a/n: I wonder what would happen if you decide to cheat in a chess game against Spencer..
thank you @hotchnerss for being the judge of this ;)
“Reid,” Emily said, rubbing her temples and leaning her head on the cold window to her right, “I’m so done with this stupid game.”
“Chess is not stupid; it just requires focus and strategic foresight,” Spencer said, collecting the pieces scattered on the table between him and Emily. You tilted your head toward the two, taking one earbud out of your ear, the flight was getting boring and nothing is more entertaining than riling Spencer up, “Are you calling her stupid?”
Your voice was disgustingly velvety and it was one of the many things that infuriated Spencer because every single thing that came out of your mouth made him itch to argue. He never had a real reason to hate you, not technically. Maybe it was the way you never seemed amused by what he says. Or the fact that you were — in his words — “childish” and “immature”. You never missed a chance to tease him and challenge his thoughts to watch him unravel.
“No, I'm just saying that the game needs focus and Emily is kinda tired right now. I do also think it requires cognitive maturity, but you wouldn’t know much about that.” he shrugged.
A small smirk crept up on your lips, he’s so predictable. You huffed, shoving your earbuds in the small pocket of your jeans, “Oh I’ll show you cognitive maturity, Reid.”
He wanted nothing more than to ignore you, but he couldn’t help but glance up at you. You slid into the chair next to Emily, your movements graceful and unbothered by the tension radiating off him.
“Do you even know how to play chess?” Spencer asked as he laid the two-toned brown chess board flat on the table in front of him.
“I’ve never lost a single game.” you shrugged. That was a lie. You were a good chess player, but you’ve definitely lost some games in your day. It’s hard to keep a “forever” winning streak in a household full of chess freaks.
A wide grin formed on Morgan’s face, and he whistled to ruffle Spencer’s feathers, “Oh she’s coming for your throat, Reid.”
“You just wait and watch me ruin him.” you picked the black side, cupping your hands against the table to pull all your pieces to your side.
Spencer let out a short, dry laugh, “Hm, you wish.”
At this point of the flight, everyone was bored out of their minds, so they were getting to that stage of stirring anything up for a bit of amusement.
JJ was snacking on some salted chips in her seat that was close to yours, with only the narrow aisle between the two of you. She was watching you two as if you were a show on TV, “What do you get if you win?” she asked you with a subtle smile.
You gave her a small laugh and looked up in thought.
Spencer scoffed, “She’s not going to win.” he looked at you, his index finger pointing at you, “You don’t have to think of a reward. We won’t be in need of that, don’t worry.”
If you wanted to beat him a few moments ago, now you needed to. You had no other choice.
“If I win you have to make my coffee exactly how I like it every morning and get me a glazed donut with that.” your smile widened, “I don’t wanna burden you, but you’ll have to warm up the donut before I come to work.”
“What- No!” Spencer’s voice shot up as his face scrunched in disgust. The way he was so dramatic always fucking annoyed you.
“Why not?”
Morgan let out a laugh and raised a brow, “What, are you scared, Reid?”
“I’m not scared. I don’t wanna humiliate you in front of everyone.”
“If you’re so sure you’re gonna win, why be worried?” you tilted your head, “Unless you know I’m gonna drag you to filth.”
He placed his elbows on the table between you two. Glared at you, in the lovely, endearing you he always did. Then leaned back, “Fine but when I win, you’re gonna be delivering my paperwork to and from Hotch’s office.”
When.
The arrogance in that single word made you want to beat him even more. And it’s exactly why you never missed an opportunity of twisting his mind and nerves and pinning him down —figuratively— to show him just how pathetic he truly was. But when you think about it, pinning a completely dazed, breathless Spencer beneath you —literally— would taste even sweeter.
“Deal.” you smiled sweetly.
And now the game shall begin.
You crossed your arms on the table and straightened your back while he moved his first pawn. You made your opening move the second his fingers left the piece.
Quick.
Spencer’s eyes flicked up briefly before returning to the board.
You hid your smile.
You knew the classic traps and techniques wouldn’t work on Spencer, so you tried to be creative. As creative as you can get in chess without being too reckless.
Spencer’s brows never relaxed once, and he was biting his lip with so much force as if it would ignite new ideas. He usually didn’t need much effort to find a way around people’s moves.
But you played unpredictably enough for his brows to slightly twitch every few moves. Changing the rhythm, and ending every pattern before it was recognized was key to confusing him.
His moves finally became slightly slower.
You leaned forward, eyes locked on his hands that hesitated between two pieces, “You’re stalling.”
“I’m not.” he finally settled on a piece to move, “I barely took eleven seconds. I played six moves in under 49 seconds and you took 55.”
“You’re keeping track?” you looked up at him,watching his eyes lock onto yours in an instant.
That was the perfect time to make things go a bit faster.
Your fingers brushed the board lightly, nudging the knight one square to the left, a square it shouldn’t be able to reach.
You were just giving the game a push. Trying to be more efficient wasn’t a crime. Not if your intentions are pure.
His eyes flicked back down to the board, “Of course I’m keeping track.” he muttered,”We don’t have a clock.”
You bit back a smile.
You could feel the moment he was finally trapped. His posture shifted and his teeth switched to his top lip.
You clicked your fingers close to his face that was practically moving into the board with every move.
“The clock is ticking Reid!”
He slightly swatted your hand away from his face and made a move he wasn’t too sure of, “Your knight couldn’t have gotten there.”
You lazily pointed at the knight, “It literally did. Look at it.”
“No, because your rook-” his brows drew together.
“Sounds like someone’s losing.” you murmured, leaning back in your chair like you hadn’t just shifted the entire balance of the game.
Suddenly, playing chess was a million times more fun.
“I’m not losing.” he immediately bit back.
He slowly moved his rook, his fingers lingering on it for a moment too long.
You made your move confidently without a second thought.
“..that knight shouldn’t be there,” he said again, his chin now resting on his palm. More like digging into it.
“It was there for a while.”
“That’s impossible,” he shook his head, replaying the game in his head.
“It is possible,” you said simply.
“You couldn’t have gotten it into that spot with that little amount of moves.”
“Well, I did,” you gave him a shit-eating grin and leaned closer across the table, “you just weren’t paying attention when I made that move.”
“I was paying attention.”
You faintly smiled, “Not enough.”
“Oh my god,” his eyes widened and he pressed his palms on the table on either side of the board. “You fucking cheated.”
“I did not.”
His hands moved above the board, “You absolutely did.”
Your final move landed and his eyes zeroed on your bishop.
“Oh.” he quietly said.
You tilted your head slightly, “Oh?”
“That’s checkmate.” he simply stated, trying to convince himself of this unexplainable mistake. He knew you cheated.
“I told you I’ve never lost a game, Reid.” you smiled, “Maybe you’re a bit tired. The game requires deep concentration." you mocked, quoting him back to himself.
“This doesn’t add up,” his fingers twitching over his captured queen, “The probability of your knight ending up in that spot without at least three intermediate moves is zero. It’s literally zero!”
“Just take the L, kid,” Morgan chuckled and patted Spencer’s shoulder, “she dragged you. Accept it.”
“I didn’t get dragged,” Spencer snapped, his face flushed in frustration. He looked up at you, eyes burning with sheer vexation, “You did something. I don’t know what, but you did something.”
You slipped your earbuds back into your ears, relaxing your head on the headrest behind you, “Don’t forget Spencer. Two sugars and no creamer. Oh and microwave the donut for exactly fifteen seconds. I'll send it back if it’s cold.” you closed your eyes with a triumphant smirk plastered on your face.
You could feel his eyes burning into your skull and you loved it.
An hour later, you finally touched ground. JJ nudged you awake and you rubbed your eyes in exhaustion, your headache thumping behind your eyes harder than it was before napping.
Spencer had already gotten up from his seat, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder stiffly before getting off the plane with only a few long strides.
“Jeez, is he still pissed?” you yawned and slowly got up, your muscles gradually defrosting.
Emily chuckled, holding out your black leather bag, “He barely read twenty pages this past hour.”
You took your go bag, the weight of it on your shoulder easing some tension, “Thanks.”
“Have a good night everyone. Paperwork can wait till tomorrow morning.” Hotch announced when everyone got off the jet.
“Ugh. You’re an angel.” you clasped your hands together, still half asleep, thanking Hotch.
Hotch paused, glancing at you as you fell into step next to him, “You did a good job. Not that I approve of your illegal knight movements.”
Your heart skipped a tiny beat, a small guilty smile forming on your face, “You saw that?”
Hotch didn’t break his stride, and his lips slightly turned up, “I did. Go home and get some sleep.”
He probably didn’t say anything in the moment because you were Spencer’s karma to the time he cheated on cards while playing with Hotch and JJ on the jet a few weeks ago.
The sleep fully faded as soon as you got to the door of your apartment.
You were physically exhausted but your head was never more awake.
You took an hour long hot shower as a form of meditation. You didn’t bother turning on the main lights or changing into your clothes. You held the towel around your body and collapsed face-first into the mattress. The sheets were cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the long two busy days you spent in Los Angeles.
When you finally decided to stand and properly get ready for bed, your phone started ringing, pulling you out of the static ease you finally forced your head to fall into.
You turned your phone over.
Spencer.
“Tell me how the knight got to b5.” he blurted out.
You sighed, rubbing your eyes and moving toward your closet in the corner of the room, “Are you seriously still crying over this?”
“I’m not crying. And I didn’t lose. The game doesn’t count because you cheated.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that I did not cheat? Maybe I’m just a prodigy and you don’t know it.”
“Oh please,” he scoffed, “You are not a prodigy.”
Spencer sounded deeply irritated and sleep-deprived.
“You’re adorable when you're spiraling.” you teased with a coy smile.
You knew your words would only stimulate a reaction. Anger.
“You disrupted the entire structure of the game-”
“Reid, if you’re so sure I cheated, come over and prove it.” you interrupted him, your voice dropping to a lazy tone, “I have a board. Come beat me if you can, Spencer.”
The silence on the other end stretched for a few seconds.
Spencer huffed, “Fine but if I-”
You hung up before he could continue. What’s better than irking him even more.
You decided to get comfortable and change into a graphic tee and cotton shorts. You needed a clear mind, a good plan, and all the luck in the world to “recreate” the game.
As expected, he was at the door in under twenty minutes. Three firm knocks pulled you out of your peace, just like every other thing he ever did.
You were met with a polite looking Spencer. He changed out of his work clothes into another one of his work outfits. He was overly prepared for this and it was starting to worry you. He is not letting you win again—not when he has his suspicions now.
“You hung up on me.” he accused, stepping past you into the warm, dimly lit apartment.
“Your voice was annoying me,” you shrugged, locking the door behind him, “and I told you—if you want to prove I’m a fraud, do it on the board.”
The black and white wooden chess set was already laid out in the middle of your green couch.
You sat sideways, cross-legged on one side of the couch, facing the board. Spencer gently lowered his bag onto the floor next to the couch and sat across from you, his long legs bent awkwardly to fit his tall frame into the limited space.
“White or black?” he asked, his eyes settling on the board.
“Take white. Give yourself the advantage,” you teased, resting your palms on your knees as you gave him a calm, challenging look, “you’re going to need it.”
“I don’t need an advantage to beat someone who can’t stick to basic rules of the game.” he muttered, moving the white pawn regardless.
The game progressed quickly, both of you taking only a few seconds per turn.
Unlike the jet, there were no distractions. The rhythmic, aggressive snapping of pieces cut through the silence of your apartment.
You quickly realized that even if you wanted to play clean, you were getting further away from winning with every turn. But you kept your confidence strong, making every move with undeniable certainty.
You pulled your eyes off the board, keeping them on him.
He glanced up for a second, “What are you doing?”
“I’m playing the game.” you kept your eyes fixated on the curls that fell over his face, “Your moves are very predictable and it’s getting boring.”
He looked up at you, “I know, playing by the rules must be very boring for you.”
The subtle dig hung in the air. You chose to not say anything back and give him a lazy smile, refusing to break eye contact.
You slowly uncurled your leg from your crisscrossed position, draping it over the open edge of the couch—letting your bare thigh rest only a few inches away from Spencer’s knee, close to the board separating the two of you.
Spencer’s eyes flicked to your leg for a fraction of a second. It was agonizingly obvious that the sight had thrown him off his axis.
You bit back a smirk. “You seem kinda tense, Reid.” you whispered, cocking your head to the side.
“I’m fine.” the words were sharp.
You decided to press your advantage. Your finger slowly grazed the right edge of the board, reaching the corner close to him, then bringing it back to your side.
He took a deep breath, trying to regain his focus. His focus was fracturing under the weight of the room that only kept getting heavier.
“Are you losing your focus, Spencer?” you whispered, a barely-there smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.
“No.” His eyes were completely pinned to yours now, dark and dilated. A faint shade of pink was trailing up his neck, finally settling on his ears, giving him away. Poor Spencer was nervous.
Every time he looked down at the board, all he could see was your bare thigh invading his peripheral vision. All he could hear was the soft rhythm of your breathing as you kept getting closer above the board.
He had to stare at your face whenever looking at the board wasn’t an absolute must. So when it was your turn his eyes were wide and fixated on your face as if it took monumental physical effort to keep them there.
Luckily for you, you’ve been running different possibilities of how the game could go every few moves.
You looked down, crunching two moves into a single turn—which completely altered the route of the game.
He hesitated for a moment, but didn’t want his distraction to be too obvious, so he made the impulsive choice of moving the piece that his slender fingers were hovering over.
“Ha! Checkmate!” a wide smile took over your face.
“What- no this isn’t possible-” he was stuttering with so much frustration, only making your smile widen.
You teasingly leaned forward, right on the boundary line of his space, “You just can’t handle losing to me.”
At this point, the normal thing to do was to start packing the pieces back into their place silently, but where’s the fun in “normal”?
So you didn’t move. You were still leaning over the board. Waiting for something you couldn’t figure out.
Who would’ve known that making him lose focus would be this easy.
“You did something, I just know it.” his voice lost its sharp edge, now sounding heavier, “You were distracting me on purpose.”
“What? Having normal conversation is illegal during a fun, friendly game?” you tipped your head a tad bit closer.
“It’s not my fault you couldn’t handle the heat.” your heart was hammering against your ribs at the intensity of his eyes glaring at you.
You always teased Spencer, but you always took a step back just before it got too much. And now, it was getting too much.
Spencer’s gaze dropped to your lips for a moment, his throat bobbing. “You’re so insufferable.” he rasped.
The underlying tension that had been building between you over the months of constant psychological warfare finally snapped. Spencer reached across the short distance, crashing his lips onto yours clumsily.
It wasn’t smooth at all. His teeth bumped against yours— a physical manifestation of his lack of composure. He froze and his hands awkwardly hovered in the air between you two, having no clue where to rest them.
You didn’t pull away. Your hand cradled his jaw and you leaned into the kiss, parting your lips slightly. A low, desperate sound caught in the back of his throat, making the corners of your mouth twitch.
Your fingers tipped his head and he immediately obliged, letting his head tilt backwards. You slightly tugged on his bottom lip before pulling back slightly. His eyes were frantically scanning every feature of your face as if you were an odd, foreign object in a dream.
His breath was heavy, and weirdly enough—you didn’t mind breathing it in with your own mingling breath. Your hands moved down to his chest, gently pushing him back to rest on the back of the couch—his shaky legs uncrossing and slipping down on the floor to sit properly.
He didn’t know what you were doing, but he was so dazed and weak that he’d do whatever you told him to. You crawled over the chess board, knocking off some pieces that Spencer tried catching so they wouldn't fall on the floor, “Don’t,” your voice made him stop and lean backwards immediately.
You slid your right leg over his lap to sit properly. Your mind was fuzzy and you weren’t thinking straight. The way his body was leaning into yours hypnotized you in a way that made it impossible to stop now.
His brows drew together once your weight settled on his lap as he let out a small grunt. His hands immediately, gently gripped your hips without much thought.
You connected your lips again, but this time the clumsiness was gone. The initial shock was now replaced with mutual desperation. He opened his mouth further, giving you permission for more. Your hand moved to his soft curls, tugging on them as you slid your tongue into his open mouth.
You shifted your weight slightly, grinding your core against him, and Spencer let out a small whimper. Your body was desperate for friction, just like him, but you couldn’t let yourself get too carried away just yet.
“What was that Spencer? Already a whimpering mess?” you struggled to keep calm.
His eyes flew open, completely blown out, his brown irises completely swallowed by his pupils.
“No.”
You rolled your hips with more force, pulling another whimper from his wet, parted lips, “please.” he whispered.
His hips bucked as you deliberately shifted again, a slow torturous grind that had his fingers gripping the fabric of your shorts.
You lowered your voice to a honey-sweet tone, “Did I say you could move, Spencer?”
“No,”
You could feel his bulge straining his pants between your thighs. “So needy.” you shook your head with a smug smirk.
“Already so hard, Spencer?” you looked at his face with fake sympathy, keeping the slow rhythm of your hips.
He couldn’t bring himself to speak, but his shaky hands trailed up your back reverently, trying to hold onto every bit. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, making you gasp softly.
You leaned in to kiss his slightly open mouth, then kissed your way to his jaw. You nipped at the sensitive spot behind his ear, “oh my god,” he murmured, trying to keep his voice to himself so you’d stop teasing him.
You couldn’t help but smile, “I didn’t know you were this weak, Spencer.”
“I’m not,” he whined, his eyes squeezing shut.
He looked so beautifully, entirely at your mercy.
He slid his cold hands underneath your tee, his thumbs pressing right under your breasts, his long fingers splaying across your ribs. The coolness of his hands against your skin spread goosebumps all over your torso and made your hips stutter for a moment.
“So handsy for someone who hasn’t been given permission,” you teased, leaning down so your lips hover closely over his.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling.
He picked his head up, trying to reach his lips to yours.
You pulled your head back just an inch, denying him the contact.
He let out a defeated whimper, his head falling back against the couch.
“You can touch,” you whispered, as much as you wanted to keep him restrained and away from feeling you; his touch had this hypnotic pull that you couldn’t resist.
He placed his hands higher on your chest, cupping your breasts in his hands, letting his thumbs brush over your nipples that were already hard and sensitive. The contrast of his cool palms against your feverish skin dragged a gasp from your throat.
You pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it on the chess board next to the two of you.
Spencer’s face warmed fast and he went completely still. This was the first time he’d gotten so intimate with a woman-- not because he was entirely inexperienced, but because no one ever had this much control over his mind.
“Spencer,” you murmured, “You have permission. Don’t freeze up on me now.” your words vibrated against his soft lips.
Your words broke the spell. His trembling hands returned to your boobs, kneading them slowly, testing the soft fullness. He leaned up, peppering kisses on your chest, getting closer and closer to your sensitive spot.
He looked up at you once he reached one of your nipples, he tenderly pecked the peak before swirling his warm tongue over it and taking it between his lips. Your hands carded through his locks, letting the string of whiny, desperate sounds leave your agape mouth.
You slid one of your hands down his shaky chest and to his covered crotch.
The sudden sensation of your palm resting directly over his throbbing covered cock sent a shockwave through his body, making his movements immediately falter, his teeth slightly biting your nipple.
Your finger traced the strained line of his erection.
“You’re not gonna come now, are you?” you whispered, your voice dropping to a cruel purr.
He quickly shook his head, clearly struggling, “I’m not,”
“Yeah, cuz that would be really embarrassing, right?” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his, your hand moving with more precision now.
Spencer didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
“Admit that I won, Reid.”
His brows furrowed, “What?” he panted.
“You heard me, Spencer. Admit that I played better than you.”
“No- but you cheated- I know you did.”
Your hand stopped, stalling your movements entirely right when he needed you most, “I won’t let you come if you don’t admit that I rightfully won.”
“Please.” the desperation sounded like music to your ears.
“Just say it, Reid.”
“This is so unfair.” he looked up at you with a silent desperate plea.
You punished his stubbornness by rolling your hips forward, a slow friction-loaded press against his aching length. The burning friction made your core pulse, the tight knot in the pit of your stomach tightening.
“Don’t be so stubborn, Reid. Come on, just tell the truth.”
“But it’s not the truth,” he stammered.
You raised your hips, denying him the release he was so desperately chasing. His hands lingered on your skin, not wanting to let go as you stood up.
“Take your clothes off.” you pushed the chess set further away from where he was sitting.
He blinked up at you before quickly standing and working to unbutton his shirt.
You calmly walked over to the wooden coffee table, pouring yourself a glass of water, needing something to cool some tension and heat out of your body.
You sipped the chilling water as you looked back at Spencer who was fumbling with his belt buckle, “Want some water?” you asked.
He nodded, “please,” you poured some more in your glass before handing it to him. Spencer took the glass from your hand, his fingers trembling as he brought it up to his lips.
The sight of him trying to hold onto a shred of his dignity, shirtless, belt unbuckled, exposing the strain of his erection against his boxers more clearly now was intoxicating,
“So what’s the limit? How far are you willing to go?” you tilted your head to the side.
“I don’t.. I don’t want to stop.” he whispered, the words tearing out of him as if physically pained him to admit it. “You completely turn off my head and I don’t want this to stop. I want to go as far as you’re willing to go.”
The raw intensity made your head spin and your stomach turn. Were you nervous?
You took the glass from his hand, nodding your head once toward the couch, gesturing for him to sit back in his place after he’d stripped out of his clothes—minus his boxers.
“I really.. really need this. Any of it.” he sounded like he was about to cry.
You took slow, delicate steps until you were standing in front of him, “God, you’re so pathetic.” you shook your head, looking down at him—completely undone.
Spencer didn’t even try to defend himself. He just stared up at you as he tried to even out his breaths.
You felt a little nice, so you didn’t keep him waiting much longer. You climbed back onto his lap, straddling his hips and resting your hands between the side of his jaw and neck. He immediately held onto your thighs and surged forward to kiss you like a man gasping for air.
You glanced down to where your hips met, seeing a small dark, wet stain on his navy boxers. It wasn’t big enough to prove that he came without your permission, so you smirked, “You want it that bad?”
“Yes,” he choked out.
Your hand slid down between your bodies, your fingers trailing down his burning chest, finally reaching his waistband. Your index finger hooked the elastic of his boxers before pulling the fabric, letting his cock spring against his stomach.
Your body shuddered, suddenly needing some sort of warmth to soothe your frayed nerves.
“God..” he dropped his head back against the couch, taking a deep breath to steady his violent heartbeat that filled his ears.
His thumbs brushed over the goosebumps on your thighs on instinct.
You wrapped your fingers around his painfully throbbing cock, bringing your thumb to the slit of his tip, swirling the precum around the crown with minimal pressure, making him drop his head on your shoulder with a stifled moan.
You leaned your flushed cheek against his curls, letting your fingers tighten lightly around his cock.
“Look at you, Spencer,” you whispered against his ear, your voice a soft, teasing hum, “you can’t even hold your own head up. Where did all the smart words go, huh?”
You gave his shaft a few slow, tight pumps, looking down at the new forming precum. You hadn’t expected him to be this big, pulsing against your hand in a way that sent a sudden thrill straight to your core.
It only took two minutes for him to lose control over his hips, which were now helplessly, involuntarily twitching against your hand, letting you know that he was close to the edge. You pressed a short soft kiss on his temple, abruptly releasing your hand, completely cutting off the friction just as you felt his veins hammering against your palm.
“Please don’t do this to me..” he picked his head up to shake it, giving you those devastating puppy eyes that made your heart ache just a little.
You tapped your ear, “ I didn’t hear you say the magic words yet, Spencer,” you stood up, walking to your brown coat that was hung by the door.
“But you didn’t win fairly,” he whined, following your movement with his eyes.
“And you’re not gonna come.” you shrugged, walking back to the couch with a condom in your hand, “are you sure this is okay?” your voice was a bit softer now, the teasing toning dropping for a second to make sure he’s fully onboard.
He shook his head frantically, “Yes. One hundred percent.”
You gave him a small smirk, tossing the condom to him. He quickly tore open the wrapper before rolling the condom down his length, giving himself some friction to ease the aching.
You took off your cotton shorts before returning to your comfortable spot on his lap, immediately being held by his trembling, reverent hands.
You slid your hand down to your folds, swirling your thumb on the tight bundle of nerves before slowly pushing two fingers into your entrance to warm yourself up before doing anything with Spencer.
After pumping your fingers into your dripping heat a few times to slick yourself up, you were ready to take him in. You slowly pulled your wet fingers out, trailing them up his chest before bringing them to his lips.
Without waiting for a command, Spencer wrapped his lips around your fingers without a second thought, sucking them clean with needy, heavy hunger that pulled a soft moan out of your pretty lips. The knot in your core only tightened further, a throbbing ache settling between your thighs. You slowly withdrew your fingers from his wet mouth, leaving his lips glistening and parted.
You raised your hips, using your hand to line him up with your aching entrance. You took a deep shaky breath that made Spencer press a tender kiss to your collarbone, his hands trailing up and down your sides in an attempt to soothe you.
You slowly lowered yourself down, letting his tip stretch your tight entrance. A shaky gasp caught in your throat as you moved your hips down an extra inch. He didn’t move his hips, he looked up at you with quiet patience, waiting for you to move, “We don’t have to-” he whispered.
You cut him off by sinking down with a broken moan, your hands clawing his shoulders.
“Spencer,” you breathed out, feeling him fill you up completely before lifting your hips slowly, dragging the friction against your walls.
You pressed back down, burying him deep inside you again, feeling him throb against your pulsing pussy. He murmured incoherent words that sounded a lot like your name in a loop against the crook of your neck.
You found the perfect pace after a minute of fractured rhythm while you were adjusting to his size. You adjusted your position, making his tip hit just the right spot, a sharp gasp tearing from your lips as a wave of blinding pleasure rippled straight through you.
Spencer’s grip tightened on your hips, holding you with more confidence now that he felt your inner walls clench around him.
“Right there,” you panted, shutting your eyes as you lifted your hips and rolled them back down to hit that same spot again.
“Oh god,” his words vibrated against your skin, filling all your senses.
“Say it, Spencer. Tell me I beat you.” you whispered, shifting your hips in an agonizingly slow circle, making him cry out as his eyes rolled back into his head.
“You won..” he whined into your neck, “you beat me.”
“And was it- fuck- was it fair?” you choked out, struggling to keep up the teasing because you were just as needy as him right now.
“So fair. So fair, and I know I had no chance of winning,” he lied, his voice breaking entirely.
You smirked, a deep wave of satisfaction washing over you at the sound of his absolute surrender.
“Spencer,” you took a shaky deep breath in, “fuck, I’m so close..” your words were cut off by your own overwhelming noises.
“Let me come with you,” he pleaded, his voice breathless, “please,”
You nodded, pressing your forehead against his, for some reason trying to hold back the unraveling knot that was taking over your senses.
His glassy eyes locked onto yours as his hips bucked upwards one last time, hitting that perfect, sweet spot, shattering whatever was left of your control.
A high, strangled gasp tore from your throat as your walls convulsed around him, your back arching into him, pressing you to his chest as your muscles went weak.
The intensity of your release triggered his own; Spencer’s head nuzzled further into your neck, biting down before kissing the spot in apology, his arms wrapping around your back tightly as his hips continued moving to draw out both of your staggering orgasms.
It took a few moments to come down and melt onto one another. You both panted with closed, heavy eyelids.
You pulled your head back to look at his hot, damp face, “See what happens when you admit the truth?”
Spencer was still heaving with closed eyes, a faint shade of crimson still painting his neck and chest. Your brows slightly knitted, “Are you okay?” you murmured softly.
“Yes. You’ve proven how truly evil you are.” he admired your flushed face, focusing on your swollen pink lips.
You let out a soft chuckle, “Good.”
You slid off of him, the emptiness immediately hitting you at the loss of contact. “I’ll go shower. I won’t take long, you can go in after me.” you kept your eyes on the floor as you picked up your clothes to head to your room.
Disappointment settled in Spencer’s chest. He knew that this was nothing more than releasing some built up tension between them, but he hadn’t wished for the aftermath to last only a few seconds. Barely any words were exchanged, and he didn’t know what she thought.
Did she regret this?
Was he bad at it?
For the first time, he didn’t really know what he was expecting, but his chest was completely hollowed out by your subtly shielded mind. Even after such an intense experience, you didn’t attempt to connect—to let him take a quick peek into your head.
He slowly stood up, taking quiet quick steps to the tissue box that was neatly placed on the coffee table. He cleaned himself up before disposing of the condom and putting his stained boxers and wrinkled shirt back on. He contemplated putting his slacks back on but decided against it.
His eyes flicked to the closed door of your bedroom, cursing at himself for craving closeness to you. What was happening to him?
in which: a domestic nightly routine gets sidetracked far too easily. in simple terms, pretty boy has pretty hands and an even prettier voice.
spencer reid x fem!reader
warnings: SMUT, servicesub!spence, softdom!reader, glasses spencer!!, (fogging up said glasses), a little hand+voice kink hehehe, tiny little bit of boob play, fingering, kissing, biting! licking!, sososo much praise, thigh humping + cumming in pants i am only a woman…, no use of y/n + lower case intended, disgustingly lovey dovey i need this man..
wc: 2.9k
now playing: air - le soleil est près de moi
spencer reid masterlist
(anywhere, i want you)
nights like these were something special, something made to be cherished, to be held close to the heart and never let go.
nights like these were rare.
nights when everything was simple, quiet in that perfectly content bliss, moments strung together in harmonious comfort, as if they were always meant to be.
tonight, spencer was home. he wasn’t that sluggish type of exhausted that made your heart ache as you held his drained cheeks in your hands. he hadn’t returned to you in mismatched pieces at an odd hour, borderlining early morning, face crashing into soft sheets before you can properly greet him.
no, he was here with you now, during a warm evening shared between the two of you, a comfort blessed in its infrequency. and he was solely yours.
when you managed to snag a night like this, a night with no distractions, no work calls, and no deepset eyes begging for sleep—the routine always followed the same steady rhythm.
you, curled up on the couch, leaning on spencer’s cardigan clad shoulder with a quilt pulled over your knees. and spencer, bending into your warmth, fingers dragging along aged paper as he read to you, free hand absentmindedly carding through your hair.
acts of loving domesticity that not even the most profound romance film could pull off.
nothing, not even the act of a divine astral being could ruin this perfect moment, nothing could tear apart this beautiful night, purity unequaled by any other. nothing.
except maybe you.
you watched as the pads of spencers long fingers skimmed across pages in mere seconds, comprehending text many times faster than you could ever dream of accomplishing–yet his voice was slow and steady, warm in that gentle way that made your cheeks burn.
he coasted through words at an astonishing pace, just so he could look at your face as he repeated them for you, feeding your ears poetry with the voice of an angel.
your eyes danced across his features, jumping from his veined hands and smooth nail beds, up to the soft curve of his sculpted nose. your gaze dragged from his plush pink lips to his black half frames, rising to his messy hazelnut locks.
every once in a while your eyes would meet, he would smile softly and study every freckle adorning your skin, warm gaze soaking up every blemish with a grateful care.
you tried not to scream. you could feel your pulse in your neck, rapidly drumming against your throat. you were sure spencer could feel it too.
you felt a deep guilt build in the pit of your stomach, along with something else, something hotter, and burning infinitely brighter.
spencer reid was skilled in many fields, wielding three phds, reading twenty thousand words per minute, honouring an iq of a genius, among other things.
on top of all this, he was particularly efficient in reducing you to a sopping mess of a woman in thirty seconds flat.
you closed your eyes, distracting yourself with the dark shapes that decorated your view when you squeezed them shut. anything to take your mind off the impending pressure in your core.
but that voice. it was one you couldn’t fathom tuning out—so pretty it was impossible to ignore.
your greatest pleasure would also become your greatest downfall.
spencer, the ever attentive boyfriend and profiler, clocked your change in behaviour immediately.
if you weren’t so proud of him you’d be seething, cursing out behavioural sciences for embarrassing you during a rare intimate moment. revealing your true colours, a pervert of a woman who got turned on by practically anything.
sorry, practically anything involving the puppy eyed boy currently tilting his head in your direction.
spencer’s reading slowed to a halt—your last chance at salvation cut short as he replaced the soothing rhythm of his words with a rather annoying inquiry.
“is something wrong sweet girl?”
did he have any idea how disarmingly perfect he was? you blinked a few times before brushing off his concerns.
“i’m fine, just a little tired, maybe we should go to bed?”
“it’s barely nine o'clock."
right. you should’ve put more thought into that. an attempt at thwarting the trajectory of this conversation proved itself useless as it bit you in the behind.
“right. sorry. i guess i’m a bit distracted.”
spencer smiled as he closed the book in his lap, hard cover flipping shut with a soft thud as he placed it on the coffee table, now accompanying two empty mugs.
“something on your mind?”
you bit your lip and shied away, this really wasn’t the time for your mind to twist such an innocent moment into something dirty. you wanted him, desperately. but you knew better than to launch yourself onto him during the one moment he can catch a break. you were sure you could manage to hold back.
“no… nothing in particular."
spencer shook his head an sighed,
“i know you’re lying, you have a tell,”
he curled his fingers around the shell of your ear, leading your gaze to meet his.
“you always avoid eye contact when you’re lying.”
“please don’t profile me spence.”
you looked away from him, the throw pillow behind his back, the bookshelf to his left, the plant in your peripheral. anything to not focus on the way his palm felt on your flushed cheek.
“i just want to know what’s bothering my girl.”
that broke you. the casual warmth bestowing you with such a claiming title. you were his. and he was yours.
you felt your resolve crumble as you met those beautifully glossy hazel eyes, golden rims circling his growing pupils as he met your gaze.
spencer reid was also mentionably skilled in making you fold under very little pressure.
you sighed as the innocent act suppressing your desires was fizzled out of your body, your true needs now taking the reins. thoughts of holding back dissipating in less than forty-five seconds.
you ran a hand up his chest, rubbing the knitted fabric of his cardigan in slow, heavy circles.
when you looked up at him this time, your eyes had changed, now weighted with the extent of your sin.
“do you know what you do to me spence? my pretty boy?”
it was like a switch flipped in his brain, still completely mesmerized by you, but now in an entirely different light.
spencer simply shook his head, eyes fluttering to a close as your lips met his. the kiss started soft, as it always did between you. small pecks blooming into an intoxicated pace, lips melding together in complete sync, as if they were made solely to kiss each other.
you moved in a steady rhythm, still gentle and warm as spencer pulled your chest flush against his, needing to feel you as close as possible. he wished he could fuse himself to your skin and never let you go.
spencer’s lips chased yours as you pulled away, mouth curling into a pathetic pout, expression mirroring that of a puppy so perfectly you almost lost it.
chuckling, you tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, your hand brushing the frames of his glasses in its descent.
“love your hands, and your voice, and your hair.”
you paused only to cup his cheeks in your palms, toasty and dusted with a rosy flush from your kiss, and your unrelenting praise.
“and your lips, your nose, your eyes,”
you brought your face closer to his.
“i love this cheek,”
your lips pecked his left cheek with a hum, squishing his face delicately between your hands.
“and this one too.”
your nose brushed against his right cheek, spencer could feel your teeth smiling against his heated skin.
now it was his turn to shy away from your grasp, slotting his face in the curve of your neck, a futile attempt at hiding how brightly his cheeks burned.
“stop it…”
you giggled as you pet his hair, hugging his body close to yours as you rocked rhythmically from side to side, mimicking that of a pendulum—with just slightly less coordination and certainly, significantly more care.
“you know you also have a tell, spencer. you get all red–are you feeling shy?”
you swore you could feel his cheeks growing hotter at your words.
“yes… ‘m sorry. i love you too. so much.”
spencer sighed as he breathed in your scent, burying his face deeper into the crook of your shoulder, his nose poking at your collarbone. you shivered at the warmth of his breath on your skin, before bringing his face up to meet yours, cheek pressing against his.
“you love me hmm?”
you teased, bringing your lips to the shell of his ear.
“do you want to show me just how much you love me?”
spencer wasted no time with his reply.
“please. i want you all the time.”
his eyes met yours as he looked up at you for approval, hands finding their way to the scorching skin of your waist beneath the cotton of your shirt. a nod from you was all he needed, his touch reverent against your ribs as his fingers traveled upwards.
spencer’s lips found yours, kissing you with an unmatched fervor, his mouth a devotion against your own as he palmed your hardened nipples from under your shirt, the outline of his worship prominent under the fabric, and admittedly, also twitching against the crotch of his flannel pyjama pants.
you pulled away from him, with a gloss of spit connecting your breath, spencer gasped as the line snapped beneath the tension. he looked unbelievable. bewitching you with his effortless beauty. his swollen lips were glossed, sheened over with a mix of your saliva and his. his glasses were fogged over, smudges decorating his lenses with evidence of your proximity. you needed him. biblically. immediately.
“spence, want your fingers.”
you cupped his hand over the print it was making, skin separated only by cloth, you could still feel the heat radiating off his skin despite the barrier. spencer only nodded at your request, dazed in your presence, in your beauty. he’d do anything you asked him to. he wouldn’t think twice before moving mountains, solely because you requested he do so. his love for you was wholeheartedly devout, and he wanted–no, needed to make sure you could never forget that. not that you’d ever be able to.
his hands slipped from cupping the peaks of your chest, you barely had time to shiver in the lack of his warmth before his fingers were slipping into the waistband of your sweats, hooking underneath the band of your cotton panties, waiting for your go-ahead.
when you nodded, spencer eagerly pulled both down in one fell swoop, aided by the lift of your hips, he worked the garments off of you, pausing only to fold them, laying each piece on the coffee table with utmost care. because of course he would. he would be the death of you.
you gave spencer’s shoulder a light push, causing him to lean back on the cushioned armrest of the couch, you followed suit, falling into his touch as his arms engulfed your frame.
spencer’s hands wasted no time, travelling between your thighs with the comfort of practiced familiarity, falling into place as you spread your leg over his lap. thigh digging into his agonizingly hard erection, ripping a whiny sob from the base of his throat, tone so pitchy it almost sounded painful.
it could’ve been, for all you knew, but spencer truly couldn’t find it in him to care, his thoughts were filled exclusively by you, circling his brain in a melodic repetition he could never get tired of. his pleasure was found in pleasing you.
greedy hands slipped in the valley between your legs, deft fingers collecting fat globs of your slick, grazing your slit, soaking you up in the way your shoulders shivered and your lip curled under your teeth.
spencer brought his fingers to his swollen lips, he couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling back, tasting your saccharine adoration on his tongue, wetness for him and him only. with a light buck of your hips, wordlessly begging for his return, his digits dove back in, tracing your slit with a delicacy reserved for only you, mapping every fold with the same adoration he reserved for ancient texts and sacred verses.
you whimpered against his throat, the vibration of your needy sounds traveling straight through his collarbones and down to where his heart hammered against his ribs. he carefully slipped two fingers past the threshold of your core, grinding his palm against the hood of your clit as he worked up a steady rhythm.
your mouth found the column of his neck, teeth grazing the tendon there with just enough pressure to make him gasp, his fingers stuttering against your wetness before finding their flow again. you sucked at the skin, marking him in dark purple blooms that stood out stark against his pale complexion, claiming him visibly in ways that made your stomach flutter with possessive pride.
"god, spence,"
you mumbled against his jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sharp angle there, feeling how his stubble scratched deliciously against your swollen lips.
"so good. f’me"
he whined at that, high and broken, his hips jerking upward involuntarily as his cock strained against the soft flannel of his pyjama pants. the fabric was doing nothing to hide how desperately hard he was.
"tell me,"
he breathed, voice cracking as he curled his fingers inside you, finding that spot that made your vision blur at the edges.
"tell me i'm doing good, please—please tell me i'm doing good."
your heart clenched at the desperation in his tone, at the way he looked at you with those wide, glossy eyes behind lenses that were continuing to fog at the edges. streaks from your earlier kisses dotted the glass, fingerprints and smears of lip balm clouding his vision in the most obscene way, making him look thoroughly wrecked.
"you're doing so good, baby. so perfect, spence. look at you."
you praised, dragging your tongue along his jawline before nipping at his earlobe.
he made a sound like he was breaking apart, his hips rutting against your thigh with increasing urgency as the elegant pads of his fingers worked on that sensitive spongey spot inside of you, igniting your core. the drag of his clothed dick against your bare skin was filthy, desperate thrusts soaking through thin material until you could feel the heat of him branding your leg.
"tell me you love me. tell me, god, please—need to hear it."
he begged, words tumbling out in a rush as his thumb found your clit, circling with practiced precision that had you arching against him.
"i love you,"
you gasped, sinking your teeth into the junction of his neck and shoulder, leaving another dark mark as he cried out beneath you.
"i love you so much, spencer. my perfect boy. so good to me."
his glasses had slipped down his nose, completely fogged over now, frames crooked against his flushed skin. he couldn't see properly through them anymore but he didn't dare move to fix them, too consumed with the task of unraveling you completely, of memorizing every flutter of your eyelashes and every hitch in your breath.
your hand found his hair, tangling in those messy hazelnut locks and pulling just hard enough to make him moan, his hips stuttering against your thigh in erratic thrusts that told you he was close.
his fingers inside you never faltered, curling and pressing and stroking with a single-minded devotion that had you teetering on the edge, your own hips rocking against his palm in desperate search of friction.
"can feel you. you're so close, aren't you? want to feel you come apart, want to make you feel good."
he panted, his forehead falling against your shoulder as his movements became jerky, uncoordinated, overwhelmed.
"spence, i’m–"
you warned, your voice strained as you clung to him, your free hand gripping his shoulder hard enough to leave crescent moons in his skin.
you shattered with a cry, swallowing spencer’s lips with a kiss, your body convulsing around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you. your hips grinded through your high, thighs shaking with the aftershocks.
the sight of you undone undid him in return. with a final, desperate grind against your thigh and a choked sob of your name, he came, his hips jerking in tight spasms as warmth flooded his pants, wetting the flannel in a mess that spread rapidly, obscene and filthy and perfect.
"oh god, i—i made a mess, i'm sorry, i—"
he whimpered, his face buried in your neck, glasses askew and in complete disarray, skin flushed deep crimson.
"you were perfect. look at me, spence."
you soothed, your voice wrecked but tender as you ran your fingers through his hair, holding him close as he trembled against you.
he lifted his head, blinking behind those crooked lenses, his eyes blown wide and hazy with adoration and post-coital bliss. you reached up to adjust his glasses, your thumb gently wiping at the smudges before you kissed him, slow and deep and full of everything you felt for him.
"so perfect,"
you whispered against his lips, feeling him smile, feeling his heart still racing against your chest.
"my perfect pretty boy."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
oh hey guys. i havent written an actual smut fic in a million years!2!!2! was this fic inspired by the pinterest quote in the theme + a twitter video? yes it was. i will admit to that. anywayyy im so tired because i always hit such a crazy plateau when im writing and spend literally hours making zero progress… but shes done! yay! its 4am and im finally going to sleep… love you all sm!
roald dahl was antisemitic and misogynistic. george orwell was openly homophobic. edgar allan poe married his 13 year old cousin. dr seuss cheated on his wife (and was racist as well as antisemitic!). hp lovecraft was racist as fuck.
anyways they’re fucking dead it’s not like you’re enabling their behaviors in the afterlife or something. then again I think they bleed into the books so uh keep an eye out for that
the difference between these old white guys and jk rowling is that the former group is all dead. jk rowling is alive and using your money to oppress trans people
Pairing: Steve Harrington x reader (technically... but yeah.... Eddie)
Summary: When your trek to Mordor Lover's Lake quickly turns into alone time with the one man who isn't afraid to show you how much he likes you, playing with fire right under your boyfriend Steve's nose quickly becomes a dangerously addictive game.
Warnings: Angst, angst and more angst, implied infidelity in established relationship, self-doubt, insecurity, scenes from Stranger Things Season 4, no use of y/n (however this part doesn't actually exist in the show, fully freestyled by me!)
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
The moment the words leave Eddie's lips, Dustin's excitedly bounding down the.... path, if you could even call it that, compass held out in front of him as he looks for this supposed snack-size gate in the middle of the woods.
Lucas and Max share a brief look, something along the lines of right we're doing this then before jogging after Dustin, quickly followed by an enthusiastic Robin, and then Nancy, her face set in that high browed pretentious look you were beginning to seriously detest with a burning passion.
But at this moment, your irritation towards Nancy Wheeler seems like the last thing on your mind. You're about to follow the others, when Eddie suddenly turns around, his hand dropping from around your shoulders.
You look back surprised, lips parting in question, before you see what he went back for.
His bottle and his beer.
Laughter, sudden and genuine, bubbles out of you in a snort before you can stop it, and you bring a hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose, marvelling at the ridiculousness of the whole thing.
"Yeah, yeah, get your stuff," you mutter, shaking your head in amusement as Eddie catches up to you, grinning sheepishly.
"Priorities, beautiful," he says seriously, as the two of you finally begin heading after the others. "You can't expect me to trek to Mount Doom without my reinforcements here."
"Yes, yes, Mordor, I get it," you chuckle. "Although... does that make Vecna Sauron? As if the creep needed any more cool names."
Eddie's head flips towards you, his large, expressive eyes widening even more in surprise... or awe.
"Hey now, hold on. You've read-"
"Of course I have," you shrug, although the tiniest sense of satisfaction races through you at how amazed he seems. He hadn't expected that, had he?
The crisp sounds of dried leaves crunching under your shoes overwhelm the air around you as Eddie's quiet for a seconds, as if ruminating on this new information about you. Up ahead, the others seem to be arguing about something, Dustin gesturing animatedly with his hands, waving the compass around, as Max responds to him, rolling her eyes.
"Well I...." Eddie starts, before letting out a sigh. "I'll be damned. I'm ashamed to admit I didn't see it myself."
"That I'm a total nerd?"
"Totally. I mean..." he trails off, before tilting his head over to you, eyes slowly raking down your body as a half smile spreads over his lips. "Clearly, I was lead astray by an unfairly deceptive exterior that made me unable to think past that which pleases the eye."
It takes a second for his words to register in your head. For the full meaning of what Eddie just said to settle in your chest. And the first thought that pops into your head is....
Steve could never.
"So you play D&D?" Eddie asks, as if he didn't just say what he did to another man's girlfriend.
"Uh, not exactly, no," you say slowly. "But I am a total sucker for video games, I play electric guitar, and of course, I love reading fantasy. The thicker and denser and more complicated the book, the better."
Eddie shakes his head. "Where have you been all my life..." he murmurs into the air, and you can't help but let out a humourless chuckle.
Wasting my time with a guy who can't stop pining after his ex girlfriend and clearly doesn't love me anymore. But I can't seem to stop, so here we are.
But you can't exactly say that, no matter how true it is. You won't share your relationship issues with another guy, no matter how charming and amazing and attentive he is. You're not like Steve.
"I used to work at Waldenbooks, you know?" You say instead. "At Starcourt Mall. It was almost a dream part-time job to save some money for college. But then the place went.... yeah."
"Oh yeah, the fire," Eddie enunciates, kicking a stray stone with his shoe. "Really fucked this town up."
You frown for a second, confusion flickering across your face, before you remember. He doesn't know the truth.
"You know, Eddie," you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you move a stray hanging branch out of your way. "The fire at Starcourt Mall..."
"Yeah?"
"It wasn't a really a fire."
For the second time in the span of a few minutes, Eddie's head flips toward you. "Wasn't a- oh come on!" He groans when he sees the amused look on your face. "More of this- what, Upside Down shit?"
"Yep," you answer, popping the p.
"How long has this-"
"Hey- BABE, wait up!"
Your insides freeze.
Every bit of the hazy warmth that had been spreading through your chest after just that little conversation with Eddie evaporates in precisely half a second as his voice falls on your ears.
You close your eyes for a second.
Very briefly, you consider just grabbing Eddie's arm and jogging ahead to where the kids and Nancy and Robin were walking. Surely Steve wouldn't say start anything in front of them? In front of his precious Nancy?
But before you can actually go through with it, he's already beside you, falling into step with you and Eddie.
You sigh, and you don't bother hiding it. You'd been having a wonderful time ignoring Steve's existence for the past few minutes, pretending he wasn't walking barely ten steps behind you. He hadn't said anything either, nor had he gone ahead with the others, so you had somewhat assumed he was thinking over what was wrong with you. But you'd hoped it'd be a while before he actually approached you about it.
"Babe-"
"What do you want?" You ask, keeping your voice deliberately flat and drained of all interest, your gaze fixed ahead on anything but him. Maybe your tone would be enough to deter him.
But by now, he probably expected you to respond like that, because he continues as if your words weren't a slap in the face, despite how hard you'd intended for them to be.
"Can we talk?"
You roll your eyes. "No."
"Well, why not?"
"Because I don't want to," you say impassively.
"But why don't you want to?" He asks again, his voice rising an octave in frustration.
"Because I just don't!" You snap, finally turning your head up to glare at him. Your eyes meet his, and it's like the air around you actually gains charge by the contact. Your gaze is sharp, and your try your best to pour every ounce of resentment and frustration you feel into it, hoping it cuts into him like tiny, jagged shards of glass. Like he did to you every time he looked at Nancy with that pathetic look in his eyes he'd never once given you.
His eyes don't have that pathetic look in them now. Or atleast, not pathetic in a pining, love-sick sense.
Right now, all you can notice is how large they look. Like two shining pools of a dark, muddy brown, confusion and a sharp sense of hurt swirling in their depths. A stray lock of his hair runs down his forehead, cutting across his upturned brow and almost falling into his left eye. He doesn't brush it away.
He doesn't get it. He doesn't get why you're suddenly behaving like this. Why you're icing him out. Why, after a perfectly normal conversation where he literally asked you out to a movie, you seem so closed of all of a sudden, speaking to him in a way you never have before.
But you don't want to explain it to him.
Maybe you want him to come to the realization himself.
Maybe you want him to go back through the days, run every moment between the two of you through his head and realize why you were suddenly so cold towards him.
Maybe you want him to actually make the effort of caring.
Of actually paying attention to you.
Of.... of thinking about you...
Was getting angry at him really the only way your own boyfriend would even think about you?
The realization of what you're really trying to do here, makes your throat close up. Is this really what you were doing now? Picking fights with your boyfriend just to get him to give you attention?
You'd never, in your wildest dreams, thought you'd ever be that girl. That desperate.
Maybe you were the pathetic one here.
"I....." you clear your throat. "I'm in no way obligated to talk to you, Steve. In fact, I was already talking to Eddie before you rudely interrupted us."
You remember then, with a dull pang in your chest that Eddie's still walking on your other side. Quietly. He hasn't said a word the whole time you have been speaking to Steve.
"Yeah well... Eddie can walk with Henderson," Steve challenges, vaguely gesturing to the group ahead with a hand.
"And you can walk with Robin and Nancy. I don't think you of all people would pass on such an easy opportunity."
Steve stares at you for a second. "What are you even-" He sighs and runs a frustrated hand through his hair, ruffling them from a perfectly tousled style to another perfectly tousled style. "I... what is the matter with you, babe?" He finally gets out, his tone breathier now, hands hovering uselessly in the air as frustration and confusion and desperation practically roll off him in waves. "Why are you being like this? What did I do?"
"What did you do?" You ask incredulously, a bitter laugh rising in your throat. "What did you do? Son of a..." you shake you head, running a hand through you hair. "You really are that clueless aren't you?"
"Hey, here's a thought, maybe you tell me what I did? Instead of snapping at me every two seconds and saying cryptic shit?"
"How about you think of it yourself? I'm not gonna spoon feed everything to you--"
"You spoon feed nothing to me! All you do is get angry at me, and then just-- what, expect me to figure it all out in my head?"
"Yes, yes I expect you to fucking think about in on your own! Like a normal person would, Steve, I-" you break off, realizing this is futile. Steve isn't going to empathize with you, he's never going to understand how you feel, how his actions affect you, and there's nothing you can do about it.
"Look, Steve," you start, tone much softer now, but no way gentler. "I said it before, I'll say it again. I. Don't. Want. To. Talk. To. You. And there's no reason why I should."
Before you can grab Eddie's arm and jog ahead towards the rest of the group, Steve grabs your arm.
"I'm your boyfriend! Does that not mean anything?"
You roll your eyes. "Oh you remembered that tiny thing, did you? Congratulations."
Without sparing him another glance, you shake off his hand, grab Eddie by the arm, and jog up ahead to the others.
A/N: Yes yes, I know I’m untrustworthy, and no, I have no excuse why I took so long except for a raging Writer's block. This one's brought to you by insomnia following a 3am call with my university
As always, if you enjoyed reading this part, likes, comments and reblogs make me very very happy!
Basic Fandom Etiquette Everyone Needs to Remember:
Creators do not owe anyone content. Do not ask writers when they will update.
If an author did not ask for criticism , do not give criticism.
Read the tags carefully before reading a fanfic.
If you ignored the tags and were upset, that is your responsibility, not the creator’s.
Disliking a ship does NOT give you the right to attack people who enjoy it.
Do not tell authors or shippers that their ship is “disgusting,” “wrong,” or “shouldn’t exist.” Shipping fictional characters is not a moral failing.
No one is obligated to justify why they ship two fictional characters.
Headcanons are PERSONAL interpretations, not universal truth.
Dark themes in fiction do not equal real life beliefs or intentions.
Leaving kudos or short positive comments genuinely matters.
Not every fanwork is made for you, and that is okay.
Scrolling past content you dislike is better than engaging negatively
Enjoying a fandom later than others does not make someone less of a fan.
Disliking a fanfic does not entitle you to announce that to its creator. Sending hate comments to authors is NEVER justified, even if you disliked the work.
Like they tried to change Reblogs and people rightfully got up in arms, this is a LOT worse. In order to have access to any sort of thing dubbed mature, and We haveALL seen what they think is mature, Everything from a black and white photo of a black woman's arm, to posts about IUD recalls, to a nude painted by a 17th century artist, to anything involving the word Trans; you have to send your personal information to a third party site that WILL get hacked, and you will be doxxed. And they can say "Oh shit, well it wasn't us who sent your name address and gender identity to Moldovan teenagers, here's a couple extra minutes in the ball pit.
That's bad enough!!!!!!!! But the entire idea of needing permission from state authorities to access anything labeled mature by our friendly AI overlords is some fucking Boll shit. Die Gedenken Sind Frie baby. This is all a reaction to people getting uppity about their lowly lowly rights and is being propped up by the same bad actors tht have made life unlivable. Fuck that shit.
"Well it's only being rolled out in Brazil and UK" Yeah, to start. "Well they're being forced to do this by laws." YOu know it's always really funny when these tech giants (Or whatever you call owning tumblr dot com) get really antsy about laws considering they pick and choose which ones they abide by.
This is a breaking point and it's going to be very interesting to see how we proceed from here.
dude it's just politics, it doesn't matter. all it does is shape every single aspect of the society you live in from the second you are born until forever
