INTERESTS: i love music - singing and dancing are two of my favorites things to do. some of my favorite singers are beabadoobee, ariana, troye sivan, and clairo!! love supernatural, criminal minds, and animal kingdom. i make peacemaker content too. 👀.
POSTING : this account should manly be for writing fics if i feel like it, or just blogging whatever. sometimes my interest in this app dips and i genuinely forget about it.. haha..
BMF : totally add me if you share similar hobbies or interests! be my frienddddd <3 my other acc is @vanille0
Summary: After a night surrounded by his colleagues at the bar, you come to the conclusion Spencer actually wanted to end things with you, what you don’t know is that Spencer’s just trying to figure out how to tell you.
Warnings: 3k words 18+ MDNI, porn with little plot, fluff, unprotected p in v, soft!dom spencer, he eats you out like his life depends on it, couch sex!! Missionary and cowgirl.
Part One - Part Two.
You shouldn’t have gone tonight.
Spencer asked you if you wanted to go out with him and his colleagues tonight and there was no way you could say no.
You liked his team. They each found a way to make you feel comfortable. When you first met his team you were apprehensive that they wouldn’t be at all friendly or, quite frankly, human considering the job they all did. But like most things in your life it turned out to be the complete opposite.
They were funny, and a delight to be around. The girls always included you in conversations and the boys always made sure you had a drink.
You weren’t sure if they ever knew about your…..situation with Spencer. You knew for damn sure he wouldn’t have told them, not out of ashamedness, because Spencer has never made you feel as if you are something to hide, but more out of awkwardness and out of respect for his private life.
But you couldn’t be sure, they were profilers after all. Over the months they must have noticed the lingering touches on your waist as he moved past you, the way he would look at you first if someone made a joke to see if you found it funny, how he would just look at you with longingness.
If they didn’t put two and two together before, they most certainly did now Spencer wasn’t doing those things.
Since Spencer ended things with you, there was no such thing as a gentle touch, a warm look from across the room. Now it was replaced with something that appeared cold, indifferent almost.
You knew better, better than his whole team if you had to put money on it. Spencer wasn’t acting uninterested in you all of a sudden because he was, rather, the opposite.
In his mind, none of this was linear, you don’t go from strangers to roomates to friends, to fuck buddies to possible lover.
The whole thing confused him so much that he needed time. Not time away from you, but time to think away from sex. If you were constantly fucking like bunny rabits there was no time to assess his own thoughts.
The whole night, he sat opposite you. He spoke to you here and there, lighthearted conversations like it had been for the past two weeks. But you could always feel the elephant in the corner, looming over the both of you. The tension was so thick it felt like two opposite sides of a magnet being held apart, slowly threatening to collide with all the words left unsaid between you two.
There were only so many times you could sit near him and catch his eyes before it all got too much. You both longed to be together, but him and his stubbornness was forcing you to be apart. You expected a few days of his contemplation, not two weeks.
So much time had passed that you concluded that you must’ve been wrong. He wasn’t in love with you. You thought you knew how his brain worked, and how quickly he would be able to organise his thoughts and feelings and diagnose himself with being hopelessly in love with you. When he didn’t come back home one day and confess his love, you simply expected it to be the next day instead.
Until tonight, you sit opposite him realising that no such confession was ever coming your way, feeling rather sorry for yourself, upset that you thought you knew better.
You announced to everyone that you were getting tired and you were going to head home. You wished everyone a goodnight and left.
They must’ve known that was strange, considering you always left with Spencer, not only because you lived together, but because by the end of the night, you were both itching to get home and rip each other's clothes off.
You pulled your coat tighter as you started your walk home, the cold air biting the tip of your nose. You approached one particular alley, stopping to look down it.
You remembered one night when you and Spencer left early, laughing and running down it, tipsy and full of joy, when he stopped you both and pulled you in for a kiss, cupping your head in both of his hands.
You continued on for barely thirty seconds before you heard your name being called from behind you.
You turned to see Spencer half jog to catch up with you, his warm breath curling in the cold air.
“Why did you go?” He asked once he reached you.
“I couldn’t sit there and pretend nothing’s changed Spencer” You replied, looking at his battered converse.
“I know, I’m sorry. I know i’ve been distant with you” He shifted his weight between his feet, speaking so quietly you could barely hear him. “I just needed time to think”
“You’ve had two weeks, that's a lot of thinking” You huffed, your frustration seeping out. “Perhaps it was wrong of me to initiate….. whatever this is the way I did. And I apologise, I never wanted to lose your friendship.”
“You haven’t!--” Spencer started.
“-Spencer, don’t you see?” You spoke over him. “There's no way we could ever go back to being friends after this. I care about you far too much to be your friend and pretend none of this ever happened”
“I don’t want–”
“No Spencer, I understand. I misunderstood the situation differently than you–”
“No–” He tried to interrupt.
“--Yes” You cut in right away. You were too exhausted to hear him try to appease you with pity you didn’t deserve.
“-Will you ever fucking let me finish?” He interrupted you quickly, his voice low and gravely, with the slightest hint of passion laced between each word.
You hated how much that turned you on. Now was not the time. You clicked your neck to ease some of the newfound arousal simmering under your skin.
“I don’t ever want to be your friend again. Because I’ve been trying to find the words to try and describe the way I feel about you. But there are none. There will never be any words in any language that gives justice to the feelings I have for you” He near shouted, his hands clenching at his sides.
“You plague my mind and heart, It’s been torturous to be near you and not be able to hold you. I see you in our home and all I curse myself for not being enough of a man to tell you I've made a mistake”
He continued, taking one fractionally small step closer to you. “So yes, I would hate to be your friend too, because it would kill me to just call you my friend when I love you”
The words hung between you, impossibly still. Spencer swallowed hard, like even saying them had stolen the air from his lungs.
“I told you we couldn't do this anymore because every time we end up in my bed...” He paused, searching for words that refused to come. “...you leave, and suddenly I'm supposed to act like the love of my life didn't just walk back into the room next door”
“You smile at me the next day like nothing happened, and I smile back because I don't know what else to do. So I thought if I stopped... if I put some distance between us... eventually I'd stop wanting more.”
He got closer to you to the point where you were sharing the same air. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes, his to match.
“Instead, all it did was prove that it was never about sex. I need all of you, I can’t run from that anymore”
He tipped his forehead onto yours, inhaling shakily. You finally put your hands on his waist beneath his coat, feeling him immediately melt beneath your touch.
Neither of you spoke. Spencer's eyes fluttered closed for the briefest moment, almost as though he'd finally allowed himself to rest.
One hand slid from beneath his coat, climbing slowly over the buttons of his shirt until your fingertips rested against his jaw. He leaned into your touch instinctively.
"You made me think..." Your voice cracked. "You made me think you regretted me."
His face fell immediately.
"Never." The answer came so quickly there wasn't even room for thought. "Not once."
You searched his face, looking for even the smallest trace of doubt, there wasn't any, there never had been.
Your thumb brushed over the faint stubble along his cheek, running along his lower lip and jaw before pulling him closer towards you so his lips could finally meet yours.
His hands found you immediately, cradling your face with such devoutness it almost made you cry all over again. What started off as the purest of kisses, gentle, small touches of lips turned into something much heavier. His teeth catching your bottom lip before sucking it hard, pulling a soft moan from your throat.
His hands trembled against your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks while his fingers threaded into your hair, gripping tight as if he was terrified you'd disappear.
You pressed your body flush against his, feeling the rapid beat of his heart through his shirt. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers working at his buttons near his waist with shaking urgency until you could slip your palms inside and feel the heat of his skin. Spencer groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your tongue as he kissed you harder, deeper, like he was trying to crawl inside you.
"Fuck," he gasped against your lips, breaking away only long enough to breathe before diving back in.
His tongue curled around yours, slow and filthy, while his hands dropped to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You could feel him getting hard against your hip, his cock straining against his pants as he ground forward instinctively.
"I love you," he whispered between kisses, the words spilling out like he couldn't hold them back anymore. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
“I love you too,” you said back, overlapping with his declarations, each punctuated by another desperate kiss, his mouth moving to your jaw, your neck, sucking marks into your skin before returning to your lips like he couldn't stay away.
“Lets go home” You manage to say in between kisses, your voice broken and hoarse.
He nodded quickly, grabbing your hand, almost tripping on his own feet in his haste to get home.
He couldn’t keep his hands off you, as you walked, his hands slipped from where they rested under your coat around your waist to your ass, squeezing as you walked, pulling you in for another kiss.
You shamelessly would retaliate, stroking his erection through his slacks as you kissed him, each whine going straight to your core.
The door barely clicked shut before Spencer had you slammed against it, his mouth crashing into yours with a force that rattled the frame. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming every inch of your mouth while his hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. You could feel his cock straining against his pants, thick and insistent as he ground forward, desperate for friction.
"I need you so much, I can't wait," he growled against your mouth, already working at your shirt with shaking fingers. The fabric tore slightly as he yanked it over your head, but neither of you cared.
His mouth found your neck immediately, teeth scraping down to your collarbone while his hands fumbled with your bra clasp. When it finally gave, he groaned in relief, palming your breasts roughly before his mouth descended to suck one nipple between his lips.
Your hands were just as frantic, tearing at his shirt until buttons scattered across the floor. You shoved it off his shoulders and went for his belt, yanking it open and shoving his pants down. His cock sprang free, heavy and leaking, the head already glistening. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking from base to tip, and Spencer bucked into your grip with a broken moan.
"Bedroom," he managed, but the word was barely out before he was lifting you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you deeper into the apartment, his cock pressed hot and hard against your stomach.
He made it as far as the couch before dropping you down and climbing over you, his mouth finding yours again as his hands worked your pants off with desperate urgency.
The moment you were bare, Spencer dropped down your body and spread your thighs wide. He looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes before lowering his mouth to your pussy. His tongue dragged slowly from your entrance up to your clit, tasting how wet you already were for him. The first long lick made your hips jerk, and Spencer groaned against your folds like he was starving.
His tongue circled your clit with firm, wet strokes before dipping lower to push inside you. He fucked you with his tongue, thrusting deep and curling to catch every drop of your arousal. His nose pressed against your clit as he worked, creating friction with every movement of his head.
Your hands found his hair, fingers threading through the strands as he licked and sucked at you. Spencer was relentless, alternating between broad flat licks that covered your entire slit and focused attention on your clit that made your thighs tremble around his head. He sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips, flicking his tongue against it rapidly while two of his fingers teased your entrance without pushing inside.
"Spencer," you gasped, your back arching off the couch as he worked you over. He responded by pressing his face harder against you, his tongue pushing deeper into your pussy as he tried to taste every inch of you.
Your hips rolled against his face, grinding your pussy against his mouth as he devoured you. Spencer let you use him, his tongue staying flat and still while you rode his face. Every movement dragged your clit against his tongue, building the pressure inside you until you were shaking with need.
He moaned as you did, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh, adding another layer of sensation as he went back to work. His tongue pushed inside you again, fucking you with deep, wet strokes while his nose bumped your clit with every thrust.
You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension building in your core as Spencer worked you with single-minded focus. The sight of him between your thighs, face buried in your heat, was almost too much to handle.
Spencer seemed to sense how close you were getting. He doubled his efforts, his tongue working your clit with rapid flicks while he sucked the sensitive nub between his lips. Two fingers finally pushed inside you, curling against that spot that made your vision go white. He pumped them in time with his tongue, creating a rhythm that had you crying out his name.
The combination of his moans, his fingers, and his relentless tongue pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you in waves, your pussy clenching around his fingers as you came with a broken cry. Spencer didn't stop, his tongue gentling but still working as he licked you through it, tasting every drop of your release.
Even after you came down, he stayed between your thighs, pressing soft kisses to your sensitive pussy. His tongue made lazy circles around your clit, avoiding direct contact as you twitched and shuddered from overstimulation.
His fingers slipped out of you slowly, and he brought them to his mouth to suck them clean while maintaining eye contact.
"I love how you taste," he said, voice hoarse. He pressed one more kiss to your clit before climbing up your body, his hard cock dragging against your thigh as he settled between your legs.
His mouth found yours in a deep kiss, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. The evidence of what he'd done to you was all over his face, his chin still wet from your arousal. Spencer didn't seem to care, kissing you like he was trying to devour you whole.
"Need to be inside you," he groaned against your lips, his cock pressing against your entrance. He pushed forward slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank into your wet heat.
The stretch was perfect, your body still sensitive from his mouth. Spencer buried himself to the hilt with a shaky groan, his forehead pressed to yours as he fought for control. "So fucking tight," he breathed. "God, I love you."
He started moving with long, deep thrusts that had you gasping beneath him. Each stroke dragged his cock against your sensitive walls, hitting spots that made your toes curl. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he fucked you with desperate intensity.
"Missed this," he panted against your neck. "Missed being inside you." His thrusts grew harder, more urgent, the couch creaking beneath you with every movement.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as he pounded into you. The new angle had his cock hitting your cervix with every thrust, the sensation bordering on too much but exactly what you needed. Spencer's hand found your clit again, rubbing tight circles that had you seeing stars.
You came with a cry, your pussy clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Spencer followed right after, burying himself deep as he came with a broken moan of your name. You could feel him pulsing inside you, filling you with hot spurts of cum as his whole body shook with the force of his release.
Even after, he didn't pull out. He stayed buried inside you, kissing you slow and deep while his hands stroked over your skin with trembling tenderness.
"Never letting you go," he whispered against your lips. "Never letting anyone take you from me. You're mine. All mine."
Spencer shifted slightly, his softening cock still inside you as he adjusted your position on the couch. He pulled you closer, arranging your bodies so you were half on top of him, his arms wrapped around you protectively.
"I truly did miss you. I want you to know that, not just sex. I missed all of you " he said quietly, his fingers tracing patterns on your back. "What happened before... being apart... it nearly killed me. I don't want to do that again. I can't pretend I don't need you."
“I missed you too, but you don’t need to anymore. I’m all yours, Spencer, I always have been”
You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, steady and strong. The apartment was quiet around you, the only sounds your breathing and the distant hum of traffic outside.
Spencer's hand moved to your hair, stroking through the strands with gentle fingers.
His cock twitched inside you, already starting to harden again as he held you close. The sensation made you shift against him, and Spencer groaned softly at the movement.
"I can't get enough of you," he admitted. “I’m already getting hard again” he smiled against your lips.
You rolled your hips experimentally with a smirk, feeling him grow harder inside you. Spencer's grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your skin.
"Good, because I’m still not done with you "you say, your voice still rough from your earlier cries. The words scrape against your throat, raw and honest. "Two weeks without you is far too long." Your fingers trace the line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble that's grown in since this morning.
The words seem to unlock something in him. Spencer's hazel eyes darken, the brown and green swirling like storm clouds. In one fluid motion that surprises you with its strength, he flips you both over. The world tilts, and suddenly you're straddling him on the couch, his body beneath yours, your knees sinking into the cushions on either of his hips.
"Then take what you want," he said, his hands settling on your hips. His eyes were dark with renewed desire, watching you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.
You started moving slowly, rolling your hips in circles that ground your clit against his pelvis. Spencer's cock was fully hard again, thick and hot inside you as you worked yourself on him. His hands guided your movements, helping you find a rhythm that had both of you breathing hard.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice strained. "Show me how much you missed me." His words send heat through you, pooling low in your belly. You pick up the pace, bouncing on his length with increasing urgency. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, a rhythmic slap that marks your tempo. His dick fills you completely, stretching your pussy with each downward thrust.
Spencer sat up to meet you, his mouth finding your breasts as you rode him. He sucked one nipple between his lips, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak while his hands gripped your ass. The new position had him hitting different angles inside you, his cock dragging against spots that made your vision blur.
You could feel another orgasm building, the pressure coiling tighter with each movement. Spencer's hand moved between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles that had you gasping. The dual stimulation was almost too much, pushing you closer to the edge with every thrust.
Your orgasm crashes through you with devastating intensity, your pussy clenching around him as you come with a broken cry. Waves of pleasure roll through your body, making your toes curl and your back arch.
Spencer holds you through it, his hands steady on your hips as you shake and tremble above him. Your vision whites out, all sensation narrowing to the points where your bodies connect.
He followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing inside you as he came with a groan of your name. You could feel him filling you again, his cum mixing with your own wetness as he held you close through his release.
This time when you came down, Spencer carefully lifted you off his cock and arranged you both on the couch. He pulled a throw blanket over your bodies, tucking it around you with gentle hands. His arms wrapped around you, holding you against his chest as your breathing slowly returned to normal.
"Stay with me tonight," he said quietly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. "In my bed I mean,. I don't want to wake up without you again." The vulnerability in his voice made your chest tight, and you pressed closer to him, seeking his warmth.
"Of course," you promised, and felt him relax beneath you. “Also, we might need to discuss who’s bedroom we will be moving into”
Spencer pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “Mine, obviously. There’s more space I have a bigger bed”
“Okay. As long as we can have my plants and other trinkets in there” You say, tracing absent shapes on his bare back.
“I think I can manage that” He smiled, flicking his nose against yours.
“I love you” You whisper.
Being in love with Spencer didn’t feel new, as somewhere along the way, between the shared bedroom walls, movie marathons, takeouts and mind boggling sex, you had both already fallen in love.
Love had woven itself into the ordinary, into the books you shared, into the photobooth pictures of the pair of you on the fridge, into the mugs left in the sink because you knew he’d use them again.
You had recognised it long before you found the courage to name it. Spencer had simply been slower to see what had been right in front of him.
He hadn't fallen in love tonight, He’d simply realised that you'd been already living inside it all along.
a.n. I finally finished a series - well done me ! I lowkey loved writing this style of series, there is no plot at all but I wanted to write something that you don't really need to read part to follow along.
TAGLIST - @sweet-t33a @unlikelylovebarbarian @cocoabears @cryingoblivioneden @haydenssweetheart @sabbiabbydabbywabbie @moonz33 @pinkpantheris @throughmylifetimesiwatchtheworld - Please let me know if you'd like to be added!
𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 : sorry for not being very active.. i try 🙈 this is just another short smut fic i wrote pretty quickly, so i apologize for any mistakes. thanks!
The two of you slip into your shared apartment after an evening of steamy pasta bowls and sparkling drinks. Pope has an arm on your waist, keeping you close as the door is shut behind him. Your heels are in his free hand, straps loosely dangling from his fingers.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured against the top of your head, letting your heels drop to the ground. His hand travels to your back, sliding up and down comfortingly. He’s guiding you to your bedroom. Your head droops, tilting into his shoulder as you take careful steps. That final drink from earlier still had the world spinning.
You smile slowly to yourself. “S’not as bad as you think, Andrew…” you exhale slowly against the fabric of his polo.
“Just making sure,” he assured.
After he had slowly guided you into your shared bedroom, he wanted you to sit down. He adjusted the bust of your dress as you seated yourself on the edge of a meticulously made bed. His gaze lingered on you in the dim light, hand coming up to your cheek.
“What?” you questioned with a huff of amusement. He did not respond, deciding to keep those thoughts to himself.
He stepped away, approaching the bedside table and switching on a lamp.
“Andrew,” you called softly. He was still getting used to that name on your lips. He was disgusted with the things it did to him.
His head turned to look over his shoulder at you. You were leaning back, hands holding your weight. Slouched seductively. Well, you didn’t mean to seem alluring, but it was the first thing that came to his mind. “Yes?” he croaked out.
Your chin dipped down, wide eyes finding his. Sent a shock straight to his jeans.
“Take off this dress.”
You could hear his mouth work as he swallowed. He was clearly reluctant, but took two tentative steps in your direction. His hand found your shoulder rather than the strap of your dress, guiding you down onto the bed. You lie horizontally on the mattress, Pope hovering above you. His knee comes up to push against the plush surface, brushing against your thigh. Now he’s really hovering above you.
His hands are soft, well-taken care of. They glide across your skin, up your arms and down your waist. They find the thing straps of that silky black slip, carefully working the fabric off of your body until you’re left in a pair of flimsy underwear. You shudder with the sudden breeze—that’s the excuse for trembling at the sight of his darkening eyes locked on your body. Pope’s hands meet bare skin, and your dress is left in a puddle on the bedroom floor.
Pope’s lips parted—and though he’s always been quiet, he looked speechless. He’d seen the same body more than enough times, and every time he had the same reaction. Stunned. You flushed, subtle, but still.
“Kiss me,” you ordered quietly, and he obeyed.
Andrew held himself over you, lips pressing against your own in a slow, sticky kiss. Neither of you kissed often, but Pope enjoyed it whenever it happened.
Your hands moved up his back, gently tugging at his shirt on their way up to tangle in his curls. He groaned when your nails scratch his scalp. He pulled back, eyes glancing back down to your lips, your neck. One hand of his slid over your side, cupping one breast. You sucked in a light gasp, but leaned into his touch.
“Andrew,” you whispered. That tone alone made him force down a whine threatening to escape. He’d just eaten dinner with you, but he was hungrier than before. “Take your shirt off.”
He didn’t engage in any arguing. He stood up, starting with his shirt and already moving to his belt after it was off. Skin pulled taut over the meaty muscles in his arms and chest. You found yourself smiling at his obedience.
Next, you would scoot back, letting him crawl over you on the bed. His head dipped to press his lips against your chest. You’d sigh. His lips trailed downward. You moaned his name again. His hands slid down to get your underwear off, yanking so hard you could swear you heard a tear. He watched your chest heave, his mouth quick to find your own in hopes to soothe any shock you experienced. You kicked off the rest of your panties until they hit the floor. He’s in his boxers.
“My face,” he groaned into your mouth. You grunted softly in return, brows furrowed. “Sit.”
His mouth trails to your jaw, hands working up to become clammy as they find your hips. He shimmies away from you, but guides you by the hips to be on top of him. He lies vertically on the bed with you sprawled across him.
“Please?” His voice is gruff, almost broken. You swallow. His fond gaze finds yours quickly. Heart eyes. You grin at his needy stare.
“Get comfortable,” you retort beneath your breath.
Pope adjusts his head on the pillow residing beneath it. His hands are already on your waist. You lift yourself, scooting until your bare pussy is teasingly close to his lips. His arms instinctively wrap around your thighs to pull you down. You flush at how his biceps flex with the motion.
His tongue presses flat against you, and you gasp at the sudden contact. Your head drops, and the first thing your eyes meet is his hard stare. Another choked moan escapes as his tongue finds your clit. You lean forward, hand pressing against the headboard. Your hips begin to buck against his mouth within habit.
“Fuck…” you muttered, “o-oh my God…”
You couldn’t remember what was on your mind just seconds ago. His hands are gentle as they slide up and down your shaking thighs. His tongue flicks with scrupulous movement, eating you like he’s truly starving. He was moaning against you—not quite as loud as you, but he was clearly into it just as much as you were. One of his big hands snake up your spine, sending shivers down it. His palm pressed flat against your shoulder blade.
Your head tips back, another groan erupting from your lips. His tongue slides beneath that hood of your clit, thumb moving to expose it, provoking a squeak from you instantly. Your hips jerked, which only fueled his arousal. He would chase after it, mouth moving with your stuttering hips. You lean against the headboard, panting quietly.
“I ca…” you began, only trailing off to groan, “I can’t… f-fuck… Andrew, wait—I-I think I’m gonna…”
Those words only make him sigh with satisfaction. A lewd slurp comes from him as he continued to work your clit, and you choke on another shout. Your groaning builds, that knot in your stomach snapping violently. Your hips would stutter, sharp whines and gasps escaping your wet lips. His hands grounded you, holding your trembling thighs down, tongue lapping at your spasming cunt.
After a moment he pulled off, nose nudging your inner thigh. His eyes stay on your chest, watching it rise and fall quickly. You look down, hips pulling off of him. His hands pull you down next to him on the bed. Pope rolls over, hovering above you. His lips are all over your neck, and one hand glides down to start yanking his boxers down. A smile spread across your lips as you realized what he wanted next.
𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 : sorry for not being very active.. i try 🙈 this is just another short smut fic i wrote pretty quickly, so i apologize for any mistakes. thanks!
The two of you slip into your shared apartment after an evening of steamy pasta bowls and sparkling drinks. Pope has an arm on your waist, keeping you close as the door is shut behind him. Your heels are in his free hand, straps loosely dangling from his fingers.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured against the top of your head, letting your heels drop to the ground. His hand travels to your back, sliding up and down comfortingly. He’s guiding you to your bedroom. Your head droops, tilting into his shoulder as you take careful steps. That final drink from earlier still had the world spinning.
You smile slowly to yourself. “S’not as bad as you think, Andrew…” you exhale slowly against the fabric of his polo.
“Just making sure,” he assured.
After he had slowly guided you into your shared bedroom, he wanted you to sit down. He adjusted the bust of your dress as you seated yourself on the edge of a meticulously made bed. His gaze lingered on you in the dim light, hand coming up to your cheek.
“What?” you questioned with a huff of amusement. He did not respond, deciding to keep those thoughts to himself.
He stepped away, approaching the bedside table and switching on a lamp.
“Andrew,” you called softly. He was still getting used to that name on your lips. He was disgusted with the things it did to him.
His head turned to look over his shoulder at you. You were leaning back, hands holding your weight. Slouched seductively. Well, you didn’t mean to seem alluring, but it was the first thing that came to his mind. “Yes?” he croaked out.
Your chin dipped down, wide eyes finding his. Sent a shock straight to his jeans.
“Take off this dress.”
You could hear his mouth work as he swallowed. He was clearly reluctant, but took two tentative steps in your direction. His hand found your shoulder rather than the strap of your dress, guiding you down onto the bed. You lie horizontally on the mattress, Pope hovering above you. His knee comes up to push against the plush surface, brushing against your thigh. Now he’s really hovering above you.
His hands are soft, well-taken care of. They glide across your skin, up your arms and down your waist. They find the thing straps of that silky black slip, carefully working the fabric off of your body until you’re left in a pair of flimsy underwear. You shudder with the sudden breeze—that’s the excuse for trembling at the sight of his darkening eyes locked on your body. Pope’s hands meet bare skin, and your dress is left in a puddle on the bedroom floor.
Pope’s lips parted—and though he’s always been quiet, he looked speechless. He’d seen the same body more than enough times, and every time he had the same reaction. Stunned. You flushed, subtle, but still.
“Kiss me,” you ordered quietly, and he obeyed.
Andrew held himself over you, lips pressing against your own in a slow, sticky kiss. Neither of you kissed often, but Pope enjoyed it whenever it happened.
Your hands moved up his back, gently tugging at his shirt on their way up to tangle in his curls. He groaned when your nails scratch his scalp. He pulled back, eyes glancing back down to your lips, your neck. One hand of his slid over your side, cupping one breast. You sucked in a light gasp, but leaned into his touch.
“Andrew,” you whispered. That tone alone made him force down a whine threatening to escape. He’d just eaten dinner with you, but he was hungrier than before. “Take your shirt off.”
He didn’t engage in any arguing. He stood up, starting with his shirt and already moving to his belt after it was off. Skin pulled taut over the meaty muscles in his arms and chest. You found yourself smiling at his obedience.
Next, you would scoot back, letting him crawl over you on the bed. His head dipped to press his lips against your chest. You’d sigh. His lips trailed downward. You moaned his name again. His hands slid down to get your underwear off, yanking so hard you could swear you heard a tear. He watched your chest heave, his mouth quick to find your own in hopes to soothe any shock you experienced. You kicked off the rest of your panties until they hit the floor. He’s in his boxers.
“My face,” he groaned into your mouth. You grunted softly in return, brows furrowed. “Sit.”
His mouth trails to your jaw, hands working up to become clammy as they find your hips. He shimmies away from you, but guides you by the hips to be on top of him. He lies vertically on the bed with you sprawled across him.
“Please?” His voice is gruff, almost broken. You swallow. His fond gaze finds yours quickly. Heart eyes. You grin at his needy stare.
“Get comfortable,” you retort beneath your breath.
Pope adjusts his head on the pillow residing beneath it. His hands are already on your waist. You lift yourself, scooting until your bare pussy is teasingly close to his lips. His arms instinctively wrap around your thighs to pull you down. You flush at how his biceps flex with the motion.
His tongue presses flat against you, and you gasp at the sudden contact. Your head drops, and the first thing your eyes meet is his hard stare. Another choked moan escapes as his tongue finds your clit. You lean forward, hand pressing against the headboard. Your hips begin to buck against his mouth within habit.
“Fuck…” you muttered, “o-oh my God…”
You couldn’t remember what was on your mind just seconds ago. His hands are gentle as they slide up and down your shaking thighs. His tongue flicks with scrupulous movement, eating you like he’s truly starving. He was moaning against you—not quite as loud as you, but he was clearly into it just as much as you were. One of his big hands snake up your spine, sending shivers down it. His palm pressed flat against your shoulder blade.
Your head tips back, another groan erupting from your lips. His tongue slides beneath that hood of your clit, thumb moving to expose it, provoking a squeak from you instantly. Your hips jerked, which only fueled his arousal. He would chase after it, mouth moving with your stuttering hips. You lean against the headboard, panting quietly.
“I ca…” you began, only trailing off to groan, “I can’t… f-fuck… Andrew, wait—I-I think I’m gonna…”
Those words only make him sigh with satisfaction. A lewd slurp comes from him as he continued to work your clit, and you choke on another shout. Your groaning builds, that knot in your stomach snapping violently. Your hips would stutter, sharp whines and gasps escaping your wet lips. His hands grounded you, holding your trembling thighs down, tongue lapping at your spasming cunt.
After a moment he pulled off, nose nudging your inner thigh. His eyes stay on your chest, watching it rise and fall quickly. You look down, hips pulling off of him. His hands pull you down next to him on the bed. Pope rolls over, hovering above you. His lips are all over your neck, and one hand glides down to start yanking his boxers down. A smile spread across your lips as you realized what he wanted next.
Jack's been on a health kick ever since he turned fifty. So much so, he decides to drag you along with him to the gym.
A/N: Finally back!!!
Warnings: SELF-INDULGENT! Reader is female/fem presenting. A bit of backstory for this reader: she forged a doctor's note, her mum is a nurse practitioner, past insecurity (she's still insecure, but a little less), implication of reader being chubby, important-ish flashback, understandable hatred for cross-country. Self-deprecating jokes. Lots of leg jokes. Jack is 50, reader's age isn't specified, but around early thirties. Jack and reader live together, but aren't married (yet). Flirty Jack, what's new? Reader daydreams about Jack; kinda suggestive, but nothing you can't read in public. Mostly correct tenses, your girl's a genius! Half-assed ending because I have not been able to post anything lately and I'm having the jitters!
WC: 2.1k
You were never the athletic type, considered ‘weird’ in your younger years.
Cross-country was the worst.
Not only were you forced to unnecessarily run seven and a half miles, but must train daily to prevent muscle stitches and cramps. During the dead of winter, no less.
Convinced it was torture; you forged a doctor’s note just to escape.
And it would’ve earned you a four-week suspension, too.
The principle was furious, obviously well-read on your hatred for any physical activity.
You overheard his secretary murmur about a possible expulsion – just imagining it caused you to spiral.
Luckily, your mother claimed the clinic’s printer at was defective, the ink often exploding, deeming the documents illegible. So, to alleviate the situation, she chose to print the note at the department store instead.
Suspicion was evident on the principle’s face, but how was he supposed to argue that? He had no proof that your mother was fabricating the story – she was a law-abiding citizen of the community!
Not to mention, she was a nurse practitioner. Who works at said clinic.
You got off scot-free that day. For the most part.
Slamming the car door, causing the windows to rattle, “Grounded. For three months!” Your mother screeched, a mere inch away from cursing at your face.
“You’ve made a liar out of me!”
The lecture continued for a majority of the drive. You stared out the window, eyes welling, barely containing sobs.
Your mother noticed. She always did.
Her eyes softened at the sight of you picking the skin of your lip.
Stroking your cheek with her knuckles, she gently asks, “Why’d you do it, honey?”
“Because I look stupid.” You sniffled, rubbing mucus across the sleeve of your hoodie. “I get so gross after running. My hair’s a mess, my clothes soaked with sweat, and my breathing so laboured it’s the reason Antarctica's icecaps are melting!”
She snickers, “That’s to be expected, bub.”
“No, it’s not! You don’t get it, mum. All the other girls finish training looking like Victoria Secret models; running with their hair down, clothes completely dry, and without so much as a lick of sweat on them! It’s as if they remained still.”
“Then they aren’t doing it right,” your mother huffs, parking the car in your garage.
Waterworks were always effective when it came to your mother. She couldn’t stand the sight of her little girl (you’re still her baby, no matter what) weeping, especially if she raised her voice beforehand.
So effective that it lessened your grounding from three months to a week.
You never forged again.
However, you did plead your mother to write up a sick note whenever cross-country rolled around.
It surprises you that the memory returns nearly two decades later.
All because your fifty-year-old ‘boyfriend’ (he feels far too old for that term) proposes that you accompany him to the gym.
Jack’s been on a health kick ever since he hit the big five-zero, determined to remain agile for as long as possible. Protein shakes, vitamins, supplements, and nutritious meals are commodities in your household.
“This is all for you, sweetheart. If doing all of this will grant us more time together, every disgusting salad I eat will be worth every bite.”He says with a wink, grimacing while taking a large gulp of his green smoothie.
Jack never said he enjoyed eating healthily.
But hitting the gym regularly? That he can do.
He usually follows a PPL routine: Push, Pull, Legs (or in his case, just Leg), Mondays are for cardio, and Fridays focus on full body (somewhat, anyway).
He spends hours on the power rack, lifting almost double your weight – and it shows. You can see it when he crosses his arms; shirt straining at the motion, and you swear you can hear threads snapping.
Or when he kneels to pick something up, his left calf bulging due to the amount of muscle. To be honest, it scares you sometimes. It looks as if it could pop under the slightest pressure.
And don’t get started on his torso. You relish at the thought of it.
So, while you don’t participate in rigorous exercises like Jack, you can appreciate the effort he puts in to look delectable while keeping his body in good shape.
That is, until today.
“Although… you gotta suffer with me, buttercup. It’s only fair. In sickness and in health, right?”
“Hold on! First, we aren’t married-”
“Yet.”
“-and second, you choose to do this! So, in return, I should get the choice to opt out of it.”
The older man shakes his head, “That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”
Placing his smoothie on the marble countertop, he drops his hands onto either side of your hips, “Just think about it! You get to ogle me, and I get to ogle you. The both of us hot and heaving, getting some exercise in. It’s a win-win situation,” Jack moves his thumbs back and forth, massaging the plump skin of your waist.
Your eyes dart to the cupboard behind Jack’s head, pondering his offer. On one hand, you’d be delighted to watch the magic happen in front of you, rather than just witnessing the aftermath.
On the other... the same emotions you felt all those years ago come rushing back. Feeling inadequate for not being as fit as your peers, anxiety coursing through your veins when putting on sports gear - the curvier sections of your body suddenly exposed – looking like a soggy meatball after every P.E. class.
But this is Jack we’re talking about.
Your Jack.
The same man who dreaded revealing his amputation when you first met; worried it would scare you, worried it would show how damaged he is, worried you’d leave him for someone complete.
Always so critical of himself, while adulating every detail of your existence – each tucked away in the depths of his heart, cemented there, perpetually storing new information.
Flitting your gaze to meet his, you cave.
Sighing, you tug at his silver curls, "Fine. But if you find yourself thinking I look like an obese swine while working out, it’s your fault.”
Jack’s breath hitches at the pull, “Buttercup, if I ever think like that I want you to smack me into next Tuesday, you hear?” He arches a brow, urging you to comply.
“Oh, I’d do far worse than that, hon.” You retort, mockingly patting his chest.
He titters, pressing a delicate kiss to your temple, “Good.”
Upon entering the ginormous gymnasium, the little confidence you had dissipates.
Brawny men and women surround the space, performing various activities that make you shrink inside.
You barely know how any of the machines function; resembling torture devices from the Renaissance period, or death-traps designed by Jigsaw himself.
“Stay with me now.” A snap echoes through your ears, Jack eyeing you with a concerned expression.
He slots his fingers between your shoulder blades, “This doesn’t have to be a whole thing, okay? If you just wanna jog on a treadmill today, that’s totally fine. I don’t expect you to throw yourself into the deep end.”
Jack’s got that love-sick smile on his face, the kind that conveys more than words ever could.
‘I’m proud of you for trying.’
‘You being here is enough.’
‘Thank you for entertaining my silly ideas.’
The calming effect is instantaneous; better than any herbal tea or white noise you’ve tried.
Suddenly, the task didn’t seem so daunting.
Despite Jack’s encouragement, it resumes to feel like a humiliation ritual.
Truly.
You’re currently running (if you could even call it that) on a treadmill, per his advice, feeling like an absolute buffoon.
Feet ablaze, heels of your shoe gnawing at your ankles, socks sopping thanks to heavy perspiration. Breathing is agony; like your lungs are the size of twisty balloons, hardly expanding from the harsh intake of oxygen. With every step, you anticipate a burst.
What an experience, am I right?
You can’t recall the last time you were this drained - you’d rather cosy up with a book or binge twenty-season TV shows as a pastime.
But most humiliating of all, Jack’s putting the other gym-goers to shame. He’s executing his routine with extreme precision, with very few intervals between sets.
There’s a sheen of moisture coating his physique, casting a youthful glow.
If the treadmill wasn’t already rendering you breathless, you’re sure just the sight of Jack would leave you winded.
A trail of dampness falls down his chest and back. His navy-blue singlet is an entirely different shade – in fact, if you had no idea what colour it was originally, you’d think it’s black.
God, the things you’d do to swipe back his ash-grey hair. It’s sticking to Jack’s forehead, and he makes no move to fix it.
Thoroughly ‘in the zone,’ as he’d say.
~
Shifting your attention from your quaking legs, you will yourself to picture more pleasurable situations.
Particularly about Jack.
Maybe if you’re lucky, he’d allow you to pat him down later. Dabbing a towel along his form, removing any leftover residue or grime. Then, you’d give him a massage to relieve his aching muscles – focusing on Jack’s nub.
Just the way he likes.
Soft gasps would escape his lips, eyelids falling shut, the back of his head melting into the mattress. When you hit a spot that’s too tender, he’d grab your wrist in a frenzy – halting your actions. He’d practically beg, ‘Don’t stop. Just... be gentle.’
Better yet, washing his hair in the bathtub. You’d lather it up with his favourite shampoo (your vanilla shampoo), and knead into his temples. He’d be humming and praising you the whole time; rambling sleepily about how he ‘needed this.’
At the peak of relaxation, Jack would lean his head back - situating himself on your kneecaps - and he’d ask for a kiss, all sweet-like. Yearning apparent in his eyes, a desire for his buttercup to know just how much he loves her.
And who are you to deny him?
Hunching your back, you’d let your lips meet his. Jack would grin into the kiss, the velvety exchange flooding his body with warmth. ‘I love you,’ he’d whisper, toying with your fingertips.
~
A click shatters your stupor; hundreds of pinpricks riddling your limbs. Your foot misses the running belt, stomping on the thin deck lining the sides of the machine. The sole of your shoe catches onto the tiny divot between the components, creasing the rubber.
Balance faltering, your palms scrape against the surface of the treadmill’s console, narrowly evading a tumble. Scrambling to release your sneaker, you stretch a leg to the floor – anchoring half of your body, preparing to yank the trapped foot.
With the belt still circling, it makes it near impossible to free yourself. Groaning frustratedly, you reach over, slamming the bright red ‘STOP’ button with a balled fist.
“I need to stop envisioning these scenarios before I twist my ankle!” Scolding yourself, clasping onto the handlebars, eyes downcast.
You just wish this ordeal would end, never wanting to be in a gym again.
If Jack wants you to exercise so bad, he can buy as much equipment he wants. Creating a personal gym would come with so many perks!
Like being able to gawk at Jack in the privacy of your home.
Goodness knows it’ll be cheaper in the long run – these memberships pile up even with his military discount.
Jack’s aware of the way your eyes linger on his biceps whenever they flex - it’s why he’s been on the pull-up bar for the entire duration of your session. All the while grunting much louder than needed; even detaching his prosthetic to heave himself higher.
Is he meant to be using the leg-press today? Yes, but Jack isn’t gonna miss seeing his pretty girl openly gawking at his figure for the world.
‘Leg day can wait; besides, I only have one.’ He muses.
He’s also aware of your lack of concentration, silently observing your unsteady gait and glossy eyes – often spacing out while staring in his direction, lips slightly parted.
You’re exactly where he wants you.
Hopping off the bar, Jack tips onto a railing on the wall, stabilising himself just enough to grab the bottom half of his leg. Slipping it on swiftly, dashing to your side once it’s secured.
“Whoo! I think we deserve a break, don’t you?” He huffs, leaning all his weight onto his forearm, causing the plastic of the control panel to creak.
“Thank God.” You utter under your breath.
“Hah, you look positively spent, buttercup.” Jack pulls the bottom of his singlet to his face, wiping the excess sweat, exposing his abdomen.
You stifle a groan at the action, eyes tipping upwards to the ceiling.
Lord have mercy.
“You are so getting it when we get home.”
The man only giggles, leaving his shirt half-off on his chest – looking like the pinnacle of mischief. “Holdin’ you to it, hon.”
im saying this with the utmost kindness and as nice as possible, genuine respect and i dont mean to be rude, stop posting about jjk unless you want unwarranted spoilers im so serious. This fandom is genuinely doggy doodoo when i comes to keeping shit quiet and people were already alluding to spoilers in that post you made about jjk, i just dont think you noticed. They will get more obvious, and someone’s just gonna straight up say huge spoilers for “funnies” or wtv
guarantee you ur gonna go “Wow I really love character A!!!” and someones gonna think theyre funny commenting “do they know👀⁉️”
if you WANT spoilers you can completely disregard me but if you dont i recommend not interacting with the fandom until you finish the anime, and even then be VERY wary bc manga readers love spoiling a specific part of the manga
hope you enjoy the show tho :D
thank you, sweet pea. 🙂↕️. caught up w the show and understanding every reference. 💗👏. and ur right this fandom is a lil shaky with the spoilers, but a little spoiler has never been the end of the world for me. thank u for the advice.
Adrian who begs Adebayo to set him up with one of her friends who she keeps mentioning, and her only advice to him is to 'act normal'.
It's been long enough since you last went on a date that you agree to the idea, sure that Leota wouldn't put you in a situation she didn't think you'd enjoy at least a little. And sure enough when you get to the bar she suggested, you see one of the most handsome men you've ever laid eyes on, flashing you a beaming smile and waving you over like he's never been happier to see anyone in his life.
The date's nice enough, but Adrian is so much more shy than you expected, like he's second guessing everything he says as he talks politely about his job and his hobbies and asks all about you with absolutely undivided attention. But when you start telling a story about visiting an aquarium you can see he's practically biting his lip and sitting on his hands and vibrating uncomfortably in his seat like he's about to burst if he doesn't say something soon.
"Adrian, are you okay?" You ask with a sincerity that completely breaks apart his facade and suddenly words are pouring out of him.
"Yes! No! I really want to tell you about Manta Rays but Ads said I have to try to act normal on this date, and apparently animal facts aren't a normal thing to talk about, no matter how many I know. And I already really like you so I know I have to try to be normal so you let me hang out with you again, but you keep telling really good stories and it makes it hard not to be too excited-" It all comes out in a single breath and he only stops because his lungs are burning. So you smile at him and it renders him speechless as you reassure him that you just want him to be himself, even if it's not normal.
The second half of your date is markedly more fun! Adrian can't stop telling you every stupid thought that he has because he's so proud at how they make you laugh, and he showers you with more compliments than any man has before and tells you that you're like the most interesting person he's ever met even though he's met literally aliens.
When Ads video calls you the next morning to check Adrian didn't do anything too off-putting (and to get the tea), she's more than a little surprised when his little face answers the phone instead, a proud smile on his face in the familiar backdrop of your bedroom.
"Hey Ads! Thanks for setting me up last night, your friend is like totally my new best friend!"
"Adrian, please hand over the phone?!" Adebayo shrieks as he adjusts the phone and it becomes clear that he's not wearing a shirt, or anything else.
"Oh sorry, I can't, she's in the shower. And not unrelated, I gotta go! Thanks Ads, you're the best!" And with that Adebayo is regretting every decision she's ever made, but smiling while she does it.
If you've been enjoying my Peacemaker content, please consider buying my romantic/thriller novel as the best way to support me and my writing: It's only $3 for the e-book or $9 for the paperback! Or if you want to support me another way - why not buy me a coffee or commission something special?
If you liked this check out my Adrian Chase Masterlist and let me know if you want more ❤️
⠀ ⠀ authors note ! well, i fear this is short but this is my debut so.. enjoy :oo
girlfriend!trinity who would pick you up anytime and anywhere because she doesn’t trust anyone, even your own friends to bring you back to her in one piece.
girlfriend!trinity after a long shift she just wants to be as close as possible to you because you’re the only thing that makes her exhaustion melt
girlfriend!trinity who would let you lay on her stomach when you had a bad day, while playing with your hair :((
girlfriend!trinity when she finally convinces you to visit her in the ER but immediately regrets it because they start asking you “embarrassing” questions about your relationship
girlfriend!trinity would keep a polaroid or your old highschool yearbook photo at the back of her phone and in her wallet
