his thigh twice, hearing his excited shaky breath, and came to rest on the juncture of his leg and hip.
You looked at him, noticing he was biting his lower lip in anticipation. So you didn’t tease him anymore, and finally wrapped your hand around his erect cock.
Steve released a silent moan and his eyes closed on their own for one moment, until he felt your initial first strokes and just had to watch you. He released a disappointed little noise that made you smile when you let his cock go, only to go red as a cherry afterward when he realized his little slip-up.
You chuckled. It was clear that this situation was so new to him, so much so that he didn’t know how to handle his own reactions. “Cute.”
Steve tried to hide. Impossible. His pink flush covered every part of his head, down to his neck and hairy chest. “‘M not cute.”
You straightened until you were sitting up, used one hand on the bed and another one on his thigh as leverage, and closed up on him, until you were leaning into him. Steve looked at you from under his lashes when you did this, biting his lip in anticipation, because the point of contact on his thigh, so very close to his hard cock, was making it hard to think about anything else. “You are.” The other hand that wasn’t on his thigh then slid to the back of his head, and you ran your fingers through his hair. He exhaled heavily. “There’s no fighting me on this.”
That’s how you slowly guided him into a steamy kiss, at the same time that you took hold of his cock once more, feeling more than hearing his muffled moan against your mouth. You stroked him, softly, just so enough that he would push his hips towards your hand, aching for more.
You were feeling particularly mean that day. Your hand kept its slow pace and you felt just how much that agitated Steve. He withdrew from the kiss and gave you this expression, like he was all but holding in the biggest pout ever. You only raised your eyebrow at him, secretly thrilled at his neediness. “Want anything?”, you teased him.
“Yeah. You know.” Steve’s face was so pink. You knew how much of a novel it was for him to have to actively ask for something, rather than simply do it himself, if only because he was still getting used to this fun change of dynamics.
“Oh, but I don’t. Do enlighten me.” You got all close and personal with Steve by this point, noticing his averting eyes. “Use your words, baby.”
At that, Steve could only bite his lip. He mumbled something, too low for you to hear.
“Sorry. What was that?” You smirked at him, because it was obvious that he was enjoying being teased so much.
“Do it faster,” Steve reiterated, unable to look at you by then.
“Do what faster, exactly?”
Steve made this embarrassed noise, something between a grumble and a whine. He hid his red face in the pillow under him while you chuckled. “Stroke me. Faster.”
You bit your lip while he couldn’t see you. You thought it was too early to test the waters for it, even though you were extremely sure he was starving for praise, so you settled with telling him: “Good.”
Steve’s eye peeked from the pillow’s soft cotton when you said this, and you knew you had hit the nail right on the head, if the way his face softened when you said it was indicative enough.
Then you complied with his request. Steve went from an embarrassed mess to a shameless one after only a few seconds of intense stroking. He shifted on the bed until his face was fully visible again, and you were able to see the way it transformed from his pleasure before your eyes. With no clothes to act as a hindrance, he could feel everything.
And even then, he took you by surprise. Without warning, he started stroking you with the same speed you did to him. You met his eyes. He had a particular glint in his that led you to understand he was feeling competitive.
You raised an eyebrow.
He bit his lip, like he was holding back a smile, even as his moans were momentarily muffled. Then, he gave you that same verbal confirmation for your thoughts, even though it was quite far off from what you had been expecting:
“You want me to go faster? Use your words.”
But he said it with such a waver in his voice and with such a deep shade of pink on his face that you couldn’t help but cackle at him. Steve’s face turned pouty as you did, but he knew you weren’t being mean on purpose. It was just so fun to think that he wanted to return to his former place on top, like he was trying to flip your own game on you.
How wrong he was to think that you would go down without a fight.
You chuckled a bit more. “Cute.”
“What?”, he asked with a shaky voice, subtly pushing his hips into the tunnel of your left hand.
“It’s cute that you think you can win this game.”
Steve’s face got impossibly redder. He closed his eyes for a second while his mouth opened in a silent moan, but tried to compose himself afterward. You leered at him, each time more convinced that he did have a little bit of a praise kink. He steeled his face as much as he could afterward, intently looking at you. “It’s not— It’s not a game if you’re not even trying to beat me.”
You smirked. “Oh, so you want me to put up a bit of a fight?”
“I mean,” Steve started, trying to look nonchalant. “…if you’re not a coward.”
You chuckled lowly at him. Then, you got close to him, trying to blanket his body with yours, but he was ready for it and met you in the middle. He kissed you hard, attempting to overpower you. That made you chuckle within the kiss, something that made him grunt in something similar to annoyance in response. Your hand moved faster and harder on his cock, a heavenly feel to him as the amount of pre-cum he was leaking made things easier, resulting in an intense handjob, made all the more vivid from your rough and calloused hands.
Even as he moaned freely in the kiss, he was still trying to get you to lie under him. His hand imitated your own’s movements, though you could feel the slight tremor his was showing. He tried to overcompensate by opening your mouth and pushing his tongue onto yours.
You raised your eyebrows at this, but kept this little game he didn’t know he had lost before he had even started. On one twist of your hand, his hips pushed up higher up and his cock accidentally brushed against yours, making him yelp and making you grunt. You withdrew to look at him and noticed the redness of his face overtaking his neck and chest now. Clearly, he was trying to keep up, but the haze of pleasure was making it difficult.
Still, he pushed on and attempted to lay the expanse of his body on yours, still stroking you fast. It seemed like he forgot how much stronger than him you were, because you didn’t even budge an inch.
As this dawned upon him, you did the same to him while in his stupor, gently pushing forward to lay him down until he was completely horizontal on the bed. He put his free hand on your chest, and you stopped in your tracks, wondering if he wanted to stop.
But when he started trying to push you back and to the side, you understood it was all still part of the game. Steve’s face took on an annoyed expression, like he was truly bothered about not being strong enough to overpower you.
He decided to up the ante and released your cock, using now both hands to attempt to subdue you, opting to clutch your hips with his legs to gain enough momentum to toss you aside.
You didn’t move at all. Instead, all that did was rub your cocks together.
Steve moaned, starting to understand that it was a lost battle.
And you chuckled again, releasing his cock to hold yourself up over him. “See, I think it’d be easier if you just admitted defeat.”
Steve groaned, but it was clear that he was trying to hold back a smile. “Not a chance.” He thrashed on the bed, putting all his strength in his limbs for a strong shove.
He managed to push you aside for a second thanks to the momentum, but as soon as he wanted to imitate your previous position, you were on him again. You wrestled on the bed for some seconds. You were delighted with the small giggles he was releasing, knowing how fun this change felt to him.
You laughed back at him once you were just like before: holding yourself up over him. This time, your hands held his shoulders softly, but firmly, pressing him down into the mattress.
Steve’s hands shot up at you, but you quickly grabbed his wrists and put them to the sides of his head. When you did this, he quieted down, and his face took on an even darker shade.
You softened the grip on his wrists just to make sure he was alright with it, but he didn’t move them an inch. Instead, his body went lax under you.
It was such a heady sight. “I win.”
Steve blinked out of his stupor for a second. “Y-Yeah. I guess.” He tried to look annoyed, but he just looked like he was holding back a nervous smile.
“Do you surrender?”, you drawled out, getting close to him, close enough to breathe the same air as him.
His heart was beating so fast. “I guess,” he mumbled, trying to look like this was a hassle for him, but the pink on his face wasn’t receding.
“You guess?”
Steve gave you a look, like he was annoyed. Then, he thrashed once again, attempting to use the element of surprise to overthrow you once more, but you were prepared.
With the grip on his wrists, you held his writhing body down and turned him around on the bed, softly, an intoxicating contrast to what he was expecting.
Steve gasped, genuinely feeling small at the feel.
You managed to lay him down until you were enveloping his body with yours, your chest pressing against his back.
When Steve felt this, he gave you a moan he’d never heard himself make. His face was almost squished against the pillow, and the feeling of being utterly overpowered was making his thoughts go haywire.
You released his left hand while you gently twisted his right one until it was held against the low of his back. At the same time, your hard cock brushed against his right cheek on accident.
Steve gasped.
“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna do anything weird right now.”
He was secretly relieved. You released his hand, which remained against his back even then, holding yourself up and your hips pushed off the bed just in case, so that your cock wouldn’t come in contact with him anymore. Steve noticed this but didn’t say anything at first, and he couldn’t after, when you took hold of his cock that was pressed in-between his belly and the mattress and started stroking it fast at once. He moaned loudly and freely.
“That’s it, baby. That’s so good.”
Steve moaned even louder at that. He didn’t know why that simple word made him feel all fuzzy inside. But you did.
He reached back with his left hand until he could touch your hips. “It’s— fine. You can…” He attempted to press you against him.
“You sure?”, you asked him; despite this, you complied immediately and pushed your hips against his ass, though you lowered your body a bit so that your cock wouldn’t be in direct contact with his ass.
“Yeah, but it’s— you can—” Steve pressed his face against the pillow from the embarrassment when he tried to push you higher up with his left hand behind him. “It’s okay if… but we don’t… Jesus, don’t make me say it.”
You chuckled. You pressed your body against him, angling your hips so that the length of your hard cock would be pressing between his cheeks, pointing downwards.
Steve almost shouted at the feel.
That was how you managed to make Steve feel even more helpless: your entire body pressed against the back of his against the bed led him to rut against your right hand in desperation.
You kissed his nape to give him some comfort. “Just this. I don’t think you’re ready for that.”
The back of his neck burned with abashment. “Yeah. You’re right. I mean, I think. I mean—”
You chuckled and gave his neck more little kisses. He released a small titter because of his nervousness. “Trust me. You aren’t.”
Steve bit his lip where you couldn’t see him. You just kept stroking him, the feeling of being enveloped by you adding on to his mental haze. He tentatively shifted his hips to chase more of the feel of your hand, but in doing so he also incidentally rubbed his ass on your cock.
Steve didn’t know why that pushed him so close to the edge.
You’d never heard Steve make such a sound— he was all but whimpering deliriously. Steve realized this and covered his mouth with his left hand, grabbing onto the sheets next to his head with his right one.
He was so adorable. You knew he was embarrassed from his own reactions to this change. “Does that feel good?”, you grunted next to his ear as you shifted your hips to rub against his rear again.
Steve blubbered something unintelligible, legs folding on their own, as if he was close.
You cackled at him. “Babe. I asked you a question.”
“What— Ah, fuck— Y-Yeah. Yeah.” Steve’s was all but writhing on the bed by that point. “Wh-Why does it feel so good?”
“We can talk about it later. For now…” Your hand was a blur between his belly and the mattress while you rubbed your cock on his ass. “… I want you to cum just like this. Come on, sweetness. Make a mess.”
You knew just how nonsensical he got when he came on a good day. But you didn’t know this would be a strong orgasm, so you weren’t prepared for the way he moaned, almost like it hurt, when he had the most intense orgasm he’d had to date, spurting lines upon lines of cum, as if you’d edged him for hours. God. His face was probably the best part, but you couldn’t see him from your position. Such a shame. His little whines would probably embarrass him if he had more coherence that moment.
After coming like a literal freight train for what seemed like minutes, you knew he was done when he relaxed on the bed. His breaths were quick and deep, like he couldn’t draw in enough air.
Your hard cock was twitching from its snug position between his cheeks, but you ignored it for the while. Your mouth started making its way to his, starting from his nape, where you left slow kisses, until you reached his red cheek. Steve was too out of it to respond.
You lifted yourself off his body, and he still didn’t acknowledge you. You gently manhandled his body and rolled it around, until he was lying on his back on the bed, next to the frankly impressive cumstain on the sheets. Steve’s eyes were closed and his breathing only then started to return to normal. You kneeled between his parted legs.
Steve finally opened his eyes, seeming to just then realize that his position had been changed without his knowledge.
“Back on the land of the living?”
He breathed in and out a couple of times before he chuckled, shyly, rolling his eyes at you. “Jesus, dude.” Steve took in the hard cock that was looming over his own spent one, the heat from yours so strong that he could feel it in the proximity. He bit his lip, extending a shaky hand forward and taking your cock in it. “You’re still…”
“Yeah,” you answered nonchalantly.
“I… let me…?” Steve looked up at you in question.
As if he ever needed confirmation from you. “Whatever you want, baby.”
He steeled himself and started stroking you, slowly at first, but quickly building up the pace until his hand was a blur on you.
You closed your eyes and bit your lip. “Won’t be too long, now.” Your hips freely pushed to and fro within the tunnel of his hand.
Steve was taken aback by this at first, but the visual rapidly turned the feelings inside him into something fuzzy and hot and.
And. Big.
And when you moaned in that low voice of yours, it was like one of the few remaining notions in his mind were broken once again: the contrast between a feeble and feminine voice against this gruff and masculine one was unmistakable. He welcomed this change too much. He’d thought he couldn’t get any more flustered, but he’d been wrong.
As you leant down and held yourself over Steve on your hands and knees, Steve thought he’d never felt smaller than at that moment. His heart was pounding so hard from the feeling of being caged in, but he —even with his terrible experiences with being trapped, confined, restricted in any way— felt safe, not cornered.
You opened your eyes just in time to see another one of those epiphanies he continuously had those days. You smirked at him, and Steve glanced at you before his eyes strayed downwards again, mesmerized with the sight of your cock thrusting into his fist.
Which. Well. Might have been just the tiniest beginning of a second epiphany that day.
“‘Find out something new?”, you grunted out, already close.
Steve looked up at you once more, mouth opening but then closing, biting his lip in that shy way you were so familiar with. “Maybe…”, he mumbled.
You gave him a low laugh before you bit your lip and closed your eyes, face twisted in bliss. “Getting close.”
Steve seemed to breathe faster at that. He only nodded, almost enthusiastically, and his hand stroked you even faster. He gave you a quick sultry look, and you were left wondering what it meant before his left hand went under the one he had on your member, and rolled your testes with it.
You growled at him, hearing his intake of breath at it, before you lent forward, closer to him, hovering only shy of a foot over him. You opened your eyes to see him looking almost frantic, unable to choose between looking at your face or at your cock, before you closed the distance and gave him a short, steamy kiss.
Steve whined a little when you withdrew, because you were suddenly coming on his stomach, grunting from the release. He kept stroking you through it, drawing in breaths from his open mouth as you added to the mess on his stomach.
His cock valiantly tried to fill for a second.
Once you were done, you smiled at him, noticing his sheepish expression. You rolled to the part of the bed that wasn’t stained with his cum and lay down on your side.
Steve’s eyes were shyly straying away from yours, but he wasn’t able to look away for too long, always coming back to your own or to the mess you made on his belly.
You used the hand that wasn’t stained with his cum to stroke a finger across his cheekbone. “So? What did you think?”, you asked him, as you reached behind you without looking to grab some tissues.
“W-Well…” He looked adorable. He lowered his face down to your chest, so hopelessly trying to hide the blush on his face, but it was useless. He giggled against your skin. “It was… something.”
You chuckled in sympathy. “Baby.”
“Hm.”
“Was there any point where you didn’t like any of it?”, you asked, specifically thinking of the part where you were rubbing yourself against his ass.
Steve’s eye peeked from your chest. He bit his lip to hide a smile, even though you couldn’t see it from your position, and shook his head.
“No? None at all?”
Steve knew what you were referring to. His face only got redder. “No. Actually…” He looked like he was about to say something, but quickly lost his courage and hid his face again. “N-Nevermind.”
“It’s okay to be embarrassed, sweetheart.”
He grumbled, embarrassed. “‘M not embarrassed.”
You could only chuckle at that. You kissed his forehead, and Steve laid his head in such a way that you could see him. “Whatever you say. I’m just saying there’s a first time for everything, and I recall you seemed to like a certain part a lot.”
Steve kicked his feet against the bed and he— he whined. Like it physically hurt him to hear you say this. He mumbled: “And what about it.”
You openly laughed at him. He was just so fun to tease. “Nothing. Just saying. There’s a whole world of possibilities you might have not thought about yet.”
God. Steve’s face was steaming hot by this point. He knew what you meant, but he couldn’t verbalize it, the sole idea setting off many different reactions in him, most of which were welcome, but made his heart pound fast at the same time, gave him the shivers.
But you knew he was probably drained, so you took his silence as a gentle dismissal for the day.
IV.
That last memory could be named ‘The Beginning Of It All’, because Steve feels like something fundamentally changed in him after you both were done that day, him staying up for a while after you started dozing off, lost in his thoughts.
These same thoughts invade his mind at every point of the day the next days that pass. At work, at home —alone, like always—, while going to run some errands. He can’t get that particular moment out of his mind, and it makes his face turn so red to just catch himself starting to think about it.
Because, first of all, he’s still wrapping his head around it. It being the fact that you were right: there is truly a world of possibilities he hasn’t completely thought about up to that moment. It being the fact that he’s starting to wonder how… some things might feel, and Steve finds himself almost steaming from bashfulness when he can finally find the courage to put it into words:
Fucked. He wants to know how it would feel like to be fucked.
He runs his hands through his hair, across his face, over his mouth, anything to try to somehow erase the red tint his face gets when he thinks about it.
It never works, of course. At work, Robin gives him that squinty look whenever she catches the most minuscule shift from his normal skin tone to anything other. Like a shark to blood.
“You know you can tell me anything, right, Stevie?”
“I know, Robbie. But maybe not this one?”
And his face goes the deepest shade imaginable after saying it and he tries to cover it, and Robin stews in her concern, but leaves it at that. She helps by offering to pull out the old reliable You’re Cool vs. You Suck board, to which Steve gently but exasperatedly refuses. Because he is cool, for once. He believes.
V.
Some few days after The Beginning Of It All, Steve caves in. He’s just so desperate to know more about this particular fixation of his that has his mind going haywire, but he knows it has to be different.
He’s had anal with a few of the girls he’s had sex with, so he knows the difference between vaginal and anal penetration. Obviously. He won’t be able to involuntarily self-lubricate or dilate before being penetrated. He knows that.
He just doesn’t know what it entails. Before sealing the deal.
So Steve, in his eagerness to learn more, spends one of his weekend days travelling all the way down to Columbus, where he knows no one will recognize him, an almost two-hour-long trip just to have a semblance of anonymity.
How freeing it is, to be able to walk into a —though secluded— queer-friendly sex shop, just to buy a magazine where he’ll be able to read ‘Everything You Need to Know About Anal!”, and come out of it, full-incognito. He just hopes times will change in the future and he won’t have to hide so much for something so simple.
So, two hours later, when he’s back home and with a fresh new magazine in his hands that he treasures like a family heirloom, he gets comfortable on his bed after closing the door to his bedroom —as if his ever-absent parents would barge in at any moment.
And he reads.
Admittedly, the more he reads, the more he can feel his face start to heat up, albeit for a different reason now. Because he now knows what he needs to do. Before.
He giggles. He reads on. Discovers new things apart from the specific act of anal penetration, since the magazine focuses on gay sexual health in general. Is taken aback by a few things, mentally slaps himself on the face for not paying enough attention back in high school. Particularly reprimands himself for thinking that condoms are only useful for stopping pregnancies, hasn’t really thought about the possibility that there are sexual diseases and a whole epidemic going on, something that could have gotten to him even during the times that he would have sex with girls.
Finds out something that interests him way too much, another one of the things he glossed over at school, but is sure a lot more of his classmates would have as well:
‘The prostate. Just a quick stroke on this bad boy will have you seeing stars. Ask your partner to try it on you.’
Curious. Where is it, again?
Oh, right. Just about two inches into.
“Into…”, Steve mutters, feeling the tips of his ears burn. He covers his face with the magazine and giggles, just like a girl with a crush. He lowers the mag until his eyes can peek from above it. His eyes stray anywhere and everywhere as he’s in deep thought.
Into. Steve hasn’t had any sort of stimulation on his behind other than some days ago, when you got him off while rubbing yourself against him, but he can clearly recall his own reaction to it. Such a strong response has to mean something. He just hopes it ends being all it was said to be.
His cock is starting to get hard from the thought. Just recalling that encounter has him feeling heady, growing inside his pants. Steve bits his lip. He lays the magazine on his chest and rubs the juncture between his thighs and groin with his hands while he thinks. The idea of fingering himself is growing more and more in his mind. He just has to give it a try.
A wild thought strays into his mind: the image of you thrusting two fingers in and out of him.
Steve releases a heavy breath. That vision has his cock throbbing.
He grabs the magazine and drops it beside him, on the mattress. Then, he quickly gets up and makes his way to the shower.
Previous preparations are done. Now comes the fun part. Hopefully.
Steve throws himself on the bed, still naked after the shower. His cock has remained on the beginnings of an erection all throughout, and it’s driving Steve crazy.
He settles until he’s half sitting up, half lying down on the center of the bed. He reaches to the side and opens his drawer, taking out the bottle of lube he has stored. Quickly, he opens it and pours a generous amount of the liquid on the fingers of his right hand, recalling what the magazine said about there never being enough lube for anal. He giggles a bit in the face of what he’s about to do.
With a heavy breath, Steve lowers his right hand down to his behind. He plants his feet on the bed to have a better approach. Then, he tentatively brushes his middle finger against the furl of his hole.
Steve bits his lip. It feels intense, and he hasn’t even started doing anything yet. He tries to relax, just in the way he’s read. Breathing in and out, he rubs the tip of his finger in circles, around his hole and occasionally venturing towards the center of it. Then, he steels himself, and starts pushing in.
He finds that the first finger enters without much trouble, perhaps a bit too easily, because he suddenly finds himself pushing it to the last knuckle on accident.
Steve gasps. It feels… equal parts good and weird. He covers his mouth with his free hand and giggles. He can’t believe he’s really doing this.
He waits for some seconds until he gets used to the feeling of his finger inside himself, and then starts pulling it out.
Okay. That feels downright weird.
Steve continues in spite of this, talking himself into enjoying this, trying to recall the feel of your hard cock rubbing between his cheeks. But it’s one thing to have another person do it to him while in a context where he was already hard, and another entirely different one to experiment with himself while he’s only now starting to feel pleasure.
He lowers his left hand to the discarded tube of lubricant on the bed. Steve does some gymnastics with his fingers, trying to open the lid with only one hand and to pour lube on that same hand, something that makes him spill some lube on the bed on accident. Oh, well. At least he gets some of it on his hand. When he’s done, he closes the lid with one wet hand and moves that same hand towards his cock. He encloses his member with his lubed hand, and that instantly brings him some pleasure.
But it’s not enough. It’s sort of difficult to stroke himself with his left hand, given that he’s right-handed.
Steve shakes his head. He thrusts his finger in and out of himself and tries to look for… anything that might give him some pleasure, but he simply can’t.
He thinks it’s because he only has one finger in him, so he puts his ring finger next to his middle one, squeezing together until he feels his rim give a little. It feels like a tight fit, but Steve pushes on, before he manages to fit the tip of his second finger inside him.
The stretch gives him pause. It certainly feels like a strain and it burns to a degree.
He doesn’t let that stop him and pushes forward, and he suddenly finds himself with two fingers inside him.
Steve breathes heavily. The stretch does something for him, but he doesn’t know if it’s something good or not. The only thing he knows is that his cock gives a little kick at the strain, but it’s too early to say if he really likes it, or if his body is just reacting naturally at this point.
So he waits and strokes himself slowly. His cock is only about half hard. Still, he holds on until he feels like he can move his right hand. He starts pulling his two fingers out and then back in at a leisured pace. There is undoubtedly something intense about the feeling. He keeps on thrusting slowly, in and out, still rubbing his cock at the same speed, and then starts a faster pace with his fingers.
Still. Nothing much.
He suddenly recalls what he read in the magazine. Right. The prostate. Two inches into.
Only, Steve doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel for. He presses forward, upward, but nothing really stands out.
Steve purses his lips, almost pouting. He was expecting something mind-blowing after the other day. He prods and thrusts some more, but it’s fruitless.
He reaches a sad conclusion: What if he doesn’t enjoy anal sex at all? Has that time just been a one-off?
Sighing, he pulls his fingers out, resigning himself to finishing himself with a mediocre handjob.
VI.
Steve’s dejected mood translates into most of his actions the next days. You’re the one who notices the most, when you visit him at Family Video today.
He’s alone in the store, Robin probably in the back room for her break, no clients in sight. He has his back to you, for once seeming to do his job and arranging VHS’s in a neat pile. That tells you all you need to know.
He senses someone behind him, but doesn’t turn around as he says: “Welcome. How may I help you?”
“I’d like the longest and horniest movie you have, please.”
Steve jumps at your voice. He quickly turns around, and whatever light scowl that might have been present in his face is instantly swapped for a nervous smile.
But you can see some slight tension on his face, so you say: “Don’t worry. There’s no other people here.”
“Yeah,” Steve starts, his voice almost tight, “…I know.”
You think his attitude is a bit strange. On any other normal day he would’ve been vibrating with energy just by having you in his proximity, but today it seems like he’s just subdued. Unhappy for some reason.
So you lean on the counter and notice his intake of breath, as well as the subtle reddening of his cheeks, something that will never change regardless of his mood.
“What’s got my pretty boy so down?”
Steve valiantly tries to grin at you, but it sort of comes out as a grimace. He hums. “I can’t really talk about it at work.”
You hum, too. “Wanna tell me about it after work?”
Steve bites his lip, like it’s a hard decision for him. Now you’re convinced that there’s something truly wrong going on. Finally, he decides. “Yeah. Same time as always?”
“Yep.” You subtly brush your fingers against his hand on the counter, the most overt thing you’ll try in public, knowing how nervous he gets about it. Steve sighs happily when you do. Then, you lower your voice, almost to a murmur. “I’ll give you an extra good time, just to see you smile. And, well. Make other sorts of faces, too.”
Your angel turns red. He giggles against his own shoulder, giving you the first display of genuine happiness.
You chuckle as well, as you turn to leave.
Later in the evening, Steve shows up in your doorstep, and you can’t help the way you practically drag him inside your house. He laughs when you do.
As soon as you close the door, you’re on him. Steve’s gasp is muffled by your lips, but he composes himself to respond in kind. You feel him opening his mouth to push his tongue onto yours, which surprises you, since he’s not usually the one to start such contact. Not that you’re complaining. You brush your tongue against his and feel his moan vibrate throughout your body. As if on instinct, his body presses against yours, but as soon as you feel the beginnings of a hard-on —which, surprisingly, isn’t yours—, he withdraws at once.
Steve gives you a nervous half-smile. “Hi,” he says, so shyly it gives you whiplash.
You chuckle. “Hey, there.” You lean down to give him one last peck on his lips. When you separate, you take his hand to start leading him further into your house. “Wanna sit on the couch? Watch a movie? Or…”
He stays in silence for some seconds, starting to look all too awkward for some reason.
You rub the hand you have in yours with your thumb, the question obvious in your face.
“Um…” Steve looks down, abashed. “Wh-Whatever you want.”
You purse your lips. “Hm. No offense, sweetheart, but that was the least convincing thing you’ve ever said.”
Steve chuckles. “You’re not wrong.” He looks up at you from under his lashes. That’s enough to get you going. “Well… we could…”
“Yeah?”
His face does a funny thing and he releases a titter. “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”
You want to tease him more, truly, but you feel as though whatever had him so crestfallen today might have drained him for the day, so you settle with: “Not this time, sweet thing. Let’s just go to my room so we can talk.”
“Yeah…” Steve’s face takes on a deep shade of red.
“Really,” you try to sound reassuring as you start walking to your bedroom with him in tow. “Whatever you want. We can talk… or we can talk.”
He laughs openly. “Right.”
You arrive at the door of your room. Steve looks at you, so bashful it’s almost painful to watch him.
You both cross the threshold. “Want me to close the door?”, you ask, knowing about his usual want of privacy, even though you lived alone.
He nods, meekly. So you close the door and stand in front of him, taking his hands in yours, expectant of whatever he’s going to say, because you know that he has it on the tip of his tongue. “Wanna lie down? Or sit down for a bit?”
Steve understands. He bites his lip. “Um…” He stays in silence for a while after that, so you take it as a refusal. You’re truly worried at this point.
You give him some encouragement. “Is anything wrong, sweetheart? Or was it that way at work?”
“Uh…” Steve looks skittish. You’ve never seen him quite like this. “I guess you could say so. But it’s…” He heaves out a breath and looks down. “God. It’s so embarrassing.”
“Anything you wanna tell me, baby, know that I’ll never judge you for it.” You rub circles on the insides of his wrists.
“Okay…”
God. He’s so quiet it’s almost creeping you out. You want him to say what’s on his mind so bad, but you don’t want to rush him, so you just stand there, awaiting his next words.
“So, um…” Steve purses his lips, feeling the tips of his ears burning. He still doesn’t look up. “You know the other day, when we, um…”
Your heart sinks. You’re so sure he’s going to say something along the lines of ‘I hated this and that and I didn’t want to say it at the time’. You just stand there, trying to not let the panic show on your face. “Yeah?”
He doesn’t notice, since his eyes are glued to the floor. “Wh-When we were…” He exhales, and it comes out a bit whiny. “It’s so hard to say this.”
You decide to put him out of his misery. “Something you didn’t like?”
At that, Steve looks up at you quickly in confusion. “Um. No? Actually…” He bites his lip, unable to even give you a nervous smile. “I, um… might have liked it too much.”
You try to not let the relief you feel be too obvious. “Oh.”
“Y-Yeah. So, I, um… I might have… done more research? And…” He whines from the embarrassment.
“Yeah?”, you encourage him, because this ‘research’ he’s talking about feels just too good to be true. “That’s amazing. What did you find?”
“Well…” Steve looks you in the eye for one second before he decides it’s too much for him, whines again, and hides his face in your chest.
You chuckle in compassion. You kiss the top of his head. “Go on?”
Steve takes a deep breath. He tilts his head so you can see some of his face. “Well, I kind of… tried some stuff.”
“Some stuff?”, you press on, almost desperate to know more. “That’s great, babe. What’s wrong with it?”
At the reminder that there is something wrong, Steve seems to deflate. “I’m getting there.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
He chuckles softly. Next, he encircles your torso with his arms, noticing how you’ve done the same to him. “I kind of… I don’t know… liked it but also didn’t, so it was kind of disappointing. And I got really bitchy afterwards because I thought I had it down.” Steve looks up at you with the saddest, most adorable eyes from his position on your chest as he kept speaking freely. “And I’m also kind of mad at myself because I think I did it right, but it wasn’t what I expected. And…” He seems to get shy again. “And I wanted to… do more… with you… but I don’t know if I’m doing it wrong, or if it’s something I really don’t like.”
You card your fingers through his hair, knowing how hard it is for him to talk about something like this. You lift his head, with your right hand under his chin, and let his pretty face look at you. “You’re so brave for telling me this, honey.” You give him a slow, sweet kiss on the lips that seems to soothe his nerves. Now, you let him know just how supportive you are. “Just to make sure, is this something you want to like? Or is it something you feel like you have to like to make me happy?” You raise your eyebrow at him, jokingly scolding him, and he knows what you’re about to say, because he looks equally exasperated and amused. “What did we say about expectations and roles?”
“I know,” he says, a small genuine smile on his face. He bites his lip. “I want to like it. For myself.”
“Good.”
Steve unconsciously catches his breath at that and carries on. “I’m just not sure if I’m doing it right.”
“Okay,” you conclude. “So let’s get this straight: you’re talking about…” Your hands lower down his back, until your fingertips are touching the rim of his pants. “Playing with this?” They stray lower, until you can feel up his cheeks on your hands, over the denim. “As in, anal?”
Steve’s face gets so red once the word is out. He nods.
“Okay. Did you use a toy? Or fingers? Something else?”
He hides his face in your chest again. “F-Fingers.”
“Cool. What did it feel like?”
Steve’s eyes stray downwards, and he chews on his lower lip, trying to find the words. “It was… sort of intense? It was kind of good but also weird. And I was expecting it to feel a lot better since, you know…” Steve looks like he’s about to break into nervous laughter. “But… I don’t know what I was expecting, honestly.”
You purse your lips in thought. “Did you reach your prostate?”
Steve shakes his head. “No. I know about it since I read— I mean… during my research…” His lips tremble in a shy smile.
You chuckle. He was just so adorable. “What would this research be, if I may know?”
“Well. Kind of… a magazine?”
“Ooh. And did it tell you where it was?”
“It did. But I just couldn’t find it for some reason.”
You hum while carding your fingers through his hair. You’re almost sure this entire talk might be doing something to Steve, but you don’t want to push just yet. “That might be a very good reason why you didn’t like it that much. The prostate is extremely important for this.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep. If you’ve never felt naturally inclined to do any sort of anal play, it’s most probable that you might not feel pleasure just from anal itself. You’d need something more.”
Steve puts the tiniest bit of space between you two to look at you better. In doing so, you notice his state of arousal, which proves that he is a bit pent up over this.
When he realizes this, he shifts in place, subtly trying to cover himself, looking at you sheepishly.
You chuckle, grabbing his chin and laying a hot kiss on his lips. “Baby. ‘This talk doing something for you?”
Steve bites his lip and shyly nods.
Your hands tentatively slide under his shirt, resting on the sides of his hips within it. “Tell you what. Someday… if you want, that is… I could help you with this. We could play a little to see if we find a fix.”
At this, Steve sucks his lips into his teeth, like he’s trying not to laugh, and his face takes on a deep shade of pink. “Um… well…”
“Yeah?” You’re eager now, knowing he’s onto something.
“You could… right now, if you want?”
“Oh, babe.” Your hands slide underneath his polo shirt until they reach the middle part of his back. “You mean…?”
“I… kind of… today, I… before I came here…” Steve fidgets with the rim on the back of your shirt. “Again. W-With fingers— Like— I tried to see if…”
You give him a steamy kiss to put him out of his misery. He whines lowly within it, and moans when you open his mouth to rub your tongue against his. You separate too soon for his liking. “Yeah? Played with yourself?”
Steve is so abashed he can only nod.
“That’s so hot. I bet you’re so pent up right now.” Your hands return to the rim of his polo, and start pulling it up to his midriff, looking at him in question, to which he eagerly nods. You take off his shirt and leave it on the bed.
He’s on you the moment you return to him. His sudden kiss leaves you breathless, but it only makes you chuckle. His jittery hands pull at the rim of your shirt and you comply, quickly taking it off.
After some moments of haste, you’re both completely bare to each other, returning to that prolonged kiss you can’t get enough of. Your hands stray lower and lower down his back.
You withdraw long enough to breathe out: “Cool if I do this?”, before lowering your hands to the top of his cheeks.
Steve gasps. He nods, almost vibrating against you.
You chuckle, and take each of his glutes in a firm handful each.
He whines as you play with him, looking at you from under his lashes. You lean forward, and lay heavy kisses down his neck.
“Oh, fuck.” A little bite has his legs twitching on the floor. “Fuck!” A long lick from the hollow of his clavicles to the side of his jaw while you massage each handful has him moaning intelligibly.
Two fingers of your right hand suddenly rubbing against his hole have him jumping almost a foot in the air. “Okay?”
Steve’s moans are airy. “That’s…” He breathes in and out as you rub up and down the sensitive skin. “G-Good.”
You finish this with a steamy kiss on his lips, before laying your hands on his hips. “Let’s go to the bed?”
“Yeah.”
After you’re done leading him to the side of the bed that has the night table next to it, you both sit down and continue kissing and caressing each other for some seconds.
You know Steve’s impatient. You have to make this good for him, have to prove to him that he could totally like this, so, after you withdraw from his lips, without taking your eyes off him, you reach out and open the drawer, taking out a tube of lube and a condom.
Steve’s eyes land on the square packet, almost nervously.
“Don’t worry, babe. It’s not what you’re thinking.”
He bites his lip. “Um… what is it, then?”, he asks, apprehensively.
“Let me tell you.” You leave the objects in the space between you and Steve on the mattress. With your right hand, you shift Steve’s legs to part them. He lets you, albeit hesitantly, unsure of what you’re planning. You grab the condom and show it to him. “Sometimes, people who have any sort of anal play with others might use condoms for whatever they’re gonna be inserting into the other, even if it’s not a dick.”
“Really?”, he sighs out, almost relieved.
“Yeah. They might use it for toys or even fingers. So I’m asking you now: do you want me to wear this when I’m fingering you?”
Steve’s face burns at your bluntness, but he takes the time to think it over. “Hm. Is it necessary?”
“Not as much as it is for anal sex per se. Depends on how worried you are about contracting STI’s, which is pretty much a null possibility. Our results looked pretty good, if you ask me.”
Indeed. The doctors cleared you both something like a week ago.
“It’s whatever you want, babe. I’m okay with either.”
“Okay,” he agrees. “Maybe you could not wear it? I kind of… need to feel it properly if I’m gonna be doing it later on my own.” Steve turns giggly as his face darkens.
You chuckle as well. “Now, that’s a pretty picture.” You start leaning forward into Steve, hearing his giddy intake of breath when he feels you rearranging him on the bed, until he’s half lying down in the center of it. You muse for a second. “In fact… I’d be totally okay if you tried that right now.” Steve’s mouth quirks in a demure smile. “You know, to see what you’re doing wrong.”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course. Just for that.” He bites his lip, pink on the face, because he will do it, just because your encouragement makes him all warm inside. He grabs your lube, pouring some on the fingers of his right hand, and then leaves it aside. “Fair warning, though. It might be kind of unsexy. I’m gonna be flagging.”
“That’s normal. It’s not easy to remain hard just from anal.”
He smiles. “Yeah, well…”, he trails off.
And he starts. He lowers both hands to the area near his groin, his left one going for his cock, stroking himself in order to relax, before rubbing the lubed fingers of his right hand on his hole. He exhales.
You wonder at the sight. Steve lightly squirms from your pointed gaze, but he continues on nonetheless. His middle finger enters him without much trouble, due to having played with himself previously. He doesn’t make much noise, apart from the occasional exhalation.
“How’s that feel?”, you ask him.
“Underwhelming.” Steve’s expression resembles a grimace, but he valiantly tries to give you a little grin. He quickly makes way for a second finger, which takes a bit longer to enter, but when he does, you can see the subtle shift in his features. He looks like it’s a bit of a strain for him. “It feels only sort of better right now.”
“Because of the stretch?”
“Yeah.”
You hum. The visual is breathtaking. If only Steve could see himself right now, he’d know that you don’t need much more than this to go. Still, you feel kind of bad for thinking this when he’s clearly not enjoying it thoroughly. “Try to search for your prostate. It should feel like a spongy patch.”
“I’m trying, now.” Steve shifts his hand, probably moving his fingers inside him.
After some seconds, you see his shoulders slump.
“I can’t.” He sounds petulant about it.
You click your tongue. “Poor baby. Maybe I could do it for you?” And his face takes on the red hue it’d lost during his act. He bites his lip. “If you want, of course.”
Steve licks his lips. That certainly sounds nice. He nods, biting his lip as he takes his fingers out, wincing at the empty feel. Once they’re out, he looks around, hand hovering in the air for some seconds, before he lays that hand on his thigh, not quite knowing what to do.
You pull some tissues from the box atop the night table and give them to him, to which he looks grateful and cleans his hand.
“Just leave it there,” you tell him, and he drops the tissue next to him on the bed.
Now, you lean forward. Just as you were expecting, he gives you that demure expression before you take his lips in a slow kiss, opening his mouth just in time for him to lay his tongue on yours. You kiss him for some moments, rubbing your hands up and down his torso, playing with the hair on his chest and his nipples until you’ve got him panting against your mouth.
Before you withdraw completely, you bite his lower lip, to which he gasps. “Now I’ve got you all hot and bothered.” Steve smiles, head tilted down to his chest. “Were you all hot and bothered when you tried to finger yourself, too?”
“Sort of. Not as much as right now.” Steve parts his legs wider, something that has you ready to go.
“I’m flattered.” Still leaning into his space, sharing the same air, your right hand sneakily goes down his belly until you can grasp his hard cock. He breathes out, minutely thrusting up and down into your fist. Your fondling doesn’t last for too long. Your right hand releases his cock and slides over his testes, lower and lower, until you’ve got four main fingers resting on the juncture of his thigh and hip and your thumb against his perineum. “I want you to feel something.”
Steve gives you a heady look, heart almost beating out of his chest at the soft contact. “What?”, he whispers.
Your thumb presses against his perineum.
Steve’s body seizes. He gives you the prettiest, loudest moan, and his body curls into your hand for a moment before dropping on the bed, at the same time that you release the pressure.
“Fuck… What the fuck is that?” He runs a hand through his hair, looking at you in wonder.
“That is your prostate.” You smile at him.
“Oh my God.” Steve laughs softly.
“Yeah. Now imagine that, but…” You muse for a second. “Ten times more intense.”
Steve gives you an almost panicked look, but you know it’s in the best way, because he finds himself muttering: “Holy fuck…”
“Now you know why so many gay men like to bottom.” Your thumb rubs the skin of his perineum without pressing forward, something that makes Steve antsy with pleasure. Then, your hand slides downward, until your thumb can rub against the tight furl of his hole.
Steve bites his lip to hold back his desperate moan.
“I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’ll see. I bet I could make you come just from your prostate.”
“Fuck,” Steve breathes out. “Is that even possible?”
“Yeah. After this, you’ll be able to do it to yourself. Trust me. Once you start, you can never stop. It just feels so good.” Your thumb presses in without much intent; you only do it to hear Steve’s frantic breathing increasing. “With time, your body might learn how to get pleasure just from penetration alone.”
“Ah, fuck. I can— I can totally see it.”
“Yeah.” You lay a heavy kiss on his lips. “I could get you all needy when you do.” Your hand now rests in front of his ass, middle and ring finger rubbing up and down his hole. His legs twitch. “Make you want a real cock in place of fingers. If you want,” you clarify when you spot Steve’s big eyes glancing at you with something that looks like nervousness, which, in reality, is pure unadulterated want.
He nods fervently. He subtly pushes his hips towards you, letting you know how ready he is for you to start.
So you do. You quickly grab the tube and pour lubricant on the fingers of your right hand. As soon as you press the tips of two fingers against his hole, his hips twitch, and he makes the smallest sound that has your cock throbbing.
“Good. Let’s just start with one since my fingers are thicker.”
God. Steve seems to only now recall this fact. It only serves to turn him even more flustered. He nods.
The tip of your middle finger starts pressing forward. To be fair, it’s not too difficult to breach him, since he played with himself using two fingers before he arrived, but doing it himself is so different from feeling someone else do it for him.
When the tip of your finger enters him, his lungs seem to run out of air. He clenches harshly around you.
“I’m gonna need you to relax, baby.”
Steve pants. “I’m trying. It’s just… so intense.”
You understand him, of course. Your left hand goes to his cock and you start stroking him at a leisured pace.
He gives you the smallest moan. Once you feel like he won’t clamp down on you, you continue entering him with your finger, until it’s down to the last knuckle.
Steve keeps on breathing heavy, but there’s a small smile on his face. “Oh my God. That’s so…”
“How is it?”
“Better than on my own.”
You nod. “I wanna put two in before I start feeling for your prostate. I promise it’s gonna feel real good like that.”
“Yeah.” Steve nods with a blush high on his face.
You pull your middle finger out until only the tip is in. Your ring finger rubs softly against his rim, next to your middle one, before you start pushing both fingers forward.
Steve clenches down, gritting his teeth from the small strain.
“Hm. Can’t have you clamping down on me like this, sweetheart. How about you try to push out a bit?”
“‘Push out’? Oh my God,” Steve laughs, embarrassed. Covers his mouth but does as he’s told.
Your two fingers push in to the last knuckle way too easily after this, so much so that Steve’s left panting, his arms buckling and ending up having to lean on his right elbow.
“Oh my God,” Steve repeats. His cock is only half-hard by now; in spite of this, he feels it kicking at the stretch.
You still your two fingers inside him, waiting for him to get used. When you hear Steve’s heavy breathing calm down, you decide to start thrusting them in and out.
He clenches down and makes small whines.
“Too much?”, you ask softly, as you stop your motions.
Steve gives you a half-smile, half-grimace. “Hm… I don’t know, honestly.”
You think you see some of his previous frustration seep into his expression, so you decide to not tease him anymore.
Your fingertips press against the upper part of his walls. Steve bites his lower lip, knowing what you’re trying to do.
It takes some long seconds of exploration, but when it happens, it’s a sight to behold.
Steve shouts. His face is the best part: pinched tight in a perfect mix between shock and pleasure. His entire body twitches against your hand. His legs kick for a second, and his cock hardens in front of you, before he slumps against the bed.
“Holy fuck,” is all he can pant out, left hand against his beating heart.
“There it is.” You smirk at Steve, and he only has a brief second to catch his breath and look at you in euphoric torment before you’re suddenly thrusting right against that spot, focusing on bringing the most prolonged and intense reactions out of him.
And you certainly fulfill this task to the maximum, if the long, whiny moans coming out of your boyfriend are indicative enough. Steve grabs at his own knees to try to keep himself as open as possible, because the forceful twitches of his body have him closing them without meaning to, too uncoordinated to do anything other than suffer from pleasure. When he can’t even coordinate his hands anymore just for that, he has no option but to thrash on the bed.
This is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Steve’s expressions are some of the prettiest, most arousing you’ve had the honor of witnessing. The way his eyebrows pinch and his eyes shut tight, mouth open to let out airy moans, is something that won’t leave your mind alone for the foreseeable future.
Steve opens those beautiful eyes just in time to beg you with them to not stop, and you don’t need any verbal ratification to understand.
Your fingers move in circles against the bundle of nerves, and his legs shake so bad you’re afraid he might start cramping at any given moment. Steve is laid out on the bed, almost unable to comprehend the amount of pleasure you’re giving him, unable to even open his eyes to witness this.
“Oh my God,” is all he can moan. It’s so endearing, the way he keeps his left hand over his chest, like he’s trying to will his heart into not beating so fast.
“Ever thought it could feel like this?”
“N-No. Not at all— fuck!” His left hand leaves his chest and goes up to his mouth, covering it, as if he doesn’t know what to do with it. “I-It feels… Fuck, it feels kinda weird too, like I’m gonna…” Steve takes his hard cock in his right hand, gritting his teeth when he feels like there’s going to be a rush of something other than cum in any second.
You chuckle. “That’s normal.” You softly take his right hand in your free one, leaving it aside without much resistance. “Look at that. You’re all hard just from this. That’s so good.” Steve breathes out a series of short moans behind his hand after you say this, looking at you with a bit of newfound shyness, even now that he’s laid out, taking your fingers in him.
“Y-You think it’s good?” He squirms when you give slow, deep thrusts against his prostate.
“Oh, baby. It is. It’s so good. You’re doing so good for me.”
Sweet boy. Does he really think covering his face with one hand will hide him from you noticing his deep blush?
You give him the quietest chuckle. “Look at this for one second, babe?”
Steve lowers his hand until only his mouth is being concealed, looking at you while debating himself on doing it or not, but he ends up bringing it down to hold himself up on quivering arms while you give him short, less intense thrusts with your fingers.
He leans up until he’s half sitting up, looking at your wrist.
“Would you look at that,” you drawl out, pointing at your moving hand with a nod.
Steve looks. His cock releases a steady stream of pre-cum at the sight.
Because right now, he’s looking at you doing to him the same thing he used to do to so many girls: you’re finger-fucking him with the two fingers in the middle, index and pinky ones pressed flat against the sides of them.
Just like a girl.
Steve feels faint at the sight. “I’m gonna cum.”
“Oh, yeah?” You resume a fast, intense pace, your fingers making squelching noises when your palm meets his skin.
Steve his moaning through his teeth, unable to hold himself up anymore and leaning back on his trembling arms, on his elbows. His legs twitch restlessly, and he’s helpless to stop himself.
He grits his teeth not only at the pleasure, but at the intense feeling growing on him with each passing second. His right hand rests on his heavy cock. “I— I c-can’t— I really feel like I’m gonna…”
You know what he’s referring to. “It’s okay. Just let it happen. I promise it’s nothing bad.”
Steve trembles, writhes, sways from one side to the other one as he tries to fight the feeling. “I— can’t.”
The truth is, Steve can. He’s just too scared about the novelty of this one orgasm, because he knows it’s not going to be gentle on him, and it���s something so new it frightens him. The thought of its magnitude makes his heart beat even faster and has him terrified at the same time.
“Okay, baby.” Your left hand goes on his cock, and you start rubbing him up and down quickly.
“Ah, fuck— I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” You chuckle. “You did so good, baby.”
Steve’s body starts curling in itself. “Ah—! Did I?”
“Yeah, you did.”
Before Steve’s overwhelmed eyes, you slide down the bed until your face is at the same level as his cock.
“You were so good for me. You deserve a reward.”
And you just manage to give him a little suck while you stroke him and finger him, right on his glans, before his eyes roll back and he’s cumming harder than he’s ever had.
The noises he makes are so— animalistic. His face crumples in the most euphoric agony, and his body curls against your head, like he can’t take such amount of pleasure, like he’s trying to push you off.
But he isn’t.
He comes, and comes, and comes into your mouth, his orgasm seeming to never end, and his own body not giving him a second of respite. You just swallow as much cum as he’ll give you, because you just can’t stop giving him pleasure, either, still bobbing your head up and down in short strokes to prolong this. Your fingers haven’t stopped, either. You’re pretty sure you might be overdoing it by this point, but the way he can’t stop moaning and whimpering as you keep on rubbing circles against his gland tells you he’s enjoying this too much.
At last, his body stops twitching so much. He drops on the bed. You take this as your cue to lift off him, licking the last traces of his cum off your lips before you give his slumped face a smile, removing your fingers from inside him.
God. Steve’s eyes are so glazed over behind barely-opened eyelids that you wouldn’t be surprised if he can’t focus his sight for minutes after this. His chest heaves quickly on the mattress, left hand loosely on the left side of it, no doubt trying to calm down his thumping heart.
You can’t help yourself. You slide up all the way until you’re kneeling before him, and your right hand lowers to your painfully-hard cock.
He looks like he just got fucked.
Steve comes to only seconds after you’ve started a quick pace with your hand.
You chuckle at his barely-there expression. “That was a strong one, wasn’t it?”, you grunt out, already feeling close.
Steve’s breathing doesn’t get any slower than as it is right now. He reaches forward with a trembling right hand, hovering under your cock.
“Just rest, babe. You can barely move.”
“No, I… I need to. Didn’t even touch you yet.” He looks sheepish. “Sorry. I get so stupid when I’m horny, I forget to do anything else.”
You give him a wolfish grin. “That’s not a problem at all.” You feel a pull at your gut. “In fact, I’d say it’s hot as fuck. But if you really want to…” You take his lax right hand in yours and manipulate it until it’s circling your cock.
You then start fucking his fist.
Steve’s mouth opens in a silent gasp as he feels the friction of your cock thrusting in and out of the tunnel of his fingers. His spent cock makes a brave attempt of filling again.
Only a few more thrusts are enough to have you grunting, increasing in volume as the only warning you can give him before you’re coming long lines on his torso.
Steve gasps at this. The heat that hits his chest, along with the visual of your cock virtually fucking him, is enough to have him almost dipping into a gentler state of mind, something that makes him panic for the briefest second before he’s pulled out of that place when he hears you grunt out for the last time.
You didn’t notice his predicament, so when you come to and take note of Steve’s spooked eyes, you take his drenched hand in yours. “Babe, you okay?”, you ask him, concerned.
Steve nods, reassuring. “Yeah. That was just… kind of intense.” He chuckles. A blush sits high on his cheeks as he looks at you, at the same time that he brings his soaked hand close to his lips. “Now it’s my turn,” he says, albeit a bit uncertainly, referring to when you swallowed him.
“You don’t have to.” But fuck if the visual doesn’t make your spent cock throb again.
He doesn’t answer. Only looks at you with the most smoldering expression on his face while he opens his mouth, brings his cum-stained fingers into it, sucks, swallows, and…
Tries to hide a grossed-looking grimace. “Um.”
You openly laugh at him, dropping next to him on the bed while he still has you in stitches.
Steve hits you on the chest with that same hand while he pouts. “Don’t— fucking laugh, man. I was trying to have a moment.” But he’s trying to hold back a laugh as well. “How the hell did you swallow… that so easily?”
You try to calm down enough to answer. “You just get used to the taste.”
His mouth purses, and his grimace just makes you start laughing again. “Is that what I taste like, too? Jesus. I mean—! No offense.”
Steve can only hide his own smile with a pout when that just makes you laugh harder.
VII.
Steve’s newfound good mood is contagious. Robin is almost afraid at this point. She thinks his mood swings are so over the place as of lately that he needs some sort of emotional support. Continuously, she asks him if he’s really feeling fine, to which he answers with nonchalance.
He obviously can’t tell her exactly what’s got him so happy.
It’s not just a single thing. It’s not just the fact that you helped him overcome his frustration after being so pent up.
It’s also the fact that, yes, he recently found out that he could do it himself…
And yes. He can get aroused just from penetration alone.
In fact, Steve’s almost embarrassed by how much his libido has gone up these past few days, namely because he now actually craves penetration at times.
He bites his lip on his way home from work, pupils dilated as he fights to keep his hard-on down within the privacy of his car, because he wants it right now. He wants to use his fingers on himself, wants to keep adding to feel the stretch.
Wants to get ready for you.
So he doesn’t bother to get comfortable before he climbs out his car in a haste, almost forgetting to close his entrance door with key before going up the stairs, heading straight for the shower.
Steve is splayed on the bed and has two fingers inside himself, this time from his left hand, so that he can stroke himself easily with his right one. He’s done this exact thing every single day this week, attempting to imitate your movements from a week ago, hoping to replicate that glorious moment.
It’s never the same as if you were the one doing it to him, but it still makes him come harder than all the previous years before this.
Currently, he’s scissoring himself open, gasping out at the small stretch. He has his eyes to the ceiling, picturing you instead of him. Your two thick fingers felt so amazing in him, stretching him out so much more than he could with his own.
Steve recalls the feel of your cock in his hand, so big he almost can’t close his fingers around it completely.
Oh, fuck. He always forgets how big you are. The size of it scares him a little, but when he’s so horny like this he feels like he could take you, at all costs.
Still. He needs to prepare for it if he’s really going to ask you for it later.
So he pulls his two fingers out, until only the tip of them are in, and tightly presses his index against them, gently thrusting in to get all three of them inside him at the same time. It’s a snug fit, and he finds it’s more difficult to add something as scant as a single finger inside, but he presses on.
It burns, but Steve manages to push three fingers in to the last knuckle.
And then, he wants more. Because the stretch, which has become more intense now, sets off different reactions in him that he could have never imagined.
And so he doesn’t wait long enough to get used to the current stretch, and he tries to push in the last finger, his pinky one into himself. But he finds that it’s sort of too much, the strain he puts on himself causing mixed, overwhelming sensations, but even that doesn’t stop him.
With a great amount of mental effort, he slips the last finger into himself, and—!
And it’s such a big stretch that it has him hissing behind gritted teeth, and it still doesn’t stop him as he starts thrusting in and out of himself, not waiting to get used to the pressure as he strokes his cock faster and faster—
Steve cums without even reaching his prostate. He feels his hole clench repeatedly, tight around his own fingers, at the same time he releases onto his chest, heaving in gasps from an open smiling mouth because it feels so good.
When he’s done, he slumps against the bed, fingers pulling out but pushing in one last time as he feels an overwhelming current of painful pleasure from it, and isn’t that an idea for another time?
At last, he pulls out completely, a resolute thought resounding in his mind:
Steve needs you to fuck him.
He doesn’t even attempt to wait in order to not look so pent up. He calls you only one hour later.
He breathes out: “Hi,” before you can even exchange greetings and ask who it is.
“Hey, baby,” you chuckle. “You sound eager.”
“Well… maybe.”
You hum in agreement, now eager as well, sensing he’s going to say something you’re going to like a lot. “Why would that be?”
“Um… well, you see…” The way he’s speaking tells you he’s probably blushing; you just know him like that. There’s a brief silence after this, before he continues. “Can I… If you’re free, I mean…”
“Yes?”, you say teasingly.
“I was… I was wondering if I could…”
“Yeees?”
You hear something that sounds like a mix between a whine and a groan. “You’re going to make me say it.”
“Yep.” Your voice now takes on a lower, more smoldering quality. “If you want something, you have to ask for it, baby.”
There’s an intake of breath on the other side of the line. Then, the smallest of whimpers. “Okay,” he croaks out. “Do you think I could come over?”
“Sure. Movie, snacks, and cuddles it is.”
He’s so fun to tease. You obviously know what he wants, but it’s just so fulfilling to hear the petulant groan he gives you. “Not what I meant…”, is his almost inaudible response.
“Sorry. I didn’t quite catch that. Can you repeat it for me?” Your face hurts from the way you’re smiling so widely.
On the line, he groans, and you hear a series of… taps?
Oh, he’s probably kicking his feet against the floor, just in the way he does when he’s so abashed it physically hurts him.
You openly laugh at him. “Alright. No more teasing. Come over already.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
“Just don’t stretch yourself too much. I wanna have my fun, too.”
“Holy fuck—” is the last thing you hear before he hangs up on you.
You’re left laughing loudly.
At last, Steve steps foot on the threshold of your house, finally about to get what he’s been aching for.
He raises his hand to knock, but he’s taken aback when the door opens in his face before he can do so.
It seems he’s not the only eager one.
“Hey, there.”
“Hi,” he answers, bashfully. It hits him only now, that he’s about to do this. He tries to cover it with a smug expression. “Were you waiting for me behind the door?” He raises his eyebrow.
“Nooo. Why would you think that?” You put your right hand on the low of his back to guide him in before he can answer. “Just come inside already.”
Steve snorts, and his face takes on a deep shade of red as he mumbles: “Pretty sure that’s my line— I mean.”
You give him a wolfish smile. You close the door, and immediately you push him against it, leaning into his space without kissing him, only giving him a pointed look that he squirms under. “You know, you’re being a lot more overt than usual, did you know?” You lean down, your lips almost brushing his. “Why’s that? Hm? Something on your mind?”
Steve makes that shy, quivering smile and tops it off with the straying eyes. It might be seen as part of this little game, but you know Steve well enough to know that he’s feeling truly bashful right now. “You know what it is,” he whines out.
“Hm, but I don’t. I think you should spell it out for me.” Your right hand goes under his chin. You tilt his head to be facing yours in a better way, using your thumb to rub against his skin. By this point, you’re positive that you can try out something related to his glaring praise kink. “Eyes on me, sweet thing.”
He moans airily. Steve looks at you, seeming to want to obey you at all costs, even if that makes his face burn and his heart feel like it’s going to beat out of his chest.
“Tell me, baby.” You speak with your mouth directly onto his, in a sensual caress of sorts.
Steve heaves out. “I— want you to fuck me.”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, you push your lips onto his in a steamy kiss that has him closing his eyes from the intensity. His arms wrap around your neck, hands going down your back to grab at whatever part of your shirt he can. Your hands, conversely, hold onto the sides of his hips, quickly sliding under his polo to stroke up his ribs.
He moans within the kiss, which finishes too soon for his liking.
“That’s so good, baby. You’re such a good boy for me.”
Steve almost yells from how loud he moans. Rushes to lean his face on the side of your neck, almost mortified by his own reaction. The tip of his right shoe kicks softly against the floor.
You chuckle next to his ear. “You like me calling you ‘good’?”
He doesn’t remove his face from your shoulder; he only nods against it, blushing so hard you can see it spread down his nape.
You chuckle against his ear. “That’s good to hear. Now, be good and follow me to my room.”
Steve’s eye peeks from against your shoulder. He’s feeling so sheepish he almost can’t speak. “Okay,” he croaks out lowly.
You lean back some until he can no longer hide into your neck, enough that you can see the deep shade of pink his face has taken. Your right arm goes around his waist now; you use this leverage to lead him towards your bedroom. “Feeling fine?”, you have to ask while you walk, because you know that this is a very big step, and that he probably needs the highest level of reassurance.
“Yeah,” he mumbles. “I just… You’re kinda making me feel the way I probably made girls feel.” He laughs nervously.
You chuckle as well. Once you’re behind the threshold of your bedroom door, you close it, noticing his low intake of breath at the action. “What’s that mean?”
“Just…” Steve’s hands find yours and he plays with them to anchor himself. He shakes his head shyly, his foot twisting, like he doesn’t want to answer.
“Small?”, you venture, and his little nod and bite of the lip confirm it. That makes you smile. “That’s fine.” You rub his hands with your thumbs. Then, you pull him closer to the bed. “I’m here to make you feel nice and safe.”
Steve looks up at you with a small shaky smile. He closes the distance, giving you a soft kiss on the lips. “Thanks.”
He blushes when you chuckle at him. “Don’t thank me over that. It’s just my duty.” And he’s left breathless when you slide your hands under his polo shirt, high enough to start lifting it up to his middle. “Now… how about I take off your clothes so I can make you feel real good? Hm?”
At his shy nod, you slide his shirt up and off him, immediately going for his lips after it, gliding your rough hands over his torso, playing with the hair on his chest. Steve moans inside the kiss when he feels you thumbing at his nipples. When you withdraw, your mouth finds its way to the right side of his neck, leaving hot trails with lips and teeth. He moans softly, grabbing at the rim of your shirt and pulling it up with eagerness. You chuckle at him. You allow him to pull it off you, and the moment it’s on the floor, the pounces on you just like you’ve done to him. Steve attacks your mouth with an impatience you haven’t seen before, but that’s fine. That just makes you smile within the kiss, because you’re so glad Steve’s found something he likes that you can both passionately agree on.
Steve pulls back from the kiss, flushed, but raising an eyebrow at your obvious smile. You decide to distract him, feeling for his button and zipper, and you fulfill this mission, since you can see and hear his enthusiastic response to this. Quickly, you undo the front of his pants, and before you pull them down, you take Steve by the shoulders and gently push him down the bed, until he’s sitting down by the end of it. His hands support his weight behind him, and for this brief second, he looks up and up at you, because you standing before him forces him to lift his head to look at you, and he feels so hazy he has to subtly cross his legs at this, mindful of his now fully-hard cock tenting the front of his jeans.
But you don’t let him. Your hands push his knees outwards at the same time you lower yourself to kneel before him, and this vision has him gasping out and leaking just from that.
You wink at him from your position on the floor. Swiftly undoing his shoes and taking them off, your hands reach forward for the rim of his pants, and as he looks at you in a daze, your fingers hook right under the edge of his underwear, and you start pulling his lower garments down at once, giving him a gruff little laugh when his very hard cock is released from its confines with a small rebound.
When it’s off him and he’s bare before you, you lift yourself up using his thighs as leverage and start leaning towards him, in a low prowl, until you’re hovering over him with your hands on the sides of his head.
Steve’s nervous hands jitter down your torso, all the way to the rim of your own pants, and he makes quick work of the button and zipper. He pointedly looks at his hands, so as to not lose his nerve at your searing gaze. When he’s done, he ventures a quick glance at your eyes, but quickly looks down again as he starts slipping your lower garments off you.
You haven’t stopped looking at him throughout this. Your eyes just can’t leave his rosy face and nervous bites of his lips as you shift above him to help him undress you.
Once you’re both nude, it seems to hit him that you’re both going to do this. Steve’s demeanor changes into one of agitation. He finally looks at you, a nervous, quivery smile on his mouth, though you understand that he’s looking for reassurance now, which you’ll easily give to him.
You lower your head to his and kiss his worries away. “Let’s start slowly, yeah?”, you say, almost in a whisper, all but reading his thoughts, since his torso seems to deflate at that.
“Yeah,” he breathes out.
There’s a little grin on your face now. You lean back to let Steve rearrange himself on the mattress, until he’s lying in the middle of it with you on top of him.
Your hands rest on top of his knees, sliding all the way down to his groin, but before they get there, Steve lays his own on top of yours. “Wait. Before we start…”
“Yeah?”, you ask, about to be concerned.
“Um… W-Well, you said on the phone… But I’d already— Uh…”
You exhale a laugh at his little stammering. “What, sweetheart?”
“Uhhh…” Steve smiles shakily. “Y-You said…”
“I said…?”
“You s-said… you wanted to have your fun, too, but I’d already— By that point, I’d…” Steve covers his nervous giggle with his right hand and looks elsewhere.
A heavy current of pleasure drops down your belly. “Oh, baby.” Your hands lower to the juncture between his legs and groin, fondling the surrounding place without giving him what he wants, to which he whimpers. “Did you stretch yourself?”
“Ah— I mean… I called you like an hour after that?” His voice is nothing more than a whisper now.
He tries to hide from the weight of your gaze behind his hands but—
Your hands hold onto his wrists. You gently push them against the sides of his head.
Steve’s eyes glaze over.
“How many?”, comes your rumbling voice.
And he has to inhale heavily, in vain, because his response comes as a whisper. “Four.”
You use the grip on his wrists as leverage to push yourself onto him, and he allows you and welcomes you into his open mouth. Your tongue pushes into his mouth, and he has the frenzied realization that you’re virtually fucking his mouth with it.
Steve cries out. His eyes roll back as he feels himself leaking.
He tries to prolong the feel, but you pull back too soon, and he finds himself whining at the loss.
“Got yourself all nice and open for me? That’s so good, baby.” Your heavy, grumbling voice against his lips has him trying to cross his legs uselessly, since you’re in the way.
Steve bites his lip. “Sorry,” he says, moving his legs around to caress yours, urging you to do more.
“Why are you sorry?” You laugh while you take your hands off his wrists and lay them to the sides of his head. You think you imagine the disappointment in his eyes when you do this.
“You said you wanted to…”
“That was all talk, sweetness. I absolutely do not mind that we can skip that part and go straight to the main course.”
At that, Steve can only shut his eyes tightly and bite back a moan. He opens them just as quick, embarrassed at his own reaction.
You just give him a tight-lipped smile. “Not sure if this is gonna reassure you or do the opposite, but I’m pretty sure you still need more prep before we do anything else.”
Steve’s right hand rubs at his mouth nervously. “Oh my God…”, he mumbles, even though he has a small nervous smile on his face as his eyes lower to your big erection. “Right.”
“Right,” you echo with a contrite smile. “Did you forget about it?”
“N-No. Not at all.” Steve looks up and elsewhere as he mutters the following: “You have my word.”
“Do I?”, you tease, stretching towards your night table and opening the drawer.
Steve bites his nails as he watches you do this. “Mm-hm.”
When you have the objects you were looking for in your hands, you show them to him, and he centers on the one on your right hand with an hyperfocus you’ve seldom seen on him.
Steve’s eyes rest on the condom packet with apprehension and excitement at the same time.
You lay it and the tube of lubricant on the bed, between his open legs, next to you. Leaning down to rest a quick kiss on his bitten lips, you run the fingers of your right hand through his hair. “Whenever you want to stop, just say so.”
“‘Kay,” he whispers bashfully.
You lean back, staying in a kneeling position between his parted legs, and smirk at him. “Now, I would totally like to know more about this little bit of playing you did before you came here,” you say as you open the lid of the tube.
Steve covers his mouth with his right hand as he giggles. “What’s there to know?”, he asks shyly.
You pour some lube on your right hand and rub your hands together to warm it up. “Just fun stuff. Did you find your prostate?”
Steve looks elsewhere with a shy smile. “No. I mean— Not today.” His right hand lowers to his chest, resting atop his thundering heart.
“Hm? Then how…?”
“Just…” Steve clenches his eyes shut as he giggles nervously. “Just from my fingers.”
“Oh, yeah?” Your right hand lowers to his entrance while your left hand goes to his hard cock. You don’t even need to stroke him; he’s already turned on enough from your previous teasing. “Just from the penetration alone?”
Steve nods meekly. Then, as he feels your fingers spread the lube on his already tender entrance, he lays his left hand on your wrist. “I… Let me touch you, too. Don’t wanna leave you hanging like the last time.”
You chuckle. He’s just so sweet for you. You can feel his hand shaking. Lifting your left hand from his erection, you rub the unlubed knuckles from that hand onto his own. “Let me be selfish, yeah? I wanna make this about you today.”
It’s really telling for you that he doesn’t insist. “Okay… You sure?”
Your middle and ring finger prod at his hole, leading him to gasp in short breaths. “Yes. Just leave it to me, sweetheart.”
He nods resolutely, then.
Now, at the same time that you start pushing in the two fingers in the middle, your hand returns to his hard cock, which hasn’t gone down at all— You think it might actually be harder now. Steve’s jaw drops open when he feels your two fingers start pushing in, almost easily from how much he’s stretched himself before he arrived here. Even that initial stretch feels heavenly to him: your thick fingers fill him out so good, and they feel so different from his. Whereas he’s used to his own smooth, almost delicate ones, yours are hard and rough. Thicker, too. Steve bites his lower lip as you breach him to the second knuckle, choosing to still yourself to let him get used to this small stretch.
His legs twitch to the sides of you, rubbing onto yours in a sensual caress. “Come on…”, he mumbles.
“‘Want more?”, you ask, not waiting for an answer before you push the two fingers to the last knuckle.
Steve’s back arches in a beautiful curve as he gives you the most breathless and erotic moan. He quickly lets himself fall from it just to hold himself up on his hands behind himself, half-sitting up, all to see the place where you’re joined.
You give him a small chuckle. “Oh, you wanna take a look.”
He looks up at you from under his lashes, because he does. He wants to see, and he wants to feel the same way you made him feel so many days ago. Steve’s breaths are so noisy now; he can’t stop himself when he sees and feels the way you are thrusting in and out of him, two fingers at the sides of the ones inside him just like he’s fantasized about. His feet are restless, stirring next to you on the bed, increasingly rustling the bedsheets the faster you go.
Your fingers go softly now, barely coming out of him, just to rub circles along the walls inside him in a sensual massage that has him gasping out. Your other hand is barely a caress on his cock, knowing he now doesn’t need much more than your fingers.
The tips of your fingers suddenly press up against that spot. Steve’s body curls in itself.
“Fuck…”, he finds himself choking out.
His eyes are drawn to the place that connects you two, but he finds that he can’t keep looking for much longer, because you’re pulling him into a short kiss that leaves him even more breathless. When you separate, he looks at you impatiently, and his voice is nothing more than a whisper.
“Come on. Come on.”
You chuckle through your nose. “Eager.” But you pull your fingers out and press your index one against them, beginning to push in.
There’s a brief resistance, but as Steve breathes out heavily and wills himself to relax, you manage to thrust inside, this time with more pauses in-between.
Steve’s mouth opens to draw in as much breath as he can. Putting one hand on his pounding heart, he looks at you with something that can only be described as adoration.
You give him a little smile. Taking your left hand off his member, you lay it atop his own, on his chest, gently pushing him back on the bed.
“Relax.” Your low, rumbling voice is soothing for his nerves, so he obeys. He lies on the bed, growing more restless with each second that passes.
In a weak voice, he requests: “The last one— Add the last one.”
“You sure?”, you ask, knowing that he should get used to the current stretch, but you still thrust out until you’re at his rim, adding the fourth and final finger next to the other three.
Steve nods so eagerly you have to laugh.
With a lot of patience, taking his cock in hand to soothe him further, you begin to thrust four thick fingers inside him, meeting resistance right away.
Your left hand strokes him slowly, focusing on the head to bring out the greatest amount of pleasure possible. “You have to unclench for this, baby,” you mumble out.
Right after, your right thumb presses against his perineum, drawing a startled moan out of him. You feel him clamping down on you even further for a second, and then you do it again.
Steve hides his eyes under the back of his hand, already winded from this. He can feel himself surrendering to your touches, opening up to let the tips of your fingers thrust in, just far enough to breach him. “Fuck…” His moan is prolonged as he uncovers himself, looking at the general direction of your hands.
“That’s it…”, you encourage him.
Softly, you inch in, until you have four fingers seated deep inside him.
Steve heaves in a loud breath.
“There we go. So good for me, Stevie.” His moan at this is choked off when he feels your rough fingertips moving around in him. “Feels good?”
He moans again, but cuts himself off with a short cackle. “What do you think?”
That only makes you chuckle as well. “Yeah, I bet it feels real good.” You start pulling out, loving the way his legs just can’t stay still. “Just look at how much you’re leaking, baby.” Your left hand focuses on the tip of his cock at the same time you thrust back in, drawing a small shrill sound from him.
Steve tries to look at the place you’re showing him. He does. He just can’t with the way you’re suddenly pushing up, pressing against that bundle of nerves.
He shouts.
His body trembles, his hands hold onto your wrist, his legs kick against your hips, and his own hips grind onto your hand, desperate for more of that contact.
You gladly give it to him. The more you rub circles and press harshly against his prostate, the more Steve’s resolve thins out. Sparks fly behind his eyelids as he tries to process the amount of pleasure you’re giving him, feeling himself slowly drenching your hand in pre-cum.
He can’t take much longer than this. He grabs your left wrist, stopping the movements of your hand on his cock. “N-Not gonna last if you keep…”
Your left hand leaves his cock. “Yeah. You probably can come just from my fingers, can’t you?”
And you press up inside him, at the same time you press with your thumb from the outside, and he wails.
He brings himself out of it with a giddy laugh as you begin pulling your fingers out. He rests his hand on his eyes. “You did that on purpose.”
Your smile is wolfish as you wipe your hands on the sheets, lean forward, and get closer to him. “Maybe.”
And then he’s uncovering his eyes, looking up at you as you take hold of the pillow under his head. Steve shifts to help you, and when he sees you bring that same pillow at the height of his hips, he starts biting his lip with impatience. He understands what you’re trying to do. With the help of his feet, he pushes his hips up, enough for you to slide the pillow under them, leaving him in a very vulnerable position.
You lean into him once more, and when your groins just slot together, he shivers, overwhelmed all of a sudden. You understand this, and push downward, taking his lips in a soft, soothing kiss he yields to.
Steve withdraws first because he needs to take a deep breath to not lose it. His hands grab at your shoulders, unsure of how to anchor himself.
“Need a break?”, you ask him, concerned.
He just shakes his head with vigor. Biting his lip, he wraps his legs around your hips, pushing you against him. You both moan at the contact.
You laugh. “Alright, then. Let me just…” You lean back, Steve’s hands falling from your shoulders and laying on his own chest now. You grab the packet, open it, and start rolling the ring of the condom on your cock, before Steve’s hands come to rest on yours. “Wanna help me?”, you ask.
Steve nods, unable to get the nervous smile off his face, and, with his hands under yours, he starts sliding the condom on.
Once his hand gets to your base and you’re done groaning about it, you grab the tube of lubricant and pour a generous amount on your member. You stroke yourself a couple of times before you inch closer to Steve.
And Steve looks at you with excitement and the slightest tinge of agitation before he brings his own folded legs closer to his own chest.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Hold yourself open for me,” you mumble, grabbing his right knee with your left hand and laying a kiss on it.
With your right hand, you take hold of your cock, and slowly, very slowly, start pushing inside.
Steve clamps down around you almost immediately. His throat chokes around a moan, and his legs twitch in your hold. “Sorry.”
You lay wet kisses on the inside of his right leg, your mouth twisted in a small smile. “Why?”
He chews on his nails while he looks elsewhere. “I dunno,” he mumbles, embarrassed.
That makes you smile. Your right hand leaves your cock, which is already fixed in place, ready to thrust in, and it goes around his cock. You stroke him softly for some seconds, loving the small changes in his expression, how gorgeous he looks with every single face you can pull off him. His small noises prompt you to keep stroking him, subtly pushing forward to start inching into him.
He clenches with each small inch you push inside, and as you manage to push the end of your head inside, he hisses between gritted teeth, and puts his hands on your shoulders. “Just… a second.”
“Of course,” you answer, stilling in place to let him get used to the stretch, which is quite a lot more than four of your fingers.
Steve’s eyes are also clenched shut, but after some seconds he opens them, looking at you from under his lashes, breathing heavily and quickly. He nods at you, resolutely.
You lean down to surround him completely, and his arms easily go around your shoulders, anchoring himself with you. Your mouth seeks his, and he meets you in the middle with enthusiasm, or perhaps anxiety. Steve pushes forward with his lips, trying to get the most of the kiss, and you open his mouth in turn, pushing your tongue onto his.
As you do this, your hips push forward minimally, starting to thrust yourself inside him while you distract him, but it seems to not work that well.
Steve pulls off you. “W-Wait,” he grits out. He looks at you with a grimace that he’s trying to conceal with a quivery smile, but you know him too well for that.
“Of course,” you say once again, because you’ll take as much time as he needs to. “Hurts?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but seems to lose his nerve and shyly looks to the side.
“Tell me the truth, baby.”
“Kinda…”, he mumbles.
You give him a small peck on the lips for reassurance. “That’s okay. Just tell me when you’re ready to go.”
Steve gives you the tiniest nod, too embarrassed by himself. Some seconds pass, before his restless legs rub imperceptibly around your waist, him looking at you and nodding. “Okay.”
You take your cue and start pressing forward once more, but once again, his arms cling tight around your neck and he yelps: “Wait!”
You’re halfway into him, and the way he’s clenching around you is almost sexually tortuous, but you obviously heed his word again. “Sorry. Sorry.”
Steve’s pinched expression eases up after a second, and this time, he gives you a genuine smile, pressing his mouth to the side of your neck to cover it in kisses. “You treat me so nicely,” he mumbles out, like it makes him bashful to say it.
You feel your chest soar at this. There’s a small, breathless chuckle coming straight from your chest right now. “Do I?”, you ask, even though it’s pointless, because you’re only showing him basic decency.
But your Steve still looks you in the eye and nods.
Another small chuckle, and now you’re leaning back. “Okay.”
Steve seems almost confused as your hands grab at the back of his knees, but then realizes what you’re going to do as you manipulate his legs until they’re crossed, and then place them in a right angle to his body, his ankles coming to rest above the left side of your neck. “What are we doing now?”, he asks, almost forgetting he still has half of your cock inside him.
“I’m putting your legs in a specific position that’ll help you relax better,” you explain, noticing his still-puzzled expression. “Your anus. This position helps you relax your anus.”
Steve bursts out laughing, covering his mouth with his hands because it’s just rolling off him now. You laugh with him.
“I thought it was the other way round,” Steve says. “Like, with my legs open?”
“That’s for the pussy,” you answer, and you rest your hands on his crossed knees, laying hot kisses on the expanse of his shins. Steve shivers at this. “You ready?”
Biting his lip, he nods slowly, bracing himself once again.
“Alright, sweetheart. Remember to push out, too.”
Steve laughs, almost in a sob, because you’re starting to inch forward, and this position does help him a lot, and as he does as he’s told, he finds that what felt like something impossible is now too easily possible.
Your hips meet his ass almost too quickly, sending him scrambling for a grip on the bedsheets. He breathes in and out like he’s hyperventilating. His left hand is now on his chest, trying to calm his heart down. You lower your right hand to that hand and lay it on top of it, wanting to reassure him.
His expressions. God. His expressions are something out of this world. His eyes are closed, eyebrows pinched and mouth open to let out quiet moan after moan.
As soon as Steve opens his eyes, they stray towards the place where you’re joined.
“Oh my God,” he says, almost in a whisper.
“Too much?”, you ask.
Steve shakes his head. “Just… a lot.” He bites his lip to hold back his little noises whenever he feels your cock so much as twitch inside him. His free hand covers his mouth. “So big…”, he says, almost to himself.
“Yeah?” You teasingly move your hips a minimum fraction, and that is enough to have Steve gasping out and shifting his legs onto your shoulder.
When he sees your amused expression, he almost pouts, though it’s obvious that he’s trying to look teasing, too. “You’re mean. I thought you were gonna be gentle with me…”
His words make something hot and heavy settle deep in your belly. Your grip on his legs gets tighter, and he makes the quietest little squeak at it. “Yeah. I did say that.” Your right hand rubs up and down his left thigh, going down to his cheek and fondling it to open him up more. Steve makes a breathless moan at this. “I’m gonna be so nice to you, baby. In fact, I’m gonna go real nice and slow, just so you can see how gentle I’m being with you.”
He moans openly now. Steve finds that while he likes that idea, he also craves something different in the near future.
For now, he just nods.
So you start. Using your grip on his gorgeous long legs, caressing his left one down to his ass and back up, you start pulling out of him, hearing his long intake of breath. You do this until you’re halfway into him, and then push forward until you meet his hips again. Steve breathes heavily and quickly, his jaw slack as he tries not to succumb and close his eyes to the sensations. Then, you do this again a couple of times, thrusting out and in minimally, just so that he can get used to the stretch. His legs twitch every time your hips meet his rear. His left hand has returned to his chest, and you find this so endearing; you know how nervous but excited Steve is by this, so much so that he tries to halt his pounding heart however he can.
Now your hips are pulling back further, until only the head of your cock is inside him. You push all the way into him with the same slow pace. Steve’s expressions are something wonderful. You know he can’t help himself when he clenches his eyes shut at the pleasure, but still tries to open them as soon as he can every single time.
On the next thrust, you pull back, and this time, the head of your cock starts sliding out of him.
Steve hisses and clamps down when he feels the widest part of it breaching him on its way out.
You shush him and kiss his shins. “Relax,” comes your soothing mumble.
His breaths turn quicker, and his eyes close for a brief second before he opens them again, looking at you with dazed eyes and nodding.
You feel him gradually unclench as you’re pulling out completely, the tip barely inside him. Then, you push forward once again.
Steve has less trouble to take you in this time, if the way you’re easily fitting inside with a smooth thrust is indicative enough.
And once again, he gives you a breathless moan when you’re all the way in.
“Alright there?”, you have to ask, because you know of his tendency to hide his own discomfort at times. Luckily, he gives you a genuine smile and —this makes you laugh— a thumbs-up. “Alright, you dork.”
“Yeah,” he adds on. His flushed face now takes on a darker hue. “Actually… can you go a bit faster now?” He mumbles the last part, like it embarrasses him to say so.
You laugh softly at him. “Obviously.”
Now, you’re pulling out of him all the way, and pushing back in with a bit more force than before. This leaves Steve breathless, jittery, and blissed out all the same. So you do it again and again. With each thrust, your pace increases, and the friction makes his mostly-quiet moans rise in volume. What were previously soft noises of skin slapping begin turning loud too.
You’re purposefully avoiding his prostate. You think it might be a good idea to build up to it first, so as to get him used to the stretch before you do anything, but you know it won’t be a long time now.
Steve slowly parting his legs to bring them to the sides of you tells you enough.
“Tired of that position?”
He shakes his head. “Just…” He rises his arms to encircle your shoulders, face burning at this point while you’re still thrusting in and out of him. “…wanna hold you.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” You give him what he wants.
Steve’s legs wrap around your waist as you push in and out of him. The newfound friction of your belly on his cock has his legs growing restless, his moans pouring from his lips freely now. His eyes can’t stay open for too long.
He makes the effort just to look at you, long enough to let you know he wants you to kiss him. So you do. He opens his mouth to deepen the kiss as you start going faster, small moans slipping from the spaces in-between.
Steve withdraws, already feeling breathless.
After some long moments like this, just thrusting at a moderate pace and looking at each other with — something strong, something that could shakily be called love, his face begins to show some signs of discomfort, too subtle to seem that way to any other person, but you know your boy well enough.
“Hurts?”
“Just my hips,” he talks in between moans.
You gradually slow down until your movements are minimal, something that seems to turn Steve antsy. You ignore this for a second, though there’s a smile on your face at his impatience. “Must be the position.”
You stop completely. Steve tries to not make such a loud whine at this, but it’s obvious that it doesn’t work. He blushes right after.
As you pull out completely, he makes the quickest yelp at the emptiness.
“How about this?”, you ask. Your hands softly grab at his sides, starting to manipulate his body in a way that lets him know you want him to turn around.
Steve blushes even further and starts giggling when he understands. He rolls over until his chest is to the bed.
“Just like that,” you grumble. “On your hands and knees, yeah?”
It’s a good thing that you can’t see his face, because Steve just about melts from pleasure at your words, and it embarrasses him so bad that he makes the smallest whine. He does as he’s told, though. This position leaves him feeling vulnerable and open, until you lie across his back and envelop him, making him feel safe now.
“Good boy,” comes your low mumble, and Steve’s jaw drops to let the quietest moan out.
Your right hand grabs your cock, and at the first contact of your tip against him, he clamps down once again. Steve bites his lip as he tries to relax, breathing heavily.
Slowly, you begin to breach him once more, feeling the small contractions around your cock. “Close your legs, baby.” He obeys, knees rustling the bedsheets, and suddenly you’re thrusting all the way into him again.
Steve lets out a loud moan, loud enough to be considered a shout. This position is… something else. It leaves him reeling from how much deeper it somehow feels, almost hurting from it. Most of all, Steve can feel himself surrendering to you, feeling so safe and loved.
His arms quiver, struggling to hold his weight already. At the same time that he notices this, you start pulling out only to push in with a strong thrust that makes him buckle and fall down to his elbows. Steve’s moan at this is something so erotic it has you throbbing inside him.
“Good to keep going?”, you ask him, and he nods enthusiastically from under you.
Now you resume that moderate pace you had before, only this time, somehow, it feels more intense. You hips slap against the back of his legs every time they meet, filling the room with the erotic sounds of skin against skin and his loud, airy moans. Steve can’t keep his eyes open anymore. He just yields to the intensity of your thrusts, feeling full to the brim with your big cock going in and out of him. His moans increase in volume the more you press down against him, because he understands what you’re trying to do.
Your hands rest on the high of his back, pressing down with gentleness. “Lie down.” You find just the tiniest bit of resistance, probably because Steve almost can’t stand the idea of getting even more pleasure than this. “Trust me. It’ll feel so good.”
So Steve shakily obeys. His arms go lax to his sides as he lays his chest on the mattress, his spine almost straining from the curve you’ve enforced onto him.
Your cock presses on his prostate.
Steve screams.
“Ah— Fuck!” His legs fold on themselves, and his feet kick against the bed as you continue stimulating him. “Fuck— Oh my God. Th-That’s…”
“Feels good, right?” You lay off his prostate for the moment, knowing it probably wouldn’t take much to overwhelm him if you kept on.
“Y-Yeah…” Now you can feel his quivering legs working to— to meet your thrust. “Again. Please.”
“Oh, yeah?” Your hips bear down with force on his own, and you know you’re hitting his prostate dead-on because his wails are so sudden and loud they almost scare you.
“Yes!” His jaw is left open in an endless moan, eyes clenched shut at the intensity.
The more you keep pressing down, the more you feel his body lowering, wondering why this could be, until you lean up a fraction and notice his legs sliding open on the bed. Your cock throbs at the sight. To know that he’s so turned on that he can’t keep up with you…
“Fuck— S-Sorry— Can’t h-hold myself up.” Steve confirms this same thought as he keeps moaning.
You laugh in his ear— It’s something almost mean that has Steve’s eyes wide open in a second. “Don’t worry about it,” you say as you keep thrusting, following him to the mattress.
Suddenly, your right leg is pushing his own closer to his center. Your left one does the same with the other one. As soon as you have him in the position you want, your legs press against the sides of his, holding them together tightly, not allowing him to open them to lie in a puddle on the mattress.
Steve screams at this.
“Holy— fuck!” He screams, he moans, he wails, because this specific position has your cock rubbing against his prostate on every single thrust, and it has you going deeper still, and he starts to feel himself lose it when it almost hurts when you reach the end of his walls on every thrust, feeling so small and almost bursting at the seams with it.
You know that it won’t take longer for him, so you keep bearing down on him, focusing on that bundle of nerves, feeling it increase in size the slightest bit. Your hips go faster.
Steve begins to feel the same way he did the other day. There is this very specific intense feel that comes from his prostate and has him feeling desperate, because it’s so different from anything he’s ever felt.
He knows he’s going to come just from this, and this time, though terrified, he’s ready for it.
“C-Close— Ah— I’m close.” He says this, and you kiss the back of his nape, your left hand going under his body to press against his pounding heart. Steve’s left hand presses against yours, intertwining your fingers. “J-Just from this!”
“Yeah? You want it?”
He nods so quickly it almost makes you laugh. “It’s weird. F-Feels so weird. I really— fuck!— Really feel l-like…!”
“Okay, baby. Let it happen. I’m right here. It’s alright.”
Steve nods, his face in such agonic pleasure he’s almost glad you can’t see it, because you’d probably feel concerned over him. “Okay. O-Okay—!,” he concedes, his heart beating faster at the mounting feeling.
The more you thrust against him, the more he can feel himself losing it, until the feeling turns so intense he almost can’t breathe.
“C-Coming— I’m coming! I’m coming! Oh my God!” Steve’s voice turns desperate.
And he screams.
His body seizes. A sensation he’s never felt before ravages his entire body. His eyes sting with a hint of tears at it. He feels a forceful tremble throughout his limbs, and he’s left unable to control them as he feels himself coming and coming and coming, so intensely it almost hurts, and in such a different way he’s almost ashamed, because he really thought…
But there’s no room for thoughts in his mind because he’s still coming, and he’s still moaning without noticing, shutting his eyes at the acuteness of the feeling.
“Oh, that’s it, baby. You’re squeezing me so hard— fuck!”
As Steve begins coming down from the longest and most intense orgasm of his life, he moans weakly when he feels your hips shuttering behind him, yelping at the warmth of your cum filling the condom.
After some long seconds of you groaning in his ear, which makes his hurting cock valiantly attempt to twitch, you pull out of him, softly, though it still makes him yelp, almost in a whisper, until you’re off.
Without the support of your legs against his, he drops to the bed in a helpless pile.
Steve’s chest rises and lowers quickly, still trying to draw in as much breath as possible and to calm his still-pounding heart. You lie to the side of him, your right hand caressing the expanse of his back to let him know you’re still there.
You know he’s not even processing this, too gone to even notice you’re not holding him up anymore.
But after some long minutes, Steve calms down enough and regains enough lucidity to shift on the mattress, feeling your hand on his back and sighing at the sensation.
With what you think is the biggest display of effort in history, his arms strain enough for his head to rise and turn to the side you’re on.
Steve looks at you without saying anything. You don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t know what to say, or because he can’t, so you do, first.
Sliding down the bed to be at the same height as his head, you circle your arm around his back, and say: “Hey. That was a full-body one, wasn’t it?” You kiss his left shoulder.
He still won’t answer. You start getting concerned, before he smiles, bigger and bigger, until he’s giggling against the bedsheets. He mushes his face into the mattress as he does this.
You laugh with him, still not understanding if he’s too out of it and high on endorphins.
After some seconds, Steve stills, and his concealed face turns just the slightest fraction, just enough for his eye to peek, showing you that he’s sporting the darkest blush ever.
“Um…”, he starts. “Hi?”
And that makes you laugh even harder. “Hi, baby. How are you feeling?”
Steve turns his head further towards you, biting his lip. “Good.”
“Good,” you repeat. “How did all of that feel?”
His expression is so cute to see now. It’s like he’s getting shy all over again after everything you’ve just done. His lips twitch, not knowing whether to smile or to bite his own lower lip. “Good,” he mumbles again.
You hum, almost teasingly. “Just ‘good’?”
Steve laughs, embarrassed, shoving your face with a weak hand while you laugh. “What do you think? Jesus. I can’t even move.”
You give him a wolfish smile, but contradict it when you wrap your arms around his body. Steve lets himself be surrounded by you, feeling small and safe in a way he’s never had before.
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Text
Cough Syrup - Inumaki Toge x GN Reader
Soulmate AU – You feel each other's pain
Synopsys – Toge is on a mission as you introduce yourself to all the students at your new school, Jujutsu Tech. By the pain you experience, clearly his mission did not go as planed
Words - About 1,700
Sorry if spelling is bad, I try, but dyslexia is a bitch
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You ignored the strange looks from everyone in the pharmacy as you cleared the shelf of its remaining bottles of cough syrup. It was a usual thing for you, having had dealt with it since you could remember. The constant sore throat, coughing, scratchiness, and even coughing up blood sometimes. Your parents had taken you to see many doctors, and after tests upon tests, all said the same thing – it is the pain of your soulmate. You hadn’t known anyone else that gained an almost chronic pain with your soulmate, your parents thought it was special, more romantic. Ah yes, the true romance of coughing up blood together.   
The lady at the counter stood still for a while, unsure if she should be selling a 17-year-old THIS many bottles of cough syrup, but after a few coughs on your end, she began hesitantly bagging the small bottles. For good measure, she did pop in a leaflet providing information on addiction in the bag. You just payed and left the pharmacy, bag in hand.  
“You are solely keeping this place in business.” the white-haired man joked as he pointed towards your bag, as he was leaning against the wall of the store waiting for you to return. “Cough syrup, hm, strange addiction.” Gojo smirked as he stood up right from his previous position. A sigh left your lips, too tired to deal with the energetic man right now. After traveling the whole day from your hometown, you could no longer wait to arrive at your destination, your whole body was drained of energy, back was hurting from carrying your bag for hours, not to mention how hungry you were. Wanting nothing more than to sleep in your new bed, you began walking towards Jujutsu Tech.   
The walk to the school felt like a blur, tiredness overcoming you, the constant burning sensation in your through had been worse than usual lately, it was definitely taking a toll on you. Upon seeing the school, your mind cleared up. It was huge, and yet so beautiful, with the traditional architecture and the gorgeous gardens. You felt happy to call this your new home, you just hoped the other students were decent. 
Gojo walked you towards the large field you could only assume it was for training. There were a group of people, they looked young, you assumed they were the first and second years.  
 “Gojo-Sensei!” A boy with pink hair shouted as he happily waved, doing a small run to meet the white-haired man. The rest of the students followed behind, gathering closer to the teacher. 
“Y/N, these are the first and second years. This is Yuji, Megumi and Nobara.” Yuji and Nobara smiled and waved, where Megumi looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here. “And these are the second years, well, half the second years. Maki and Panda.” Maki gave a tsk as she leaned on her staff, and Panda gave a polite bow.  “Yuuta is on a mission overseas and Toge is on a mission, he should be returning a bit later.” Gojo smirked.   
Feeling overwhelmed trying to take in everyone's name, you were immediately pulled closer by Panda and Yuji as they asked you so many questions about my power, cursed techniques, fighting style etc. 
But there was only one thing on your mind right now. Your bed. 
The slow feeling of burning began to rise in your throat, the scratchiness following soon after. Not thinking much of it, it had become the usual long ago, you just opened a bottle of your trusted cough syrup and held it to your lips. The thick liquid coating your burning throat on the way down.   
“Are you sick?” Panda asked as he saw you drinking the medicine.   
Shaking your head, "No, I just suffer from throat pain from time to time, it's nothing.” your voice was raspy, which was not unusual. With all the pain you have to endure, you learnt that not talking really does help, or just simple one-word answers. Sometimes, your voice does recover, and you can talk without sounding like you have a frog in your throat, but it had been bad for a while. Whatever your soulmate was doing, he was starting to do it more regularly now.
Maki and Panda shared a look, you couldn’t quite make it out, but thinking about it, Gojo had been giving you the same look since you told him about your throat pain also.  Maki’s smirk grew, “Do you get that pain a lot?” She questioned.  
Placing the half empty bottle of syrup in your pocket, you gave her a blank look, having been asked this question so many times. “Quite often, although recently almost every other day.” 
Panda’s hand rested under his chin, “Hmm, that so?” Maki’s smirk grew wider. “Come to think of it, he has been on a lot more mission recently.” 
Before you could even question what Panda and Maki were going on about, you were caught off guard as a sharp pain cut through your neck. Blood instantly left your mouth, even more with each cough. Your knees made contact with the ground as Panda and Yuji rushed to your side. All the smug faces suddenly gone as worry flushes over everyone, well almost everyone, Megumi had still yet to give any expression. 
Yes, you had experienced this pain before, but it rarely gets this bad. A part of you hopes your soulmate is okay and safe, but on the other hand, your soulmate has put you through this pain since birth. Yuji grabbed your bag of cough syrup and handed you a bottle. You chugged that whole bottle like it was that old glass of water left by the side of your bed at 3 AM. The mix of the sweet syrup and the iron of your blood coated your throat and gave you instant relief. The soothing calmness after the sharp burning was the best feeling, but it never lasted long. 3 bottles of syrup later, you found your voice again and the coughing had died down a bit. 
“S-sorry… Sorry to worry you.” you managed to choke out in-between coughing. 
Yuji helped you to your feet and Panda picked up all your belongings. “No worries.” the pink haired boy’s smile could honestly brighten anyone's day. “Let’s get you inside, I’m sure some water will help. And I bet you’re hungry!” As if of que, your stomach rumbled, giving your answer for you, which you did not mind, with how painful talking was right now.   
All the students were so welcoming, even Maki warmed up as we all ate together. Megumi stayed mostly quiet throughout the night, but Yuji, Panda and Nobara really did talk enough anyway, anyone would struggle to get a word in.  
Suddenly the door opened behind you with a loud bang. There stood a boy with silver hair and the most beautiful purple eyes you had ever seen. He was panting and looked scruffy, like he had just run a few miles. He ran towards the kitchen sink as he shoved his face under the tap, drinking his body weight in water.  
You were so puzzled. Who was he? Why is he trying to down himself in the kitchen sink, and why were you so attracted to him? 
“Forget your cough syrup?” Maki smirked as she leaned back into her chair. She really had mastered the art of the ‘smug’ face. 
“Salmon” The silver haired boy crocked out. 
Damn, that sounded so hot. Also, wtf. Salmon?   
“You said you were going to buy more.” Panda said, also smirking at the boy. 
Cough syrup? Buy more? If he went to the same shop as you then you took the last one... 
As Maki and Panda began testing him, you rooted through your bag and grabbed a bottle of syrup. Walking towards him, he turned off the kitchen tap, excepting that the cold water would never replace the sweet syrup. “Here” You croaked as you handed over the small bottle to him. His pale face turned red instantly. Yours began to match soon after. The beet looks on both of your faces caused Maki and Panda to burst into a fit of laughter, making the redness grow from embarrassment.   
With his deep, raspy voice, he let out a sharp “Quiet.” in his friend's direction, earning a few coughs on his end as he had not recovered from his clearly more difficult mission. The room fell silent and all that could be heard was yours and Toge’s coughing. After the coughing had died down slightly, he took the cough syrup from your hand, a smile on his lips. As he drank the sweet liquid, you could feel the burning sensation in your throat slowly fade away. The pain almost completely gone. Walking back to your belonging, you grabbed the whole bag from the shop and handed it over to the boy. A bag of bottles of cough syrup was like a box of chocolates to the both of you.   
"This is Inumaki Toge,” Panda started as your attention turned to him, slight blush still dusting your cheeks. “The Inumaki clan all inherit Cursed Speech. Meaning every word, he speaks is reinforced with cursed energy. To protect everyone, and himself, he only speaks in rice ball ingredients.” Panda explained as he continued shoving the rest of the dinner in his mouth.   
Turning your attention back to the pale, purple eyed boy, he gave a small smile with a gentle “Kelp.”   
All the pain you had been through, everything you had suffered, all the hatred you had for this boy, all disappeared from your mind then and there. You couldn’t be angry at him, after all, being a Jujutsu Sorcerer means you have also put him through pain. The burning feeling that is normally in your throat had now moved down to your chest, feeling warm. “Nice to finally meet the person behind the reason of my cough syrup addiction.” You smiled, as you held a bottle of syrup up in the air, towards Toge.  
Toge nodded, “Salmon!” He exclaimed happily as he clanked his bottle against mine, a light pink still dusting his cheeks. You knew this new school would be amazing. 
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etheries1015 · 2 months
Note
Hii I’m so sorry but I’m the anon that asked for the s/o who gives generous compliments and poetic words and I just wanted to say what you wrote was very adorable and made me smile but due to my dyslexia I thought I had already written Jack’s name on the request 😭 I’m so sorry I didn’t write his name in the ask that was so embarrassing! 😭😭😭
SESDLKFj THIS IS SO FUNNY HAHA I was staring at it and thinking to myself the most popular tsundere characters and made a guess....i'm so sad I got it wrong 😭 It's okay I gotchu don't even worry about it I do stuff like that all the time EOIFJSLDKJ
The prefects muse...pt2!
Featuring: Jack!
General warnings: Gender-neutral reader, not proof read (very well, that is heuheu.) I hope you like it! I feel I'm not the best at writing Jack, but I hope it was still enjoyable nonetheless <3 thank you for the ask!
Tw: none!
Jack
Jack was always strong in his resolve about finishing school with ease and without distractions of love and affection...until you came and wreaked havoc. When you had asked Jack if he would be interested in studying with you, he was not aware that included hour-long sessions of him trying to revert your attention to textbooks while you seem to be indulging in some sort of poetry. While staring at him.
"Didn't you say you were failing this class?" He groaned with a pink face after you went on a tirade about how beautiful his hair looked, "Stop getting so distracted. School is important, you know! It'll be the foundation of your future-"
"Oh, I'm not failing."
....What did you just say? You giggled at his reaction which included staring at you with his jaw open ever so slightly in surprise at your sudden confession of academic skill. He was ready to throw in the rag seeing as you were "wasting his time," but you knew the right words to make him stay.
"But Jack," You gave him your best puppy eyes, "You're always so busy...you never hangout with poor, lonely, woeful me. Time is but limited, why not spend what I can with my dear beloved Jack?" You went into the entire theatric display - on hand in the air and the other over your heart, as if you were the prince declaring love to the damsel.
And it was working.
Jack has a very strong sense of loyalty, and to see how valiant and generous you were in dishing out compliments always seemed to give him a run for his sense of self-preservation when it came to school. He found himself eager to hear your words of honey and perhaps even finding ways to seek it out, craving those compliments and reveling in every single praise you threw the beastmans way. He took your declaration as you reciprocated his enjoyment of your company, face red and hand rubbing the back of his neck in contemplation of his next course of action.
"W-well..." he said, before faltering down into a mutter, "You don't need an excuse to hang out, you know..." You almost didn't catch what he had said, leaning in with a bright smile his face turned an even deeper shade of scarlet.
"N-not so close!" He stumbled over his words, "Jeez, just...just ask me next time! We can find other things to do together, I like your company, too!" He finally let out in a burst of confidence.
His mistake.
You were swooning! Giggling and teasing Jack at his cute reactions and seeing how your words affected him so. His face ended up buried in his hands, groaning at your brazen display of affection.
This was only one of many examples, though. You had a habit of throwing out random compliments passing the halls or in class, as well as in front of other people. No matter how many times he told you to stop in a whiney voice or claimed he disliked such attention, Jack is a fiercely loyal man, and never truly wanted you to stop. He was snagged in your charming word, and convinced himself perhaps one day he would get used to your teasing remarks and flamboyant scripts of poetry.
<3
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legitcookie · 1 year
Text
On a quiet Saturday morning, Steve Harrington noticed one of the nobs on a kitchen cabinet was loose. He grabbed a screwdriver and fixed it. It was a small thing, anyone could have done it, but he still felt proud.
That was only the beginning.
Steve started fixing anything that needed it around his and Eddie's shared home. If he didn't know exactly how to do it, he figured it out for himself. Sometimes it turned out wonky, but it still worked. Mostly.
Working with his hands came naturally to Steve, and the rush of endorphins at finishing a project reminded him of when he used to be on various sports teams in high school. It was honestly a little addicting. Eddie was just happy to not have to yank the closet door open as hard as he could anymore.
After Steve got comfortable being a bonafide handyman, he started picking up furniture on the side of the road to fix up and either keep for their own house or to sell. Eddie was definitely content drooling over his partner working on the projects. Sanding, scraping, painting, he wasn't picky. On more than one occasion, Max and Will conveniently happen to come over for a visit in the middle of Steve refinishing a dresser or whatever else he was working on. It was a good look.
The problem was that Steve wouldn’t stop picking up furniture.
“Oooh, Eddie, stop the van! I see a couch that looks like it might be in good shape.”
“I can see the bed bugs from here. No.”
The shed in their backyard quickly filled with future projects, Eddie lamenting to Steve, “Damnit, Steve, I don’t even have enough impulse control for myself, let alone for this.”
Steve’s Achilles heel was following instructions though.
“I know what I’m doing, I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me which screws to put where.” He definitely did.
The second time the crib he was trying to put together didn’t fit correctly, Steve called Robin. He blatantly refused to let Eddie help, telling him You’re hopeless with tools. Eddie couldn’t resist saying back Not the ones that matter, big boy. It was honestly more fun not to mention to Steve that he did indeed know how to use a power tool. The view was better this way.
Why Steve thought Robin would be more coordinated is the real mystery. The combination of dyslexia and cluelessness was strong.
“Dingus, you’re supposed to use screw A, not B.”
“This is screw A!”
“No, it’s not! That’s B!”
This went on for an entire afternoon and still resulted in a crib laying in pieces on the floor.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Eddie made a call to the one person he knows would probably be able to get the job done correctly.
Hopper showed up the next morning, electric drill in hand. Steve tried to refuse his help, telling him that it was practically done, he just had to work out the kinks.
“I’m not letting my granddaughter sleep on the floor. Show me the damn crib.” And that was that.
Steve and Hopper worked well together, eventually finishing the crib in no time. After that, they put together the rest of the furniture they bought to fill in the gaps of what Steve hadn’t refinished himself. Like a well-oiled machine, they got the nursery put together and Hopper went home.
Eddie came up to Steve, who standing with his arms crossed in the doorway, kissed his shoulder and wrapped his arms around him from behind. Looking into the finished room made it all feel real.
“I’m really proud of you, y’know?” Eddie said, kissing Steve’s cheek.
“Thanks, baby.” They both stood there for a while in the embrace. T-minus 16 days until they could bring their daughter home. Until they started their new little family.
“Now, come to bed and show me what else those handy hands can do,” Eddie said wiggling his eyebrows. Steve chuckled and turned to grab Eddie’s hand, kissed it, and walked them down the hallway, both happy with a job well done. 
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the-guilty-writer · 10 months
Text
We Need You That Way
Request from anon: Hey Gill, love your work bestie anyway I have a request for Spence being with BAU reader but she's dyslexic and idk there on a case and she's insecure because some of the cops/agents don't think reader could be an fbi agent yk and Spencer just consoles her super fluff stuff anyway feel free to ignore me 
Spencer Reid x gn!BAU!reader
Summary: Spencer reminds dyslexic reader that they’re a valuable part of the team.
A/N: While doing research on dyslexia I learned a lot about how it can affect more than reading and writing, but that it also presents differently in everyone. I remember reading a Spencer fic a long time ago with a dyslexic reader, but I couldn’t find it. (I will keep searching for it, though anon!)
I DID NOT HAVE A CONSULT on this fic, so if anyone with dyslexia has an issue with it, please let me know how I can improve. I do my research, but there is only so much a search engine can tell me. My messages are always open and I’m always happy to learn about how I can make a fic better when it features a reader with specific traits I’m unfamiliar with.
CW: reader is dyslexic (this shouldn’t be a warning?), the deputy makes a rude comment to reader, small southern town slander (I live in a small southern town and can confirm that the stereotypes are true. Someone save me from this hell please.)
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“Why does every small town we go to have a bunch of roads named after a bunch of people from the same family?” you huffed slightly.
You had just gotten back from visiting a crime scene; something that should have taken about an hour and ended up being far longer. The GPS had died and there was no cell phone service, leaving you to navigate via old-fashioned map, which wasn’t exactly your strongest suit. Mixing up left and right, finding out that you were holding the map upside down, and old road names made the journey less than ideal and exceedingly frustrating.
Most people thought dyslexia only went as far as mixing up words and struggling to read, but it got in the way of other things as well; today’s backroad adventure was just one example. It wasn’t often that you let those things get you down, but today you couldn’t help it.
After seeing you come back to the station so defeated, Spencer took you to grab a much-needed cup of coffee from the small kitchenette. It wasn’t a real break, but it was enough for you to cool off from your frustrations.
“Looking back at the town records, the Baskin family owned about one fourth of the town land for three generations and the Silvan family owned a third of the town for two generations before holding prominent government positions. Given the regional tradition it makes sense that so many roads are named after them,” Spencer sprouted a fact. It made you grin.
“My great grandpappy held onto the land as long as he could,” one of the old deputies said, though you could barely understand through his thick southern-drawl. “Broke his heart when he had to let it go. It’s devastating the first murder occured on the road named in his honor.”
It’s more devastating that someone is… you know… dead, You thought, but kept yourself from speaking. “And which road was that?” you asked politely, opening up your case file, but knowing it would be faster just to ask.
“Harper,” the deputy said. “There’s only one Harper road in this whole town.”
“Are you right?” you looked down at your file again, taking your time as much as you could, but still in a rush.
“What is it?” Spencer asked.
“I thought I just came back from the scene at Harper,” you told him.
“I’m right,” the deputy replied defiantly.
“I wasn’t-” you wanted to explain that sometimes you would reach for a word like “sure” but a word with similar meaning, like “right” would come out instead. Dyslexia didn’t just make you mix up letters and sounds, but words sometimes too, especially since you were distracted by your files.
But the deputy didn’t give you a chance to speak any further. “I know I’m right! What kind of FBI agent can’t keep track of where crime scenes are?”
Spencer interrupted before it could go any further. “Let’s go note the difference on the profile board, okay?”
“Yeah,” you replied to him quietly and the two of you quickly made your way to the other room.
Spencer shut the door behind you and tears threatened to spill from your eyes. People questioned your ability to do things at times, but never so loud and direct; most of it was whispered behind your back. You’d spend time pretending that you didn’t hear the insults, pretending that they didn’t get to you until you were alone and could cry silently to yourself. This time you had no time, no room, to ignore the interaction that occurred. Your vulnerability was on complete display.
You threw your files down on the table and sunk into a chair, feeling crushed. “He’s got a point,” you muttered.
“He doesn’t,” Spencer said, sitting next to you.
“It took me two hours to figure out how to get to the crime scene today, Spencer.” You should have felt bad about using such a bitter tone with him, but you couldn’t help it. “It wouldn’t have taken Morgan that long. Or you, or anyone else on the team.”
“Well when Morgan drives it makes all of us carsick,” Spencer said. “And no one lets me drive.”
“Spencer, you hate driving,” you pointed out. “You get all squirrelly.”
“I did technically fail the offensive driving course at the academy.” Spencer smiled sheepishly. “But that doesn't make me any less important to the team.”
“Of course it doesn't. You're a literal genius. I'm… just me.” Your voice quieted at the end, what was frustration showing as what it really was— insecurity.
“I think just you is great,” Spencer replied. “And you help me slow down when thinking through cases.”
“Wow, I slow you down… thanks, Spence. That makes me feel so much better.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm.
“It’s a good thing,” Spencer said sincerely. “I jump to conclusions sometimes. You make me slow down and catch the things I missed. My consultation profiles have been far more accurate since you joined the team, and when we’re out on cases we have to revise the profile less often.”
“Really?” You tried not to show how baffled you truly were. You knew that occasionally you helped slow down Spencer’s million-mile an hour brain, but you didn’t think it was helpful for anyone but yourself.
“Do you know why Hotch brings you to court the most?” Spencer asked.
You bypassed telling Spencer that his sentence could be taken in two very different connotations. “Because it would be a waste of time to have me review files when I can’t read them?”
“Because you can tell the story of the case as an experience instead of just a list of evidence. It makes it easier for the jury to understand what’s going on and more dangerous people get put away because of it,” Spencer explained.
“And Garcia always asks you to help review initial video footage for a reason. It’s like you can see the crime scene without being there, so when we get there in-person we have a better idea of where to start. Your spacial awareness is better than the rest of ours. We can build the profile faster.”
“Do I really help that much?”
“Yeah, you do.” Spencer looked at you softly.
He reached for you, pulling you into a tight embrace. You let yourself fall into his arms. The comfort and reassurance of his words cradled you, building your confidence back up. “Keep being ‘just you.’ We need you that way.”
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