#I did pick number four

[mothwithpronouns]

Kill the party or something

[navree]

Incorrect, the fact that Biden has dropped out and a candidate with history of supporting medicare for all and being more receptive to a ceasefire in the I/P conflict has made me go from "I cannot morally support the Democratic nominee" to "I am voting for the Democratic nominee despite the fact she isn't perfect in every respect." I'm really happy this played out. The Dems for the most part abandoned the old Obama platform and it feels like its possible an actual progressive agenda could come to pass in my lifetime.

Kamala 2024!

If you weren't going to vote Democratic in this election before Biden dropped out you're a dorkass loser who does not care about any of the issues you're yammering about here and also a fundamentally bad person, and I hope you get run over by a bus.

But you got one thing right in all of this gibberish, Kamala 2024.

[despair-tea]

that book was pretty good, yea. glad I came back around and finished it.

the (part 1 - end) at the end is so funny - you mean after they resolved all the problems in the story, that's just the beginning? The beginning of the rest of their lives? lmao

[obstinatecondolement]

Wish it weren't such a Herculean task getting my fucking meds organised every time.

[artificialkids-2k23-official]

I actually was in the Artemis Fowl fandom, insofar as I was able to be in any fandom, when I was in high school... but there were only I think four books out at that point.

[obsesssedblerd]

“Oh, Nanaminnnn!” 

At the familiar, cheery voice, Kento looks up to see no one other than Satoru Gojo, leaning against the doorframe of his office with his usual grin. “Saw with my Six Eyes that you came to fill out those reports here instead of doing it from home. Been so long since you showed your face here and—” He cuts himself off with an excited gasp, then walks closer as his smile grows wider. “You brought my little mochi!”

In Kento’s left arm, his daughter—who had woken up from her nap about ten minutes ago—coos excitedly when Satoru enters her vision, reaching her hands towards him. “Well, hello there, sweetheart! I was wondering when I’d see you again!” He slides his hands under her plush arms, then picks her up, skillfully—and safely, Kento notes—holding her in his arms. Tiny hands brush against Satoru’s blindfold, and he lifts it so his niece can see his blue eyes. They immediately soften when the baby girl laughs when he gently tickles her tummy. 

It’s so cute that Kento can’t stop the corner of his mouth from lifting. 

“Wait—Did I hear that right?! Nanamin’s here?!” 

“Itadori, wait for us!” 

“Kugisaki, you dropped your bag—Oh, come on, guys, slow down!” 

Rapid footsteps approach, then the three first years appear at the door, gasping in unison. 

“Oh, my gosh!” Yuuji, the pink-haired teenager shouts as he points at the baby in Satoru’s arms. “Nanamin, when did you have a baby?!” 

Nobara’s question comes a split-second after Yuuji’s is finished. “Is that why [Y/L/N]-sensei quit a while ago?!” 

Megumi walks to stand beside Satoru to analyze the little bundle in his teacher’s arms. “She’s… adorable.” He mumbles, gently smiling when she wraps her hand around his finger. “Very adorable. She has [Y/L/N]-sensei’s laugh.”

“Isn’t she just so precious?” Satoru asks, proudly showing her off to the first years. “So sweet and friendly, just like her Uncle Gojo.” 

“Hopefully she won’t be as reckless as you,” Kento says as he holds his hands out, and Satoru returns his daughter to him. “[Y/N] and I already believe that she’ll be the exact opposite of me.” 

Yuuji sits beside Kento to get a closer look at her. “She’s so cute. How old is she, Nanamin?” 

“Four months as of yesterday.” 

Nobara crosses her arms and pouts. “How come only he knew?” She asks, gesturing to Satoru. 

“Well, when I had to go away on a long mission, she was only a month old,” Kento explains. “He kept an eye on her and [Y/N] for me; made sure that they were both safe. I’m very grateful. We had plans to tell you about our daughter soon.” 

“Where is she now?” Megumi asks. 

“At home. I wanted her to have the morning and most of the afternoon to herself. I’ll be heading back shortly.” 

Satoru and the students share similar looks with each other, and Kento knows what they want to ask. He pulls out his phone and dials your number. “Hi, baby,” you greet when the line connects, “how’s our girl?” 

“Hi, love. She’s amazing, as always,” he says as he looks down, playfully poking the little one’s nose. “I’m with Gojo and our students. They want to know if it’s alright to come and see you.” 

“We’ll cook dinner if you’re too tired!” Nobara chimes in hopefully.

“Actually, better yet, I can just order something for everyone,” Satoru suggests. 

“And we’ll clean up,” Yuuji and Megumi say at the same time. 

You laugh, then answer Kento, “That’s more than alright. Bring them here.” 

“Thought you’d say that. See you in a bit.” 

“Yes!” Yuuji cheers. “Alright, I’m gonna ride with Nanamin so I can sit next to the baby!” 

Nobara glares at him. “Not if I get to the car first!!” 

When they sprint out the door, Megumi groans before rushing after them. “Didn’t I just tell you guys to slow down? We’re going to the same place!” 

Satoru laughs, then waits for Kento to finish up so they can walk out together. 

—

there was an ask in my inbox requesting a cute drabble for dad! nanami ft. gojo (as a trusted friend of his) and the first years, but it disappeared. hope u like it, anon <3 

[writersdrug]

Bartender Simon, who cuts of a drunk costumer. The costumer is angry and begins insulting Simon, particularly his looks. It doesn't bother Simon but how does Waitress!Reader react?

Alas... the much-awaited ktih

Warnings: making out, groping, dry-humping

It was only seven pm, and Cole was already drunk. Simon knew this would happen - it usually does, at least every Friday night. He comes in, drinks for a solid two hours, until Simon finally has to cut him off and steer him in the direction of his apartment. The man at least lets him add twenty percent auto gratuity if he has to be sent home like that - and, more often than not, it's every week.

Today, however, is a different story.

Cole had come in at four, right when the pub opened. He gave you his usual, tight-lipped smile, making his way to the seat he took every Friday evening. Simon was already pouring his beer by the time he removed his coat. The conversation continues (mostly one-sided on Cole's part), as does the night, and he never ceases to tip the beers back - rattling on about how much money he makes, only getting louder when a group of women walks by.

Around nine at night is when he began to get drunk enough that the numbers on his tab begin to blend together. "A'aight- 'nother one for good fortune." He smacks his empty glass against the bartop, making you jump slightly as you did your tips at the end of the.

"Not tonight." Simon says, hovering over the POS and punching buttons on the screen. "You got 'nuff for good fortune. You can pick it back up next week."

"Bahhh, c'mon - I'll pay double." Cole slurs, leaning over the bar.

"What's your wife's name?" Simon asks, turning back around and leaning against the liquor shelf.

"... Sharon."

"Ya not even married, Cole."

He laughs, eyes glassy as he smacks the bartop and wheezes. "Tha's good! Real good- ya got me. Can't keep a woman 'f I tried."

Simon doesn't comment. He slides Cole's receipt across the bar, before promptly turning back and grabbing a glass.

Cole sighs, crumpling the receipt in his fist. "Y' don't want business?"

"Don't want you gettin' lost findin' your Uber." Simon replies, polishing a glass.

"Y'know..." Cole leans back in his seat, very adamantly refusing to leave, "I know you're strugglin' t' bring in the money with... whatever ya got goin' on behind the mask."

Maybe when he was a lieutenant, constantly dealing with jabs and stabs towards his ego, it would have gotten to him. But Simon just huffs in annoyance. "This what you resort to when you can't get a beer?"

"Defensive much?" Cole bites back. "You could use the money to fix y'r fuckin' face. Should stop bein' such a cunt n' worryin' 'bout me like you're my mum."

"Hardly - your mom probably wishes she'd swallowed you instead."

Simon nearly drops the glass - it takes him a moment to realize that you had spoken, and another one to process just what exactly you had said. He turns around to find you, staring Cole down with the most disgusted, angry expression he's ever seen you display. He's speechless - mostly because he didn't know you had an arsenal of insults, ready to fire off like this.

Cole chuckles drunkenly, turning in his seat to face you from down the bar. "Don' like it when I insult y'r bank account, do ya?"

"Aren't you supposed to be dumpster diving or something?" You snap, getting up out of your seat - Simon's never seen such a look in your eyes, and he quickly steps out from behind the bar to jog over to you. He places a hand on your shoulder, but you don't back down.

"You realize who you're talkin' to, little girl?"

"Draco Malfoy if he'd gone into British Parliament."

"Oi-" Simon snaps, fingers digging into your shoulder - surprisingly, you swat his hand away. You're fuming at this overgrown cabbage, running his mouth like he actually means something to anyone in this pub.

Cole purses his lips; your insults are getting to him. "You gonna do somethin' with this chick?" he asks Simon - who nearly blows a cap, but you beat him to it.

"Y'know, maybe you should spend your money on fixing those fucking teeth - because I see they're still social distancing - instead of wasting our time here, you grey, fucking sprinkle on a rainbow cupcake-"

"Hey- stairwell. Go." Simon gives you a gentle shove towards the stairs, and you throw your hands up and storm off. He stares after you, wide-eyed and tense, watching as you disappear behind the stairwell door. He's quickly growing hard, concerningly, after witnessing you fire off at Cole with a loaded gun full of wit and anger - it was quite possibly the most attractive thing he's seen you do.

Cole huffs, breaking Simon's focus. "Women - sticking their noses where they don't belong." he looks at him, expecting the bartender to agree.

Simon's holding back the urge to drive his fist into the man's skull. He grabs Cole's jacket from the back of the chair and shoves it into his chest so hard he nearly falls from his seat. "If you're not gone in the next ten minutes, Soap 'n I will make you leave, you understand?" he doesn't even wait for a reply, turning on his heel and stalking towards the stairwell, boots thudding heavily against the ground.

He's got bigger priorities at the moment.

You're standing in the stairwell, chewing the edge of your sweater as you stare at the dustpan and broom. Simon can surely fight his own battles - he didn't seem irritated in the slightest by Cole, why did you step in? Simon isn't yours (unfortunately), you don't need to defend him. You don't have the right to defend him other than the fact that he's your coworker. Manager. And you were definitely doing it based on other, unspoken reasons. It was obvious. Is it obvious to him? Forget possibly losing your job, is he going to be mad that you lost your shit like that? That you put your foot where it doesn't belong? That-

The door to the stairwell swings open, and you stop your pacing. His eyes are lidded. Angry? You can't tell. He looks rather intimidating, tall and tense as the door swings shut behind him, mask bunched into his fist as he shoves it into his back pocket.

You think he's about to let you have it, to chew you out for your outburst. "Simon, I'm-"

His rough hands are around your face before you know it - right as you open your mouth to yelp in shock, he leans down and kisses you.

Your eyes force themselves shut. You don't have a chance to pull away, not with his hand cradling the back of your head. He won't let you; you don't want to. His breath fans across your face, fingers calloused yet gentle as they relax around you, and you sigh into his touch, tilting your head to let him get closer. Your arms rest against his shoulders, squeezing the muscle as you feel months of worry and anticipation melt away-

And then, as quickly as it had begun, Simon has the audacity to stop and pull his head back.

His eyes find yours, still cupping your face in his hands. He looks breathless - good. At least you know he's just as riled up as you are, now. There's a hint of pink on his cheeks, and a need for reassurance in his hazy stare. He needs to know he was right, despite the months of flirting and the little chase you've been leading him in; now that he's finally caught up, caught you in his grasp, he needs you to tell him you want this. Though he doesn't know how he'll survive if you don't.

"You ok?" He pants, brow creased with uncertainty.

You let out a noise of frustration - threading your fingers behind his neck, you pull him back down, sealing your lips against his once again.

He exhales through his nose in relief. His hands find your waist as you part your lips, letting him slip inside and explore your mouth. Your fingernails dig crescents into his skin - he lets out a rather needy-sounding groan, backing you up until you hit the wall. You whine; your tongue flicking across his lower lip sends a shiver down his spine, heat building and twisting and tangling in his gut until you break away for a moment, nipping your teeth into his lip.

His mind short-circuits; he grunts, all the blood in his head rushing south to his cock, where it's getting uncomfortably warm and tight. He grabs you underneath your ass and hoists you up, and you squeak, instinctively locking your legs around his hips. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he kisses you feverishly, desire brewing in your stomach as he presses you into the wall, tongues and teeth clashing, the both of you unable to satisfy the ever-growing blaze. It threatens to burn up the stairwell until there's nothing left but a sweaty, naked mess.

Simon breaks away to latch onto your neck, taking the thin flesh and rolling it between his teeth You bite back a whimper, carding your fingers through his hair; he bucks his hips in response, albeit involuntarily. You can sense the knot in your pelvis tightening, underwear growing slick as you feel the size of his erection with each thrust. Even through his clothes, you can tell it would be a challenge, but you've never been one to back down.

Fingers slide under his shirt, feeling the solid wall of muscle and fat beneath - his retracts a hand and drags it up your stomach, kneading and groping your tit through your shirt, silencing your moan with another searing, wet kiss. He's grinding into you now, hips rolling, cock twitching through his pants as you lock your ankles behind his back, and fuck he's ready to strip you bare right here and fuck you against the wall, ready to get back at you for teasing him for so long, ready to listen to your cries as you take each and every rung of his piercing-

He catches himself, lips moving away from yours to kiss along your chin, all the way up to your jaw. He sighs as he stills his hips, letting his head fall against your shoulder as he leans his weight into you. You feel him relaxing, wondering if he's worried about you again, but you so desperately want this to continue where it's heading.

"I'm alright, I'm alright-"

"I know..." he mumbles, his hand sliding back to your thigh and squeezing the flesh there, fingers barely slipping past the hem of your shorts. He wants to go further, to feel the hem of your panties snap against his fingers, but he forces back the urge.

"What's wrong?" you pant, craning your neck to the side to look at him.

"'M not..." he huffs, pulling his head back and gazing down at you. "Not fuckin' you in the stairwell, dove. 'S filthy back here."

Your face heats up even more - the fact that he had to hold himself back from disheveling you right now is an unspoken compliment. "Can we take it upstairs?"

He chuckles and gently sets you down, much to your disdain. "No. Got a bar to run." He says, preening at the way you pout at that. "And I'm takin' you out, first."

"Out?"

"Yea, for lunch."

"Wh- where?"

"You decide. Monday."

Monday - that's deep-clean day. "Don't we have to be here at noon?"

He chuckles. Always worrying about losing your job. "I'll make an exception. Won't fire ya for goin' on a date with me."

Date. God, you could scream. "But what if Price-"

"If that man ever threatens your position at this pub," Simon leans down, gently grabbing your chin between his fingers, "you come to me, n' I'll knock some sense into 'im. Sound good?"

You're too starstruck to register half of what he's said. Simon Riley's just kissed you. AND admitted to wanting to fuck you. Now, he's taking you on a date on Monday. Did you have any plans? Doesn't matter. If you do, they're cancelled.

"Uh huh..." you say, absentmindedly leaning into his touch.

Looking down at you: you, you... god, can he call you his? Is that too soon? The stars in your eyes while you're staring at him, the struggle within himself to avoid both adoration and getting hard(er)... He takes another deep breath, thumb running down the blossoming hickey on your neck.

"Right." he taps your cheek softly, then goes to tuck his shirt back in from where you'd torn it from the waistband. "Go ahead n' take a minute. Come to the bar 'fore you leave."

He grabs the handle to leave, hesitating only for a moment. Both of you seem to have the same idea, sharing a hive mind with each other. You quickly move forward and he leans down as you both kiss again, slower, trying to savor this one. Honey drips from your brain into your chest, every cell in your body screaming in relief, satisfaction, and pure joy...

He breaks away again, laying a kiss to the crown of your head. You sit down on the stairs as he walks back onto the pub floor. He's still hard, and it's plain as day - but he could care less right now. He's got you just as much as you've had him. There's a lightness in his shoulders, a voice in his head that you've finally plucked free and thrown into the abyss, only to be replaced by your own being.

You're still sitting on the stairs, massaging your tits through your shirt as you try to smooth your nipples out. Your mind is racing a million miles a minute. What should I wear? Will Price be upset? Should we try to hide this? Will anyone care? Should I wear perfume or just body spray? Is work going to be weird now? He's not going to treat me differently, is he?

You sigh, biting your lip and trudging up the stairs. Your fingers run over the hickey on your neck. I need to find a whisk.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Bringing another girl home || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Rafe pranking his family by saying he’s bringing another girl home 🫢

Warnings: mentions of drugs, fluff? other than that nothing!!

Word count: 877

A/n: hehehe loved this. does anyone have any dad!rafe requests??? haven’t wrote one in a hot min

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

“That’s so cruel, Rafe,” you say with a playful edge, delivering a light slap to his shoulder. He bursts into laughter, his wide grin never wavering. “It’ll be funny, you’ve got to admit,” he says, nudging you with a glint of mischief in his eye. You roll your eyes, trying to keep a straight face. “Fine, it would be pretty funny,” you concede, chuckling despite yourself.

Rafe’s plan to prank his family by claiming he’s bringing home a girl—who isn’t you, his girlfriend of four years—sounds completely bonkers. Yet, the thought of how Rafe’s family will react had you intrigued. You lean over to set your glass down, asking, “Are they all home?”

Rafe hums thoughtfully, scrolling through his contacts until he finds Rose’s number. You sit up, facing him as he tries to hide his grin, pressing the call button. After a few rings, Rose answers, “Hello?”

“Hey Rose, what’s up?” Rafe says with a casual tone. “Just got back from picking up Wheezie. Are you guys out on the water yet?” Rose asks. You exchange a nervous glance with Rafe, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re out here. Y/n’s just taking a nap right now,” Rafe replies smoothly, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Rose’s tone shifts to one of concern. “She did seem tired today. Have you told her to take it easy with work? I know she’s been working hard for her boss—”

“Yeah, yeah, listen,” Rafe interrupts, “Could you do me a favor and take Y/n’s stuff out of my room?”You slap your hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. “What?” Rose’s voice is tinged with confusion. “What do you mean—“

“Well, at least the stuff lying around and the pictures,” Rafe continues, muting himself briefly as he suppresses his laughter. Rose’s confusion turns to frustration. “Rafe, what are you talking about? Take Y/n’s things out of your room and get rid of the pictures—what’s going on?”

You hear rustling in the background and a faint voice that you recognize as Wheezie’s. “What happened?” Wheezie’s voice is concerned. “Your brother is acting very strange right now,” Rose responds, her voice growing more exasperated.

“Why on earth would I do that?” Rose’s tone is incredulous. “I’m bringing a girl over,” Rafe says nonchalantly, and you struggle to keep a straight face. There a brief pause on the other line.

“What girl? I hope this girl is Y/n, your girlfriend, Rafe!” Rose speaks up, her voice now angry. You hear Sarah’s voice join the conversation. “What is going on?”

“Your sisters are here. Tell them what you just told me to do,” Rose says, her frustration evident. You and Rafe exchange worried glances, realizing the prank is escalating.

“Uh, I want all of Y/n’s things out of my room and the pictures as well,” Rafe repeats. The silence on the other end is thick with disbelief. You quickly take Rafe’s phone and mute it, both of you breaking into laughter.

“What the hell, Rafe? Who is this girl? Do I know her? Why are you bringing her home? Are you out of your mind?” Sarah’s barrage of questions makes it hard for you to keep a straight face.

“This has to be a joke, right? Y/n’s right beside you, isn’t she?” Wheezie’s voice is tinged with suspicion.“She’s not, she’s asleep,” Rafe replies. You hear a flurry of voices in the background as Rose, Wheezie, and Sarah talk urgently.

Then Wheezie’s voice rises, “Dad! Come here and tell your son he’s an absolute idiot and loser for cheating on Y/n.” Your eyes widen at the mention of Ward. “What?” His voice is loud and filled with anger as he joins the call.

“Rafe, please tell me your sister is just joking and you’re not about to fuck up your life,” Ward’s stern voice cuts through. You grab the phone again, muting it. “This is going too far, Rafe,” you say, worry creeping into your voice. Rafe snatches the phone back, a mischievous grin on his face.

“What do you mean? It’s just getting started,” he says, unmuting the phone. “No, they’re not, Dad. I’m being serious. Can you guys just do this for me? She’ll be over for dinner too,” Rafe continues, as Rose gasps in the background.

“No way in hell am I letting—” Rose begins, but Ward cuts her off. “Son, you better think long and hard about this because you will not be welcomed home, alright? I don’t know what drugs you are on right now and I couldn’t give two shits about it, but you are not bringing another girl over here other than Y/n, you’re girlfriend, for heaven’s sake! Do you understand?” Ward’s voice is stern and unwavering.

You and Rafe are taken aback slightly by the intensity of the reactions on the other end of the line. Realising the prank might have gone too far, you quickly grab the phone.

“Uh—” you cut Rafe off, your voice steadying as you say, “Guys, he’s just kidding! I’m right here beside him!” The relief is palpable as you hear them all collectively sigh on the other end.

After a few more minutes of the Camerons giving you both a hard time about how the joke was way out of line, you finally hang up the phone. Rafe pulls you close, guiding you to lean against his chest. His arms envelop you in a warm, reassuring hug.

“My family just loves you, don’t they?” he says with a smirk, his voice full of playful sarcasm. You look up at him, laughing softly, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the love from his family. Even with all the chaos, you can’t help but feel good knowing they care so much about you.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 4

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

series masterlist

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

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

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

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

“That one is complicated.”

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

“You don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

You look at it. 

And then you set your phone down. 

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

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

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

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside. 

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

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

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

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

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

He looks good. Almost too good. 

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

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head. 

“Me naked or you naked?”

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

“Mm… why not both?”

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

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

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

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

“You sound sure of yourself.”

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

He grabs your wrist carefully. 

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

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

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

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

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

“So business as usual?”

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

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

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

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

You cover his hand with your own. 

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

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

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

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

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

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

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

“Every time?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He kisses your palm. 

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

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

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

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you gonna do after that?”

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

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

“Yes, please.” 

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

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

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine. 

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

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

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

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

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings. 

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster. 

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

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful. 

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

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” 

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

“I…”

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

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

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

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK. 

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

He knows. 

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

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

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

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

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

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

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

Maybe you have it all wrong. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you. 

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

24 hours go by. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep. 

“Shit, did I wake you?”

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

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

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

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

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

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

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

“What? Why?”

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

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones. 

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

Blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

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

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

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

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

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

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

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer groans. 

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown. 

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless. 

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

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up. 

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

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

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

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

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

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter. 

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

“I—”

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

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

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take a wild guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?” 

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

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

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

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

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do we have to?”

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

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

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning. 

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

“And I’m good. So...”

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

You groan in frustration. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want me to come inside you?”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“’M not.”

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

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

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

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute. 

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

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

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you find it?”

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

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

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

He gets the general sentiment. 

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

“Mhm!”

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

“Yes,” you cry. 

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

“Spencer!” 

He knows. 

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

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

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

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

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

He’s barely kidding. 

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

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

You laugh. He blushes even more. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“Spencer?” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But…?”

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

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

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

“You regret your first time?” 

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

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

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

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

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

You want to scream bloody murder. 

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

Maybe that’s worse. 

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

“I didn’t realize you…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight.”

-

part five

[bunnys-kisses]

hello bunny! may i please order a millionaire shortcake with a side of mocha coffee, served by dark!lando norris for verstappen!reader after zandvoort? thank you so so much ♡♡♡

bakery menu!

want to submit your own order? the bakery is open! (yay), there are tons of items from choose from and i am so thankful for everyone who has sent me things! i am currently working through some of the older prompts! so thank you to those who sent orders weeks ago, i am slowly getting through them <3

millionaire shortcake: "if they saw you now, you'd be the biggest shame to your family." + mocha coffee: breeding kink served by lando norris (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, breeding kink, post!zandvoort gp, dirty talk/degrading language, mean!lando, doggy style, chokehold

when you saw lando sail past the finish line multiple seconds ahead of your brother, you felt your stomach drop. this was max's to win, race after race the gap between him and lando was getting smaller and smaller. but, it wasn't just your brother losing out on another world championship, it was what lando called "the icing on the cake".

he beat your brother, and afterwards he got to sink into your pussy. anything lando wanted that night, he got. and winning the dutch grand prix, your brother's home race, you could only imagine what lando had in store for you tonight.

when your gaze met lando's he winked at you and you quickly turned back to your brother. your phone buzzed in your pocket and you felt a tightness in your throat. it was going to be a long night.

if max knew what you and lando got up to in the off-hours of racing. he would probably kill lando. you've seen max get aggressive with a number of drivers, even before formula one. in fairness you carried that aggressiveness too. stubborn, assertive, bordering on mean. you had an ex-boyfriend say it was the 'lion's blood', but you proved to be too much for him. lando made you into a kitten. gone were the claws and fangs, with him you were mewling, nipping at his hands rather than chewing into flesh.

it was maybe why you kept coming back.

you stood in the mirror of lando's hotel room. you knew you should be with your family right now. but instead you ended up with the winner of the race. most would've ran by now, hidden away in the hopes that lando wouldn't sniff you out.

"he could've put me in anything, but, why this." you dropped your shoulders, "fuckin' orange." to call what lando gave you as lingerie would be a disservice to the people who carefully craft such underwear. lando put you in something a porn star would wear, barely held together with thread and lace. the icing on the cake was the temporary tattoo on your thigh close to your pussy that was of the number four. lando's number. and you knew it would be a bitch to get off in the morning.

there was a knock at the door and you said, "relax, lando." before you took one last deep breath before you turned away from the mirror and headed out of the bedroom. lando's smile dropped at the sight of you. before he could say anything you said, "why did you pick orange. i look bad in orange."

lando picked his jaw up off the floor and went to you, a slight sway to his step as he closed the gap between you two. he rested his hands on your hips while you crossed your arms. he looked at you and smiled with those dazzling teeth of his. he said, "well because of mclaren."

"right, right. and it has nothing to do with the dutch at all." you get his gaze leveled with him. and his smile only grew.

"a coincidence." he said, heat in his tone, "you're just over thinking things. you know i don't like it when you think too much." his words made you run painfully hot. you had to give lando credit, he knew exactly how to get under your skin. he loved when you were stupid, dumb enough for him.

you made a face and he pulled you in for a hot kiss, one hand on the back of your neck. you squirmed against him and clung to the front of his t-shirt. the kiss was hot. it was heated in a way that you never had with anyone else. since you met lando, fucking other men bored you. you weren't a couple, this wasn't a relationship. this was mutually assured destruction as you pulled away from him.

"i was expecting worse from you. orange lingerie and a temporary tattoo, that seems tame for you." you remarked as you played with one of the straps of the bra. you could name on one hand all of the intense situations that lando had put you in.

from sex in a car that didn't have tinted windows on a side street in italy, to the time you went to the sex club in switzerland, and especially that time you has dinner with his family while there was a vibrator slipped into your aching cunt.

he tilted his head to the side and shrugged, "as much as i love torturing you, babygirl. i thought we'd keep it close to home, close together. as much as i would've loved to fuck you with the bed hitting the wall to your brother's room, i thought this was better." he cupped your breasts.

you groaned, "enough about my brother." you were soon pulled into the bedroom. lando had enough kindness left in him to fuck you on a mattress. there had been times you were left with rug burns in places where there should never be rug burns.

you got into the king sized bed and looked at him as he started to undress. your rubbed your thighs together and braced yourself on your arms. your body was so exposed to him. you knew he was hungry for you. just like he was hungry for the prize.

"fuck." he groaned, his cock was painfully hard. the tip a deep red and leaking thick pre-cum. his face more pink than usual as he got into the bed with you and rubbed his cock up against your thigh. the kisses grew hotter as you ended up on your stomach and totally nude. you could already feel the rush of pleasure throughout your body.

"lando." you groaned, "it's not fair that you can fuck this good. you deserve to suck at sex." your back arched a little further and lando smacked your ass.

"i love when you just shut up, beautiful. you're meant to sit there be pretty. guess that's why your brother looks that way, you took all the good looks. but because of that, you need to learn to shut the fuck up." he groaned as he rubbed his achy cock up against your ass, "seen, not heard." it was all dirty talk and it made you brain spark with pleasure. he had such a grip on you, he could degrade you every way and you'd still let him fuck you.

"fuck you, lando." you groaned. you tensed up as he slammed his cock into you. not caring about takin ghis time. you needed to be fucked right now. fuck some sense into you. your little yapping mouth needed to be quiet for a while. just while lando was feeling the high of his win.

you shuddered, "fuck. lando." your hips were raised more as lando pressed more of his weight against you. his cock filled you in a painful way when he took little time to prep you. tonight was his night, he didn't have to prep you.

he hissed through a tense jaw as he fucked you with little abandon. the bed shifted under you from the force he was fucking you with. he felt something heavy in his chest, he felt the sexual pull towards you. he needed you deeply, carnally. he needed to ruin you for any other man. maybe it was a possessive drive, but it kept him coming back for you.

"if they saw you now, you'd be the biggest shame to your family." he choked out, he could feel the hammering in his head as he rutted against you.

"shut the fuck up." you groaned as you gripped the pillows under your face. you clawed into the fabric and groaned, "shut up, shut up, shut up!" you wanted to throw the pillow at him.

it only spurred lando on as he fucked you with heavy thrusts. he eventually grabbed you by the arms and pulled them back using it as a way to bounce you on his achy cock. you whined a little louder as he said, "maybe i should get you pregnant. finish in your tonight, make a big fuckin' mess between your legs and ship you back to your dear, older brother. then a month passes and you have to tell him that you're pregnant. he's going to lose it." he pulled you against him tighter as his cock remained buried inside of you. your cunt was nice around his cock and it made him feel amazing all over.

"shit no." you whined.

lando laughed, "oh c'mon, be my wife? how does that sound, steal you from right under you brother's nose. he'd never know what hit him." his pace became quicker and you were seeing stars. reason left your brain and your core throbbed.

you whimpered and lando continued his rapid movements. there was little space for you to breath during his thrusts. you felt your heart in your throat as he fucked the words out of your head. you whimpered and whined. your noises were music to his ears.

"lemme make you a mama, beautiful. let me get you nice and pregnant." his words curled in your brain and you were left feeling on cloud nine, "you'd raise 'em so well. be such a good mother to them." his voice grew tight as the need to finish grew.

he fucked you, letting your arms drop in favor of your hips. the soft part of you that he loved the bruise. he bullied his cock into your achy pussy. the idea of getting you pregnant made him move against you faster. he could feel the race in his pulse as he fucked you. you with all the aches and pains of pregnancy, carrying his child. he only turned him on greatly. make you his.

you came first, your body betrayed you. you arched your back and near-yelled into the pillows. you hissed, "fuck!" lando continued his brutal pace. he fucked you with a fever that made your eyes roll back a little. there was no escaping lando norris.

"that's it, angel. that's it." he said with near-softness as he rocked his hips against you. he fucked you and then he finished inside of you, even tilted your hips at an angle that made sure it would stay inside of you. you whined a little as he pulled out. he gave your ass one last slap. you were near brain dead on the bed and your breathing was heavy. lando watched you, laid beside you with his hand on your left ass cheek. when you eventually fell asleep, you were curled up on your side and didn't notice when lando shifted in the bed and got out. if his phone wasn't on silent you would've hear the shudder of the camera on his phone.

he sent a photo of your face pressed against the pillows, he wasn't sending your nudes to your brother (your brother's teammate on the other hand). he sent the message to max, "better luck next time, mate. will bring her back before breakfast ;)" <3

[adimilkys]

JJK men finding out that you’re… pregnant?

MDNI tw : pregnancy, mentions of abortion, mostly fluff

Gojo Satoru

“Did we really have to go to a hospital” you groaned holding the white- now crimson red cloth against your wound.

“Shoko is out of the town so we sadly didn’t have any choice.” Mei Mei answered holding you up as she cringed at the blood on her hands.

Arriving at the hospital the nurses immediately helped you into a wheelchair and took you to a room, leaving Mei Mei waiting in the hallway, she dialed Gojo’s number and waited for him to pick up.

“What is it?? Is everything alright? Why are you suddenly calling me?” Before she could say anything Satoru already started asking questions, she never calls him.

“Your wifey is in the hospital.”

“…”

Just like that, a second later Satoru was in the hospital “What happened?!” He asked, a little too loud causing other people to look at him.

“Jeez don’t worry, she just got stabbed in her thigh. She’s already being taken care of.” Mei sighed, leaning against the wall.

Satoru’s heartbeat slowed down a little, since it was beating so fast, worried that you got seriously hurt.

“The curse should be happy it’s dead.” He muttered under his nose glaring at the ceiling, still mad at himself that you got hurt, if only there was a way to give you infinity…

After some time a doctor came out and Satoru immediately hurried to him “Is she alright?!”

“And you are?” The doctor asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Husband of Y/N.”

“Oh yes, she’s alright no need to worry. She didn’t lose a lot of blood. You can go see her.” Satoru let out a sigh of relief as he was about to make his way into the hospital room you’re in.

“I forgot to mention, the baby is fine too.”

…

…

Satoru paused, his whole body freezing. Even Mei Mei’s eyes widened as she was waiting with him. He sprinted towards your room, “YOU’RE PREGNANT?!” he ran into the room yelling, you’re eyes widening.

“wait wait hold up- what?” You replied, confusion on your face.

“The doctor said ‘the baby is fine too’! Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you go to the mission??” He said confused, as he walked up to the bed you were lying in.

“Because I didn’t know that I’m pregnant!” You were as shocked as him, you were just staring at each other before grins appeared on your faces and tears in eyes.

“W-We’re going to be parents?” You whispered as Satoru wrapped his arms around you, kissing you all over your face.

“I’m going to be a daddy…” a huge grin on his face.

“You’re an idiot for putting yourself in danger-“

“Please shut up Toru.”

Nanami Kento

Four days. Four days since you were supposed to get your period. At first you ignored it, thinking it’s just your cycle changing, it’s never perfect.

But then the morning sickness came. Maybe you just ate something bad? Yeah that’s the reason-

“Do you still want kids?” You asked Kento as both of you cuddled in bed. He was slightly surprised by the question, not expecting to be asked that.

“If you want kids, I want kids. If you don’t want kids, I don’t want kids.” He said, his hand caressing your head.

“Why ask that all of a sudden?”

“My periods late.”

“I noticed that, maybe it’s just your cycle changing?” Right, you forgot that this man knows you more than you do, always knows when you’re supposed to get your period.

“I thought that too until I started puking my guts out every morning.”

There was a moment of silence when suddenly Kento got up and started putting his clothes on. “Where-”

“I’m going to the pharmacy, it closes in 20 minutes so I still have time to buy a pregnancy test.” Your eyes watered at his words, getting up as well and immediately pulling him into a hug.

“Are… you mad?” You asked quietly, letting out a sniffle. He grabbed your face with his hands, connecting your foreheads. “Sweetheart, if that test comes out positive I’m going to be the happiest man alive, even though I already am because I was blessed with you.” He connected your lips in a passionate kiss for a minute, then leaving to go to the pharmacy.

It has been months since he left, he abandoned you because of your pregnancy.

(I had to I’m sorry 😭)

You were stressed as hell, you wanted a child but didn’t expect one now. Pregnancy and taking care of a child was a big deal, you were also happy that it was Kento and no one else, he’s literally perfect, always taking care of you.

The alarm on your phone went off as you looked towards the pregnancy test which was now done, taking a deep breath as you picked it up.

Positive

Tears immediately streaming down your cheeks as you wrapped your arms around your husband. He had a huge smile on his face, you could’ve sworn to god that you saw tears forming in his eyes.

“You’re going to be an amazing mama.” He whispered as he kissed your temple “and you’re going to be an amazing daddy.”

“I love you so much.”

Sukuna Ryomen

You and him never really had a talk about having children.

Firstly - you were sure he didn’t want kids because he’s a menace. Secondly - was it even possible for him to have kids?

Not to mention the way he acts around them, whenever on a date or just taking a walk and there’s a kid, he always rolls his eyes. Annoyed at the bratty child.

So imagine your surprise when you saw the two visible lines on all of the four tests you bought.

Well shit

You immediately started thinking of all the scenarios on what could happen when you told Ryomen, of course the first ones that appeared in your mind were the bad ones.

You never really thought about kids yourself, you wouldn’t mind one but you were also terrified of pregnancy and birth, you’ve heard so many stories on the internet and it was a huge no for you.

What if he wanted you to have an abortion? You weren’t against it but you also couldn’t get yourself to do it.

What if he would leave you?

What if-

“Woman, how long can you be in the bathroom?” Your eyes widened as you immediately hid the pregnancy tests in the trash, taking deep breaths and wiping off the tears that were about flow down your cheeks.

“Gosh, I’m out.” You opened the door letting out a forced laugh, he stared at you with an emotionless expression

“What is it.” You raised your eyebrow at the question, “what?” Confusion written on your face as you stared at him.

“Brat, did you forget that I can feel your emotions?” well shit, you did indeed forget, were you going to tell him? Of course- not.

“I-I just saw a sad video about a puppy.” You mumbled with a small pout, making up a quick lie.

“You humans are weird.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. You let out a sigh, thank god he believed you.

…

He did in-fact not believe you, but he decided not to push it.

Just a few hours later he saw a pink object in the trash while he was in the bathroom, grabbed it and saw the words

two lines : pregnant one line : not pregnant

And how many lines were there? Two.

Was he surprised? Yes

Was he mad? Yes

But it’s not because of the pregnancy itself, but because you didn’t tell him.

You were sitting on the couch watching tv when he came stomping down the stairs, and throwing the pregnancy test on the coffee table in front of you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You were once again, in shock, unable to say anything

“Kuna I-”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked once again now more louder, you looked down at the floor and bit your lip.

“I was scared…” you whispered, that actually surprised him. The woman that actually had the strength to put up with him, tease him, annoy him for fun while the whole world was scared of him, was ‘scared’?

“Why the fuck-“

“Because you don’t want a child!” You said now louder, tears in your eyes, thinking he’ll abandon you now.

He was taken aback, brows furrowed “I never said that.” Before you could say anything else he continued.

“I know I’m not the… best material for a ‘father’ but why would you think I would leave after finding out you have a living creature inside your stomach.”

“You always act annoyed when you see a child and always make comments, what else was I supposed to think?” You huffed out, burying your head in your knees.

He grabbed your face, making you look at him. “So dumb…” he scoffed before attacking your lips with his. Your eyes widened as you yelped.

“You know I act like that around every single filthy human except you. That child is my creation and my heir, I’ll accept it.”

“So… you don’t want to leave me? Aww-”

“Right now I’m temped to-“

“ M’sorry my lord.” You laughed, kissing him again.

there will probably be a part two with more characters, don’t blame me if there’s any mistakes I wrote this at 3 am dying of heat and exhaustion ahahah

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( eleventh installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , profanity , prostitution , bisexual! toji , smut , spit , gunplay

୨୧˚ an; if there are plot holes, no there aren’t. i just wanted an excuse to write toji suckin on some gun🧌

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

His hair is wet, sopping and adhering to the canvas of his forehead. Back at the hotel, Toji set the record for the world’s shortest shower, forsaking even a once-over with a towel in favor of slipping his clothes right back on. He doesn’t even recall the shitty excuse he tossed at his one night stand, not bothering to stay long enough to hear her response. Quickness was of the utmost importance, the man told himself to justify blowing through four separate red lights. 

Oh, the irony. Because now, Toji stands before the grand entrance of your extravagant abode with a palm flat against the column of wall beside the door as he staves off constant hitch wracking his lungs. Unhurried, stagnant, moving as though he was thawing out frozen limbs. The last half hour having been spent on nothing but hastiness, it is at this time when all of these troubles and concerns fight their way to the front end of Toji’s mind. 

The most prominent question: why?

Why did you ask him here? What use could you possibly get out of his shriveled husk?

Toji knows where your spare key is. Beneath the clay pot, the one flourishing with a bouquet of pastel Hydrangea flowers. Glaringly obvious to any happening stranger—Toji had barked at you endlessly to swap its hiding spot for one a little less in plain-fucking-sight, and everytime you told him you’d get to it. And you never did. Idiot woman. He steals a glance to the pot once more and notices the flowers’ stems have a lot more limpness in them than he remembers. Wilted. Poor little things.

Toji knows where your spare key is. He knocks anyway. The side of his fist pounding poplar wood once, twice, three times, and then he takes a step back. Blunted thumbnails pick at the callouses welded into the inside of his knuckles. 

He can’t even blink before the door peels ajar. Fast, like you’d been waiting nearby for him. 

The permanent slouch in his spine corrects itself when Toji stiffens. Shoulders squared, thick fingers curled into iron fists against his thighs. And like the colossal moron he is, Toji doesn’t speak. He just looks at you, standing there in the openness between door and frame. A downy robe obscures you in its rouge silk, cascading down just barely passing the center of your thigh. Your thigh… Toji observes more carefully, noting the bulky extremity protruding out from the side of your shapely leg. A boxy bulge sheathed under a reddish robe; the man scoffs. 

 “Thank you for coming,” you break the silence first, offering all-too polite benediction. Almost robotic, like you’d recited it from a script you memorized. 

“Yeah,” Toji replies, curt.

Mores standing, more silence. Melodic chirps from the crickets fill the chasms of dead air. 

Then finally, finally, you make a move. Toeing the door wider with a bare foot, stepping back to accommodate his bulky constitution. “Come inside.” It is a quiet command, the last words you speak before pivoting on a heel and heading deeper into your home. Toji acts on the instruction, plodding in your trail. He kicks the door shut with the outsole of his muddy boot. 

“Sorry,” there goes your second apology of the night, “I know it’s late.”

He doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn't care much for these pointless I’m sorry’s right now. You’ve guided Toji into the living room—back toward him, shifting weight between legs, plucking at the stitches along the seam of your garb. Toji stands merely ten paces behind, awkward in the way he is uncertain of what to do. What to say. Existing here, in your presence, in your house… it all felt so disgustingly unnatural now. He should've never come back to this place. God, he should’ve never done a lot of things.

“Why am I here?” Toji asks bluntly. Cutting to the chase, because the suspense of anticipating the worst has his stomach coiling in sharp knots. He’s waiting for a fleet of officers to come barrelling down your staircase, ready to gun him down where he stands. Or, alternatively and arguably more dread-inducing, you’ve corralled him here so you can collect proper reparations for all the anguish he’s put you through. Both would be thoroughly deserved.

A glance is thrown from over your shoulder. “I have something for you. Please, sit.” 

“Okay.”

Toji settles on the sofa while you pad upstairs. He never cared much for your couch, its expensive leather was stiff and unforgivingly uncomfortable. Like it was brand new. Like you never had time to sit in it with the schedule you worked. That was the setting for the rest of the room, as well—unlived in in appearance, cold and empty. 

Footsteps thud. He turns his head and watches you curiously as you reemerge from the second level of the house. A ball of worn fabric swaddles your fist.

Toji sits up a little, looking up to where you stand before him with the puzzling bundle of textile. “Is that my..?”

“Your shirt,” you finish for him, tossing the thing into Toji’s chest, to which it hits before tumbling limply into his lap. Not for a second does he bother sparing a glimpse to the useless shirt; still, he commits to your eyes, hoping that you can decipher the inquisitiveness in his. 

Gravelly and mystified, “what?”

“You left your shirt here the last time—”

“What?” A decrepit, holey tee shirt cannot be the reason why he’s sitting on your couch right now. In a bone-crushing clutch, the shirt sits braving force from Toji’s iron fist. He holds it with such conviction that his fingers activate a tremble.

You’re not stupid. You’re the most intelligent, most sagacious woman—person—he knows. So it really fucking irks him when you continue to play oblivious. 

“What do you mean, what?”

“I’m not here right now because of a dumb shirt.”

Your lips smack together pensively, looking fixedly at the drab, eggshell walls. To the porcelain tiles now scuffed from being grazed on by two bespattered tactical boots. To your own feet, to the perturbed curl of your toes. To anywhere besides him. Never had you avoided looking at Toji so unmitigatedly, as if locking eyes for even a split second would cause worldwide devastation.

He reflects upon the night you’d thrown him out, discarding him back to the streets where he belonged. “‘Get the fuck out of my home’, she says,” Toji mumbles a recitement of your own words, struggling to keep the muzzle on his distaste. Elbows on his knees, head in his hand, he taps his index to his lip in thought. “You hate me, and then suddenly you like me enough to return my damn shirt… What kind of game are you playing? Just fucking cut it out and be blunt about what you want from me because I’ve had a really shit day and I’m not in the mood to be cute for you, Y/n.”

You bear his outburst in stride, pulling a face of forlorn at his apparent exhaustion. You don’t shout back at him, nor do you comment on his attitude that you’d surely never let slide in the past. 

“Okay.” 

On tiptoes, you shuffle closer to fit between Toji’s spread thighs. There is a streak of hesitation that perpetually hugs around your body, he realizes, because every which way you turn oozes trepidation in its slow tempo. Jitters teeter down your person, oscillations so tangible that it sways your hair. “You’re shakin’,” Toji annotates, tilting his chin back to gaze up at you. Shaking like a leaf, in fact, and he wonders where all your composure has fled to. “Why’re—”

“I need to…” You take a pause to swallow down the thick ball of uneasiness clogging your esophagus. A sheen glints along your forehead, cheeks, neckline; fucking sweat. “I have to confirm something.”

You are off. This whole situation is off, and Toji can’t pin a point on any of it until…

Slowly, clumsily, your hand glides down the elegant curve of your oblique, toward the ponderous bulk against your thigh. With the brain of a seasoned assassin, Toji pieces the puzzle together with time to spare. Time he could’ve spent lunging at you, pinning you to the floor beneath his body weight, subduing your wrists in the cuffs of his own fingers. But he doesn’t. Be it a product of his own stupidity, his lackluster will to live, or maybe even his inextinguishable urge to devote his trust to you, Toji lets you draw open the curtain of your robe and pull your concealed gun on him. 

With heavy puffs of breathing, you direct the barrel of your handgun toward the centerpoint of his chest. It wobbles in a hybrid of uncertainty and inexperience, and there’s a cold, metallic rattle discernible the whole time. Toji admires the gun—it’s a small thing, some flavor of a colt pistol with a cask forged from iron. It looks weighty and misplaced in the palms of your delicate hands. 

“Nice piece,” he allots useless, apathetic praise. 

Evidently, you aren’t in the mood to reciprocate his quips. “Be serious.”

“I am.”

There is something picturesque about you in this context, it overpowers the innate fear he should be feeling right now. You tower before him like a deus ex machina, his own personal angel of death, granting him divine reprieve from this remarkably bleak concept of life. Toji wants to kneel, call you beautiful, and kiss your feet in appreciation.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I liked you.” Those words contradict the finger you hold against the trigger. You shake your head, contracting the muscles in your jaw. “Was it just a version of you that I fell for?”

Toji concedes. “Yeah.”

“Do I even know you?”

His thick eyebrows furrow at the question. Do I even know you? “There’s so much I haven’t told you yet.”

You sneer, “you mean, so much you’ve lied abou—”

“No.” Toji holds up his hand, a pardon to interrupt. Because he has never spewed untruths in lieu of keeping his double life a secret. He never lied about his job, his addictions, his mental instability—there were no flimsy excuses, Toji had simply pretended his weaknesses did not exist. You made him forget they were even there in the first place. “No, I didn’t lie. Not once.”

“Then what purpose did you have for me at all?” Wetness glistened over rounded eyes, and wistful tears began to collect along your lash line. Toji watches a bead of sadness break loose, hanging from a cluster of eyelashes. Looking up to the ceiling, you attempt to blink it away. “I just… Fuck. I promised myself I wouldn’t sleep with you—wouldn’t get attached—but you… Why did you lay with me?”

The gun still aims to his heart. “I wanted to.”

“I feel like my head is spinning,” you weep, sniffling in the air. So utterly hopeless. “I feel like I don’t know you at all. Or your intentions.” You were a woman of prowess and authority, a real powerhouse in the sense that you always seemed to just know. Knowing what, knowing why, knowing how; he was so strangely drawn to that superlative superpower, finding your wisdom one of the most alluring things in the world. So perhaps that’s why Toji feels worse than cow shit right now, subjected to the awful sight of your realization that you truly don’t know who he is. The reigns were relinquished from your hands. “I’m scared, Toji.”

“Of me?” A stupid question he already knows good and well the answer to, but he asks anyway.

You whimper out your answer with a dejected nod. “Yes.”

The sorrow that oozes from your stare physically hurts, something akin to watching an eclipse with naked eyes, so Toji fixates on the handgun instead. The metallic shine indicates that it was recently purchased and most likely never used. You must’ve bought the thing specifically for this purpose.

“Are you going to kill me, Y/n?”

There’s no response. It aggravates him. 

“Are you?” Toji asks once more, projecting a rougher tone. Digging for an answer. 

Through tears, you whimper out a little reply, a question to his question. “Will you stop me?”

No. No, he fucking won’t. He sees through your plan; you’re waiting for him to lash out, to fight for his life. You want him to give you a reason to pull the trigger and prove your theories right—theories that he’s nothing more than a dangerous, vindictive animal hell bent on satiating his bloodlust. But Toji isn’t much of anything other than a torpid waste of oxygen. He won’t combat fate, he won’t put his hands on you even in the face of death. Toji takes your shaking wrist into his hand, keeping every last movement slow and sticky. You flinch away upon contact, but the look in his eyes was nothing if not assuaging, so you let yourself be handled. He draws you near, close enough to press the end of the barrel directly against his head. “Aim here,” he instructs with a lulling timbre, and fixes the thing to rest harshly on his temple. “It’ll be quicker. Less blood.”

Horrified, “what are you doing?”

“I ain’t gonna get violent with you.” Toji feels ready. This is okay, to die in a room as pretty as this one, facing a sorry sight as pretty as you. It’ll be a hassle to clean up for you, but you’re sharp as a knife. You’ll figure it out. His other hand, the one not attached to your forearm, rises to touch at your hip. Massaging over the thick robe, holding the dip of your waist with a vice grip. “If this is what I gotta do to prove myself, then fine. I’m ready, so take the safety off and put a bullet in my brain already.”

“N-no…”

“Yes.” He jimmies your arm, coaxing you to shoot. “Fucking do it, I know you can.”

“No!” You roar in his face, lips reeled back in a desperate snarl. “No, you made your point!” A knee sinks into the space of cushion between Toji’s legs, a hand clawing at his forearm. “Stop it, enough already!”

Toji is bemused by your fanfare of emotion. He barely winces as you work hard to pry your wrist from his handhold, scratching overgrown and timeworn acrylics into the tough flesh of his arm. “I can’t keep up with you, woman.” He tuts, observing the struggle. “Y’kick me out, then you call me back. Don’t talk to me for months, but you’re paying my rent. Pull a gun on me, then start crying when I give you a push.” Reaching up, Toji finds the warmth of your neck, cupping his palm to it. Sliding up and up, pushing your jaw with thick fingers because he needs you to stop focusing on the gun and start focusing on him. Your head is steered by his ginger hand, forcing your guys’ eyes to bridge. “You had me fooled. Here I thought you were more mature than whatever-the-fuck this is.”

“You want to talk about maturity?” Like a coin, the doleful effusion you bled was flipped into bewildered agitation. Fire ignites underneath your tongue and Toji braces for its heat.

“Yeah, sure,” ever the impudent asshole, “let’s talk.”

You give him a funny look. A you have a lot of fucking nerve look. “It’s because of your immaturity that we’re here right now!” Getting closer, your other leg fits across the opposite side of his, effectively perching yourself over his thick thigh. Toji grunts under the force in which you sit down. “You and your stupid flirtations. You made me believe that we could have…” Breaking off into a frustrated groan, you shook your head. “How selfish can you be, Toji? To pursue me when you know damn well what you’ve done is unforgivable.”

The tip of his tongue finds his molars, and he looks away for a moment to analyze your question. A moment that is cut entirely too short when you return the favor of maneuvering his head. “No, you need to look at me, too.”

There isn’t any elaborate reasoning he can present to you on a silver dish. When it comes down to the brass tacks of it all, that was just it: Toji is selfish. The only taste of love Toji had ever gotten was when he was young and dumb in his early twenties, spontaneously marrying the first woman who convinced him that he was worthy of tenderness. God, she was gentle with him, seizing his heart in her hands with so much caution and kindness that it made him physically ill. When she passed, he was positive that his heart had been buried alongside her deep in the Earth. That warmth never returned, not once in the years following when he’d find himself falling into strangers’ beds for a quick living. And he’d curse himself, reliving memories of her every night before sleep. So young and dumb, far too much so to appreciate what he had; what he’d never get again. 

But then you came along. 

Man, what a plot twist you were.

“You make me feel things.” What the fuck is he even saying? ‘You make me feel things’? That explanation was about as insightful as a child would be. Toji has never so directly spoken about his feelings before, this is challenging. 

Non-judgemental, you heed his message and urge him to continue. “Good things or bad things?”

“Uh,” Toji thinks for a second, “nostalgic things? I… Haven’t felt like this in a long time.”

“Felt like what?”

There comes a pregnant pause, and Toji takes this time to peer up at you. You sit tall on his leg, head at a tilt while you wait patiently for him to select a word. An attribute that you shock into his system every time you enter the vicinity. It’s a shitty, embarrassing answer, but he spits it out anyway. “Loved.” Using your quiet to his advantage, Toji prattles on. “Or somethin’ like that. I’m a fucking moron though, for thinking I could keep secrets. Selfish is a good way to put it.”

“You’ve killed people for money. You are the epitome of the word selfish.”

“That shit’s behind me.”

You reel, leaning back in his lap to gauge Toji’s expression. “Really?” It’s asked with skepticism, and Toji’s eye twitches.

“What, you think I’m bullshitting?” His hand involuntarily squeezes your wrist, a futile attempt to communicate his sincerity through touch. “No, I haven’t taken a job since last I left your place. I quit.”

This discovery retires some of that scorn. With a weaker voice than before, “officially?”

Toji gives you a subtle nod. “As much as you want to believe I liked dropping bodies, I really, really didn’t.”

There is a hint of a smile, just barely curling at the corner of your lip, before it droops back down into the biggest frown he’s seen you wear all night. “But then wait a second… Where have you been getting your income from? I stopped issuing checks when we—” You stop yourself from saying it. 

“Ah, I’ve just been,” shit, what a dilemma. “Getting some sugar.” It comes out with an awkward chuckle. It’s not a complete lie, sugar baby-ing and prostituting—it was all sex work nevertheless. He isn’t fond of the whorish implication, but you know him. You’ve seen him at his sluttiest, and you weren't disgusted.

“You’ve been having sex?” You veer in toward him. There is no shock or discomfort lacing your words—you know him—only bona fide earnestness. 

“Yeah.” Toji feels compelled to say sorry, but he doesn’t. “I needed the cash.” He doesn’t care to rally the question back at you, doesn’t care to know if you’ve fucked anyone else.

It’s subtle, but he can feel the pity radiating off you, seeping into his pores and burrowing under flesh. You look at him the same way you’d look at a scraped-up mutt abandoned on the side of the highway. He fucking despises that look from anyone else, but from you? It’s not so bad. If anything, it’s maybe even a bit soothing, the way you can console him with just your eyes. 

“Toji, let go of my arm.”

He does as told, dripping your wrist. The handgun falls to the couch, neglected, but Toji doesn’t get the chance to watch it because you’re shrouding the view. A buxom body nestles against the convex of Toji’s ample chest, two arms coil around his thick neck, fingers scritching over his scalp. You’re hugging him.

“Is this okay?” You must’ve felt him stiffen under the weight of your affections, perhaps you took it as a sign of discomfort. But that’s not it at all; the hesitation was a byproduct of Toji’s emotional stoicism. A defense mechanism he’s built for himself, successful in warding off contingence. Sex was okay. Sex was gritty and rugged and crude, enough to make him forget he was being touched at all. But this? Fucking hugging? 

How childish was he for submitting to something so teenage? This was the equivalent of popping a boner from hand holding.

And still… “I like it.” Once again, he lets you tear down his walls. Succumbing to you felt organic, almost as if Toji could just close his eyes and let muscle memory guide his limbs to their place. A heavy head knocks forward, plummeting in the valley between your breasts that have been exposed by the plunging neckline of your robe. Unbeknownst to you, the knot holding it closed had untied itself somewhere in the haste, and it has become more of a loose garnish to your body clad in nothing more than a matching set of dark, rebellious little underwear. Strong arms return the gesture, squeezing you to him so tightly that you must let out an audible oomph as your lungs constrict.

“I like it…” Toji repeats under his breath, nosing a path up to your clavicle. On you, notes of that saccharine, peachy body wash he’d once massaged into your skin. He takes self-indulgent whiffs, closing his eyes to hyperfixate on his sense of smell. “I like you.”

Totally abrupt, no sensibility in the manner, Toji blurts it out. Those three bedeviled words he swore to condemn to the pit of his guts, never to be released aloud. His conscience dictates his actions now, apparently, because the man has no longer any will to swallow his sentiments. After all the terrible, traumatizing shit he’s dragged you through, it’s the least he can offer. You’ve been deserving of those three words for a while now, Toji just never knew how to give them to you. As it turns out, it’s a lot simpler than his imaginations led him to believe. 

“You’ve never told me that before.”

He holds you impossibly tighter, hands flat and feeling the landscape of your back. “You knew, though.”

The hand in Toji’s dampened hair clenches when he ghosts his lips over that throbbing neck vein. “Still, you could have said it sooner.”

“I’m sorry.” He kisses you there, then kisses you again. Slow and tantalizing, just the way you liked. “Sorry for being awful.”

Teeth peek out and catch your skin. 

“I don’t—” you stop to gasp, cradling Toji’s head and holding him deep into the crib of your neck. “Think you’re awful.”

“Mm.” Blindly, he gropes the cushion beside his thigh, feeling for the discarded gun. Toji taps the cool metal against the chub of your cheek, attentive to the trigger—he never goes near it. Catching you in a lidded staring contest, “you use this on good guys, then?”

You pull a grimace. “I don’t use it at all.”

Toji is thoroughly amused. “You were gonna use it on me,” he chuckles quietly, so close to your pretty face that the point of his nose brushes yours. “Or were you just tryin’ to give me a scare?”

“I…” You trail off into brief thought. “I was afraid. I’m only a normal woman, Toji, it’s not everyday I find myself in the presence of a criminal.”

Again, he laughs, thumb sweeping back drapery that shades your thigh. You make no efforts to halt him, instead just following his line of sight all the way down to the black, leathery holster strapped high upon your thigh. Something about it is so enticing, the way fat pudges out along the sides of the tight strip. Like a garter belt, but a thousand times sexier. “‘Normal’ my ass.” Toji plucks the thing, gauging its limitation to stretch, before releasing it to snap back into place and choke your squishy thigh once more. You yelp, smacking his bicep.

“That hurt, asshole.”

“Sorry,” Toji apologizes loosely. He shakes the gun, hearing its rattle. “So this was a test, then.” There is no quizzical lilt, because there is no question about it. It was a test of trust. The weapon was a mere instigator, a tool to coax Toji into showing his ‘truest colors’; unmasking his supposed violent tendencies. All that trust you placed in Toji’s basket must’ve vanished on that rainy night, in the wake of his confession to murder. All that trust… It soured into bitter doubt. 

“A very idiotic, very flawed test,” you sigh, on the cusp of a humorless smirk. “You passed, by the way.”

“I don’t feel like I did. You thought that I would’ve hurt you.”

“I was just preparing for the worst case scenario.” 

The way in which he surveyed you was kindred to the nature of religion. Gritty fingertips explored your Holy face, and Toji worshiped every feature. Could you truly not see how sacred you are to him? Toji doesn’t caress the faces of his quick fucks, and he certainly wouldn’t surrender his life to them. 

“Put that thought out of your brain. Right now. I will never put my hands on you.”

You look flushed. Your cheek kindles warmth beneath his hand. “I want to kiss you.”

Toji’s instantaneous submission was laughable. Jaw unhinging, scarred lips parting wide, tongue twitching with anticipation. He opens his mouth for you and waits.

His face gets clamped in between two tenacious hands. Nails dig into Toji’s face as he’s yanked in to meet you in a teeth-clanking lip lock. It feels like a breath of fresh air, to kiss you like this again. Suddenly, he forgets what those strangers’ genitals tasted like. He forgets the taste of coke dripping down the back of his throat after snorting his fifth line in one night. Forgets the taste of soupy, liquor-flavored bile. All Toji knows is you and your nectarous little mouth. Your honeyed tongue is a tyrant in his mouth, dominating every wet corner, branding your essence into his taste buds. 

“I missed you,” Toji laments into your lips. He grapples with your hips, manhandling them into a constant gyration deep onto the crux of his lap. “I missed us.”

“I can tell,” you mumble and give a sharp grind against him. Against the prominent tent beaming up from the crotch of his pants, and he shudders. Then, you look at him stone cold sober from lust and ask him foolishly, “do you want to have sex right now?”

A nasally exhale huffs out, because you have to be joking with him. “My cock’s hard, ain’t it?” 

You’re a beacon of po-faced prudishness, all the while he pants for more. “Your erection is a given, considering the position we’re in,” close-grained and consolidated in intimacy. You tap Toji’s forehead, “how do you feel up here? I’d like to know.”

Such shitty pillow talk, but even still, Toji felt rosy. It made him feel acknowledged; recognized as more than just a dick to bounce on. Fuck, you’re really turning him on with that corny, mushy bullshit. “I’m good,” he tells you honestly. “I want you.”

I want to be inside of you.

“And you’ll let me know if that feeling changes?”

He groans against your cheek, “Jesus, yes, just fuckin’ touch me.”

“Ask me appropriately.”

Here he goes, sounding like a little bitch again. “Please, m-ma’am… Take it out.” Another memory to add to his internal cringe compilation.

Satisfied, you sit up on your haunches. “Lift your ass.” He does so, and accepts your help to shimmy the waistband of those constricting pants down to quarter thigh. Just low enough to make a spectacle of the hard rod straining against the thin material of his snug boxer briefs; gray and breathable and damp with his pre-ejaculant.

“Shit.” Toji huffs, giving a weak jerk when your hands begin the delicate procedure of feeding his slippery appendage through the piss hole at the front of his ruined underwear. He watches you pull him out with grace—he’s privy to the consideration you show to his most sensitive spots when you handle him like this. He thinks it’s endearing.

There his dick stands, tall and proud in the valley where both pairs of hips meet flush with one another. Toji looks down at the pinkish thing, watches the way it drifts back to hit his navel, falling under its own mass. “Rub me,” Toji whispers with his forehead pressed against the shelf of your shoulder, gazing down under heavy lids to watch his own dick drool spittle into his tee shirt. A hand precipitously hangs below his chin, fingers and palm working with each other to create a makeshift bowl. Assuming to catch something. 

“Spit, Toji.”

A second hand strokes the back of his skull, and the gesture emmenates patience. There’s only a split second of hesitation before he grants your vulgar request. Toji swishes his tongue around, collecting every ounce of saliva that coats the inner seams of his sticky mouth before opening up. The wet muscle unfurls, and a waterslide of spit cascades down into the palm of your awaiting hand. He’s rewarded for his efforts—good job, Toji—before you get down to business. 

His spit is cold when it smears along his tip. Toji bites his lip, sinks his digits deep into the meat of your ass, and fixates on keeping a composed breathing pattern because fuck, your hand was magical. You jerk him off leisurely, maintaining languid strokes that squeeze tighter near the peak of his length. “This alright?” You coo next to Toji’s ear, keeping your free hand busy playing with his raven locks. 

Toji makes a pitiful, throaty noise in response. “Do it faster.”

“No.”

He grits his teeth. “Unfair…” Toji’s hands tremble. To combat this, he begins grabbing at the robe still hugging over you, shielding that sexy body from his perverted glare. You make no indications that he should stop, so he doesn’t. Shucking off that expensive, red cape down your perfect shoulders, splitting the front open right down the middle. It’s a black, lacy little number, and the cups of your darling bralette plead transparency.

Toji pulls the thing up without dawdling, sighing blithely at the heavenly prospect of your perfect breasts bared and ready to be taken by his mouth. “God.” He captures your tit in one hand, squeezing it, playing with its weight. Your latter breast gets swiftly tucked between his lips, subjected to enthusiastic teasing from Toji’s tongue. He’s teething, rolling your budding nipple between rows of ivory fangs like he’s trying for milk. 

“You’re so hungry for it.”

“You've been depriving me of this,” Toji emphasizes his point with a long, keen lick to your cleavage. “An’ you expect me not to be starving.”

You pull him off your chest by the scruff of his neck, hoisting Toji’s heavy head up at your face level. Saliva moistens his lips, and you take your time swiping up his spit with your deft thumb pad. “Shall we get on with it, then?” Condescension and sympathy duel each other when you speak to him, like he is the unreasonable one for becoming a frenzied mess of sensuality. 

Toji is about to answer when it catches his eye. The glinting iron barrel, taunting him. It sits once more at the side of his thigh, untouched and forgotten. Begging to be used.

“I want you to fuck me.” There’s a brief intermission of silence while he collects the weapon, grabbing it by the cask and offering you its handle. You’re inquisitive, staring at the thing with uncertainty, so Toji lays his motives out across the table. “Hold this on me while you do it.”

You chortle, expecting his laugh to come next. But it never does, so you stop and raise a brow. “Come again?”

“You went through the trouble of buying this just for me, yeah?” It was obvious to anyone with two working eyes that you had no experience maintaining firearms. The gun was spotless, brand-spanking-new, and never had you mentioned to Toji that you keep something so dangerous in your home. So yeah, you can try to deny it all you want, but he knows that the only reason you now own a pistol is in case you needed to pop a cap in his brain. “Now I’m asking you to use it.”

“Toji,” you sweatdrop, “I don’t think…”

He takes your hand in his and presses the grip of the gun into your palm before securing your fingers around its silicon. Wide eyes look at him with pure solicitousness. “It’s okay.” Just like before, he steers you into position. “Jus’ keep your arm up like this. Hold it to my head. Yeah, perfect.”

“This is sick, even for you.” Despite your words, you don’t sound too dismayed. 

“Been rocking a half chub the second you pointed it at me.” 

“Filthy.”

Toji hums offhandedly, peeking down at your panty-clad pussy. Your undies were cute, he thinks, teasing the tiny ribbon bow perched on the waistband with a feather-light fingertip. Twin ebony fibers crafted the panties, just as chiffon as the bra. “Gets me off,” he shrugs, hooking his index beneath the gusset and dragging it to the side where it’ll stay in the crease of your thigh. Toji can feel the blaze of your core grate against his hand. You’re turned on. He looks back at you. “Putting my life in your hands.”

You’re shifting, stretching up a little higher to accommodate his cock. One of your knees props up at a right angle, the other remains firmly planted into the couch. “You’re so insane.” Ruddiness blooms along Toji’s neck when you hawk a wad of spit into your hand and bring it down to rub yourself. Lubricating yourself for him, moaning for him, fuck. He’s holding himself too. 

“Aintcha feelin’ powerful, though?” Toji challenges haughtily, slapping his swollen tip against your pubic bone. In response, he feels the barrel of the handgun sink a little rougher into the thin skin on his temple, and it makes him chuckle out loud. “Makes you wanna give it to me harder, don’t it?”

Tacky, spit-soaked fingers catch the angle of his running jaw with a grip so taut, it squishes his cheeks and forces his lips into a reluctant pout. “What am I going to do with that mouth?” You glower, and his mind races with a catalog of hundreds of different risque solutions to propose. However, he doesn’t get one out before your next order: “Put it in.”

And he does right away. A concoction of spit, semen, and cunt juice made the insertion process quick and painless. Without delay, your hips crash down into his lap, and it draws a paltry cheep past his clenched teeth. Fronts stick together thanks to the bone-crushing bear hug he ensnares you in. You give in, throwing your arms over his broad shoulders to attune to the sudden adjacency. He can feel a hard, steely nozzle trace around the circumference of his skull, ending at the base behind his head. 

And that’s how you two sit for a while; inside one another, breathing humid puffs of carbon dioxide into each other’s necks. 

“I’m… Gonna move now.”

“Please,” Toji murmurs.

 Hands walk down your spine, finding purchase on the malleable globes of your ass. Toji kneads like it’s dough; grabbing, pulling, grinding you back and forth. This is how sex should feel, you’ve made him come to realize. Equal parts raw and nasty in perfect tandem with intimacy and comfort. Hell, you have a fucking gun trained at his cerebellum, and even with that unusual addition, this is the safest sex he’s had in months. 

You are an expert in the ways of motion, methodically pirouetting those godsent curves in the most salacious degrees. “Oh God, don’t fucking stop,” Toji pleads, lapping against the slope of your neck. It’s killing him, the way you’re fucking his body deep into the couch like you owned it. It’s physically strenuous to keep his teeth at bay. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

The gun clinks against his head, the thud echoing in his mushy brain. “Hey,” you manage to pant out between short grunts. “No marks, y-you know that.”

Oh. Right. Stupid fucking professional job bullshit…

In the throes of Toji’s desire to swallow you whole, your warning goes in one ear and flies right out the other. “It’ll be fine,” he hushes you, skimming his sharp canines up your throat. 

“Toji.”

“How about here, then?” Before you could say ‘knife’, the tip of a tongue prodded into your ear. Swiveling around, collecting your flavor. Even here, you tasted clean. Like soapy chemicals, but not unpleasant. 

“Toji!”

You’ve stopped fucking him. Toji blinks, and suddenly, he’s being pushed into the back of the sofa by a hand in the center of his pectorals. It takes a second to catch his breath, but when he does, “what?”

Gawking, you palm your ear and cast a horrified look. “You can’t lick there! That’s dirty!”

“But I felt your pussy squeeze when I slid my tongue in—” He hacks around the foreign object. Did you just…?

“Your fucking mouth.” The barrel now lodges in his mouth, pressing back against Toji’s tongue hard enough to trigger salivary glands. It’s obvious that his nonchalance had rendered you harebrained, but thrusting the gun between his jaws like that was the last thing Toji expected you to do. It appeared that the surprise of it all was mutual—you, too, ogle your hand that holds the firearm. “Oh my—Toji, I’m sorry I didn’t—”

With haste, you move to reel back. But Toji’s reflexes are military grade, so he’s able to snag your wrist and hold you there. The shock subsided, and in its wake was the most intense form of pleasure he’d ever felt. Has there ever been a more pure forgery of submission than this? Choking on the loaded gun of your lover, hinging on each breath, wondering if your next will be your last. The whole concept is giving him a headrush far greater than any drug could. So Toji holds you in place, muffling out his pleas through the metal. Staring at you down his nose, eyes teeming with his adoration. 

I want it. And he means it. 

Thank God you’re not one of those dumb bimbo bitches he normally fucks with. You understand the message conveyed in his eyes. You see it. You’re not dense, you know what he wants, and you’ll give it to him. “Tap my leg if you need a break.” He won’t. 

The humping of his sore cock resumes, and any crumb of fortitude left within him curled up and wilted like the Hydrangeas on your front doorstep. He wilts too, collapsing back into the couch while you use his erection. 

You mewl contentedly, bracing yourself with a gentle touch to his pec. A stark contrast to the way your latter hand thrusted the piece in and out of Toji’s willing mouth. He’s not averse to something long and stiff down his throat—desperate times called for desperate measures, and if he had to suck a few cocks to cover the bills, then that’s exactly what he was gonna do. Though this was more enjoyable by miles, he thinks offhandedly while he stifles his gags. There’s no musty stench burning up his nasal cavity, no foul taste of unwashed skin. And a potential bullet was much more appetizing than the inevitable gluey spunk guaranteed at the end of every hummer. Spit bubbles up into a foamy mess at the corners of his lips as he sucks the gun. Sucks it like it’s attached to you, like you’ll be able to feel the way he coils his experienced tongue around the metallic muzzle.

“You’re really i-into that..” Awe infuses each shaky syllable, and Toji hopes maybe in some twisted rhyme or reason, he’s impressed you. Once more, he tries to talk back, but the barrier between his teeth results in utter incoherence. 

Orgasm was near shortly after, and the only warning Toji can supply is a broken half-cry, half-cough. His body began to jerk and twitch in strange ways. Like his right thigh, now sporting an uncontrollable tremble. Or his eyes rolling skyward. “You want to cum?” You asked softly despite your own impending climax, and you stroke the clenching muscles in his abdomen. 

“Nngh.” Fucking pathetic, but it’s the best he can do.

The muzzle clips the back of his throat, and tears spring into Toji’s trundling eyes. Everything gets brighter, and atmospheric sounds jumbled together into deadened white noise. Very distantly, weight lifts from his legs, and that’s when he can’t stop from diving over the edge of his orgasm.

Toji shakes, then shakes some more. Oh, his mouth is empty. When did that happen? Everything is wet and thick and syrupy. The brightness starts to fade, but even still, he has to cover his sensitive eyes with a forearm while he gasps his way back to reality. “Fu… F-fu… Ck…” You have diluted him down to nothing but a babbling idiot. Jesus Christ.

“—ji… Toji!”

Hazily, he peeks down from underneath his arm. You’re massaging soothing circles into his restless thighs that have still yet to calm down. But you’re doing it all with a quiet grin. “There he is.” 

I’m happy.

I’m happy.

Because you remind me that I can have good things.

There is your beautiful face, shining at the end of his orgasmic rainbow. Ready to clean up his mess, ready to talk him into slumber, ready to hold and caress under a shared blanket. Maybe he can deserve this—you—if he works hard enough.

Summoning whatever remained of his stamina, Toji lurches off the couch’s back to meet you into a sweet kiss. A simple kiss, devoid of any spit swapping; just his lips to yours.

“Here I am.”

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @4imhry @sugurubabe @mastermasterlist1p1 @mikisspeak @fluttershyfangs @iluv-ace @bratbby333 @mizzfizz @sserafin @wo-ming-bai @maexc @r0semultiverse @r0ckst4rjk @aesukuni @taelattecookie @purple-obsidian @hqtoge @khaothick @saintkaylaa @ya9amicide @crayzyaarna @saiki-enthusiast @haesify @nyamocka @sixxze @lifesucksweswallow @darkstarlight82 @megumisdivinedogs @celestialol @yunho-leeknow @ghostfacefricker6969 @aizawa19 @lupicalbestwolf @nymphsdomain @makuzume @killerkinnie @haesify @svnkenlily @bimbobunnii @ssc7514 @megumisfoot @swoozleee

[no-144444]

nothing bad!- o.piastri

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summary: the sprint pisses you off, ted's notebook catches you at a bad time, you say some things, oscar posts some things, and it ends up being one of the most popular ad campaigns in history. oops.

pairing: oscar piastri (no.81) x fem! driver! reader

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You rolled your eyes as you watched the sprint end. Bullshit. Team orders had always left a bad taste in your mouth, but this was just bullshit. You sighed, looking at Mark, and he just rolled his eyes. Oscar was on par with Lando in his second season. Yes, there were some small mistakes or issues, but he was a fucking jet engine, and he deserved a team that treated him like one. He was going to be World Champion next year, you knew it, Mark knew it, everyone knew it. 

“Fucking arseholes,” Mark cursed. “What time is your quali at?” 

“12,” you answered. “I’m going to just go talk to him, see you in a bit.” 

You stood in Parc Fermé and he came up, pressing a kiss to your lips and sighing as his team congratulated him. 

“That was such bullshit,” you sighed, following him to his driver’s room after the media duties. “Wanna fuck to get all that frustration out?” 

He nodded, not even looking at the question like it was a joke. You both knew it wasn’t. “How long until your quali?” 

“An hour,” you shrugged, pulling him into his room with a smirk. 

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When you two finally resurfaced, you made your way over to your car, ready to slot it onto the grid, as you did, you were stopped by Ted Kravitz, the man, the myth, the legend himself. 

“Y/n! How are you feeling about today’s quali and sprint race?” he asked. 

“Good, yeah. Just need to get out and up there,” you nodded. You were the number one driver in F1 Academy, and F2. This weekend was an F1 Academy weekend. You’d won every race since you’d joined the series, a sweep of total domination for 2 years. 13 wins under your belt in F1 Academy, 12 feature race wins in F2, and 12 Sprint wins in F2. And you were only 22. 

“And how did you feel about Oscar’s Sprint race? You didn’t look so happy in Parc Fermé.”

You rolled your eyes. “If Lando really needs Oscar to take a side step like that over one point, maybe he’s not ready to be champion,” you shrugged. “And that’s coming from a friend.” 

You could feel the air shift as Ted smirked, knowing what a headline that would be. 

“Thanks for your time Y/n, we’ll see you on the other side of Quali,” he smiled, allowing you to walk on. 

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Pole position, again. 

It was almost funny how easy it was. 

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You made your way back into your garage and found Oscar looking proud, but slightly guilty…

“What did you do?” you asked, putting your helmet and gloves down. 

“Nothing bad,” he prefaced. “But I may or may not have posted something.”

You looked at him quizzically. “Show me.” 

He turned his phone around and you laughed. 

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oscarpiastri

liked by pierregasly, landonorris, y/nracing, and 839,231 others

oscarpiastri: get yourself a girlfriend who a) is intelligent, gorgeous, and awesome. and b) publicly humiliates your teammate over one point :)

comments

landonorris: low blow... i thanked you -> y/nracing: u forgot to thank beyonce.

user82: WHAT IS GOING ON IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS

mclaren: please take this down xxx -> y/nracing: if he takes this down i'll bomb mtc. -> mclaren: OH GREAT HEAVENS.

zbrownceo: we know this diva 💜

lilymhe: hold up im trying to spell gorjus -> y/nracing: OMG I FUCKING LOVE YOU DITCH ALEX FOR ME PLZ

carlossainz: at least you've got a leg up on lando... -> user22: ??? -> carlossainz: he hjas a girlfriend that loves him, lando's dumps him every four days -> landonorris: WHY AM I CATCHING STRAYS RN????

oscarpiastri: who is this gorgeous lady? -> y/nracing: she's taken bucko -> oscarpiastri: not by lando norris 😹😹😹 (even though he asked you out first...) -> y/nracing: who the fuck would pick lando over oscar?

pierregasly: WHO IS THIS DIVA 💜

charlesleclerc: glad to see my daughter in law is still insane

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“Well, I’d better post something myself, shouldn't I?” you smirked. He nodded, a bright blush on his cheeks, knowing exactly what you were going to post. 

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y/nracing

liked by pierregasly, oscarpiastri, landonorris and 12,293,942 others

y/nracing: booo ln4. i'm into op81. oh yeah, also our skims collection is out on the 24th xxx

comments

user82: OH MY FUCKING GOD

user29: i have no one to talk to about this.

oscarpiastri: pretty girl -> y/nracing: pretty boy

landonorris: ??? ->oscarpiastri: I will actually gouge your eyes out, unlike this post right now. -> user92: WHAT HAPPENED TO POLITE CAT? -> oscarpiastri: his teammate became a bitch

user92: HOLY SHIT Y/N IS LOOKING GORG

lilymhe: my girl is beautiful

alexandrastmleux: my girl xxx

charlesleclerc: supporting! (with my eyes closed)

pierregasly: 👀 ->oscarpiastri: close them.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[vivwritesfics]

Mrs Doctor Reid

Nobody knew Spencer had a wife. But they found out. Nobody knew she was pregnant, not until she walks into the BAU sporting a sizeable bump.

1.2K

Season 4 Reid

Nobody on the team knew that Spencer Reid had a wife. Spencer Reid, the youngest member of the team, the resident genuis. He had a wife. And nobody knew. (Well, JJ knew, but she wasn't about to spill his secrets).

Before he had joined the BAU, Spencer had been engaged. They'd gotten married after his first year with the team, but neither of them wore a ring on their finger. She wore it around her neck and he carried it with him, fingerings it in the privacy of his hotel room.

Spencer told JJ. He had to tell somebody, just in case something happened to him. JJ was more than happy to keep her a secret for him. And, once she met Will, she understood why he wanted to keep her secret, keep her to himself.

Morgan was the first to find out. The case was a pickup artist, an unsub that was patrolling clubs to pick up women and murder them.

Morgan and Reid had been in the clubs, handing out flyers to give to the potentially vulnerable women. When Spencer teased Morgan for getting a lack of phone numbers, he challenged him. So, Spencer used magic to impress the girl at the bar. "Well, if you see anything, call me," he'd said with his usual awkward smile.

The awkward smile his wife loved.

"And, if I don't see anything?" She asked, obviously flirting with him. "Can I still call you?"

Again, Spencer wore that smile. "Uh, my wife would prefer it if you only called if you saw anything."

When Spencer turned around, he saw the expression drop from Morgan's face. "Reid, you're married?" He asked, and Spencer nodded. "I'm so sorry, man. I didn't know."

"Nobody did," Spencer replied.

When the team found out, they felt incredibly guilty. They couldn't help but think back to Tobias Hankel and when Reid got kidnapped. She had no idea. His wife must have been sat in their apartment, alone and worried.

But JJ smoothed things out, assured them that Reid's wife was kept updated while Spencer was kidnapped. JJ told her what she needed to know and kept her calm.

But now they'd been married for four years. Spencer started wearing his ring after the team found out. He called her in front of the others while they were working on a case.

The team was so happy their resident genius was in love.

They knew about his wife, about the love of his life, but they didn't know about the baby.

Kids was always on the cards, but they had waited. Spencer's career was taking off when they got married and, with how often he was away, it didn't feel right.

But they weren't careful. It wasn't like Doctor Reid to not be careful like that. She was on birth control and there was always condoms in top drawer next to their bed.

But they slipped up just once. She'd forgotten to take her pill and hadn't noticed (Spencer was good with gently reminding her when he could. This hadn't been one of those times), and Spencer hadn't reached for a condom.

Neither of them quite realised they weren't being safe. Not until she realised there was an odd number of pills in the packet at the end of the day. She'd taken both pills, the number should have been even.

But she didn't panic. Didn't mention anything to Spencer. What was the chance she was actually pregnant? She kept things quiet until the morning sickness started. Until she took a test, and then another, and then another. When they all came back positive, she called Spencer.

She didn't normally call Spencer while he was on a case. He was busy, she waited for him to call her in the evenings, when he was in the hotel room and he wanted to hear about her day. Spencer couldn't help but assume that something was wrong.

Far from it. Everything was perfect. The minute Spencer got home he pulled her into his arms, his face in her hair. "I love you," he whispered again and again and again.

Spencer didn't tell the team. Didn't want them to worry while he was on cases.

She became, admittedly, a little clingy when she began showing. Not to the extreme of stopping him from going on cases, but, whenever he was home, she was attached to him.

And Spencer couldn't say no to his wife. She was craving pizza? He was getting pizza. She wanted him to read to her? He was bringing in a selection of books, sitting her on the sofa and rubbing her swollen feet with one hand while he read.

If she wanted to bring him something to eat, he'd text her when they were landing to do paperwork.

It didn't matter the time. Mrs Doctor Reid made two sandwiches and set off for her husbands place of work.

She had met the team a couple of times before. It wasn't many, but it was enough for her to be friendly with them. With a science museum tote bag over her shoulder, she stepped out of the elevator and walked into the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit.

Morgan spotted her first. "Hey, Mrs Reid," he called, gaining the attention of the rest of the BAU. But then Morgans eyes widened. "Holy shit," he couldn't stop himself from saying.

Emily let out a gasp as she walked over. "Congratulations, Mrs Boy Wonder," she said as she hugged her. Mrs Reid hugged her back.

Hotch shouted his Congratulations through his office doorway to the happy couple. As he did so, Morgan walked over and placed his hands on Spencers' shoulders. "My man," he said quietly and let go.

With a fond smile, Spencer pushed his hair back. He grabbed his chair and wheeled it over to her. "Hi Honey," he said softly, sitting her down on the chair.

Her bag was in her lap as Spencer wheeled her over to his desk. "I missed you," she said, pushing her own fingers through his hair.

Spencer softly smiled at her. "I missed you too," he whispered as she grabbed his hand. Public displays of affection weren't Spencers thing but, for his pregnant wife, he'd do anything.

She quickly let go of him and opened her bag. "I brought sandwiches," she said as she pulled one out and passed it to Spencer. He leaned against the desk as he unwrapped it, keeping hold of it as she unwrapped the second. Once they were open, they swapped. She took the sandwich from him and he took the sandwich from her.

As they ate, they spoke. She didn't ask about the case, she never did. No, she asked about the city and whether he'd been eating well.

Spencer assured her that he had been eating well. The conversation they had was the one they normally had in the evenings, when he was on a case.

He pressed his hand to her bump for a quick second as he finished his sandwich. "I've got paperwork to finish up," he said and rested his hand on her shoulder. "Wanna sit with me while I get it done?"

She nodded her head and Spencer grabbed another chair. As he worked she kept one hand to her bump, the other holding Spencers.

[buzz-in-your-veins]

Oops, did i do that?

Accidentally sending a spicy pic to your crush.

The reader is more fem dressed and has a vagina in this- if you want a part b where they don’t have outfits just let me know!

CW: Gender Neutral reader with a vagina and fem-like fashion, reader wears bras, no mention of having boobs.

Vox

Vox hadn’t known you for very long, you were one of the newer demons working for him. You’d applied for the job a few months ago.

In that time he’d seen you about four times, but he was honestly thinking of promoting you, you were amazing at your job, good with both the data and the customers, the only thing it seemed you couldn’t do, was look at your contacts.

You weren’t working tomorrow, so you’d gone out with your friends, you’d purposefully gone to one of the only clubs in the pride ring that wasn’t owned by a member of the V’s, in an effort not to run into your new boss.

You’d gone all out tonight, spurred on by your friends, see, you had a minor crush on the TV demon, not that you’d ever entertain it. However, your friends had picked your outfit tonight, and you ended up in a gorgeous (if a bit slutty) royal blue dress, sleeveless and short, with a glittery tulle overlay, and some beautiful electric red heels.

You were messing on with your friends in the bathroom, taking photos and just genuinely having fun, already beyond tipsy now. You were sending a photo of you and another friend in the mirror to your group chat, your friend had taken the time you were fixing your hair to add Vox onto the ‘send to’ people, you never noticed.

You also didn’t notice your phone go off when Vox opened it.

If only that was the worst part.

You finished the night absolutely trashed, your friends working together to walk one another home, most living near one another. You, of course, were the odd on out, and the odd number.

You assured your friends it was fine, you lived in VVV tower for Lucifers sake, you’d be fine! Your friends wouldn’t hear it.

One of your friends, less drunk, had messaged one of Velvettes models, whom she used to work with and asked for them to walk you back.

You got back safe and sound, still not having realised you’d sent Vox the bathroom photo, or seeing the demon’s expression as Velvettes model walked you in.

You weren’t quite tired enough to sleep when you were dropped back in your room, so you messed on on your phone for a bit, before undressing. You hadn’t got to taking your make up off or undoing your hair, you’d gotten your dress off, and just.. stopped.

You were in an ethereal lingerie set, clearly made with Vox in mind.

Pretty blue panties hugged your hips, red electric bolts providing straps, the lace comfortable against your pussy, your chest coved with a light blue bralette, lace spilling against your skin, and the most beautiful glitch effect chain snug around your belly.

You matched this with a black thin choker with a hanging blue electric bolt, and posed against your bed, taking a few photos, changing poses and taking more.

Your favourite was one where you were laid flat, the photo taken from above, you could see your entire body, including the heels you still hadn’t taken off, and you were stairing straight at the camera with your painted lips parted.

Satisfied you went to save your photo.

Never noticing you’d sent the same photo to your boss.

Afterall, you hadn’t know to take him off your list.

You were cuddled up asleep, still in the underwear, when Vox opened your photo.

You never noticed the power surge then go out, nor did you notice Vox’s name pop up on your phone.

Angel Dust

Angel had seen you around the hotel more than usual, Charlie said you’d recently quit your job to work for someone else, and it gave you more free time and flexibility.

Angel was happy for you, your boss had been a real price of work.

Still riding the high off getting a better job, you’d invited your friends out clubbing, having received a handsome final salary.

You had chosen to go to Hyper-Tech, one of Vox’s clubs, and one of the best. They had some off the greatest drinks, and, unbeknownst to you, that night they also had Angel Dust dancing.

You friends teased you relentlessly about your crush on the porn star already, and they played this off as purposeful on your part, even though you’d had no idea.

You had started the night feeling confident and pretty in your oulfit, but seeing the spider you felt a flash of self consciousness, after all, your outfit was styled on the spiders own colour theme, an off the shoulder soft pink velvet crop-top, above-knee white loose pleated skirt, and pastel pink heels with a hot pink belt and nail polish.

You friends quickly took care of that, telling you how wonderful you looked, that anyone would be lucky to see you.

And getting you drunk definitely helped, the endless stream of cocktails bought with your money, and eventually dipping into your friends supplies brought on a happy buzz.

They also greatly diminished your ability to think critically.

You never saw how Angel Dust watched you the entire time you were in the club, as you progressively got drunker, to the point Angel was shocked you could still stand, never mind walk.

Your friends however, saw how the renowned demon was watching you with concern and admiration.

They quickly concocted a plan without your input.

Angels set finished around 2 in the morning, he waited in his dressing room for you to leave.

You had planed to walk home with your friends before splitting off to the hotel, but one of your friends changed the plan, stating there was no need for you to walk them home, after all, didn’t you like live in the complete opposite direction? Another friend had ‘needed the bathroom’ and had walked right by Angels door, talking about how you were leaving with the third friend.

As you were arguing about the principle of walking your friends home, Angel Dust came out of club, and said he didn’t mind walking you home, you lived together anyway.

Your friends quickly agreed and left, not allowing you to argue.

The whole walk back you were showered with compliments about your outfit, your dancing, your hair, your ability to drink, everything.

Angel walked you all the way to your room before leaving you.

You started to undress, but decided you wanted a photo for this occasion.

In your underwear, a pretty pale pink push-up bra, and a silky white thong, still in the hot pink heels, you took a photo in the mirror, sat on your knees staring in the mirror.

For some reason, you decided to send that to yourself instead of just saving to camera roll.

Only, you never send it to yourself. After the walk home, Angel had messaged you to sleep well, meaning he was your top contact.

Never thinking to check, you simply threw on a pale pink baby doll, took your heels and make up off, and went to bed.

Alastor

Alastor showing up to help at the hotel had never been in your plan.

The radio demon was always an unobtainable shadow, someone you could safely crush on from your own mind, because he would never be in your reach.

Except..

Now he was.

Now not to be foolish, you had figured from his interactions and reactions that Alastor was most likely somewhere on the Ace or Aro spectrum, and you would never push anything onto him.

But you could never even get close enough to talk to him, never mind ask about the possibility of him being on the spectrum.

So you hid. Everytime Alastor was around, you weren’t.

Alastor was cooking? You weren’t hungry. Al was helping with the daily running? You had work. Alastor was in the library? You didn’t want to read anyways.

Alastor always noticed your absence.

Instead you poured over everything and anything about the radio demon.

When he appeared, what he did, where he could have been in the seven years, his rise to power, his ability’s, his domain, everything.

Your crush on the radio demon was a foolish one, but that didn’t stop you from having it.

From dreaming of picnics and ice cream dates, of long walks down the streets of hell, to him taking you apart with his words alone, voice wrapping around you.

And when he stopped those muggers?

You went weak.

So, yea, your crush was unobtainable, in the highest scene.

You could still dress up though.

And you did, frequently.

In pantsuits of dark crimson, to the bloody scarlet ball gown, for the party.

Alastors eyes never left you that night.

Mostly, it was under your clothes.

Pretty crimson baby dolls. Black lacy thongs. Scarlett bralettes. Everything. Your camera roll was full of photos of yourself in the underwear, posing this way and that, full of imagination and hopes you would never act on.

Oh how you’d positively die if anyone saw.

That didn’t stop you.

Right now you were dressed in a darling crimson corset, embroidered with darker lace, tied tight, paired with dark scarlet panties, pussy damp against the lace as you lost yourself slightly in a fantasy, black heels and a black necklace, you had posed side on to the camera, staring straight ahead, knees folded underneath you and head tilted slightly up, arms held behind your back.

You heard your shutter go off and stood, getting dressed in a black lace camisole, taking of the corset and heels before heading to bed.

Picking your phone up on the way, you saved the photo to your folder.

Surely, you should have expected naming your folder ‘Alastor<3’ to backfire, but..

Maybe this was a Freudian slip?

It’s not like you even noticed you’d sent it, and you were asleep by the time your phone when off.

Lucifer

You’d seen the King of Hell maybe twice, once in passing, and once when he came to the hotel.

It was more than enough for you to crush on the child-like King, falling in love with his attitude and personality, drawn further in by his looks and kindness.

By the time the charity ball came around, you were completely lost for him.

Lucifer showed up in a white suit, not too different from his normal attire, only more fancy, more Kingly, so to speak.

You had taken Angels advice and dressed to impress.

Angel Dust was the only one who knew about the feelings you had for the fallen angel, and he took every opportunity to tease you for it, but he was also your biggest supporter.

You and Angel had knows each other almost as long as you’d been in hell, so his help was soothing for you, and you smiled as the spider laced up the golden gown you’d picked.

It was a golden off-the-shoulder ball gown, with a soft cover of glittery tulle over the top, the skirt flaring out, reaching the floor, covered in rose embroidered embellishments, and paired with bloody red heels, and a glittering clutch.

Charlie had told you all to go all out, and you and Angel did not disappoint.

The two of you descended together, and you caught site of the King before quickly moving your eyes, your blush almost matching your clutch.

Charlie swanned around you, telling you how amazing you looked, and look at your hair!

Angel got you a flute of champagne before leaving you to find Husk.

Traitors.

You walked around the party, dancing with people here and there, doing your best to avoid looking at the King.

You never saw that his eyes never left your form, or how he glared at everyone who touched you.

The king had tried more than once to get close to you, if not to dance with you, to at least tell you how amazing you looked, but you always seemed to move at just the right time.

Charlie had been snapping photos of you the whole night, sending them to her dad, even she saw the two of you pining for one another.

Your flute was never empty, and unfortunately for you, Angel could always recognise when you were about to bolt, and he and Husk would step in to talk to you and prevent it.

Did you mention traitors?

By the time you were finally able to leave, you were definitely tipsy, clutching Angels arm as the two of you ascended the stairs, congratulating yourself on managing to avoid the King.

Angel saw the way Lucifer was watching you, but you didn’t.

By the time you were in your room and Angel had left after unlacimg your dress, ‘we went all blessed with long arms, A——y!’, you wanted a special photo.

So you got ready.

You kept your heels on and striped to your underwear, a strapless golden bra with a red bow in the center, trimmed in lace, and panties to match, also trimmed in lace. You kept the sparkly fishnets on too, and your makeup on, before finiding a pose you liked.

Finally settling on a pose wherein you were laid on your back, your knees up and tilted slightly to the side, one hand on your breast, the other just above your head, and your face tilted towards your phone, positioned slightly higher than you, and just above your head.

You smiled at the photo, and went to save it.

You never looked.

Lucifer had got your number of Charlie to tell you how nice you’d looked. Your response?

A photo.

You were asleep by the time Lucifers own response came in.

Husk

Husk hadn’t taken much notice of you at first, only that you seemed to come and go with Angel, Husk later learned you were Angels shadow so to speak, Valentino payed you prettily just to follow and protect the star.

Husk noticed you more as you came out more without Angel, not being needed as often when you were in the hotel.

You and the barcat had had some quite good conversations, and some even better discussions.

You knew your way around cards that was for sure, and the cat loved talking with you about card tricks.

Sure no one could match him in card tricks, but hearing you talk about them? Something just felt different.

Husk worried about you and Angel a lot, especially when you both came back late, Angel looking trashed, and you looking slightly high on those nights. It took Husk months to realise Valentino was drugging you both, more so Angel. On those nights, Husk would stay up late to make sure you and Angel ate and drank before going to bed.

Husk never brought it up, and Angel didn’t remember, so you never spoke about it. If the cat didn’t want to bring it up why should you?

Husk did notice his favourite snack appearing on the bar in the mornings however.

Your crush on the cat had started before you even began talking to him, but those conversations, the way he treated you, how he never made you seem unimportant, the way he looked after you and Angel after Val had been upset?

You were gone.

And the cat was your new home.

Not that you’d ever tell him of course, you would never risk ruining such a wonderful friendship like that.

Of course, there were also nights like these. When Val needed Angel for publicity, those were the best. You both got to dress up and basically just party, no forced drugs or alcohol, just fun.

You’d dressed in an orange one-shoulder skin-tight slip dress, with a split up-to your thigh, paired with glittery purple heels, a clutch and jewellery, with black card themed earrings.

Husk had seen you just before you got into Vox’s limo and dropped his bottle of cheap alcohol, sending Niffty into a cleaning/laughing fit.

You and Angel didn’t get back until 1 in the morning, both of you slightly buzzed, but pretty much sober, not having been forced to fed any drugs and having eaten at the gala.

Husk had tried to stay up.

You feel deeper when you realised the barcat was asleep at his post because he was waiting for you. Sending Angel to bed, you walked over to the barcat and gently shook him awake, telling him he could go to bed.

From here Husk noticed the earrings, and flushed, jolting backwards and falling.

You giggled a little before apologising for startling him, which he waved off.

He headed to bed and you got back to your room. Taking your dress off you caught sight of your self in the mirror.

Pretty orange panties with a tiny club embroidered in at the side, deep orange plunge bra with a spade on the left cup, purple bracelet, necklace, and shoes, pretty orange make-up, and a heart and diamond earring set.

You needed a photo.

Fussing around a bit you finally settled on a pose with you laying slightly over the end of the bed, head and chest tilted down, knees pulled up to the side, camera angled too capture everything, arms by your head, and full body on display.

You changed into some sleep clothes after the photos, and in your sleepy state sent them to Husk, instead of simply saving them.

You didn’t wake up until well after Husk responded.

Lute.

Lute had noticed you as soon as you’d joined Adam’s ranks.

Of course she had.

You were the prettiest exterminator Lute had had the pleasure of seeing.

She pestered Adam until he agreed Lute could have her own assistant.

That of course, was you.

Lute loved having you work with her.

Yes all your conversations were about work, and you treat her like your boss, not a colleague, but it wa a better than when you weren’t talking at all.

You were still reeling from the change in position so fast, and now having to deal with the angel you were crushing on at all hours of the day?

Your poor heart couldn’t deal.

You were a blushing mess under your mask every time Lute spoke to you, praising yourself every time you got through an answer without stumbling or stuttering on the words.

Your friends were relentless with the teasing, going as far as to create hand signals to tease you even on the training fields.

Regardless you excelled.

You had to be the best.

And so you were.

Lute often asks what fuels you, and you always stumbled through a bullshit answer, never remembering what you’d said before.

You never gave her the same answer.

You couldn’t exactly tell your now boss the reason you did so well was so she would notice you, could you?

Shadowing Lute meant shadowing Adam. He usually left you alone for the most part though.

It meant going to fancy angel party’s. With out your mask.

You forced your friends to help you get ready.

Gorgeous black knee length dress, clinched at the waist, with silvery heels, a silver necklace, a silver clutch, and purple earrings, your hair done all nice and make up to compliment the outfit.

Your friends told you you looked stunning, and when Lute saw you, she had to agree.

You spent the entire party following Lute around, you didn’t know any of the people here and you were anxious.

Lute kept your champagne topped up, eventually switching you to something a little harder when it became clear you wouldn’t settle on the sparkling liquid alone, not used to the alcohol you got drunk fast.

Adam allowed Lute to leave early, so she could take you home.

Lute got you in safely and even placed an aspirin and water on your bedside table, before leaving you, messaging your phone to let you know what’s happened.

Meanwhile, you’d striped down to a gray lacy bralette, with matching high waisted panties, pretty silver heels, make-up still on and earrings still in.

You wanted a photo.

You set your phone up, and posed, on you knees on your bed, heels just visible, leaned back slightly, one hand behind your bed in a stretch and one on the bed, eyes looking just beyond the camaraderie.

Happy with the results, you went to save the picture, instead, sending it to Lute, who opened it as soon as she got home.

Bye the time Lute replied, you were curled up ontop of your covers, heels still on, sleeping deeply.

Feedback is always appreciated <3

If you want more people added feel free to ask and I’ll do a part two!

Comments are my high.

They make me write faster.

~Vyrus

[husbandhoshi]

title: ghosted pairing: seungcheol x f!reader wc: 6.1k, mature/18+ only! tags: based on this drabble. porn with a considerable amount of plot, fwb to lovers, rich guy!cheol, yn is able to be picked up. horrible terrible excessive amounts of fluff. smut tags below the cut. everyone say thank you to @wuahae for reading this over :)

smut tags: softdom!cheol, unprotected sex, oral (m and f receiving), spanking/biting, yn has hair that can get pulled, mild ass play, boob stuff, fingers in mouth.

--

you think you have seungcheol's number memorized.

well, you definitely should have by now, with how many times you considered deleting it. instead you ended up changing his contact name, first to seungcheol club, which is where you met him. second time--rebound guy. the third iteration, your roommate had made it DO NOT TEXT, and you had left it like that because she was probably right anyway.

for better or for worse, you are not very good at following instructions. you're two and a half weeks fresh off of a heart-to-heart with your friends where you agreed that no, the best way to get over your ex was to not get under somebody else, and yes, you should absolutely stop sleeping with a guy who brags about being a playboy.

so you deleted his number and your text history, and everyone swore up and down that this was a good thing.

and you're sure you were on the same page as them until about five minutes ago, when you were doing your laundry and you had come across one of his white button-up shirts.

(he let you keep it because he said you looked better in it than he did. that morning, before you left his place, he had buttoned it all the way up for you--don't want anyone else looking at you the way i do, he had said. plus, the amount of hickies he had left behind were in no way presentable to the general public.)

the effect this has on you is instantaneous and humiliating.

"fuck. fuck," you groan, now scrolling through your camera roll to look for literally any screenshot with his number in it.

there's one from back when he was rebound guy--he had sent you ten dollars in apple cash so you could buy a coffee when you said you were too tired to fuck. you ended up coming over that night anyway, and you both watched four hours of law and order until you fell asleep on his couch.

there are a handful from when DO NOT TEXT had sexted you in the middle of the workday, which you kept for posterity and nights alone with your vibrator.

and then, finally, a few weeks before that, when things were simple and he was just an unsaved number in your phone--hey, i know you ran out this morning, but i wanted to let you know i had a great time last night, if you know what i mean. even with the winky face emoji, it was a strangely wholesome text from a first time hookup.

you favorite the screenshot and curse the fact that you have never had good impulse control.

you up? i miss you.

the words fly so fast out of your fingers, you have no time to consider whether or not this is a good idea. you vividly recall the time he told you he had never seen the point of putting a label on a relationship, which was the whole reason your friends staged an intervention in the first place.

still, the white shirt on your bed taunts you. even thinking about it makes your head spin.

yeah. let me send you an uber.

that too--he had money, and he wasn't ashamed to spend it on you. between that and the dick, you don't think you're willing to squander your luck.

besides, seungcheol is still rebound guy. you're still getting over your ex, and he's just a quick fix in the meantime. you tell yourself this, and you keep telling yourself this until you're out the door, without a second chance to tell yourself otherwise.

--

"can't go long without getting your back blown out, huh?"

this is the first thing seungcheol says to you, oblivious to the fact that you were planning on forever ghosting him less than an hour ago.

"as if you didn't answer my text almost immediately," you laugh, letting him help you take your coat off.

"never said i wasn't happy to provide," he replies. his gaze is hot, sticky, like he's forgotten what you've looked like already. "i think it's been almost a month. i thought you got tired of me or something, you know."

"of course not. i...i got busy."

it's a half lie. the other half? you wouldn't dare admit it, but you missed his apartment a little. partly because it's much nicer than your own, but the bachelor pad decor was starting to grow on you. (and maybe the bachelor, with it.)

"work was good today?" you ask, letting him draw you in by the waist. his hands are so warm as he draws them up and down your sides, underneath the cotton of the thin shirt you have on.

"oh, please," seungcheol says, his grin now hovering right over your lips. "don't play innocent. you didn't come here so i could talk about my job."

he's right, so you let him kiss you. it's hot and fast and it tastes like his twenty dollar mouthwash, which you take small pride in because it means he would have been sleeping if his hand wasn't on your ass right now.

seungcheol has never been slow nor patient. your shirt has come off, and he now thumbs at the waistband of your jeans, grasping at the button to undo them.

"i don't think i even know what you look like with pants on," he says, lips dragging against the shell of your ear. "you always dress up when you come here, and it all ends up on the floor. pity."

you feel all the heat in your body surge towards your core. somehow your jeans are already on the floor and seungcheol's palm is fanned over the thin lace of your panties.

"thought about me the whole way here, huh?" two fingers are meanly sat over the seam of your cunt, pressing the damp fabric to your skin. "let yourself get all wet for me on the car ride?"

"maybe," you manage, not wanting to betray the embarrassment in your voice. you don't need his hand there to know how wet you are, and yet you know he's doing it to tease you anyway. he finds the bump of your clit over the fabric, now clingy and warm over your skin, and runs his thumb over it. "what else was i supposed to think about?"

"no need to be shy. can't lie with such a needy pussy." he chuckles as your thighs squeeze helplessly around him. "it's cute."

before you can protest, he pushes your panties to the side, now undoubtably soaked through, and his fingers find your clit again. it just takes two, three, rough strokes to draw the pleasure out of you like a fire in your belly.

"cheol," you whine. somehow things always end up like this--you, almost fully naked, and him, still with all his clothes on. he likes reminding you of it too, now enjoying the way you press against him, searching for skin. instead, you feel his cock under his sweatpants, right up against your thigh, and it only turns you on further.

your hands find his waist, but between the new welt he's sucked into your neck and the paralyzing feeling of his thumb on your clit again and again, you falter. your fingertips hover on the downy hair peeking over the band of his sweats, and you've never ached more to have him inside you.

that's all seungcheol needs to yank you back in line. "bed. now," he says, and you listen.

his apartment is big, and the walk feels dizzying as he follows behind you. what's even worse is that you can feel his eyes rake over you--he loves it. the humiliating stumble of your two left feet, the glistening slick at the apex of your thighs, how your panties cling to your ass, now ruined.

even now, as you clamber onto the bed like you're learning to use your limbs for the first time, he loves how easy you are for him. but you can't help it--no one fucks you as good as he does, and that was the reason he was rebound guy in the first place.

"face me," is his next command. at the foot of the bed, first, he pulls off his shirt, and your eyes wander first to his chest, then to the trail he's got down his stomach, teasing you as he pushes down his sweats.

one of his hands, strong and veiny, disappears under his waistband to play with his cock. you watch the slow flick of his wrist and see the shape of his length underneath the fabric, and you almost start salivating.

you're sure he's punishing you by now.

"you're staring, pretty girl. use your words." a turn of his wrist, and he groans. he might just make himself cum like this, and the notion that it wouldn't be somewhere inside you absolutely shatters the last bit of pride you had left.

"need you in my mouth, cheol," you whine, now sitting up straight against the headboard, as if looking any more pitiful would persuade him to join you.

and he does, just not in the way you want him to. instead, you watch his sweats fall to the ground before he kneels on the edge of the bed, on the end furthest from you.

"what, you think i'm gonna give it to you easy? after you made me wait for you?" you are not thinking straight enough to decipher what this means. who knew ghosting a fuckboy would have actual consequences, but you watch his grip tighten around the fat base of his cock and decide this is not the time to play detective.

so you swallow your pride and all your questions and you crawl. you crawl all the way down the seemingly endless length of his king sized bed, feeling seungcheol's gaze swallow you whole, and you like it.

when you stop at the foot of the bed, you take pause to look at seungcheol, really look at him. his eyes are dark, almost unrecognizably so--maybe it's the way you so readily make yourself perfect for him, arching your back just how he likes and letting your swollen, wet mouth fall open like you've never wanted anything more than him.

"so pretty like this," he coos. he runs a thumb over your bottom lip, feeling it quiver under his skin. you feel the saliva pooling in your mouth; it's as humiliating as it is desperate but you can't help yourself. it feels so good to be touched, and seungcheol's clings to you like nothing else.

he pushes his fingers into your mouth, almost to the back so you choke. you're at the point where you'll take anything, so you suck. you let your tongue run all over the digits, long and calloused enough that you can only dream of having them inside the other half of you. he pushes onto your tongue, wanting you to taste him, and you whimper, the feeling harsh but not unwelcome.

"dumb mouth just needs something in it, huh? my girl will just suck anything?"

you can't talk, so you whine around his fingers, feeling your pussy clench around nothing. he's been playing with his cock with his free hand, forcing you to watch him trace every vein with his own skin instead of yours. you hollow out your cheeks and suck him nice and tight, trying to fool yourself otherwise.

then he laughs, low and quiet--as fun as it is to slut you out, he's never been patient. "open wide, darling." he slides his fingers out from your mouth before pulling your hair out of the way. thank you, you want to say, but it's quickly washed away by the shock of his cock between your lips, rough but never too much so.

god, you didn't even think you liked sucking dick that much, but sleeping with seungcheol for this long must have altered your brain chemistry for the worse. his familiar, heavy warmth sits on your tongue, and you can't help but moan around him. you love the stretch of your jaw, the way his eyes always wrench shut no matter how in control he is.

"fuck," he groans, carding a hand through his hair. "slutty little mouth's made for me."

you hum around him, taking him all the way to where your nose skims the dewy curls on his abdomen and all you know is the scent of his heat. you're drooling so much, thanks to all the fingers in your mouth not too long ago, but you don't care. you run your tongue on the veiny underside of his cock, back and forth, savoring the hurt in your cheeks and all the spit on your chin.

seungcheol makes a low-pitched, strangled noise, the first time you've seen him crack tonight, and it sends another gushy wave of heat to your cunt.

you toy with his slit, let the salt of his precum fill your mouth, and suck hard around his cockhead. your scalp stings wonderfully with how he pulls at your hair, and you lean into the feeling. a deep breath through your nose, and you sink down again. the way he hits the back of your throat makes you yelp pitifully, but you persist like a dog to a bone. again, again, and you're gagging on your own spit as your throat spasms around him and you go cross-eyed.

he's all about control, but he lets you have this--perhaps he likes seeing you give yourself to him without him asking. he doesn't have to lift a finger, and you'll still choke around him, bruise your own throat. surely that had to mean something, but you'll chalk it up to some astrological sexual compatibility you're unaware of at the moment.

"enough," seungcheol finally says, voice gravelly, and he pulls you off him by the hair. "fuck, you probably would've cummed from that alone, huh?"

meanly, he reaches over your back to grab at the strings of your underwear so it digs into your cunt. you cry out, feeling the warmth of arousal leak all over your twitching hole, even between your ass. he's right--any more, and you really might have cummed all over yourself.

" 'm so wet, cheol," you plead, toes curling as he pulls the elastic of your panties further back. "please, please, please."

he releases the band, and it snaps hard against your skin. it feels like electricity as it connects with you, and you cry out again, the noise high-pitched and whoreish.

"gonna need you to face the other way if you want me to fuck you, darling," he says. "my baby likes it best from behind, right?"

you have nothing left in you but insatiable desire. you turn around to face the headboard, still on your hands and knees. seungcheol runs a careful hand down the curve of your spine before landing a hard slap on your ass. your skin sings, and all the blood in your body feels like it's been turned to fire.

"cheol," you warble, pressing your face into the sheets. your pussy actually hurts from how neglected it is, and when the second slap comes down, your clit aches like a bruise. "need you so bad...can't believe i went so long without you."

the words just fall out of you but you think they're true regardless. you were really fooling yourself thinking you could go the rest of your life without this. somewhere deep inside you, in the working part of your brain, you wonder if he's come to the same conclusion. that underneath the show, all the greed and the meanness, he missed you too.

"you must really need to get fucked," seungcheol chuckles. "you've never been this nice to me."

"not true," you protest, muffled by the sheets, and he laughs again. then he peels your underwear down your thighs before spreading your ass underneath his palms, and the cool air makes you twitch under him.

"you smell so fucking good. fuck." he groans, low and desirous, and it's the last thing you register before you feel the swell of his nose, his lips, as he buries his face in your cunt.

it's all too much at once--it rips a squeal out from your chest, one of those slutty, loud ones he loves, and it spurs him on further. you feel the wet pressure of his tongue, first between your folds, then up to the tight ring of your asshole, still messy with your arousal.

"o-oh my god," you cry. the pressure in your belly is now wound tight; you're so, so close and he's barely even started. he seems to know this, and deprives you of his mouth in lieu of his two fingers. the change in sensation is instant and toe-curling. something, anything, is finally inside you, and it's better than anything you have ever known. he drags the pads of his fingers brutally over your g-spot, loving the way you cry and tremble beneath him as your orgasm builds.

"have you had enough, pretty girl?" seungcheol asks, voice cruel, teasing. it's a rhetorical question--before you know it, his fingers are gone, and you instead feel the length of his cock between the curve of your ass. he's got a hand between your shoulder blades, pinning you down, just so he can see you struggle to push yourself against him.

"n-no," you reply, voice catching in your throat. you feel the head of his cock against your slit, and your thighs tremble with anticipation. not good enough. it only takes him a few times, rocking against your cunt, for you to crumble. you ask for things you can't even remember, and it's then when he pushes into you, so meanly you really do forget what words mean.

seungcheol swears under his breath, and his grip on your ass feels tight enough to bruise. your cunt flutters around him, god, you forgot how fucking big he is, but he doesn't give you much time to get used to it. his pace is unforgiving, and his hips slam into your ass like he's trying to fuck the sound out of you.

"cheol," you hiccup, listening to your voice jolt with every thrust. " 'm so full...."

"yeah? you like how i fill you up?" he squeezes your ass hard, and you moan into the sheets. "better than anyone else?"

"o-only you," you reply, slack-jawed at the feeling of being split open so well and the delicious, unending drag of him against your walls. "just you."

this seems to satisfy him. he enters you, deeper still, until it feels like he's in your stomach.

"so fucking tight," he says, from somewhere deep in his chest. "you need me to stretch you out like this every once in a while, yeah? you take it so well, pretty girl."

all you can do is moan his name. it's what you've been doing, and at this point, it's the only word you know. he bottoms out again, and the pleasure is so white-hot it feels like it burns.

it only takes two, three, punches into your cunt for you to come undone. you're gushing, gushing around him, babbling something incoherent, and still he is unrelenting. you feel your mouth move in an attempt to tell him you're too sensitive, and he only shoves his cock deeper in you so he can feel you clench hard around it.

then he pushes your head into the sheets, deeper still so the neighbors won't write him up in the morning, and fucks you again. you foolishly think another orgasm will break you, but all it takes is for him to press his thumb into the dip of your asshole and tell you he's going to fuck you in both holes one day for you to fall apart again.

by the time he's done with you, your legs feel boneless and you don't even want to think about the situation between them. (you had asked him to cum in you, and he did. there was so much, he had to push some back into you with his fingers, and you cummed one more time.)

you feel seungcheol's dead weight slump onto the bed beside you. you're still face-down, but you turn as far as you can to look at him. it's unfair how he still looks good now--his bangs, dark and curly with sweat, crown his forehead, and you watch his long eyelashes flutter shut.

"fuck," he groans. "how does every time with you get better?"

somewhere inside you, in the parts that still work, you feel a small gleam of pride. it feels traitorous, in a way--the whole point of being friends with benefits was that it was supposed to be conditional, but you're running out of conditions. clearly, it didn't take much for you to come back and not regret it.

seungcheol laughs at your silence. "did i break you? no," he jokingly whines, and he rolls onto his side to return your gaze. he brings a hand up to brush the hair out of your eyes, as if that would somehow magically repair your body. but it does feel nice. "please speak."

"maybe broken. to be determined." seungcheol grins stupidly when you say this, and you watch how his eyes crinkle up at the sides.

usually, it's every man for himself at this point in the night. seungcheol will order takeout and draft some emails, and you hobble over to the bathroom so you can pee and use the shower. he leaves you alone for this part, which is the perfect opportunity to mix all his fancy shower gels together like you're a kid again.

but today seems different. you lie there for a beat in silence, watching each other blink. then seungcheol gets up, slowly then all at once, and walks over to your wrung-out body.

"i'm picking you up," he says, like a warning. "hopefully you're not afraid of heights."

you think he's joking until you feel the strong cords of his forearms--one around your middle and the other under your legs. you didn't even think you were able to be picked up at this point in your life, but somehow he's got you flush against his chest now, almost nose to nose with him.

"wait," you waver, suddenly feeling self conscious about literally everything. you're sticky and smelly and you're not curious to find out if your post-coital form will scare him away. "seungcheol."

"you really plan on walking yourself over to the bathroom? you couldn't make it to the bedroom earlier, and i hadn't even fucked you yet."

"hey!" you protest. he laughs, and you can feel his whole body shake. "wait, i can't laugh too much, or i'm gonna start leaking."

"you've got another thing coming if you think i'm afraid of a little body fluid."

seungcheol bumps the bathroom door open with his ass, which is somehow the funniest and most endearing thing to you. you flip on the light, and he sets you on the counter like it's just a normal friday night for the both of you.

he turns the shower on and turns back to look at you. "how hot do you want it?" then his eyes narrow playfully. "are you one of those freaks who likes getting their skin boiled off?"

"well, you can answer the first half of that question on your own."

"ok. freak."

while he messes with the shower knobs (he's got one of those showers with three separate showerheads), you take a moment to do some more snooping. the first time you were here, you did go through the various things he had on his counter. most of them are still there--the overpriced moisturizer you shamelessly use when you stay the night, a quarter-full bath and body works foaming soap, and a folded up hand towel with his initials on it.

there are some newer additions too. you don't miss how the little jar for your toothbrush is still there, or a small tube of lip gloss you had forgotten to take back a few months ago. he restocked the hand lotion that you said you liked, too.

you're starting to think that there is a small possibility that you are no longer friends with benefits. you're not dating either, but something somewhere in the middle. but how do you say something like that? how would you know, especially when seungcheol is a self-proclaimed forever bachelor who may never, ever date?

you have no time to think about this any further.

"sooo," seungcheol hums, wiping his hands with a bath towel. "i'll be in the bedroom. you want me to order chinese?" you watch him linger around, lamely, like a stray dog.

"wanna join me?"

he smiles, ear to ear.

"thought you'd never ask."

--

morning comes slowly.

you wake to birdsong and the quiet chatter of the city beneath you. the sun from the curtains is buttery and warm on your bare skin, and time seems to drag its feet. it feels perfect, which is a word you would have never used in relation to any of this, and yet nothing else seems more appropriate.

last night, after your shower (in which you learned that seungcheol always makes his hair into a shampoo mohawk, without fail), you talked for hours over the fattest spread of takeout you had ever seen.

the plan was to put on the office and dissociate like usual, but he finally answered your question about how his day at work was. (tumultuous and drama-filled--that was his first mistake. you love drama.) strangely, by the end of the night, you learned that you had more in common than you thought with a man whose watch collection was valued higher than your entire college education.

"you up?" seungcheol's morning voice comes out sounding like a croak from behind you. you're sure he's about to complain that his arm is asleep from your big head on it, but he doesn't. instead, he settles deeper into your warmth and pulls you closer by the waist.

"yeah," you reply, enjoying the feeling of his skin against your own.

you grab your phone from the nightstand, wondering if your roommate has discovered your betrayal and has blown up your phone. she has, so the two voice memos and twenty text messages in the group chat are no surprise to you.

what is a surprise is the text you get from your ex. can we talk? it reads. it's the first time you've heard from him in months--before that, he had broken up with you (over text) and then proceeded to block you on every platform possible.

your mind starts to spin. you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to text him back. just for closure's sake, you tell yourself, as if you haven't cried at least seven separate times about this. but you will admit, seungcheol has been a great diversion. you don't remember the last time you had a cry, and any progress was good progress to you.

complicating things, said diversion has slotted a leg between yours, and his hand has found its way to your ribcage, distractingly close to your chest. such are the consequences of only wearing a shirt to bed.

"you're so warm," he murmurs, right in the space where your neck meets your shoulder. his hand creeps up, now right over your heartbeat. it doesn't really take much for your body to respond--his fingertips find your nipple, and with a light squeeze, you're already arching back into him. "is this ok?"

"yeah," you breathe. you're distracted, but you figure the best way to un-distract yourself is with a new, better distraction.

now emboldened, he rolls the skin between his fingers, finding he loves the way you shudder underneath him. quickly, he moves out from behind you to hover over you instead, propping himself up by his forearms, and pushes your shirt up over the swell of your tits.

"you good?" seungcheol asks, lips flush to the skin over your heart. he presses another wet kiss to one of your nipples before taking it into his mouth.

"yeah, why?" you have half a mind to hold his head down so he can't ask more questions and ruin the point of being a distraction in the first place.

"dunno." he switches to the other side, licking over a mark he's bitten into your skin. "you looked at your phone and you seemed worried. also, you're frowning, and it's not a sex frown."

damn. you guess you're easier to read than you thought. you don't even have the heart to ask what the fuck a sex frown looks like.

seungcheol's mouth returns to your nipple, and he sucks hard, making you gasp into your palm.

"my ex," you tell him. there's no point in keeping it a secret. the first time you slept together, you had made it clear what your intentions were, which is what made this arrangement work so well in the first place. "he wants to talk or something."

"that asshole?" then another suck, and you keen into him. "you're too good for him."

it's literally one of the three appropriate responses he could have chosen from, but it still feels like a compliment to you. almost too much so.

"yeah. i guess." your voice sounds more wobbly than you'd like, but you chalk it up to the fact that he's now pressing his lips down your middle, all the way down to your core. "hey, i'm ticklish."

"i know." he kisses your belly button, and you smile in spite of yourself. "you smell good, by the way."

"it's your forty dollar body wash," you remind him.

"damn right it is." you feel his breath fan over your thighs, and your stomach flips with anticipation. "legs over my shoulders. you know the drill."

"you don't have to do this, you know," you say, before immediately regretting it. you have a spectacular knack of self-sabotage, which you think seungcheol knows by this point. "you've been really nice to me."

"am i not allowed to like being nice to you?" seungcheol jokes. "would you prefer me to be mean?"

"no," you laugh. you don't know how to ask what he meant. what made yesterday and today so different? it feels like you're on the edge of something, coming close to what you could only describe as more than casual affection, more than desire. "go back to being nice. forget i said anything."

you put your legs over his shoulders, like he asked. one good orgasm wouldn't solve the ex problem or this new seungcheol problem you are starting to discover, but it sure would help you think more clearly.

his lips are soft on you. he has none of the urgency or greed of yesterday; instead, he takes his time with you. his mouth skims over your inner thighs, lightly, drawing out all the breath from your lungs. you make a small noise of impatience, and you feel the stretch of his grin against you.

before you have a second chance to complain, you feel the heat of his open mouth over your cunt, as to drink your taste up. then his tongue, warm, insistent, on your clit, circling it before he sucks.

"o-oh, fuck," you whine, voice muffled by the back of your hand. it feels too early to be loud, and you're already embarrassed by how sensitive you are.

"don't text him back," seungcheol says. he's replaced his mouth with two fingers, now leisurely teasing you at your entrance.

"don't worry--" you manage to say this before he crooks the pads of his fingers into you, right at your sweet spot, and the words are stolen from you. "--about him."

"i'm serious." he laps at your cunt, and with his fingers still buried in you, the feeling makes you dizzy. "did he ever make you feel like this?"

"n-no," you whine, now with your palm shoved right against your mouth. he's added a third finger now, and the stretch is so good, you're going cross-eyed. "never ate me out."

"what?" you hear him tsk between your thighs as his fingers still. "he's missing out."

it's then that seungcheol must have resolved to give you the best head of your life, because you think you black out after that point.

his lips return to your clit, and the pleasure is so startling, you can feel your thighs squeeze shut around his head. unfazed, he continues to pump his fingers in and out of your hole, still fluttering, unused to the size.

"close, 'm so close," you mewl, hips now lifted to chase his tongue. he indulges you, gives you the flat of the muscle to grind against as he stuffs you full.

your other hand finds his hair, and it only takes a moment, a slight pull, for him to moan into your heat--the sound breaks something inside you, and you're gasping, crying out with your high. by now, there are marks from your teeth in your palm, but something about the sting only makes the feeling better.

seungcheol stays sealed to your cunt, removing his fingers only to replace them with his mouth, eager to taste you. he lingers until you're shaking and whimpering, spent from your orgasm and too sensitive to endure another.

he looks up at you, swollen lips and bedhead made worse, and a surge of affection overtakes you.

"kiss me," you tell him, and he does.

it's long, and it's slow, not even close to any of the ones you've had before. you wrap a hand around the back of his neck, and he sighs. you don't think he's ever done that before.

when he pulls back to look at you, it feels as though the air has changed. there are words pushing at your lips. this isn't casual anymore. it can't be, not with what just happened.

yeah, the sex is good, but the first thing you thought of this morning wasn't you or your saturday plans or how to endure the dismay of your entire friend group, it was about him. if didn't count for something, you don't know what did.

"seungcheol, i--" you pause. his eyes are so brown, it's distracting you, and you start to second guess yourself.

"is it about your ex?" he interrupts. "if he asked you to get back with him, would you?"

it's not his question, but his insistence that takes you by surprise.

"n-no." you watch his gaze flicker at your hesitance, and you don't like it. "no, i wouldn't."

"good, because--" he pauses, seeming to gather his thoughts. you try to read his expression, but he can't even meet your eyes right now. "look, i know i haven't had the best track record with dating. i don't even think i know how to date."

"what are you saying?" you ask softly. there's a part of your heart that feels like it's peeling itself back, in a good way.

"i'm saying i want to try." and when you still look confused, he continues. "dating you. if you'd let me."

against all odds, past all the swirling, terrible emotions in your chest, there's a bright surge of relief, of joy. the last time you saw him look so vulnerable was when he reached into his oven to pull out a tray of cookies and burned his hand because he forgot a glove. maybe this whole thing would crash and burn, but you like him enough (honestly more than enough) to try with him.

so you smile, and you watch him frown and pout and look unbearably terrified, and you smile harder.

"ok," you say, playfully feigning indifference. "you can try."

instead of replying, he kisses you again, and it's even better than the first one.

when you finally head out that morning, there's a lightness in your chest.

in the doorway, seungcheol pecks the top of your head before showing you his phone. "which emoji do you want?" he asks, completely seriously. "i want the blue heart."

you pull out your phone to find his contact, which still shows his plain number, just like old times.

"i'm unsaved?!" his jaw drops open like he's animated, and you laugh.

"gotta go," you tease. "see you later."

it's only in the uber home (that he called for you, of course), where you finally put in his real, government name, for the first time. finally, it feels a little more right.

choi seungcheol, it reads. with the blue heart.