#LIKE THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH HAVING A KINK BUT I AM NOT A GODDAMN KINK. I DO NOT BELIEVE IM TRANS BECAUSE IT'S A FUCKING KINK TO ME.

[reiderwriter]

💢 At Each Other's Throats 💢

Spencer Reid x female! Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Summary: A previous encounter means that you're not the biggest fan of Spencer Reid, and you go to some extreme lengths to prove that to him.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Dom! Spencer, but not exactly sub reader , degradation (use of whore, slut), semi-public foreplay, arguing as foreplay etc, oral sex (m receiving, f mentions, too), face fucking, rimming, nipple play, rough sex/ rough play, spanking, slapping, spitting, choking, messy sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, mentions of painful sex/ pain play etc. some possible CNC triggers/ phrasing.

A/N: I couldn't find a gift of Spencer being bitchy enough, so everyone, please enjoy Kyle Orfman from Life After Beth. This one was a labour of love, if love was actually hate. It's 2am. This is obviously not edited, and may never be.

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You knew from reputation alone that you would have a hard time working with Spencer Reid. Perhaps it was the slew of child prodigy articles that popped up alongside his name. Maybe it was even just your preconceived notion of what men with three PhDs, a badge, and a gun were like. Maybe it was the fact that he'd written to you after one of your first professional articles was published in The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology and told you a piece you'd worked on for 18 months was just plain wrong. 

Either way, you laid eyes on him, and the hatred was cemented. But fuck was he hot. 

He had no clue who you were as his boss introduced you to him, looking between the two of you as if expecting good things to happen. You should've warned him. 

“Spencer, this is Y/N. She'll be assisting on a few cases from this month onwards.” 

His eyes glazed over as he ran your name through whatever roller index of memories he had stored in there. 

“Y/N is a lecturer at the University of Virginia. She's going to be lecturing at the FBI Academy from September onwards-” 

“You! You wrote an article, I wrote to you about it, did you get my le-”

“Yes, I got your letter. I believe you called my writing ‘juvenile’ and my thinking ‘wishful,’ and that if I had any actual field experience, I'd slowly understand how many mistakes there were in my writing.” 

Agent Hotchner took an almost imperceptible deep breath in, trying to hide the fact that this was all new information to him. 

“Well, here I am, Doctor Reid.” 

The man in front of you gaped for a moment, letting his mouth hang open, closing after a few seconds only to open again. Perhaps you'd disorganized that index of his. You hoped you'd set the goddamn thing alight. 

“Shall we get started?”

To say that you'd gotten off to a bad start was an understatement. Your start had been reversed over by a dump truck with no tires. It had been cemented into the ground with no chance of going anywhere but down into the pits of hell. 

Which is, coincidentally, where you found yourself every time you had to engage Spencer Reid in conversation. 

Your first impression of his looks - his incredibly good looks - was that he was even better looking when he was pensive, and unhappy, and being bitchy. He was positively climbable when argumentative, and you liked nothing more than ruining his day, if just for the fact that he'd angrily loosen his tie and pop open his top buttons, exposing the pale white of his neck, and his sharp collar bones, perfectly ready for someone to suck and nip at. 

He was still an ass, however, and you couldn't bring yourself to sink to those depths.

Four cases in, and you hadn't agreed on one thing. You'd caught a serial arsonist, who he had demanded was most likely an office worker, but you'd countered with college student, and you had prevailed there. 1-0. 

Then, unfortunately, you'd lost back to back cases with unsubs in the trucking industry, unfamiliar with and uninterested in the life of the Jack Kerouac type. 

You'd even the playing field at last with a child abduction. And although you knew you'd both been keeping score, you were so genuinely happy for this case to be over. A child was safe at home, and you'd worked so well under pressure (something he had assured you would change your view of your personal forensic psychology theories). 2-2. 

Of course, those were just the big leagues. You'd fought many petty battles, too, as the war waged. 

You'd accidentally stolen his place on the jet, enjoying the long bench seat for a good few naps. A few times, he'd settled in next to you, trying to nudge you out of the chair completely, but you'd held your ground. 

“This is my seat. Usually. There are like 10 other places on this jet to sit. Why does it have to be here?” He'd grumbled into your ear as you gently elbowed him in the side, accidentally, of course.

“There aren't assigned seats. Maybe you have control issues, Doctor,” you cut back, trying to avoid speaking too loud to avoid the ire of the group. 

While you'd enjoyed bickering with - and intellectually besting - Spencer greatly, it did seem that the sentiment wasn't shared by those around you. 

“You can't be serious, right now,” Morgan complained from a seat opposite. “You're seriously fighting over a seat, right now?” 

“It's my seat, Derek, come on, you know it's my seat.” 

The look returned to Spencer almost had you ashamed of your petty actions. 

“I swear they're just taking every advantage to get closer and closer together. Next thing you know, she'll be sitting in his lap,” Emily said from the corner of the plane, so obviously not talking to you that you were almost offended. 

“Ah, young infatuation,” Rossi replied, still ignoring you. 

Reid slinked just slightly away after that, and you weren't sure if you were more annoyed at the comments themselves or the loss of his annoying companionship. 

You wanted him to bother you because it meant you'd succeeded in bothering him. 

You'd had more than your fair share of rather explosive arguments as well. 

“You can't seriously believe that Thomas Edison did more for the field of engineering than Nikola Tesla,” he'd shouted at you at a bar after a case had landed you in paperwork hell, filling out forms and working into the late hours. 

A drink had been suggested, a celebration after solving four straight cases in a row, and you'd gladly taken the chance to unwind. 

“Spencer, we're literally sat in a bar decorated with multiple light bulbs. Look, there's one. Another! Astounding. Thank you, Mr Edison.” 

“And none of it would be possible without Alternating Current, so yes. Thank you, Mr Tesla.” 

Your teammates had long since abandoned you to your petty bickering and fighting amongst yourselves. They'd stopped getting involved when Penelope had tried to mediate your discussion about Doctor Who, which had quickly devolved into New Who vs Old Who. 

You didn't even care strongly either way, you just cared that he did. And however he felt, you were sure as hell ready to take up arms against him. Because it was so fuckimg hot watching him lose his shit. 

You were a grown woman. You could admit that to yourself. You likely wouldn't admit it to anyone else, even if it was as clear as day that you found him unbearable attractive at times. You sure as hell knew that it wasn't a one-way street, from the way his eyes strolled across your body each morning. 

You wondered if there was a section of his brain that was dedicated to memorising everything you'd said, done, and worn since he'd met you. You hoped there was. 

On your fifth and final case with the BAU team, you felt unmatched in your annoyance. 

You were still drawn with Spencer for case breakthroughs, and you felt the need to beat him once again just to nail the point home. He was just stubborn enough to see a 3-2 win as a landslide victory for himself, though you were absolutely going to frame it that way yourself if you managed to be the one to crack everything. 

All sense of teamwork and camaraderie was off the table. 

You had a murderer to catch.

Three women, beaten, assaulted, and tied up. He'd shorn their hair but bagged them up so they were unseen. Then he'd placed the bags on display. The unsub was caught between two extremes, hatred of his victims, and gentleness, protecting their dignity in death by covering them up. 

Obviously, you and Spencer had to decide which side of the debate you were to land on.

“I think we're dealing with a killer without remorse here. It's easier to explain the covering, the dressing of the women as a ritual rather than guilt.” 

He'd finally played his cards, and now it was your turn to passionately wipe them from the table. 

“Remorse? He's cut all their hair off and beat half of them so badly we needed dental to identify them. And in case you've forgotten Spencer, half of them are prostitutes.”

“You're saying he can't feel remorse for killing prostitutes?”

“That is not what I'm saying. Don't twist my words."

“Well, of you'd said something that wasn't nonsensical, I'd have a better chance of understanding what the hell you're trying to say!’

With every line you'd stepped closer and closer to one another, like two boxers in a ring, sizing each other up before a fight. 

You wanted to take his tie and strangle him with it. You wanted to pull him down for a kiss and force him to shut the hell up. 

“Reid, Y/N, both of you take five,” Hotch called sternly from the other side of the room. Guiltily, you both broke away from one another, his hand brushing your side as you took a step back, almost as if he'd meant to grab you before Hotch stepped in. 

Probably to remove you from the room. 

“Take five?” You said, mustering all the disappointment you could as you silently pleaded to stick around. 

“Go back to the motel and get some rest. If you're going to argue like this, I don't need you at the precinct, and I certainly don't need you on my team.” 

You blanched at that, almost taken aback by the harsh words as you silently nodded and quietly walked towards the door, letting it shut behind you. 

Spencer stayed behind, and though you couldn't hear his arguments, you knew he was attempting to reason with Hotch, as well. It evidently didn't work as he stormed out of the room behind you. 

He looked half like a kicked puppy, half like an angry school kid who'd just been scolded by a teacher. 

“Don't look at me like that, this is your fault,” you muttered as you walked away from the room. 

“What? How is this my fault?” 

“If you weren't so goddamn infuriating, we'd be able to get some actual work done.” 

You marched off in the direction of the exit, but he caught your shoulder before you made it that far.

“You're blaming me? This is my job, Y/N, not yours. You get to go back to a cushy little office after this is done to teach the people that are going to end up doing the paperwork that consists of only 2% of our job.”

His finger jabbed at your shoulder as he said the words, and you had to resist the temptation to grab it. 

“Doesn't feel too good to be criticized when you're just doing your job, huh, Spencer?” 

His brows knitted together in a deepened scowl and he took a step forward. 

But there were eyes on you, and whatever confrontation this was, you didn't want to act it out in front of an office full of cops. 

You turned and walked away again, down a seemingly abandoned hall to what looked to be an empty storage cupboard, flinging the light on and waiting the three seconds it took him to catch up with you. 

“What's your problem?” He said, joining you in the cramped closet. 

“You! You're the problem! You're infuriating, and annoying, and most important, you're you!” You poked his chest back, harder than he had earlier, quietly reveling in the feel of his body under your fingertip. 

“Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to be someone different? Someone who worships the ground you walk on?” He said, discovering sarcasm for the first time since you'd been introduced. 

“Sure, Spencer, if you can take tour head out of your own ass long enough to worship someone else, then be my guest.” 

With a single push he crowded you against the wall, a hand above your head locking you into position as his other hand held your hip, his own hips joining you at the wall as you sucked in a breath. 

“You're begging to hear praise, right now, Y/N. Do you even hear yourself?” He asked, whispering the words directly into your ear. 

“W-Well, you have me pressed up against the wall like some fucking caveman that needs to breed or die.” You spent half the time you were talking trying to compensate for the stutter, trying not to look weak, that you totally missed the words that came from your own mouth. 

“You think I want to have sex with you?” He asked, chuckling awkwardly, even as his hand on your hip began rubbing circles, his head hanging lower, just inches away from your mouths meeting. 

“I think you'd love nothing more,” you said, finally lifting your hands to his hair and tucking a lock behind his ears. “Such a shame I won't be crawling into your bed.” 

“Is that a challenge?” He asked, and you were taken aback for a few seconds. 

“You want me so fucking bad, you're trying to convince yoursel-”

With a swoop, he cut you off, his lips meeting yours. You gasped and allowed his tongue to enter your mouth, but you came to your senses quickly. You kissed back with all the anger of the last month and all the attraction that had built up since you'd joined the team. Your tongue fought his, your hands tangled in his hair as his pulled them out, pinning them against a wall. But you slipped free and grabbed him again, grabbing the tie you'd wanted to choke him with earlier and not letting go. 

His lips were soft, and his body felt hot pressed against you, and you hated how good he was at all of this, how your body responded to his, how each time you pulled away it was with a small whimper as you begged for more. 

“I knew you wanted me,” he said, between kisses, grabbing your face and tilting it up as he returned his tongue to yours. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you kissed me first.” His hands trailed up your hips, untucking your shirt as he pushed his hand under, his cold fingers sending a trail of goosebumps along your skin as you shuddered. 

“I kissed you because you begged me to,” he said, his fingers caressing the bottom of your chest as he tried to press your bra up further. 

You were about to argue back when his lips met yours again, and you were lost in the haze of arousal, leg lifting to his hip to better allow him space to settle against you. 

You grew wilder in your passion, neither of you giving in even for one second as you writhed against each other, begging for satisfaction while denying that you'd ever wanted each other in the first place. Just as it became unbearable, your hands slipping to his belt, ready to pull his cock free and take it, the door opened again. 

“Reid, Y/N,” Morgan said from the doorway as you hastily jumped away from each other. 

You pulled your shirt down quickly, and Spencer stepped behind you, covering up the tent in his pants as you stared guiltily up at Derek Morgan. 

“Hotch sent me after you to give you the keys to the SUV,” he grumbled, making no comment on anything that happened. 

“We were just, um, we were just-” your brain fought for an excuse, but you'd left your brain behind somewhere between joining the BAU and foreplay with Spencer in a closet, so words escaped you. 

“You were just making out in a closet. It's okay, we all know,” Derek said, turning to leave. 

You jumped up, indignant now he'd brushed you off, and followed him out of the closet, an equally shocked Spencer trailing behind you. 

“What do you mean you all know? All know what?” You said, stomping back into the office. 

“That you two are into each other. It's why Hotch sent you away earlier. He didn't want to see the two of you going at it,” he said, pressing the car keys into your hands. 

“We are not into each other,” Spencer shouted back at Morgan as he stalked off, and you glared at him to shut his mouth. There was a crowd forming, and you still didn't need that attention. Not when your hair was matted from seven minutes in hell with Spencer or when his hand had, once again, settled on your hip, pulling you closer into him. 

“Let's go,” you huffed, and finally left the building with Spencer right behind you. 

You didn't talk for the rest of the drive home, even as your brain flooded itself with images of him taking you in the back of the car, your lips around his dick as he drove, him pulling over to bend you over the hood. 

You went straight to your separate rooms when you got back to the motel, though you swore that the walls were thin enough that he surely heard you pleasure yourself, fingers sinking into yourself. You weren't sure if he, too, had his hand wrapped around his cock, or if your brain was just now imagining whatever it liked to spur you on. 

Imagined or real, his moans were delicious, a maddening mix of frustration, exasperation and desperation, whimpers and groans, and small growls until you yourself were cumming, and letting yourself sleep.

You avoided talking, all talking, until the end of the case, even as your head replayed his infuriating words, his moans and the rustling sound of his fingers pressing your shirt up. You refused to talk to him to give his coworkers the validation of arguing with him once more. You weren't into each other. 

You simply wanted to fuck him. You didn't like him as a person otherwise. 

In avoiding him, though, the small taste of release you'd sampled in the closet had your softer parts deliriously wanting more. As much as you hated Spencer, you needed him so bad. 

You'd given him the cold shoulder  but he'd returned it just as quickly, and you were more annoyed not talking to him than you weren't. 

Your last case wrapped up, and you decided it was time to give him what he so obviously wanted. A conversation. 

You sat yourself right back down in his seat as you got on the jet and laid down, pulling his blanket over yourself as you took up the entire space. 

The others shook their heads at you as they walked on, Spencer taking up the rear. His eyes met yours, and he scowled, and you couldn't help but wonder if he'd look like that fucking you, so stern and angry. 

You sighed and pushed onto your side as he stood over you. 

“That's my seat.” 

You smiled in success as you looked over your shoulder. 

“I'm tired, I'm going to sleep.” 

“But that is my seat-” 

“Spencer, you've sat on every seat on this damn plane before, that wasn't your seat until last month, now sit down, shut up and let me rest,” JJ exploded and you suddenly felt bad for drawing him into your argument.  Or you did until you sat up a bit, and he sat himself right down where your head had been. 

“Spencer!”

“I give up…” JJ groaned from the table seats, pulling headphones over her head and shutting her eyes, and the others made to ignore you similarly. 

Not one to be beaten, you pushed the book in his hands off his lap and laid your head down again, now cushioned by his legs. 

“What-” his voice squeaked as you shut your eyes, too, and made yourself comfortable. He didn't push you off, or, heaven forbid, start talking to you again. Shockingly, he adjusted to the position quickly and resigned himself to pillow duty for the six hour flight. 

You, too, shocked yourself by how fast you fell asleep. You woke up with his hands in your hair, stroking your head as he read, book in one hand, you in the other. His hands felt wonderful, raking through your long locks, brushing each errant hair off your face. 

“Spencer?” You said, voice still thick with sleep. 

His hand shot away, and you almost regretted not pretending to sleep for longer, sure that he'd have gone on if you hadn't said anything. 

You straightened and cleared your own throat as you stretched, sitting quietly as you listened to the flight landing announcement. 

“Congrats, Y/N, you've successfully finished your time with the BAU,” Rossi said from his seat opposite you, strapping in for the landing.

“And you haven't been shot, kidnapped, or slapped. That's gotta be a first, right?” Emily joked from the corner. 

You smiled quietly as you strapped yourself down, scooting even closer to Spencer now to get your belt fastened.

Still, you couldn't resist the urge to mumble a retort.

“I'm sure Spencer thought about it a few times,” you sighed, a breath of resignation releasing from your lips dramatically.

The others chuckled, but Spencer sat silently next to you until the jet landed. 

He stayed quiet as he began to pack his things, but it became clear quickly that he was dragging everything out. As the plane emptied, you shot him a curious look, not daring to speak until you were the last two on the plane. 

“You're being slow today.” 

“I've never thought about shooting you or kidnapping you,” he said, voice low and quiet, even though you were alone. 

“It was a joke, Spencer,” you started, so sick of him taking g everything so seriously. You made to walk past him, but as you did, you felt his hand on your waist pulling you back as another hand came hard and fast at your ass. 

“I wasn't finished speaking,” he said as his hand ran over your butt, soothing the pain he'd just delivered. “I have thought about slapping you, though.” 

With that he grabbed his bag and stalked off the jet, not bothering to cast another look behind him. 

Two could play at that game. 

In about the most childish was you could muster, you ran ahead of him, staying three paces directly in front of him as he tried to overtake you. You moved when he moved. You sped up when he sped up. You even stopped a few times, so he'd run into you. 

“Y/N, cut it out.”

“Make me,” you said, throwing a withering look over your shoulder. 

He didn't wither. 

Instead, he grabbed your arm and marched you all the way through the FBI building, down to the parking lot, and into your car. As soon as he had you safely in the driver's seat, he closed the door, pulling off your visitors' pass. 

“I'll return this for you, no need for you to dally.” 

“Fuck you,” you spat out the window as you started the ignition. 

“It's been a pleasure,” he said with a grimace. 

“No, it hasn't,” you said back, wondering how long you'd spend in jail of you just mowed him down then and there. 

“You’re right. It hasn't,” he said, leaning down and into the window so you were now eye to eye. 

“Really? It seems like you got a lot of pleasure out of spanking me earlier. You were certainly experiencing a lot of pleasure when you pushed me up against a wall last week. If it wasn't pleasure, there was definitely something long-”

“Long?” He smirked.

“And hard in your pants.” 

He leaned in through the window, his breath fanning against your cheeks as he whispered into your ear. 

“That was my gun.” 

“And I certainly won't be helping you fire a load,” you said, starting the ignition and pushing him back from the window as you drove away from the FBI and away from Spencer Reid. 

It infuriated him that you'd gotten the last word. You'd spent a month with him and hadn't even given him a chance to show off his good qualities, and then you'd left without giving him a chance to prove himself. 

And, in doing so, you'd told a blatant lie. 

There had been two people in that closet, two people with tongues desperate for contact, eager for battle. You'd been moaning just as much as he had when his hands found your nipples. 

But you'd gotten to drive away without listening to his retort, and it was killing him. 

He sat and seethed at his desk for a while, waiting for the sense of relief that you were gone to wash over him. This had been what he wanted for weeks. Why was he now so discontent? Why did everything feel wrong? 

Abandoning paperwork he knew wouldn't be needed until at least next week, Spencer found your address in the team files, wrote it down, and left his desk. 

When you got home, there was nothing waiting for you. 

It was annoying. You'd spent the last month constantly on the go, always with more work, more cases, more paperwork. You'd killed any apparent gaps with Spencer. 

You could still feel his hands on your ass. You hated to admit it, but in your short acquaintance with Doctor Asshat, you'd grown fond of having him around as eye candy. When he wasn't being annoying (talking, breathing, or generally just being), you could quite happily imagine his head buried between your legs, his tongue lapping up every drop of cum you had to offer. 

There were definitely better things he could be doing with his mouth, in any case. 

Your body felt hot, itchy, and neglected as you got home, running a shower immediately and stepping in. 

The water was hot, and the room steamed up faster than you expected. You washed away the fatigue, and you washed away the dirt of a month of cheap motels.. 

Just as you were about to wash away the memories of Spencer Reid and his stupidly skilful tongue, the doorbell rang. 

It wasn't unusual for you to get visitors at 10 pm, but usually they announced themselves. 

You stayed put in the shower. It was probably a package you'd ordered, and it could honestly wait. 

The ringing, though, didn't stop. Whoever was at your door was insistent. First, the door rang to the rhythm of jingle bells. Then, they moved on to Fur Elise. When they got to Flight of the Bumblebees Levels of bullshit, you couldn't stand it anymore. 

You wrapped a towel around you and pulled the door open wide. 

“Sp- mm?” You said, shocked to see him there, but completely floored by his appearance, and more importantly the two hands he'd planted on your cheeks as he pulled you in for a hot, hard, and fast kiss. 

You pushed him off with a hard slap to his face, and stalked further into your apartment, knowing he'd follow closely behind.

You heard the door slam shut as he made to grab you again, but you stayed just out of reach. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“I came because neither of us will move on without this.”

“Oh, you need me so much you won't be able to move on if you don't fuck me?” You scoffed, expecting a sarcastic answer to a sarcastic question. 

“Yes,” he said, and your shock at his earnestness gave him the moment he needed to grab at you again. 

This time, though, the tiny towel that had been holding your dignity in place dropped to the floor as Spencer Reid pinned you against the wall. 

“Already fucking bare and wet for me, how well-behaved.”

“Go fuck yourself!” you said, even as his hands cupped your breasts, grabbing and pulling both of your nipples, making you moan.

“See, your mouth is being a bitch, but your body is being a whore.” 

“Just fuck me won't you? No need to run your mouth.” 

“I think we're finally in agreement on something,” he said, pushing you to your knees. 

“What? Sp-” 

In one quick swoop he released his cock from his pants and wrapped a hand around all of your hair as he slid it down your waiting throat. 

As much as you protested, your mouth was wide open, and your hands wrapped around him just as eagerly. 

Holding your head still, Spencer began to talk as he fucked your throat. 

“There we go. That's exactly how I've needed you for the last month.”

You glared at him as you sank your nails into his thighs, gagging on his cock as he picked up his pace.

With two taps on his leg, you requested a moment, and he quickly pulled his dick out of your mouth. 

You coughed quickly, then spat out all of your accumulated drool before looking up at him. 

Part of you wanted to force him down next to you, to make him taste your cunt the way you'd thought about earlier. The other part, the larger part, was excited about him using you. 

He grabbed his dick and slapped your face with it, returning your earlier hit. He was waiting for you to open up again so he could cum down your throat and leave. 

“Open,” he demanded. 

You didn't comply, but you stuck out your tongue, lapping at his tip slowly as you sat on your hands. He held his breath as you kissed the underside of his shaft, making his way to his balls. You reached them and finally sucked them into your mouth, making sure to look up and make eye contact with him as you toyed with his private place.

He didn't argue or complain. Instead he fisted a hand into your hair and dragged you to your bedroom. 

Divesting himself of his pants and shirt, he sat down and, still on all fours, pushed your face back into his crotch. Perched on the edge of your bed, he held his cock up and served himself to you. 

“Well? Get back to it, Y/N.” 

Your tongue found his cock first as his hands massaged his balls, playing with them gently as you licked all the way to his tip then buried yourself between his asscheeks. You licked at the skin between his ass and balls, you tasted every inch of him, and you grew angry that he still hadn't done this for you. 

Against his wished, you rose and spat on his cock, before squeezing it hard. 

“Spencer, are you going to fuck me or are you just going to ruin my makeup?” 

“You look prettier with spit coating your face than you've looked with any lipstick,” he said as you pushed him down onto the bed and grabbed his cock. 

Straddling his waist, you were surprised he.let you sink down onto his cock without so much as another word. You felt him fill you up, one inch, then another until you sat fully sheathed on top of him. 

And then he flipped you over so he was back in control. 

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered as he pulled out and thrust back in. 

“You wanted me to fuck you, I'm fucking you.”

You wanted to argue but all you could do was moan yes as he set a furious pace, thumb and forefinger pinching your clit as you bucked into him wildly.

You couldn't stand too much of this, knowing that you wanted to at least outlast him. You wanted to tell him how pathetic he was for cumming first, you wanted to gloat that he'd wanted you more, that he couldn't resist breeding your hot wet cunt. You knew any more of this, though, and you would instead be on the receiving end of those same taunts. 

Pushing against his chest, you used the last of your strength to flip him over again. He struggled, though, stronger than you were expecting, and you rolled together like that for a few moments.

You almost went crashing to the floor as he fought for control, but he pushed a foot off the bed and held you up with his lower body strength. The new position though forced his cock deeper, to just the right angle, and when he thrust into you again, you did something you'd never done before during sex. 

You screamed your pleasure. 

Your orgasm ripped through you, as painful as it was pleasurable, and you grabbed Spencer Reid by the neck and forced his tongue to meet yours. 

He couldn't complain, too busy moaning about your hot, wet, and now tighter cunt to worry about whether he should be kissing you. 

He pulled back and picked his pace right back up, but this time, you resisted less. Hooking a hand under your legs, he pressed your legs up, pushing his stomach and chest down just above your own as he moved slower but harder. 

You wondered if this was what other wen talked about when they said they wanted someone to beat their pussy up, to use them until they couldn't stand. You didn't think you could even think about walking again for the next month as he spread your knees apart and pinned them to the bed, unloading his cum as deep inside you as anything had ever been.

You didn't even know your body bent that way. 

Panting, he collapsed on top of you and buried his head in your shoulder, mumbling and muttering to himself as he came down from his ecstasy. 

He didn't pull out. He barely even softened as he kissed across the expanse of your throat, thrusting shallowly with each nip, until your body couldn't take anymore. 

He picked a spot and sucked, and licked and bit and soothed as he ended one round, and began another. 

“Spencer-” you said, gasping as he sat up, his cock once again standing at attention, filling you still. 

“No. Stop. Don't talk, we're not good when we talk.” 

You nodded and pulled him back for another kiss, wrapping a hand around his throat and pressing hard as he moaned and groaned into you. 

Still wet and slippery and sensitive from your first attempt, neither of you lasted long, falling to the bed when it was all over with a grunt of overexertion. 

“That was…” you said, stopping there, for once totally speechless.

“That was good?” He supplied, but just good wasn't enough. 

“Yes,” you agreed, though, not willing to let your cunt rule your mind when around him.

Anymore, at least. 

“We should… we should probably never speak again,” you said, even as your hand reached out for his, fingers tangling. 

“Of course. I'll leave, and we won't ever speak again,” he said, stroking your hand with his thumb, bringing your clasped hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your hand.

“You haven't left yet.” 

“I haven't.”

“I have nowhere to be tomorrow,” you said. “You don't…”

“I won't leave yet. We might as well enjoy this,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked over your naked body. 

“We should definitely just get this out of our systems now. What's the harm in that?” 

“I agree. If we're committing to a one time thing, we might as well go all in.”

“Exactly,” you said. 

“Exactly,” he parrotted.

Exactly a year later, the members of the BAU received invitations in the post to your wedding. Because the both of you had convinced yourself that that one time had never ended and never had need to. 

[mt-oe]

Ummm

Mizu with breeding kink ???? 😵‍💫🫣

Please 🙏

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dear!

Sorry for being so late on this and thank you for requesting ;;

I hope I somehow make up for it with how I wrote it. Honestly though, this was one of the requests I expected to receive and actually receiving it was so funny. In all seriousness, I really appreciate it <3

Sorry if this one sucks or isn't up to what you'd like it to be. I don't think I cooked with this one since I wanted to try something slightly different ;; Please don't get mad or disappointed in me. I'll do better next time!

Anyways, hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa <3

warning/s: not proofread, smut (mdni!), mention of impregnation, referring to the strap as a cock/dick, she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

Clear blue eyes followed your figure with a seemingly neutral expression. Mizu had to remind herself numerous times that she agreed to this, that whatever the fuck she was currently feeling was the consequence of her own agreement.

The situation was simpler that it seems actually. It was the middle of summer, sun shining and the heat cooking it up. She had decided that it was a good time to modify and make the necessary repairs to her motorbike. However, just as she was about to finish and wash her bike, you had woken up and joined her.

Reason unknown to her, the idea of washing her bike seemed so appealing to you. "Let me do it. Just tell me how," you insisted, grabbing the sponge from her. Aww damn, you looked so excited too.

There was no harm in letting you, right?

That was where she was wrong. What seemed like an innocent little task ended up making her so fucking internally flustered. She knew it was hot out. Sweat was already soaking her back, dripping down her neck and chin. But what she didn't expect was for you to come help her in your tank top and shorts.

Now her thoughts were spiraling between wanting to help you and wanting to bend you down on her bike and fuck you until her seats were dripping.

Admiring your body, her eyes couldn't help but admire the way it moved as you hauled the hose over to her bike, untangling the rubber. She noticed the way the fabric of your clothes clung to your body from the sweat and something poking through your top. Fuck...you weren't wearing a bra, weren't you?

This was really her fault. The wetness between her legs was purely her fault. Why did she even agree to this?

"So I just avoid the fuel tank and the exhaust?" you asked her, voice almost radiating with innocent excitement as you directed the hose towards her bike. Your giggles filling the garage as you played with the water pressure, droplets splashing back everywhere.

Water ran down your arms, your collarbone down to your shirt, making it slightly see-through. Her gaze followed its trajectory with deep fascination, breath hitching almost violently as it landed on to your breasts.

She didn't know what was wrong with her today. She wasn't usually this uncontrollably horny, but goddamn. Maybe she was ovulating or something. Because right now, she wanted nothing more than to slip her hands under your shirt, pull you close to her so she could hear the soft sweet sounds from your mouth while she toyed with your nipples.

The image of your cheeks flushing red as you looked up at her, ass grinding against hers wantonly while you bit your lip. Your breath would hitch with every pinch, every tug, even with every squeeze. Small pleas and mewls would accompany the way your hips would move against hers like a dance meant for her only. "Do we really have to do this right now? L-Let's just go back in and fuck ple—"

splash.

"Am I doing this right? Why aren't you talking?" She was pulled out of the trance she was in as you splashed the water by her feet, making her jump a bit. You raised an eyebrow at her odd behavior, placing a hand on your hip. "Are you okay?" you asked, tilting your head a bit.

Mizu cleared her throat and nodded, lifting her head but looking everywhere except at you. "Yeah...The heat's just getting to me," she replied, trying her best to appear nonchalant and turning her focus to her bike. "It looks good just make sure to use the soft side of the sponge when you soap it."

You nodded in understanding before sauntering over to the cabinets to look for the soap. Eyebrows furrowing, your eyes scanned over each bottle before moving to the next cabinet. Just when she thought she could take a break, you suddenly got on your knees as you looked for the soap on the lower shelves. "Is it on this shelf?" you asked, pointing at it.

Yup, it was actually on that shelf, but damn fuck it.

"No, I think it's on the bottom one," she answered, leaning forward in her seat slightly, pretending to look. You gave her a small nod and shifted, bending over further. While you were busy turning every bottle on the shelf in search for the soap, she let her imagination wander further. Her eyes tracing the curvature, fingers twitching ever so slightly at the urge to head over for a small grab.

She'd place a hand on your back and push you down further, forcing you to arch your back for her while her other hand slipped under the fabric of your shorts, feeling the wetness growing on your panties. The tips of her fingers dipping ever so slightly, just enough to feel it but never enough to get off on it. Oh how sweetly you'd whine.

And if you pleaded well enough to satisfy her, she might just slip her hand under your panties, dip her fingers in your entrance shallowly to gather a bit of slick before moving up to your clit. The hand on your back would be replaced by her body, pressing down on you to keep you from squirming too much while she toys with the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She'd start out at a deliberately slow pace, tracing shapes on to your clit, drawing out each moan and gasp from your lips until you were whining and begging her to go faster. But she'd keep you there, until you could yourself dripping onto her fingers, entrance throbbing as if asking her to fill you up.

You'd beg her to put it in, eyes teary and hazed with lust. If you begged hard enough to please her, she'd tangle her fingers within the locks of your hair and grip it, pulling you up with one hand while she put her strap on with the other.

"Use your mouth," she'd order you, pushing your head towards the tip of the silicone. Gratefully, you open your mouth and give the head a few kitten licks to get it nice and wet before wrapping your lips around it. Moans reverberating in your throat as she pushes you down, causing your eyes to water as you choke on the plastic, gasping deeply upon pulling away before she pushes you down again.

Your jaw would definitely hurt, but you'd take it for her.

You were a good girl, weren't you?

Once her strap was wet enough, she'd pull your hair back and make you bend over her bike. Her hands would hurriedly pull your shorts down along with your panties before aligning herself against your hole. She'd watch as the toy sinks inside of your entrance, your thighs jiggling slightly as you trembled, a loud moan ripping from your mouth while your eyes rolled back. Wet squelching noises would echo in the garage while she—

"Woah I found it!" you chirped, sitting up with the bottle of soap in your hands.

Fuck. Damnit.

"Where was it?" she asked, pretending not to know. "It was on the middle shelves. I guess you misplaced it," you replied, standing up and closing the cabinet. Mizu nodded and changed the way she crossed her legs, trying to keep the arousal between her legs quelled.

You made your way over to her bike before curiously pouring the soap in a bucket of water, swishing your hand inside to create some bubbles before dipping the sponge in and scrubbing her bike. Your giggles and small hummed tunes sounded around while you worked excitedly, aiming to please your lover.

Meanwhile, her head was reeling with images of your figure bent-over her bike while she plows her dick in you. "You're moaning like a bitch," she'd groan, a slight chuckle leaving her lips as you whined in response, brain unable to form words. "I could probably put a baby in you if I wanted to."

A baby?

Yeah that sounds like a good idea, your fucked-out brain would say

Your head would nod desperately, making her laugh. "That sound good to you?" she'd ask almost mockingly, gripping your chin to make you look at her. She'd admire how fucked silly you looked. How pretty you were even when your mind was overwhelmed with pleasure, tears streaming from your eyes, drool at the side of your lips. "Mhm...cum in me please," you'd beg her, a sultry laughter mixing in with your moans, making her groan.

Her lips would kiss you from the temples down to your neck, one hand rubbing your clit in circles while she went in deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin would echo around. A sense of satisfaction washing over her upon hearing your moans turn into squeals and sobs. "I'll blow it deep inside you...make you the prettiest momma," she'd whisper, smirk ghosting her lips as you nodded, letting out a long drawn whine. Her hands would grip the plush of your ass while sexing out any coherent thoughts you'd have left. She'd go in so deep you'd think you could feel her from your liver to your lungs.

"Cum in me...please..love.." you'd beg, face against her seat as your arms grew weaker. Your words sending a rush of heat to her loins, encouraging her to go faster. Her dick may be plastic but she'd sure as hell give you what you want. Mizu's movements would grow more erratic, aiming to give you what you begged her for.

You want her to cum in you? She fucking will. She'd push it in so deep you'd forget it was impossible. The tip of her dick would make your cervix bruise while you couldn't help but ask for more. Ask her to fuck you more.

To fuck you harder.

To fuck her babies into you.

Fuuuuuck.

You'd feel the intense coil of climax building up inside you. Your cries and moans would get louder with every thrust. A loud cry followed by incoherent sobbing would accompany your release. "O-Oh shit.." you'd gasp out, a weak moan leaving you as she slowly pulled out, a ring of your cum creaming at the base of her cock. Your figure would slowly sink down to the floor, knees too weak to keep you body up. "Fuck.. Mizu.."

"Mizu? Mizu! Hey Mizu!"

Your voice once again pulls her out of her imagination with a jolt. A surprised noise coming from you as you stepped back. "W-What's going on?" she asked, looking around as she tried to pull herself to reality.

A confused look graces your features before you step back to show her your work. "I'm finished. And I put the wax on too. You do do that, right?" you asked her, frowning a bit at how red her cheeks were. "Actually forget that. Are you okay?"

She coughs a bit, straightening herself up. "Its just the heat," she answers, grasping the collar of her shirt to fan herself. Uncrossing her legs, she grimaces at the slip of her wetness between her legs.

"Are you sure?" you ask her, tilting your head and bending down a bit. Blue eyes wandered down to your chest again, blanking out slightly before she nods, then pausing as a thought rushes through her head.

"Actually.. I do think you can help me with something," she says.

"What is it?"

"Let's go inside first."

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Windows To the Soul- Kinktober Week Two

Juliette Nichols x Fem!Reader

MINORS DNI 18+

[Originally labelled 'Mirror, Mirror On the Wall, Who's the Biggest Slut of Them All?]

Summary: An unplanned visit after your abrupt breakup with the Sheriff of the Silo brings unexpected revelations.

Kinks: Mirror sex, post-break-up sex.

A/N: This fic is less explicit smut and more graphic emotion-wise. What is the dirtiest, most sinful thing one can do if not admit they need another? (I am struggling to write the smut and it shows bc everything I write is just SAD).

Word Count: 2.1k

Every breath of air you took in this moment felt woefully inadequate. You couldn’t get a breath in, not a true, full-bellied breath that would soothe the ache in your lungs, relax the tension in your stomach, release the blockage in your throat. Three weeks of no contact, not a single glance in the hallways, and she was back, sitting on your couch like she’d never left. Taking you off guard in your own home. It’s something Juliette would do. The same blonde hair falling out of a too-loose ponytail, unbuttoned uniform and belt loosened to accommodate the natural press of her slouched abdomen against her pants.

“Jules.”

“Shut up.”

You don’t know who moved first, her barreling towards you off of her perch on the couch, you careening forwards and meeting her halfway. Her hands on your back, hips, shoulders, grasping-grabbing-pulling-yanking-cradling-holding all of you. Her mouth smashing against yours, the goddamned whimper she let out. All of the anger and hurt of the break up forgotten in the paroxysm of her body on yours, her mouth tracing hungry patterns wherever it found purchase.

“Jules, wait, please-”

A swipe of her hand over the table, glassware smashing on the floor; the destructive nature of her desires on full display.

“I can’t get you out of my head.” she whispered, nose pressed against your temple and shaky breaths puffing out over the small hairs that clung next to your ear.

That stupid face. Those stupid blue eyes and cocky smirk, the class of glassware.

“Get the fuck off.” you shoved her back, getting off the table.

A perplexed look came over Juliette’s face, her hands raised in mock surrender.

“Sorry.”

“You would be.” you snapped. 

The broken glass littered the already well worn linoleum. Another mess, another headache Juliette brought upon you. Neither of you spoke a word as you swept the broken glass into a pan, putting it in a bag for now.

“I should’ve slapped you.” you mumbled, not quite meaning it.

Juliette raised her brows, shaking her head dismissively. Her thumbs worked circles over the fabric where they perched out of her pockets, adding to the sheepish posture.

“Yeah, well sex with your ex is supposed to be cathartic.” she sighed.

“Not if you ended on bad terms.” you snapped.

Juliette shrugged, using your less than furious response as a cue to push forwards a little more. One step closer towards you at a time, slowly invading your personal space.

“It was a short fling, I didn't think I needed an explanation for leaving.”

Her reasoning was nothing short of inadequate. A fling, a minor dance of passion between two people who were just in the same place at the right time. Until it was the wrong time. But it hadn’t been, not in your eyes. Realizing she had never really gotten over George well enough to love another had been a hard pill to swallow, one you’d only managed recently.

“You know, you really should’ve made it clear that you weren’t planning on staying.” 

Looking at her was an awful mixture between painful and infuriating. You busied yourself with the dishes instead. They’d been soaking long enough, it was a matter of draining the water and actually washing them. Such an act conveniently coincided with having the excuse to avoid looking at her.

“Listen, I get that you’re upset that I wasn’t upfront about what I wanted, but no one ever is, so…” Jules shrugged, watching as you dove headfirst into the nearest task.

“Doesn’t excuse the fact that you just up and left. Lead me on… Flirted, teased, even hinted at something more in the future. Kind of like how George did to you.”

Juliette let out a groan of anger, turning on her heel and running a hand over her scalp in the anxious-avoidant motion she was so fond of.

“Founders be damned, are we just going to sit here and trade barbs all day?” she huffed. “I have enough shit going wrong for me, I don’t need you-”

“Oh you're still entitled to me?” you snapped. “Pretty mature of you, slinking back for a less than underhanded attempt at trying to fuck me.”

Juliette spun on her heel, now facing you. Her jaw quirked to the left, mouth working its way into a grimace. Again she smoothed her hair, hands stilling on her hips.

“I came because I wanted to apologize, and then you came in with your business casual shirt all rumpled, and in that damn skirt that just hugs your body, so yeah, maybe I got a little side tracked.”

There was nothing you could say to that. It wasn’t an insult, but it wasn’t exactly a compliment. She’d left emotional baggage and pain the same way George had left it with her. A cute little cycle, but not one you excused her from. Soap was up to your upper arms, each dish scrubbed beyond what was really necessary to get it clean, but it was better than outright hurling something at her.

“Listen, I do miss some things, it just… For so long I didn’t know what I wanted, and now I do. And it’s not here, not with you, as wonderful as you are…” she choppily advocated, taking slow steps forwards until she was just short of touching you.

“As wonderful as I am you’re an asshole who wanted someone to fuck and hold you close while you were going through your shit. There’s a word for it, and it’s called a rebound. Shittiest thing you could ever do to a person, honestly.”

A long sigh crested over your shoulder, close enough to tickle the back hairs of your neck. Her arms snaked forwards, resting lightly on the swell of your hips. 

“Crawling back to you isn’t what I was planning, but I can’t resist another go…”

An arm snaked around your front ready to pull you back towards her, to snag you and pull you towards another hook up you knew you’d regret.

“Just one more time, for the fun of it…” Juliette whispered, breath climbing over your ear, attempting to lure you into a yes.

Anger welled up again, and this time you had a sink full of soapy water and a small pot to work with. Turning on your heel, you doused her front with several cups of warm dishwater. Juliette looked down at her clothes, and then you. 

“I have the maturity problem? Yeah right.” 

She reached in the sink, using a bowl to douse your work clothes in that same water. You smacked her with the damp dish towel, she snapped your ass. The two of you fought like children, splashing each other with water until both of you were wetter than not. A particularly violent toss of water caused your frictionless shoes to slip on the linoleum, causing you to careen back. The plastic cup fell against the floor, your body careening down towards the ground. Two hands reached outward, gripping your shoulders. Juliette let out a yelp, losing traction as well. You both crashed against the floor in a mess of limbs. Her elbow against your ribs, her chin clacking shut as her jaw cracked against your shoulder.

Both of you groaned, each more than a little sore. Juliette adjusted her body over yours, staring down at you, laid upon the linoleum with water lining the floor around you. Her head blocked the main light of the kitchen, creating a small halo around her head as she looked down upon you with more than a fair degree of concern. Neither of you broke the silence. Doing such a thing would be precarious, shattering the subtle tranquility of the moment. She settled above you, elbows on either side of your face. 

When she leaned down you didn’t push her away. Her body was warm, seeping through the damp cloth of her soaked uniform. You swore you could still feel the familiar dip and swell of her muscular back, and as your hands traced the line of her spine, you found the familiar divot at the base, hiding just under where her belt sat. Juliette, to her credit, was far more cautious in her next attempt. Soft kisses graced your cheeks, her fingers just lightly tracing the hair above your ears.

“Yes?” she whispered.

“Since we’re both here…” you softly replied, a squeeze to her back to affirm that subtle consent.

Juliette hummed once, hands sliding under your torso, pulling you up and off of the wet floor. Her hand cradled the back of your head, soothing pressure overwhelming the dull ache from where your skull had made contact with the ground. To have Juliette be this soft with you spoke to her inner guilt, a phenomena you’d witnessed many times after she vented to you about George. But you wouldn’t complain. Not when she was pulling you up, cradling you to her like a small child, carrying you away, out of the kitchen, towards the bathroom. 

As your feet touched the ground, she caught your chin, pressing a soft kiss there. A reassuring kiss, probably the only real intimacy you’d get out of this experience. Her mouth found your neck, wetter, meaner, hungrier kisses working slow patterns down, her calloused hands undoing the zipper of your skirt, the buttons of your blouse. Your own hands shook as you undid her uniform. Belt clanging to the floor with her slacks, uniformed button up shrugged off in the same manner you’d watched countless times. Neither of you could speak at this moment, neither of you dared. Words could ruin this moment, would ruin it. 

By the third time her lips crashed against yours you were finally bold enough to reciprocate, mouth slackening as her tongue slipped past your lips. She had the smallest hint of coffee breath, the one beverage you were sure she consumed regularly. Juliette lived on coffee, she depended on it in ways you knew to be worrisome. But when that coffee-breath stained tongue touched yours, it was a comfort. A spark of assurance in an otherwise vague moment. Her hands slipped to your back, yanking off your bra, blunt nails digging in with the desperation of her jerky moments. You both kicked off your shoes as you finished pulling off your panties. A push into the shower, that was all the direction she gave.

Cold water shocked your flushed skin as she turned the water on, body pressing against yours as she desperately kissed you against the shower wall. A quick glance to the long mirror in the bathroom confirmed the sight. Juliette’s hands tracing your hips, her mouth tracing desperate patterns on your neck. You didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop. You’d wear turtlenecks for a month if that’s what you needed.

“Jules, look at me, please.” you broke the rhythm of the moment, trying to catch her gaze.

“I am.” she whispered.

Her gaze slipped to your right, and you turned, following it. Blue-steel eyes meeting yours in the slightly foggy mirror. You turned, still making that eye-contact as her hands slipped around you from behind. One hand down, parting your labia. The other cupped your left breast, thumb drawing circles over the pebbled flesh. 

You didn’t watch her hands as they stimulated you, fingers dipping inside, thumb tweaking your clit. You felt that. But all you saw were those blue eyes overrun with emotion. A white-hot throbbing erupted in your chest, complimenting and growing alongside the burning ache in your core. The sounds you both made, the way you moaned, the desperate whines she let out as she watched you climb higher, it was all background. Center stage were those blue eyes, heavy and burdened. 

One climax, then two. Your legs gave out, the two of you collapsing in the bathtub. You kissed hungrily, devouring her tongue, her lips, her breath. As her thigh made contact with your cunt, hers pressed against the complimentary thigh. And as you rocked together, you felt that grief.

The small little stuffed animal she kept in her bedroom, the books she had on her shelf. The way she left all of her socks inside out to ensure she didn’t put them on with a hair inside. The nose scrunch, the awkward bug-eyed look she sported most of the time.

“Please stay.” you whispered, your hands splaying over her back.

Juliette leaned down, her forehead pressed against yours. One loud whine and she came undone. Her body slouched over yours in the bathtub, the shower going cold as the water pounded down around you. Juliette’s breathing evened, nose finding that familiar crook in your neck and just nuzzling.

Tags: @ilovehotactresses @marvelwomenrule @midnight-lestrange

[twirlywhirlywriting]

What Would I Do Without You?

I finally did it!!! This was definitely a challenge for me as a writer. I am mostly used to female submissives so this was a huge change! I hope you all like it, I worked really hard on it! Here you go, my loves, submissive John Murphy!

Title: What Would I Do Without You?

TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+ Minors DNI, Smut, Sub!Murphy x Dom!/Reader, Reader’s POV, Fem Reader, Use of Y/N, Cussing, Soft Dom, Mistress Kink, Obedience, Reassurance, Strip Tease, Kissing, Praise, Fingering, Oral (f receiving), P in V (unprotected), Orgasms, Soft Edging (literally one time), Handjob, Slight Mess, Aftercare, Mentions of Love

The first thing that I need to point out before telling you anything, is that John Murphy is mine. He is the love of my life, he is my best friend, he is my baby. He’s my submissive, my fuck toy, my good boy, just mine. I know that when you look at us, we seem like any other “power couple” who are really just giant assholes who don’t care about anyone else but each other. But really, he’s just trying to give the people what they want, and well, I can’t help myself from being protective of him and his feelings. 

The only reason he is being so forceful in making everyone take off those stupid wristbands is because no one wants the fuckers who put us down here to follow us. We don’t deserve to be prisoners. We are lucky none of us are 18, otherwise we’d all be dead anyways. But they put us on this dropship without our permission. They are the ones who didn’t know if they were killing us or not. And now we have the entire Earth to ourselves. The last thing that any of us want is for those stupid assholes to follow us down and take control again, or worse, call us criminals again. We deserve this whole goddamn Earth to ourselves, we were the ones who were going to die for it if it turned out to be uninhabitable anyway. 

Most people understand this and are happy to take off the damn wristband-tracker-whatever the fuck they are. If everyone on the Ark thinks we died, they won’t follow us and we will finally be free. But Clarke and her stupid boy toy followers are making things way harder than they need to be. They’re being dicks to John, my John. I can’t stand it. 

“Stop it, Murphy! Everyone, you have to stop taking those off, the Ark has to know we’re alive!” Clarke screams at John over the fire. Maybe he is being a little bit intense, not letting anyone get dinner until they allow him to remove the wristband. But it’s for their own good! How can that bitch not see that? 

“No one wants the Ark to know we’re alive, Clarke. We want to be free. We deserve to be free.” He retorts, then turns to everyone, “Do you want to be the Ark's prisoners again? For doing nothing? For saving their asses and getting nothing in return?” He yells, and everyone around boos at Clarke; she and Wells look like they’re about to pop their top. 

She grabs a piece of meat anyways and starts eating, then glares at him. “No rules, right? Screw you, Murphy.” His eyes look like he’s ready to kill her, but I know that look. When he looks murderous, he’s really just sad, or scared, or something. Maybe angry too, maybe a bit murderous, but mostly sad. And that makes me fume. 

I hand my food to John and stand up. Yanking the food back from Clarke, I step right up to her and get in her face. “You know you can’t do that shit. Chaos is good, but you’re just being fucking stupid. He’s helping people, whether you realize it or not. You, Wells, and Finn can all just go on your merry fucking way and find your own food. We’ll get your wristbands later.” She looks like she’s about to throw a punch, but Finn stops her and pulls her away. I’m still fuming, who does she think she is? Finn is right, she is a fucking princess. Wells and Clarke think they get to decide all the rules just because his Daddy and her Mommy are in charge up there. Well, they’re fucking wrong. 

As I sit back down, John gives me back my food. We are both still so pissed off at the whole situation, and not just because of right now. Clarke and those stupid boys are always getting in John’s way. They truly think they can lead us! While I sit here thinking about how fucked up it is, John grabs my hand and brings it up to his lips, planting the softest kiss. I know he’s trying to calm me down, even though he’s just as mad as I am. He’s so fucking sweet. He could be ready to kill someone and when he looks at me or touches me, it is always so soft and loving. He treats me like a queen no matter how he feels. 

I smile at him and when I catch his eyes, I can tell he needs a break. He is trying so hard to keep his cool in front of everyone, but I can tell the frustration of the day and that encounter is getting to him. I quickly shove the last bite of food into my mouth and lead him to our tent with his hand in mine. I’m going to take all of his thoughts and make them melt away, I know just what to do.

The second we get inside, he asks, “Am I doing something wrong?” and I shake my head and smile at him, staring into his gorgeous blue eyes. You may think he likes to take charge with the way he acts around other people, but you’d have it all wrong. He needs the release of not having to make choices. To listen to someone else for a change, have someone else be responsible for him when no one is watching.

“No baby boy, nothing wrong at all. You’re perfect.” I kiss him on the lips, then kiss both of his cheeks, and when I look into his eyes again, I can’t take it. He’s just so hot, standing there and waiting to react to my every move. I kiss him again, harder this time, moving my hands up under his shirt a little to glide my hands along his stomach and chest. He grabs me by my waist and kisses me back deeply, stifling a small moan. I know he wants me. I grin and look up to him, putting my hand on his cheek softly. “What does my good boy want, hm?” 

He bites his lip and looks into my eyes, knowing just the right words to say. “I want to make you feel good, Mistress. I just want to feel you all over me. I want to feel you on my hands, my lips, my tongue, I want to please you with every part of me.” It’s hard for me to keep my composure when he says such yummy words.

“And you can have me. But not yet. Sit on the bed, for now you only get to watch.” He immediately obeys, sitting on the bed with his eyes glued to me. I slowly take off my shirt, much slower than normal, feeling his eyes look over every inch of my stomach, my ribs, my tits, my collarbone and neck, and finally my face again. With my pants, it’s the same thing. I turn around this time though, giving him a full view as I bend over and let him watch every part of my ass and legs become exposed. I peel my underwear off too, giving him just a quick peek of my pussy before standing up and turning around again. 

Instead of letting him touch me like he asked for, I smirk at him, trailing my hands up my stomach and start squeezing my tits, then trailing my fingertips around my nipples until they get hard. I love watching him practically drool, watching his pants get tight, his hands grabbing onto the sheets to stop himself from leaping up and grabbing me.  

I move a hand down my stomach, across my hips, parting my legs just enough to let my hand slip between them. I keep one hand squeezing my tit and sometimes pinching my nipple, letting the other hand glide along my slit, then I start to slowly rub my clit. I lean my head back and moan, wondering just how much this is killing him and enticing him to watch. After maybe a minute or so, I pull my hand back up, stare straight into his eyes, and lick the wetness off of my fingers. His face flushes, and I ask him, “What is it? Do you want a taste too?” 

He stumbles over his words as though he couldn’t get them out fast enough, “Yes, Mistress, please let me taste you.” It makes me feel so warm inside when he says these things. Of course, I’ll give him what he wants. I walk towards him, put a foot up onto the bed to give him a better view, and slide a single finger inside of myself. When I pull it out, it’s glistening. It’s fucking teasing me to do this too, but I love seeing how much he wants me. 

“Open.” I demand as I put my finger up to his lips, and he does so immediately. I slide my finger in his mouth, and he is happy to suck my finger clean. “Good boy, you are so patient. You get to touch me now.” I lay down onto the bed, “Whatever you want to do to start with, baby, you earned it.” 

He climbs on top of me, kissing my neck oh so gently, it almost tickles. He works his way down to my chest, and as he does so, his kisses become more erratic and have more pressure. He gets to my tits, and uses his tongue to circle my nipple, using a hand to follow suit on my other nipple. I close my eyes to fully enjoy the sensations, combing my fingers through his hair as he does this.

After a little bit of this, I feel my wetness and the tingle of desire a bit too intensely. “Okay, I need you on my pussy, right now.” The end of my sentence is almost a growl, I didn’t realize how fucking wet I was until it hit me like a brick wall and I couldn’t wait a single second longer. 

“Yes Mistress, of course.” He scoots back on the bed, wetting two of his fingers using my own juices, sliding one in and pumping a few times before adding the second. He starts kissing my clit, just warming me up as he continues to slowly pump his fingers in and out, just barely curling his fingers up at the last second of every thrust, only a whisper of a touch to my g-spot. Even with how soft he’s being, my breathing quickens. He’s not one to need too much direction on exactly how to please a woman. He doesn’t start off too fast, and he definitely knows where all the good spots are. Whether he’s naturally gifted, or if he’s practiced, I’ve never cared to ask. He’s all fucking mine and that’s the only thing that matters to me. 

“You’re doing so good, baby, you’re such a good boy for me, that’s just right.” I coo at him, making sure every second that he knows just how good he’s making me feel. 

His kisses on my clit slowly turn into kisses with tongue, and that turns into pressing his tongue into me with the tiniest of suction of his lips, letting go with a tiny pop every time. As his kisses change into this, his fingers start working faster, and the second he feels my g-spot swell, he starts fully curving them into that wonderful “come here” motion as he pumps them in and out of me. His tongue gets faster as well, consistent stimulation with suction every few seconds, it’s perfect. I grip the sheets with one hand and his hair in another, unable to control how loud or often I’m moaning. I can barely talk anymore, but I mumble out a “Good boy, just like that!” 

It only takes a couple of minutes before my orgasm comes to the brink, my legs shaking and the world around me practically spinning as I hit my peak. When it calms down, I grip his hair tighter and pull him up to me in a sloppy kiss, both of us breathing heavily. “Am I making you feel good, Mistress? That was good?” He asks me, and my heart melts. He is probably the only guy in the world to make a girl cum that hard and not be full of himself about it. He wants reassurance that he’s doing things just how I like them. Fuck, I love him. He is going to be mine forever, I swear to God. 

“Yes, you are doing so good, baby boy. I’m going to keep you mine forever. Understand?” I look into his eyes so that he knows that isn’t just pillow talk, that he really is mine. Forever. 

He nods with more enthusiasm than I’ve ever seen, and responds with the same seriousness in his voice that I had in mine. “Yes Mistress, I’m all yours, forever. You own me.” 

I give him one more kiss before switching our positions so that I’m on top of him now. “I need you to be inside me now.” I say as I slowly ease myself onto him, groaning as I feel the fullness inside of me. “It’s my turn to watch as you feel good, baby.” I say soothingly, before adding sternly, “now don’t you dare look away. I want to look into your eyes the whole time I’m making you feel good.”

He bites his lip and nods, almost immediately moaning as I start riding him, slowly at first, moving my hips up and down, then back and forth, then a mixture of them all, in a circle. I love watching the sweat slowly build in his hair, watching the muscles on his chest and abs clench as I make him feel so good. I place my hand on his chest to give me better leverage to go faster, faster, and stop right as I see he is starting to get closer to his orgasm. 

Disappointment flickers in his eyes, but only for a moment, he knows I’m never going to fully deny him. He’s too beautiful and perfect to truly be mean. I lean down to give him a kiss, before whispering into his ear. “Now, you’re going to make me cum again. I’m going to stay still, and you are going to fuck me like this, exactly how I tell you to.” 

“Yes Mistress, I want to make you cum on me. Please tell me what you want.” He begs and I groan quietly, he’s too fucking good. 

I straighten back up and tell him to start off slow, which he does. He keeps his hands on my waist to help him gain leverage, and I trail my fingers along his chest and tell him constantly how good he’s doing, how much he’s pleasing me. I tell him to go faster, then to slow down, then to go deeper and harder, then faster, then slow again. He follows along with my words perfectly. I like to work myself up to the edge, not too fast, I want to enjoy every moment of this. But when I notice he is getting a little tired, I tell him to speed up and fuck me as hard as he can. 

My nails dig into his chest as I cum, my head falling back as I moan and my legs squeeze against his sides, making it harder for him to continue fucking me but he pushes through. When I look back down at him I smile at his flushed face, “Stop, baby. You can stop. You are such a perfect fuck toy. Now it’s finally your turn.” 

I start riding him again, keeping up with the quick pace and making sure I’m going all the way down, pushing all of him inside me with every hip thrust. I love watching him pant and whimper as he gets close to the edge. “Mistress, please, I-I-I’m close!” he says with urgency, and I get off of him and immediately jerk him off, keeping the pace as I watch him cum all over himself, biting my lip as I watch.

“Look at what a mess you’ve made, baby.” I tease, making him blush a little bit but he knows I’m not mad. I just love watching him make a mess everywhere, especially on himself. I quickly grab a rag and clean him up, first wiping the sweat off his brow and then cleaning up his chest. 

I lay down next to him, propping myself up on my elbow. I kiss him all over his face, a million times practically, whispering in a soothing voice “You are such a good boy,” and “You did such a wonderful job,” and “It’s all over now baby, I love you so much.” and “I’ll be right here to care for you, always.” in between the kisses being peppered all over his face. He snuggles into me, and I am happy to hold him, regulating my own breathing in order to help him regulate his. 

I stroke his hair, humming softly in a soothing lullaby I forgot the words to a long time ago, every once in a while kissing the top of his head. After a while, he looks up at me and asks, “Did you really mean it, that I’m yours forever? Because.. I want to be. I always want to be yours, Y/N. Always.”

I smile back at him, my heart melting all over again. “Whatever would I do without you, John? I love you.” 

Please feel free to reblog!!!! Below is to keep anyone from stealing my work, but reblogs are literally the lifeblood of Tumblr and helping a post get more views, thank you 😘

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[actuallycassidyiambusy]

Duuuude you're brave for posting your art on Twitter. People over there are fucking crybabies and will literally harass you for drawing fake people in a way they don't like.

I'm not one of them. I love your art and the way you draw. Bluffy is my new favorite ship because of you. I'm just saying you're bold as fuck and I seriously envy your courage.

This pisses me off for several reasons. First, I'll be clear. Anon, you did not piss me off in any way, so do not be put off by the aggression of my reply.

Nobody should be fucking scared to post their art anywhere. Art of fictional characters doing WHATEVER is exactly what it is. Art and fiction. I am so goddamn tired of these prissy fucking babies coming at artists who are simply enjoying themselves. "Antis" and the whole "proship dni" community who base their morality on how you portray fiction can suck a fat fucking cock. They so desperately tell us not to interact with them, but the moment we post something we're proud of, all of a sudden they wanna talk. All of a sudden, interaction is okay. As long as it's an attack from THEM. As long as they can degrade, threaten and make us feel like we don't have any right to enjoy something that literally doesn't fucking hurt them.

They can come at me from right and fucking left, I'll still fucking post whatever the hell I want. They know where the block button is. They know how to filter tags. If they'd rather come onto my post that had nothing to do with them in the first place, and bitch at me, I'll gladly post more. Shit, I'll post it AGAIN and tag them if they want to play around. I don't put up with hate and I certainly don't put up with people who wanna cry and come at me for something that's fucking FAKE.

LET PEOPLE FUCKING ENJOY THINGS. FOR FUCK'S SAKE. Anons come into my inbox or people dm me asking me to light someone up for bullying or threatening that they receive. What do you fuckers gain by screenshotting and blasting artists who don't even fucking know you? What do you gain by bitching and crying at artists who just want to enjoy their ships or literally anything else? Screenshot me, bitch. Go ahead. Post your petty little comments about how wrong I am and how you're morally superior because you would NEVER. Go off about a fictional piece that "hurts" you while you continue to hurt the artist who created it even more. OR, and this is just a mere suggestion, you can move on from your high school stage, grow the fuck up, and learn how to scroll past shit you don't like. It's the fucking internet, sweetheart.

Post whatever the fuck you want. INDULGE in that shit. Enjoy your kinks and your fantasies. Enjoy your fictional characters kissing and falling in love in seventeen different ways. Draw it, write it, read it, post it. And if someone wants to bother you, hell, you know where the block button is too. No shame in blocking people and keeping your peace. Surround yourself with people who fucking encourage you and all your weird shit. It makes you happy. That's what matters.

Once again anon, I am not mad at you lmao. I'm mad at people who can't separate fiction from reality, and feel the need to drag those who CAN through the mud.

[tassodelmiele]

Noisy little mess

Hi sweetie ⁓

Here we are, it's finally monday and we can hope again in having a good, productive week (please let it be a sunny one too I can't hibernate in April I need my photosynthesis).

I'm wondering what do you think of this little work of mine, so if you feel like it you can write me whatever comment/question/any various and possible magical shit.

Have a good chocolaty day ⁓

DISCLAIMERS: little bit of touching and hints about sub/dom relationship! Finally my kinks are emerging! (evil laugh); Ghost-who-needs-to-make-peace-with-his-brain x Reader-who-needs-to-learn-how-to-shut-up; "How to be a psychologist without a degree" (by John Price); embarassing mission I hope does not exist in reality, but i needed it for plot's sake; little bit of wounds and scars (Doc.'s gonna tie you and Ghost up to a chair for the rest of your life); yelling and fighting and arguing (you're used to it by now).

..................................................

Fourth part here:

..................................................

«Why the hell you've let her-»

«MacTavish»

Price swallows through the smoked breath, clenching his fingers around the consumed cigar just to distract himself from the willingness to punch a wall, or the Sergeant's face.

«I've already had Ghost yelling at me for half an hour. Spare me»

«Then explain yourself, Cap.»

«I can't. I've no explanation. She'd done it by herself»

«She's no insubordinate»

«Not in that sense». He sighs. «I told her no. I knew it was too much for a rookie». He chews the extinguished cigar for a while, taking his time. «Laswell agreed. But that goddamn girl managed to convince Kate, somehow»

«How come?»

«Dunno. But she's already feeling bad enough, and she was the one who's got to rescue the girl»

«Laswell?? Ye serious?»

Price nods, eyes locked at the door in front of them. The doc entered almost one hour ago.

«And» Soap dares to ask «is Laswell…uhm…»

«She's ok» the Captain anticipates him. «Nothing broken. But the rookie…». He sighs again, scratching the bridge of his nose, pushing lightly his digits on the eyes. «I don't like soldiers wasting their lives like this. Especially good ones»

«The mission had to be done anyway»

«We could have waited for a better plan»  

He takes a last chew on the cigar, spitting it on his glove before squeezing the leftover crumbles in his fist. He throws everything in a trashcan, then gazes at Soap.

«We've got shit to do, Sergeant. We'll come to check her later»

«They've done something bad to her». That wasn't really a question, even if Soap hopes to be wrong. «Am i right?»

«What came up in that bloody lil' head of yours?»

Three gunshots in your arm (the right one, 'cause luck kicks you in the ass as always), one blade wound and various bruises, just to complete the masterpiece. Doc sent you out of the bed with a promise: to try to not touch the medications.

One in particular.

You didn't even want to eat, but you need to. So breakfast has started, with chocolate scent, closed stomach and two pairs of gaze on your red face. You've tried to avoid contact with every human being in the base, but someone's got a good sense of smell for you. And you eventually end up with Soap and Gaz surrounding you with their (legitimate) questions.

You're blushing like hell, stirring oatmeal crumble in the mug with your eyes drowning into it.

«…I've thought…i could be helpful»

«You're a brave kid, but that was-»

«Stupid» Soap ends the sentence. «To say the least». He finishes his coffee in a sip, swallowing the hot liquid in a rush. «It wasn't a rookie's work, ye should've known» 

You nod in embarrassment. «I did know»

«Then why?»

«'Cause…» you swallow, burying your eyes more into the mug, scratching the cuticles skin out of the nails. «…a girl was required. For the mission»

«Hold on» Gaz grabs your shoulder, lowering his voice. It was a confidential subject, not the one to speak about in a crowded dining room. But he keeps on with his curiosity anyway. «It was about weapons traffic, wasn't it?»

You nod.

«Then why a girl?»

You're about to answer, your mouth's already open even if you're not sure if filling them with a temporary lie, or just spit the truth.

Another sudden press on your shoulder takes you off from every doubt.

A big hand grabs you firmly, squeezing skin and bones underneath your uniform. Your body instantly shivers, tightening under the hold. You raise your head a little, but you know whose mask you're gonna jump into.

Ghost has the magical power to bring back the silence. He doesn't even have to speak, just a glare of his is enough. His look hits Soap and Gaz as to say: shut your bloody mouth; and they just roll their eyes at the ceiling, as to say: but we wanna know 'bout her mission, damn it.

Then he lowers on you just that tiny bit that's needed to let you feel his body heat closer, so warm against your cold limbs.

«Your presence is required» he says quickly, almost murmuring against your ear.

And here you are, walking behind his massive figure with eyes lowered on the ground, following his feet at a security distance through the base. He stops a couple of times to talk with someone, moments in which you play camouflaging with the wall; then you two reach a door, and you're so into not-seeing in front of you that you don't even look at where you are. 

He closes the door behind you, and only after a few seconds of embarrassment you find the bravery to mumbling:

«W-who required me?»

«I do»

Your heart skips a beat before your ears could collect his voice and your synapsis could elaborate its meaning. That's when you suddenly raise your sight, finding him clinging on the desk while looking at you through the mask, and even if you can't see his face it's pretty clear that he's judging you. You can read it on the skull, as there's an imaginary -but very perceptible-  neon writing saying: You're a bloody stupid gnome.

Voice escape through your lips automatically: «I'm sorry»

«'Bout what?» he kinda calls you out, pressing with his sternness on your pathetic whimpers.    

Your eyes lower again.

«…causing trouble-»

«Just that?»

You nod. You don't wanna talk about what kinda trouble; but he does.

«Take off your shirt»

Your brain flashes a sudden error signal, allowing you to shiver and wrap your arms tight around yourself. 

«…sir?»

Stupid question. You know why he's asking, the goddamn doctor had probably told him.

«Your shirt» he repeats, not moving from his place.

Two days ago, you would have started a war about this, yelling at him without regrets, brave enough to fight against your superior like two children between one small bucket. 

Not now. Now you just stand in your special spot in the office, allowing your body to move just what is needed to breathe, eyes locked on the floor. You feel him growing impatient, sighing through the mask as you're disappointing him.

«'K. If that's so…»

The sentence remains hanging in the air, and in a matter of seconds, without getting aware of how fast he came toward you, his hands are on your shoulder. You instantly panic but you're too small to fight against his weight that's pushing you against the door, pinning you still with an hand on your breastbone while the other runs to your shirt's hem.

You grab his wrist in a stupid attempt at stopping him, but he lifts the shirt up in one movement, revealing bruises, a bloody bandage, and…a little scar slightly under the belly button, fresh from the oven and still shiny from some medical gel: the writing made out of fire burns on your skin in an elegant gothic style. 

He stares at it, contemplating that swallowed piece of tattooed skin. Your face becomes so red you could spontaneously combust in this exact moment.

«Who made it?» he burst out, whispering harsh words.

You swallow hot air, digging your dry throat and hoping that whatever's gonna come out of your mouth will be the most sensible as possible.

«It's…it…traffic wasn't just 'bout weapons»

«Humans» he talks over immediately. 

You nod your head, specifying with a swallow: «women» 

«You've sneak in as a good to be sold»

«There was no other way to-»

«And they've marked you» his voice's not that high, but you're whispering enough to make it easy for him to have the upper hand on you. You become quiet, avoiding his sight, with your hands still wrapped around his wrist.

«Are you proud?»

The question wasn't expected, spitted roughly through his mouth. You clench your digits, digging in his gloves.

Then you nodd.

«Yes» the answer is a breath, warmth by your boldness and the consciousness that you've done what had to be done. And none would have taken that awareness from you. You eventually lift your sight a little, meeting his mask, letting the skull shape fill your eyes.

«Yes, I am»

You know he's looking at you as if he's got an idiot under his sight. You feel him judging, investigating your behavior, interrogating your posture. And you, trapped between a scary giant and a door, with his cold glove pressed where your belly still hurts, you dare to stare at him for one whole minute.

It seems enough: he lets you go, shaking your hands away from his wrists as he stands in all of his height against you.

«Good soldiers come home alive, little gnome»

«…it's a curious scolding from one who lives a dangerous life»

«I've already told ya: you don't know me»

«But i'm neither deaf nor blind»

«Buy a bloody mirror then». He takes two steps back, letting you breathe freely for the first time since you've entered the room. «Ya can say you see us clear, but speaking of seeing yourself…I can't say the same»

«I know me»   

«It seems not»

Blood starts to rush to your brain as the embarrassment turns into a mixed spoonful of anger and bitterness. You follow him, still at security distance, toward his desk. «Why? 'Cause you've caught me touching myself once and I made one bloody moan?»

«'S not that, and we've already talked enough 'bout it» he mumbled, pretending to not pay attention as he looks through some documents on the table.

«Oh, oh sure! Now we've talked enough about it» your arms end up crossing on your chest. «after you've ripped my elbow»

«It was just a nerve»

«Judicially irrelevant» 

«Shut your bloody mouth»

«Why? 'Cause you've told me s-»

«Yes»

You freeze; that was a cold, hard stone order. He's got his knuckles clenched on the table, his back's muscles are visibly breathing under the pressure of maintaining a glint of calm. 

«You» he turns at you, pointing a finger at your freezed face «you are a goddamn idiot, one of the worst species. I've tried to convince myself you weren't actually so stupid but, damn god, was i right in the first place»

Guilt assaults you with a knife at your throat, for reasons you don't know. And you find your eyes lower, your spirit evaporated, your anger extinguished under his glare. You try to mutter:

«I've just done my duty-»

«You threw away your life»

«The mission had to be done, that was our last possibility to catch that damn illegal traffic» you rush, raising your voice to grow some confidence in your speech «Laswell needed a woman and i just did my damn work!»

And he almost barks back, raising stern and furious eyes at you: «than what 'bout asking someone more experienced, you bloody asshole?!»

«'Cause it was needed a woman with-!». You suddenly stop, biting your inner cheek as a last word slips, almost like a whisper, through your lips: «…inclinations»

He's left speechless for a while, standing in front of you with the finger still hanging toward your figure. You swallow; you know he's going to ask more, and that's just 'cause you can't keep your mouth shut.

As if you've called it, he spit out a terse: «Explain»

You sigh. This would be a great time to sink ten meters underground.

«I» you start gesticulating, drawing figures in the air with your hands «I am…i-»

You expect him to joke about your incapability of connecting two words together; but he remains silent, looking at you almost with curiosity. And you're forced to keep on talking.

«…I like certain things people don't usually…agree to do» you force words outside your mouth, with cheeks on fire and eyes buried on the pavement.

His conclusion wastes no time to come:

«You're a submissive»

It's not a question, it's a truth and it hits you like a brick in the face, as if he'd already understood your particular nature till the beginning. There's no need for more explanation: you know what kind of submissive he's referring to, and he evidently knows just enough about the subject to grin, just a little, under the mask.

«The target was known for his…peculiar sexual tastes». The additional clarification was not necessary, but he gives it anyway. He let out a soft chuckle, almost like he's having fun thinking about it. «I can't believe that Laswell really rely on this stupid trick»

You would really clarify how much Laswell fought against your will to volunteer for that risk, but your voice is gone under the embarrassment. Your digits are digging into cuticles again, and you're about to pretend to not exist, turn your heels and just go away.

And you don't even notice he's got closer again, till he forces your face up by roughly grabbing your cheeks in one hand. 

The disappointment is palpable.

«You've run into that perv's den alone, risking yourself for a mission you knew you couldn't handle…just to satisfy your throbbing cunt?»

That hit you worse than every other thing he's thrown at you till now. Your cheeks catch fire in his hands, guilt choke air in your lungs and poisonous butterflies eat your stomach, whispering through the entrails: he's right.

But you don't want him to be right.

«I've just decided to put every weapon I've got at your service» you spit out.

His grip gets tighter. «Sure thing. And what have you gained? Apart of a saving operation that wasted everyone's time, of course»

«Mission was completed»

«We would have found another way to do it, rookie»

«But I did it» you grab his wrist, trying again to escape from his hold. «And i'm alive, so why the hell are we even talking about-»

It happens all of a sudden: he pushes you again against the door, harder and roughly enough to make your spine squeak on it. You hold a yell, and one second after you can't breathe anymore.

He holds you by your mouth, pushing on your face with his whole hand open, while the other runs down right under your belly, squeezing on your crotch like it's made of play dough.

«This is no playfield». His voice is almost a growl murmur in your ear as he lowers enough to overcome you with his bigger body. «Soldiers have morals. And dignity. Maybe 's not clear to your pretty little brain. So: watch» and he speaks slowly, growling coldness with tongue maid of sharp metal, his eyes on you with that goddamn mask supply (and you're sure you're gonna dream about his sight forever) «your. Bloody. Mouth. Kitty» 

The nickname, the grip on your pants, the fact that you're breaking your personal apnea record…just burn your brain. And, in a loss of breath, trying so desperately to find a way out of that embarrassment while freezing your hormones that are already running too low on your body…

You bite him.

You sink your teeth in his glove as hard as you can, ripping off that goddamn dignity he was speaking about, letting the residual rage work as a fuel for your mouth. He suddenly jerks with a step back, catched by surprise, tearing his hands away, and to do so…he pushes with the other hand on your lower belly.

On your goddamn freshly engraved and barely healed tattoo.

On the scar the doc pleaded with you not to touch.

You spit his glove out of your mouth, yelling like your vocal chords have turn into a megaphone.

Ten minutes later, you two are waiting outside of the infirmary.

The knock on the door doesn't distract him, too focused pretending to find his paperwork attractive.

Price gets in without invitation.

«Just a word» he sits at the desk, usual hat at his place and cigar climbing from his lips «between me and you»

Ghost doesn't lift his sight.

«I've talked with doc-»

«I don't need to be scold 'bout it, if that's what ya'r here for»

Price sighs a low, maybe a little bit too paternal: «Ghost-»

«If you two» Simon raises his voice a little «believe in trusting every goddamn rookie, sending them risking their bloody neck just 'cause they've told you how good they are at shaking their ass-»

«You've already yelled about it, give my ears a rest. In any case, Laswell made the best choice in her position» Captain talks over him. «And I agree with her. We couldn't lose that opportunity, Simon»

«She didn't even managed to end the mission alone»

«But the rookie did a great job. Only problem was taking her out of that shit»

«You can't seriously call a kink exploitation one "great job"»

«She's a soldier. We're not here to babysit, risking our life 's part of our contract»

Silence. 

Price starts to get nervous, feeling some mixed emotions that he really can't stand at six in the evening. He suddenly stands up, patting both hands on the desk, taking a deep breath before exhaling a long, almost exhausted: 

«There's nothing bad in making friends with your allies…»

Ghost is already rushing an "i don't need friends" kinda sentence, but Price anticipates him:

«Me too, i've made friendships on the battlefield that i hope will last as long as my bones will walk on the dirt. Then, we could die together and be happy in whatever hell God'll decide to send us. But» and his "but" was final «i know what you're doing here. Stop it. It's gonna be draining, for the both of you»

Ghost spits out: «I'm doing nothin'», too rushed, then muttering: «Don't even like her»

«I don't care who you like. You can marry whoever you want, you've got my approval»

«For fuck's sake Price-»

«Wanna delete her from your eyesight? Just look straight in front of you from now on. Wanna keep an eye on her?» John raises his hands, throwing Ghost's embarrassment in the air while admitting with the most honest attitude: «Sure. Ok. I keep an eye on you all every goddamn minute of my life. She's not a princess, though. And ya'r not a bloody knight»

Silence becomes again the king in the office. Price is still fixed in his extreme openness, ready to give his Lt. the best suggestions on how-to-not end up again at the infirmary with that goddamn rookie (before the doc kills the both of them).

Then Ghost finally raises his gaze.

And Price has a bad sensation in his guts, almost like he'd said something he shouldn't have.

«Keeping…an eye on her» Simon repeats, lost in thoughts.

John nodds, hesitating before leaving the office.

..................................................

[hima-matta04]

Strangers to fuck buddies

image is not mine!!! Warnings- pussy eating, cum swallowing, subby daisuke, face sitting, punlic sex (ish?),mommy kink, yeah thats all.

It had been 2 months. Two months that you had become an intern for anya on the tulpar. 2 months that you had been acquainted with your crewmates. 2 months that you had been messing around with a cute guy around your age with flowy auburn hair. 

The whole ship already knew the two of you would be trouble relationship wise. In swansea’s point of view, he thought the big brains of pony express were out of there minds putting two ‘hormonal ass kids’ on a spaceship for a year. He’s often complain to any about how daisuke wouldn’t shut up about how hot he thought you were

Your hair, your eyes, your lips, the way your hips swayed when you walked. He was addicted to just looking at you. It didnt help that he hadnt physically seen any other female near his age since he hadnt gotten on the tulpar. The porn covered magazines he smuggled onto the ship had gotten tiring, and he was tired of uselessly jerking off the nights he could have been inside of you!

Of courseyou had to agree no physical touch for those two months was rough. You found yourself shamefully soaked after daisuke had only brushed his hand across yours accidentally. Thats why you krept to his room that very night when he should have been sleeping. He wasnt asleep though. 

When you knocked on the door to his sleeping quarters, you heard fumbling around as he raced to cover himself and hide his magazine and quickly opened the door. He tried to act calm as he saw you standing in front of him wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt and shorts that were short enough to be underwear. You could see the heated tint to his cheeks.

That night you finally confessed your neediness to him and how alone you felt on the tulpar. He chuckled before admitting what he had been doing the moment you knocked. It was right then when you offered to help finish him off. 

“A-are you sure?”, he asked nervously as his sweaty palms gripped his pants. It was only when you bit your lip and nodded that he lost control and flipped you onto your back. He kissed you more passionately than any past boyfriend you ever had. It was much needed sex. It was desperate, and hungry.

After a tiring four rounds, the two of you agreed to stay friends with benefits. There was no telling what could happen if one of the others found out what the two of you did late at night, or even when swansea or anya took lunch breaks. 

Lately, you had started to starve him a little. Nothing extreme, just every once in a while denying him the attention that ths both of you craved. Like simply not showing up to his room at the time you normally did. Or even taking your lunch breaks with anya instead of running off to drag daisuke into the nearest supply closet.

He had become so goddamn needy that he resorted back to his magazine reluctantly. He even went as far one night to go into your room and wake you up. “Please!! Just once i promise I’ll never ask again!!!” He whined on his knees in front of your bed.

“Daisuke, its 12 am! Go to bed!” You snapped in a hushed toned. His hands gripped your bed sheets in desperation.

“I need you so fucking bad. Like dude, tell me what i did wrong and Ill fix it! Right here and right now!” He begged reaching up to grab at your hand. It had gotten a little boring without his cock tucked deep into you. However, you really wanted to make him work for this… you wanted power…

“Eat me out.” His eyes widened at your cold command. A sheepish grin peeked through his teeth as you slid your panties off.

He looked up at you in awe. “Done.” He spoke without question. The buldge in his pants growing more painful by the second. 

“But,” you pointed a finger at him. “I want to sit on your face.” His eyes beamed and without any further word, he crawled onto your bed and layed on his back right beside you.

“Im ready.” He spoke confidently like he had been wishing for this moment.

“Really? You want me that bad?” You slowly moved to strattle his chest. Your pussy was soaked and eager to feel his tongue.

Daisuke looked into your eyes with desperation. “I need your pussy… more than i need air to live. Please.” Without further question, you slowly inched up to rest your sopping cunt on his willing mouth.

He was inexperienced, to say the least. He lapped at your folds like a man starved. It felt so fucking good. The way he couldn’t exactly find your clit but he at least flicked his tongue past it just enough to force a moan from your throat.

In the back of your mind, you thought about the face that he may not be able to breath in this position. However, when you lifted your hips slightly his strong hands came up and gripped onto your hips. “Daisuke, Im worried about litarally *sitting* on your face…” you said worriedly.

Thats when you heard it. His eyes, teary as you heard him softly wimper, “please, mommy~” your heart nearly sank as he forced you back down on his face. He moved his tongue more hurriedly, trying to find your orgasm. It didnt take long at all. 

You came on his face, hard, but he was the one moaning as he slurped you up and swallowed your climax. Once you moved off of his face, you found a blissed out smile under your liquids that covered his lips. 

“Mommy~?” You teased. He sat up and grew embarrassed.

“S-shut up i was in the moment!” He cried out. He hurriedly shushed him, a soft chuckle leaving your lips when you saw the fabric on and around his groin noticeably darker than the rest. 

“You came untouched~” he covered his cum stained pants quickly. Which earned him a peck on the cheek. “Good boy~” his face heated up as you wispered in his ear. Your hand reached down for his, softly rubbing circles on his knuckles. “You did so well for me didnt you?~”

“Y-yes ma’am…” he muttered trying to avoid eye contact. This was a new kink that you just *had* to experiment with.

[mommieswithmuscles]

Dom!Reader x Sub!Abby

Free Palestine, don't support Neil

No minors and No men

Collaboration with @tojisboy

CW: Breeding kink, brat behaviors, orgasm denial, double ended strap on, mention of injury/infection but not detailed, sprinkle of angst, unresolved ending because I like it the way it is

Title: Big Talk

"You can run your mouth on patrol, but we get home and suddenly you're quiet? What's wrong?" You kick your door shut, locking it behind you.

"Nothing's wrong." You don't meet Abby's eyes.

"Really? What happened to you saying how you could fuck me if you wanted to? You have me alone again, yet you haven't tried anything."

"Not in the mood." Abby backs off.

"I'm sorry baby. Should we go to the cafeteria? They have burritos again." You shrug.

"Babe?" Abby looks at you. "Talk to me."

"You're cocky and it's getting on my nerves. I try and prove myself and you push back, and I'm left sat like I'm incapable of being a top."

"I wouldn't say incapable. You are. You're just very submissive and I like fucking with you about it. If it bothers you, I can let you lead without the bratting." Abby pauses.

"You won't get the same fun feeling though. And that stupid smirk and grin and-" she sighs, digging her palms into her eye sockets.

"Let's go eat so we can sleep." You watch Abby fumble with the lock before making her way to the cafeteria.

-

"I got this for you." Abby hands you her bag, fresh from patrol and sweaty. You're in your medical tent helping Nora patch up Alice. "Open it when you get home. I'll be back late. Manny and I have a meeting with Isaac and I don't want you left waiting."

"Thank you." You press a kiss to her lips. Abby kisses you back.

-

You get home before Abby as was expected. You put her new loot in the chest at the end of her bunk before finding the gift she left you. It's a strap on harness that has an extra dildo for the wearer on the inside. There's a tube connected with the exterior dildo. It's a goddamn breeding strap.

You try it on, gasping at the way the insertable sits just right inside you. It's comfortable enough to move around in, but not so comfortable you don't get pleasure from it moving around.

You get dressed in Abby's cargo pants and bomber jacket to sleep in, unable to find your sweats.

-

"Sorry baby." Abby whispers as she climbs under the covers with you. "You look cozy."

"Mhm, am." You yawn, curling more into her chest, welcoming her warmth.

"Sleepy baby?" Her arms close you into her chest, lips pressed against your forehead. You nod. "Ok sweetheart. Get some rest."

-

"Anderson!" You snap, slapping your hand down on the table. Abby jolts, knees hitting the surface. She winces.

"What? Why? What did I do?" She's exhausted, but you don't care.

"You're not listening! You need to go see Nora or Mel before your infection turns septic!" You gesture to her poorly dressed forearm. "Your dad was a wonderful surgeon, but you're shit at medicine. Go."

"Fuck that. And fuck you, you don't need to be a bitch about something as stupid as this!" You're both shocked at what she says. "Baby I'm sorry-"

"Go," you growl. She leaves.

-

"What did she say?" You glare Abby down as she approaches the bed.

"That I should have come in sooner." You nod. Abby sits beside you. "I'm really sorry about what I said. You didn't deserve it."

"Damn fucking right I didn't. And you ignored me on top of that."

"I was in my head. I hate how dumb I am about medicine. I watched my dad and can do basic things, but I should know more. I should be capable of more. It wasn't ok I took that out on you."

"And it wasn't ok you took it out on yourself. Talk to me." Abby shakes her head.

"Not that easy."

"I know baby. Come here?" You pat your upper chest, she shrugs. "Abby?" You raise your eyebrow at her.

"You're too good for me." She slowly allows herself to relax into you. You rub your hand under her shirt, tracing her spine and muscles.

-

"How long have I been out?" Abby peels herself from your drool slick shirt, muttering a small "sorry" before sitting shoulder to shoulder with you.

"A few hours. You needed the rest." You wipe the drool from her face with a tender palm. She flinches at the contact before leaning into your touch.

"I'm really sorry baby."

"I know love." Abby turns to face you. "Can I make it up to you?"

"I'll let you redeem yourself. As long as you promise that'll never happen again."

"I promise." Abby bows her head, hands fiddling in her lap.

-

"You ready?" Your hips adorn the newly gifted strap.

"Please?" Abby is sprawled on her back, legs open and shining with slick where you left her.

"Ok baby. You sure?" You make sure Abby has the chance to opt out before starting.

"I'm sure. Please." Abby's eyes glisten with want.

You're slow with her, taking your time before pressing in. She hisses in pain so you still, feeling the way she flutters around you. When she gives the go ahead, you press until you're fully in, hips resting against hers as she pants in your ear and neck.

"Feel good?"

"Mhm!" Abby gasps as you start rocking your hips slow, picking up the pace as her body adjusts.

You use her sounds and the way she grabs at your ass, boobs, and back for leverage to know if you're doing what she likes.

"Right there?" and "This ok? You like that?" whispered into Abby's ears. She always hums, pleading, mouth gasping and eyes fluttering as she answers. "Don't touch yourself. If you try, you don't get to cum."

It's not long before your pleasure takes the reigns. "I'm close, are you ready?" You never last as long as she does. Abby's legs quiver when you bottom out for a final time. You fumble around with the tube, having completely forgotten to undo the cork. She giggles into her free hand as you stare down at her. "Haha, so funny," you roll your eyes with a smile. "Ok, are you ready this time?"

"Always ready, my love." Abby's eyes are gentle as you lean down to kiss her. You release into her and filled her. You gasp as she moans against your lips. You pull out and rest on her chest. There's cum trailed from her hole, up her clit, and what remained in the strap is now pooling on the plane of fat sat above her pelvic bone.

"Look at that pretty girl, you're all messy now." You kiss her forehead, brushing the messy stray hairs from the front of her eyes.

"You really think so?" Abby's breath hitches when she plays with some of the cum drooling down her clit.

"What did I say?" You slap her hand. She flinches.

"But I held myself for you to cum? I thought it was fine now!"

"Changed my mind." You pull the harness off, whimpering at the way the insertable pops out.

[hideawaysis]

there are so many issues i have with the whole [redacted] thing and how it's being handled. not even going to touch on the callouts and stuff because im obviously anti-callout but like

1. stop making fuckin jokes about it a minor was groomed and people were hurt. this is a serious matter stop treating it so goddamn flippantly. yes i know dark humor is a valid coping mechanism but theres a time and place for that stuff and that is not here

2. stop specifically targeting her for having a noncon kink. the fact that she refused to stop using people's characters for that stuff after they expressed their discomfort isnt okay but like, there is nothing wrong with the kinks she has. it is the fact that she violated people's boundaries and did things without their consent that was bad, not the kink itself

3. stopppp harassing people over this as i said i am very vocally anti-callout and this is why. harassment doesnt solve shit. the person involved in this obviously needs help and therapy to actually change. she is an adult but still young and has spoken about having trauma from csa in the past, and abuse is a cycle that can be broken but can also be perpetrated. this isnt to excuse anything that she's done i think grooming kids is awful as a grooming survivor, but like, punitive justice is shit and doesnt do anything in the long run but teach people to be more sneaky about this stuff. what [redacted] needs here is rehabilitation.

yet again going to reiterate that i don't think csa is acceptable, i just think this whole thing is a fucking disaster and i need to get my thoughts on it out lest my head explodes. tldr stop being fucking deranged about this shit

[widevibratobitch]

Ok. Any "Terror" fic recommendations?

good lord YES countless really. idk what you're looking for specifically though.

i myself am a fitzier girlie first and foremost with some occasional fitzconte thrown in. i'll best direct you to my ao3 bookmarks, specifically to the tag i keep for my personal favourites, the crème de la crème of fics I've read and liked.

some examples under the cut.

i am a connoisseur of ✨fitzier hatesex✨ and there's surprisingly not that many of those compared to fics where they're all lovey-dovey with each other (which. dont get me wrong. i also enjoy from time to time). so i'll give you some that have truly stuck with me. it's mostly pwp sorry not sorry.

Some lovely perilous thing by cosmogram

“Oh,” James gasps, and really, it’s almost too easy. James ought to have some modicum of shame, ought to be able to master himself better than this—better than turning to a doe-eyed dissolute the second a man so much as breathes near his eager young cock. “Not here, Francis,” James pants out, voice already hitching high. “The great cabin, at the very least.”

“Here, I think,” Francis returns crisply. “On your knees.”

it's just so fucking good. very hot. i honestly don't know what else i could say about this, it's one of my personal favourites amongst personal favourites (along with the one i link next, from the same author).

Devotion by cosmogram

Francis does not seek him anymore, but neither—still worse—does Francis bother to dismiss him when James arrives of his own volition, each time with all the hope of the most wretched fool. “Oh, get to it, then,” Francis muttered with sublime disinterest that very day when James appeared in his cabin’s doorway. James had, in fact, come to talk—but he had not hesitated when Francis gestured dispassionately to the front of his trousers. He had dropped, wordlessly, to his knees to obey.

everyone give it up for erectile dysfunction! hip-hip hurray! the author sums it up well with the James Fitzjames’s Tragically Unmet Praise Kink tag. this one is a little more on the sad side, Francis is being a goddamn gremlin and James is at his most needy and pathetic. nothing hotter to me personally than sucking someone's limp dick and crying about it. i find myself thinking about this fic an ungodly amount. i love it so much. again, best of the best of the best.

nice dream by icicaille

Francis swirled the last dregs in his glass and peered into its depths. Some kind of grim satisfaction had come over him. “I’ll tell you what you want to hear,” he said. “For a certain price.” It was foolhardy beyond measure. Damning, even.

basically, Fitzjames gives Crozier a blowjob in exchange for Francis telling him some nice reassuring things he needs to hear so badly it makes him look stupid - malicious compliance from Francis of course with some nice internalised homophobia. James is, again, pathetic as all shit with a little twist at the end. no one is having a good time except for me of course.

hunger's vocabulary by icicaille

“Ah, Sir John.” Francis cleared his throat once the wardroom was near to empty. “May I borrow James? Regarding the Lloyd’s balance. We took readings that require further inspection. I’ll send him back in a gig—tonight if the weather holds, in the morning otherwise.”

chef's kiss. just two cunty cunts going at it (the dialogues are so good...) with a sprimkle of some angsty self-loathing Francis. what more could you ask for.

you are coming down with me by dazydaisy

Chapter one: “If I loved you I could perhaps fuck you as if I hated you, in order to please you, but, as you are surely aware by now Fitzjames, you and love are oil and water to me.”

Chapter two: ‘Maybe,’ James had begun to unlace the front of his trousers with a carelessness he had (shamefully) practiced, ‘if you loved yourself even a little you would be able to stop yourself from doing as I command. But, as I’m sure you know by now Francis, you and love are like oil and water. The two simply do not meet.’

*

Mum and dad are fighting again

pretty much what it says on the tin. just two heartbroken bitches fucking and being cruel to each other and im eating that shit up thanks

A Willing Foe and Sea-Room by ClutchHedonist

“Nnh.” Fitzjames whines around his thumb.

“None of that. Clearly, you can’t shut your own bloody mouth to save your life.” Francis huffs, “So I’ll shut it for you.”

pre-canon. Fitzjames - still as a baby lieutenant - and Crozier have a brief but very hot encounter during some Admiralty Party.

Caïssa by cosmogram

“You said you had a question,” Francis snapped, irritable already.

“Yes,” James said, flushed and resplendent still from the company next door—undaunted and loose-limbed in just the way that plucked cloying ire from a raw place in Francis. “How’s your chess game?”

A seduction.

a little bonus to the list, because i love this fic and it recently updated after a very long hiatus (it's still a wip tho but i hope the author manages to finish it, they're one of my favourite writers in this fandom). no hatesex here, it's more of a slow-burn with past Crozier/Ross and really great dialogues, as always. Neptune also makes an appearance.

Bespoke by ktula

James is trying to escape his grief after Sir John's death. Francis, in his own way, is trying to do the same. OR: The one where James Fitzjames has a bit of the genders, and his captain is surprisingly accommodating of that.

ending this rec list on a kinder and softer note, as a treat. this was one of the first fics ive read in this fandom and still one of my favourites. not really hate sex though they're still rather uncertain and wary about the other. very good, very sensual, gender-heavy. beautiful fic really.

BONUS have some excellent fitzjames/le vesconte and fitzjames/franklin - as a treat.

you don't have friends (you have admirers) by JamesFitzjames

James Fitzjames is a man who does not seek help.

each chapter deals with something different, so while the fic is unfinished it's not really some painful cliffhanger (tho i would love to see it completed one day). second chapter is some excellent, excellent Fitzconte. last chapter also has, why, of course, some really delightful ✨fitzier hatesex✨.

Hoo-ray and up she rises by TheGreenMeridian

They’re rip-roaringly drunk and laughing loud enough at each other to wake half the neighbourhood as they stumble into their lodgings.

i only like Fitzconte if it's done in a very specific way and this fic fits my needs just perfectly. just two besties being sillayyyy. what, like you never gave your bro a handjob just for shits and giggles?

Whatever morning brings by isamariposa

Brutus spends his life torn between disquiet, distaste and desperate pining for Caesar, leading to his infamous betrayal. In his own final moments, he raises a plea: “Jupiter Maximus, take pity on me. If by Your grace there is a way to atone for what I did to him, I beg You: let me do so in the afterlife.”

His wish is granted.

yes, yes, this is technically an HBO Rome fic but each chapter deals with a different time period - the third is dedicated to The Terror and can totally be read on its own. it's some truly excellent Sir John/Fitzjames with a sprimkle of some delightful Fitzconte tomfoolery. It's really, really good.

okay one last BONUS

devourer of debts by allmyloyaldead(van1lla_v1lla1n)

Cornelius Hickey receives, and devours, and adapts.

What Hickey receives from the universe and what he takes for himself, the pieces with which he sews himself together into a man, or something like one.

some incredible Hickey insanity. truly brilliant. the gifts Hickey receives from Billy, Irving and Fitzjames, short and sweet (by sweet i obviously mean gruesome and fucked up <3)

[delilahcalicocat]

~Ours~

{Rating: So much Smut, Angst, Fluff}

{Warnings: Kissing, Hugging, Mentions Of Cheating, Crying, Screaming, Swearing, Polyamrous relationship, Jealousy, Kinks (Daddy kink, Tear Kink, Spit Kink) Sex Toy Use, Throat Fucking, Unprotected sex (please properly wrap it up), Going against myself here but mentions of Abvse.}

《Pairing: The Best Friends x Kelani White》

[]Summary: It was Easter weekend, Saturday of Collison. And Kelani gets up at 6:00am to a rather upsetting text message, but her early Easter present is to come.[]

[Kelani's POV:]

I'm returning to wrestling soon enough, but it's Easter weekend, I was getting ready for bed because I have to get up early tomorrow to help my Brother Jay and Sister Sophie with the Easter Ham.

I sat at the counter for a few moments, and started to fall asleep.

I was dreaming.. of what Trent and Chuck said a few weeks ago.. their words humming in my head like a bullet.

"If he ever treats you wrong, come see us. You'll be ours."

I was so Desperate for them, yet my boyfriend. Will Strong, Wouldn't even let me go grocery shopping (fucking jesus)

I decided to go in the group us wrestlers have and add Trent and Chuck to my Contacts.. in case Will goes off...

★– Next Morning –★

"WHERE ARE YOU YA FUCKING CUNT!" Will shouted, awakening me from my slumber..

I stayed silent... I couldn't speak, I couldn't fight back against this Asshole I call a boyfriend.. I don't wanna end up with a gash in my arm again...

"Hey.. how soon can you two get here?" "Pretty Soon why?" "Please Fucking hurry! My bf is going berserk and it's 7:00am.." "Oh shit. Me and Trent'll be there in a couple minutes, where ya at right now?" "Under my Goddamn Bed! I don't wanna get almost killed last time he fucking blew a fuse.." "Alright, Trent is already in the car. Stay put and silent. Be there in 5, Sweetheart"

The use of the nickname sweetheart, made my heart flutter a bit.. considering he'd never called me that before. But after I messaged Chuck. I shot my brother a text

"Jay, Soph and you are on your own.. Sorry but I'm hiding under my bed while police come to arrest Will, and I'm being picked up by a friend" "Jesus How the bloody fuck, do ya keeping agitating that asshole? Fucking break up with him"

I thought I was in the clear, until I heard some girl come over to my house. Her name was Patricia, she was William's side bitch.

Suddenly he was interrupted by Trent and Chuck. Who walked in and said a old friend asked if they could pick something up from the house, which that was me..

I was silently sobbing by the time Chuck found me, and they got me outside speedily..

"So, what's on the itinerary? Having sex until we drop?" Trent Teased.

I blushed heavily and tried to nod but my head was stilled aswell, I felt my cunt clench around nothing and I was so horny in that moment..

"I think she liked that idea Trent" Chuck Spoke loudly, snapping me out of my trance-like state

I only nodded. I couldn't speak, my pussy was fucking clenching like a vise grip. so this was my first fucking time because Will never fucked me until I passed out.

Sure it wasn't my first time, but I have a feeling my legs and pussy will sore by tomorrow morning.

I was so fucking horny at this point.

I sighed and tried to ignore the horny twins as we drove back to Chuck's place.

I scrolled through my phone deleting my photos with my Ex, I sent him one last message...

"Hey Will. We are Over, nothing either of us did. I am just tired of dating. So we're breaking up." "Do you assume I was cheating or something? Why are you breaking up with me? I wasn't FUCKING CHEATING!! COME BACK TO THE HOUSE RIGHT NOW SO I CAN TEACH YOU A LESSON YOU BITCH!"

I did... the one thing I could think of, I gave my phone to Chuck..

"Who in the actual fuck are you to tell her to come home? She's not a pet. She's not a slut. She's a human, like everyone else in the world you fucking asshole. And before you claim she's moved on in life. This is her Old friend. Chuck. So seriously go fuck off somewhere else you piece of shit cheater."

I panicked after he gave me my phone back.. seeing the whole ass paper he wrote on my phone, I knew I was gonna pay for this unless Trent Had turned off the air tag on my IPhone..

——————————🍄——————————

After we got to Chuck's House, I sat for a few moments. Trying to understand I broke free of my now ex-... wow it felt exhilarating..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~❤️~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And this is how I now find myself, pinned down, Trent was fucking me at pace that was making me wanna cry. But between choked gasps and attempts to breathe I couldn't cry, because Chuck was literally making me almost gag around his cock.

"Such a good girl, taking us like this.." Chuck Groaned, before he came without warning.

After he pulled out of my mouth, I gasped..

Finally being able to breathe only for that breath to be cut off by me screaming as Trent then Came

"F-Fuck.." Trent Gasped

I exhaled and inhaled rapidly, a attempt to catch my breath.

I didn't want this I needed it...

My Legs were trembling, as they coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of me.. I felt like I was about to collapse at the 10th round.

This time, Trent invading my throat as Chuck fucked me at an even harder pace...

"Holy Fuck, do you think her ex will be mad? Since we've shown her an actual good sex life?" Trent Asked Chuck

As they both came with groans, I was beginning to fall asleep.

The amount of spit, I had in my mouth after Trent came made him hornier.

I was fucked out, quite literally fucked dumb.

I had called them both Daddy so.. many.. times... My tears made Chuck fuck me harder...

I had finally fell asleep after the 10th round

——————————🍄——————————

I woke up the next morning, to them making breakfast and me in One of Chuck's shirts.

My phone was also pinging off the Hook

"Holy Shit! HOLY SHIT! Girly! You didn't tell us you are dating Trent and Chuck! So glad you broke up with William!"

That was my little sister Sophie who'd messaged me, turns out. After I fell asleep, Trent and Chuck posted that I'd finally broken up with Will, and I was dating them.

Will had broke his phone, and his side chick's who'd he been giving my money to. Broke up with him. He is now super jealous and I don't really regret last night.

And I'm Terrified now, they said they wanna try some new shit tonight. My legs are gonna be soooooo sore tomorrow

"Good Mornin' Baby~" Chuck Spoke

"Good Morning.." I hummed still slightly Sleepy.

"C'mom, we'll get ya ready for breakfast. And most likely another nap." Chuck Spoke grabbing me one of my shirts from my bag, I was still in the bed at this point though.

He helped me out of the bed, helped me get dressed and we went downstairs to eat.

A/N: New Cody Fic in the works, sorry this took so long. I was gonna release it on Easter, but I was busy and then I was busy with babysitting my sister on Monday and Tuesday. I have to babysit on Friday and Saturday too. So don't panic if I don't post

[encodedkismet]

unfriendly goddamn reminder that i do not fucking agree with the notion that someone's thoughts, kinks, fetishes, favorite ao3 tags, fictional character they thirst over, mental illnesses, trauma responses, and anything else that can be summarized as "takes place inside the mind, and using it to cause harm to others is a choice and not a given" makes them inherently a bad person. it is what you do to your fellow living beings that determines how harmful you are, not what turns you on, not what fic you post to ao3, not what you fantasize about, not the emotions you feel, not anything is "bad" until you harm another soul.

the idea that thoughts can make you a bad person is moldy leftovers from religion AT BEST, and completely goddamn ableist/saneist on average. how many times have you wanted very, very badly to punch some guy that was annoying you, but decided not to because it would be wrong - after all, he's just annoying, nothing worse, and has a whole life to live, and so do you. then, you turn around and harass someone for a fantasy that - not only will they 99.999999% likely NOT actually act out irl, but DO go out of their way to make sure they are tagging anything they post properly, just so passers by on the internet don't have to see if they don't want.

you think they're punching the guy. but YOU are the one punching the guy, and not even for being annoying, you walked into the penis shirt convention to punch a guy for wearing a penis shirt. get over it for fucks sake

and - in the slim off chance this post gets any traction at all - i won't tolerate a single person clowning on this putting words into my mouth, if you say shit like "but op OBVIOUSLY doesn't mean the actual nasty shit like-" or "i agree except for gross shit like-" you are missing the point, you are part of the problem, you are pissing on the poor, you are exhibit A of why i am genuinely fucking terrified that my own generation is going to be a big part of the sterilization of the internet, hand in hand with the hyper-religious dickwads who think porn has no value or merit and should be eradicated globally. take one fucking moment to imagine a world where people don't just follow every little evil whim in their mind, and that people with complex opinions, interests, and/or conditions that you, personally, disagree with, consider disgusting, subhuman, selfish freaks, can still be - and usually are - kind, loving, gentle, generous people.

guess what? you don't have to imagine. we live in that world.

[heartshapedcreaturefromcriptoon]

Okay... Shit, no. I'm sorry but I NEED to say something again.

I blocked this persons main before, because they gave me cringe vibes for putting a goddamn fucking "DNI" banner that was fandom related at the bottom of a long ass Cripple Punk post that otherwise had fuck all to do with "Fandom Politics", for lack of a better term, only to find out that they are exactly the type of person I was telling to stop this kind of shit earlier.

So now I just want to say like ... Two things:

AGAIN. JUST STOP PUTTING FICTIONAL CHARACTERS INTO THE CRIPPLE PUNK TAGS IF YOU DIDN'T MAKE THEM I AM LITERALLY FUCKING BEGGING YOU.

I've been trying to figure out a way to properly articulate this ever since I've noticed this exact person forcing people to read through their obnoxious "DNI" banner shit that they've put at the end of every. single Cripple Punk post that they' make, again, even if what they're talking about has nothing to do with fandom .... And I blocked them immediately when I saw them add their unwanted and unneeded opinion on "Proship vs. Anti" discourse to the already obnoxious banners that were ruining their long ass cpunk posts for everyone else.... And like, at first I felt bad for (finally) just blocking them for forcing me to read about their shitty cyberbully fandom opinion on a cripple punk post like "'anti anti'/'proshitters' DNI!" like y'know? Immature shit like that. Like, I felt really bad and shitty for even caring enough to have an opinion on their own shitty fandom related opinion like that shit even mattered in Cripple Punk at all....But then I saw them doing this shit, so I am going to be speaking my mind on this. Rght now.

I... do not care, I do not not give a fuck, and I do not pay any heed or attention to your "warning" should you have something like "Anti Anti/Proship DNI" in your header or bio, or even consider yourself an "Anti" because you think that makes you a better clown than the ones that you are trying to protect yourselves from, because I don't believe in "Fandom Politics" ether way and think they're antithetical to the Cripple Punk Movement as a whole. And I will not be checking your header or bio or carrd or whatever to see if I'm respecting your made up fandom concentric "politics" and boundaries . Like of course you have the right to silently block someone if you don't like their taste in fandom but you don't have to turn that into one of your "political stances", we'll get more into this later but if you self identify as an "Anti", that's exactly what you're doing .

However, if you have a DNI Banner you're gonna put at the end of every single Cripple Punk post, I would want to block you, but if you make a Cripple Punk post, put a DNI banner on it, and then decide make part of that banner partially about "Proship vs. Anti" discourse or even Anti Kink bullshit discourse and rhetoric I would then have to be forced to read about because you decided to bring that shit into the Cripple Punk tags, when you decided to add your obnoxious DNI banner to an otherwise entirely unrelated Cripple Punk post, thus derailing your pwn post and just like, ruining things... For everyone... I am definitely going to block you.

My second to last point is this:... I'lI make this quick disclaimer that I know that Live Action Media such as Twilight and Harry Potter are entirely different animals that both could and have caused substantial amounts of harm, mainly due to the fact that with live action shit, it's real people needed to portray these characters, from these multiple million dollar franchises that most of us had shoved down our throats since forever, with real world consequences if anything goes wrong........ And considering the circumstances of, I'm just gonna say it.... The one who started the whole "cpunk discourse" bullshit actually being a Goddamn Fucking Harry Potter Fandom Mom or whatever the fuck they are..... Like I can see why we might want to poke fun at these people and maybe gatekeep them from anything to do with Cripple Punk ... And even I have done that on occasion ... So what I'm about to say, keep in mind that this isn't about them.

All that being said, if you do consider yourself Cripple Punk, but you feel you would discriminate against another Cripple Punk by denying them your most basic human "interactions" on the internet, support, help, camaraderie, resources, single boosts, emergency donations if they needed it, because you glanced at their blogs one day and saw the words "Proship" or "Anti Anti" next to "Cripple Punk", or you saw how they've liked the Wrong kind of Animated Cartoon, or watched the Wrong kind of Anime, or read the Wrong kind of Manga or Played the Wrong kind of Video Game while they were sitting sick or bed bound getting sores on their arse during a medical recovery or something or maybe they support this Scary Irredeemable Artist who created Scary Irredeemable Media TM, and maybe you get the urge to go on this fellow Cripple Punk's single boost just be like: "UM, DON'T DONATE/GIVE SUPPORT TO THIS PERSON BC THEY HAPPEN TO SUPPORT THIS THAT AND THE OTHER FANDUMB CENTRIC THING WHEN THEY EXIST OUTSIDE OF CPUNK EVEN THO THEY NEVER BROUGHT THAT BACK INTO THE MOVEMENT WHICH IS WHY I'M DOING IT FOR THEM RIGHT NOW! >:("

Like if you would ever think about doing that, or, you need to consider what cartoon fandoms a fellow cripple punk is in before supporting your comrade or go off on them for wearing the wrong graphic t with the wrong animated blorbo on it when or they have the wrong kind of fandom related plush when they're just existing in a Cripple Punk Selfie Post.... Or a donation post ... And you're gonna care so deeply about that, that you can feel something in you become physically undone... And you'd wanna bring it up... The Unspoken Irredeemable Media in The Room.... Like, I'm not saying you should leave the Cripple Punk Movement ... But maybe you should take a break, reevaluate your priorities here, and come back later, okay babe?

I'm almost done.

The very last and most difficult thing I'll bring up here because it needs to be said ... If you consider yourself a Cripple Punk, and you also self identify as an "Anti" outside of the Cripple Punk Movement... You do realize that Self Proclaimed "Antis" have a very strong reputation for actually telling people to kill themselves over the Fictional and Often 2D Media they consume, right? Like I said before, you could be a Cripple Punk with "Anti" or "Anti Anti DNI" in your bio and I simply choose not to pay attention to that nonsense or give a fuck...But at the end of the day, the "Anti Movement" is ultimately a "Movement" about telling people to kill themselves over Fiction. And I know that you wouldn't do that if you're part of the Cripple Punk Movement, but it makes me not want to get that close to you or trust you and this is the only post I'll make about it because I think some of you just need to reconcile with which boat you truly want to be and jump ships, so to speak... Because it's so interesting how some of think you can take the side a "Movement" that tells the "Freaks" to kill themselves while also being a part of Cripple Punk.

I want no part of "Fandom Movements" mentioned here.

It's so funny and frustrating to me though because... The people in Cripple Punk who make these blogs and posts revolving around fictional characters and pretending it's activism? They're the ones, with "Anti Anti/Proship DNI" in their banners and bios... Same with the most frequently posting people in the Cripple Punk tags right now, who've turned out to be self proclaimed "Kinnies" or "Fictives".

But I've yet to see an actual, self proclaimed Anti Antis or Proshipper bring those "fandom politics" or tags into Cripple Punk or daring to be that obnoxious. How about we keep it that way and be kind to each other, yes?

TL;DR: "FANDOM POLITICS" HAVE NO PLACE IN CRIPPLE PUNK. NETHER DOES GATE KEEPING, OR MORALLY POLICING, OR CYBER BULLYING ANOTHER CRIPPLE PUNK FOR ANY "FANDOM POLITICS" THEY MIGHT KEEP OVER CARTOONS, OR OTHER RELATED INTERESTS THEY MIGHT HAVE IN MEDIA AND KEEP SEPARATE FROM THE CRIPPLE PUNK MOVEMENT, ASIDE FROM THOSE INTERESTS SHOWING UP IN THINGS LIKE CLOTHING OR COMFORT ITEMS DURING CRIPPLE PUNK SELFIES. AND IF YOUR RESPONSE TO THIS IS "GO OUTSIDE", FUCK OFF!

This is the first and last post I'm making about this. It's happened in discord servers apparently before but if I ever see another Cripple Punk being bullied in these tags for outside media they consume that has nothing to do with Cripple Punk that they didn't try bringing into Cripple Punk themselves... I'm done. You all would just be making the same posts about Fandom Bullshit in reverse or whatever.

[trans-clown-catgirl]

swearrr tooo goddddddddd i cannot go 2 days on this website (or cohost for that matter which i ended up dropping as a result) without seeing some post or another about how engaging sexually with fictional incest is perfectly ok because oh it's not actually real no one's getting hurt no dipshit it's still undoubtedly harmful. you're operating on the same basic, stupid ass mentality that people who draw porn of children do. like "oh it's just a drawing i don't actually wanna fuck a child" ok you're still fantasizing about it though. and you're still drawing/writing it. and actively engaging with it and getting enjoyment out of it. but oh when it's incest it's ohhh my coping mechanismsss my nuanceeee it's just roleplayyy it's not realll you're a feddd you're being a cop you're harming the queer and kink community bitch shut the fuck up i'm going to fold your entire atomic makeup in on itself. and the worst part is when they try to guilt fellow transfems into being at minimum ambivalent towards the topic because otherwise they're being cops and feds and harmful to the kink community and all that so you're left with only the options of tolerating it or joining them or otherwise you're a bad person.

it's becoming more and more common and it sincerely ticks me off really badly as someone who had to unlearn a bunch of gross shit that was imprinted onto me at an early age by the internet, like really gross shit, i had to undo the influence of gross ppl online who will draw porn of literally anything ever no matter how bad and it took actual effort and self control what i didn't do was try to find intricate reasons to justify it. i didn't try to shame other people into thinking that if they condemned me in any way for it they were actually hurting the queer and kink communities. i actually tried to give a shit about other people for once in my goddamn life instead of thinking with my crotch the entire fucking time with constant unrelenting attempts to justify it. i had to learn to be a good person. and here these people are, fantasizing about doing all the shit i had to unlearn, engaging with it, telling you off for thinking they're doing harm by actively engaging with those things. it's genuinely fucking infuriating.

heavier post than usual and i am sorry for that but it's kind of started to reach a boiling point because i see more and more and more people be roped into this entire fucking mess and it's genuinely fucking me up really badly. i need to make it very, very blatantly clear that if you support these people, if you think ppl who get sexual enjoyment out of incest content are doing nothing wrong and should be at minimum tolerated, get out. either get your shit together and get yourself out of the pipeline while you can, or leave my sight permanently. i do not want to engage with you. i do not want to talk to you. followers, mutuals, whatever; get out if you have no intent of reconsidering your stance.

[berrylover0571]

This is going to be a long vent post.

I'm so very very tired. I have been carrying a burden with me and I cannot fucking shake for the entire duration of my life and I'm so fucking tired of it. I am so tired of being somebody else's goddamn therapist, fixing somebody else's problems while nobody wants to fix mine because it's too hard for them too. It's too hard for them to confront it it's too hard for them to face it, it's too hard for them to deal with the shit I have to deal with, but I can deal with everybody else's shit. I can deal with everything they're dealing with, they can make me shoulder all of their burdens but they cannot shoulder mine. I don't need help. I don't need some therapy speak bullshit to help me through things. I don't need to build better habits, I don't need somebody to tell me a diagnosis, as vindicating as that is, I just need somebody to do to me what I do to everybody else, to listen, to help, to tell me I loved and that I'm cared about and that I am worthwhile.

Because, I don't feel like that. I'm not asking for obsessive I love yous and like morning messages and a bunch of bullshit like that, I'm just basically asking for somebody to tell me they like me in that way and be transparent and actually mean it. Because I feel more alone than pretty much I can take.

And I have spent the last week and a half being the middle person for a bunch of people's problems and basically giving people advice that they should have gotten from their parents or just from learning from their fuck ups, because people for some reason cannot fucking do that. It is exhausting. It is exhausting when out of seven people you are one of the two competent people, and the only one whom everyone is willing to talk to and be cordial with. I'm getting very tired of learned helplessness and cold shoulder bullshit and complete aloofness.

I'm getting tired of that compounding with the fact that everyone seems to like each other except me. And when they like me, they like me in the wrong way.

And the worst part is I'm not doing bad. I'm having a great time in a lot of other regards, I just find it absolutely annoying and deeply painful that I am only just now feeling this way and I don't have the ability to share it with anybody. Or when I do it's platonically, which makes me so deeply frustrated. It makes me so frustrated. It makes me so frustrated

Because it compounds with every other painful frustration I have. I am alone in a lot of frustrating capacities, I am alone in a lot of The Kinks I have in my kinky group of IRL people, I am alone in my faith, which makes me so fucking mad you have no idea, I am in terms of relationships, very much isolated and alone feeling because my only partner is in Florida and we only talk occasionally now, and every other person I want to get with is either taken, fucking far away, or some other bullshit thing. It's getting depressing.

The worst part is I'm not doing that bad with that either, but it seems like every time I get to a point where I'm flirting and it's being reciprocated and it's doing fine, it ends abruptly and I'm just left kind of high and dry and I feel like shit.

And I feel like I did something wrong. Like I said something wrong or did something wrong or annoyed somebody and I'm tired of that. I'm really tired of it. I'm really tired of just feeling like there is no hope. That I'm just going to constantly have missed connections and I've got nothing. Because I feel like I do have nothing, I feel like I'm a burden, I'm a pest, I'm an annoyance, and object, a fucking diary, a decoration, I feel like a fucking dog. And I'm tired of feeling like a fucking dog, I'm tired of feeling like a shitty person who doesn't fucking matter and that people can just sort of dump all their shit on to and then when fucking like I need shit, all they do is use stupid fucking therapy speech to try and solve my problem as if it's going to fucking help me to hear the diagnosable issues I have wrong, or the symptoms I have listed out in front of me and the coping skills necessary to fix them. I know what a diagnosis is, I know what it means to have something, and let me tell you it makes it worse.

In some ways I envy people who can turn off their emotions and be awful individuals. In some ways I envy those who can do so much to make themselves so happy.

[unkownknowledge]

I love people claiming to represent me saying my identity is a kink